#thread: the mountain should fear us

[ashenprofessor]

The mountain should fear us

They had been led out of their holding cell but a pair of guards to be taken to a mining pit to be put to work. Their new 'friend' Daniel was with them and they are instructed to bring what was left of their weapons too. Byleth felt more capable knowing they had their trusty gauntlets ready as they venture deeper into the mountain.

Arriving at the designated site, the guards drop them off with knowing grins on their faces. Before them are winding passages and caves to traverse to clear out for the miners. Byleth led the way into the first room, noting immediately the presence of creatures there waiting for them.

"Great. Of course the witchy mountain contains horrors hidden away within." The Professor told their teammates.

Pulling on their Aura Knuckles, Byleth noticed the skeleton, hiding towards the back of the group, bow in hand. A perfect target for the first attack, take out the support. Darting forwards, they drew back their fist ready to strike.

Byleth 10/10HP hits and hits Bonewalker 12/12HP with Aura Knuckles (One-Two Punch). [Rolls: 15, 6; Hit!, Hit!; Damage: 1.5 + 0.5 + 0.5 = -2.5HP, 1.5 + 0.5 + 0.5 = -2.5HP, Bonewalker 7/12HP]

The first hit catches the skeleton in it's boney shoulder, knocking it off-balance before the second hits square in the chest. Undeterred, it raises it's bow to fire back.

Bonewalker 8/12HP hits Byleth 10/10HP with Devil Bow. [Roll: 12; Hit!; Damage: -2.5HP, Byleth 7.5/10HP] (Devil Bow roll: 1. Failure) Bonewalker 7/12HP loses -2.5HP; Bonewalker 4.5/12HP

The arrow soars through the air and pierces Byleth's arm. Pausing, to break off the shaft, Byleth looks up to notice the skeleton almost seem to wince. The bow in it's hand glows red and seems to draw something from the enemy leaving them weaker than before. Some sort of cursed weapon, the Professor wonders.

Wanting to capitalise on the opportunity presented, Byleth moves in again for another attack.

Byleth 7.5/10HP hits and hits Bonewalker 4.5/12HP with Aura Knuckles (One-Two Punch). [Rolls: 9, 7; Hit!, Hit!; Damage: 1.5 + 0.5 + 0.5 = -2.5HP, 1.5 + 0.5 + 0.5 = -2.5HP, Bonewalker 0/12HP]

Byleth knocks it's skull back with a glancing blow before swiftly adding in an upper cut. The skeleton's head pings off the top of the spine before rolling away with a clatter across the floor.

Returning to the group, Byleth rolls their wrists, casually remarking. "That's Bones taken care off. Who wants a shot at them next"

@amitieos, @dracofalchions, @sweetroyalberry, @rafent

[yanderenightmare]

TW: NSFW, dubcon/noncon, slave darling, crude and derogatory terms, classism, abuse of power, death threats

fem reader

Thinking about the poor kitchen maid who's suddenly told she's to be the spoiled Prince's new chambermaid.

It hasn’t even gone a day yet, but you already miss your job in the kitchens.

Sure, the sweltering heat of the ovens always left you in a state of fever, and kneading dough from dawn ‘til dusk made your arms acidic with burns – unyieldingly sore – not to mention never getting a chance to sit down and rest before collapsing in bed at the end of the day. But the smell of freshly baked buns and the chance to sneak a bite out of those that came out of the oven just a bit too burnt for serving had always felt like payment enough.

That and not having to deal with the royal family.

You know you should feel honored. You know it’s supposed to feel godsend to be picked to become the Prince’s personal servant. But… there was a reason he so often required a change of maid.

You still remember the last one they’d taken from the kitchen. She was pretty and young and shouldn’t have been working there in the first place – that’s what everyone used to say before she disappeared.

You wonder if such words carry curses… and what you did to deserve the same things being said about you.

You nearly cried standing outside The Prince’s chambers, chewing on your lip with his breakfast tray in hand, wondering what rumors were true – if he really was as terrible as everyone claims – wondering where the other kitchen maid went and whether you’d end up in the same place… wondering what you could do to keep it from happening.

You don’t know what you were standing there waiting for, nearly pissing yourself when you knew he was still out – busy hunting down a couple of runaway servants for sport. It was almost as though you feared the room itself, as though it would bite once crossing the threshold. 

None of the sorts happened, though a gust of warm wind hit you like the breath of a beast once you opened the door.

Inside, there were around a dozen heads mounted on the wall – dragons, bears, lions, wolves, and other creatures you weren’t too sure of – all with mouths big enough to bite yours off.

You took only a second to look at them before they looked as though they’d leap from the walls and eat you alive, just like you’d predicted.

You set the tray of food down on the bedside table and walked to the bathroom to draw his bath – deciding work would keep your mind off it.

Stepping out a second later, you fixed a fire in the hearth and made to make the bed, stretching the duvet and the quilt over the massive mattress while eyeing the thread count with envy and the hand-stitching with awe. Left to wonder how many ducks had been shot to stuff the mountain of plush pillows he’d all but thrown onto the floor to make space for himself.

Walking through the steam to the bath again, you opened the cupboard to pick out soaps and oils – overwhelmed by the sight of every shelf stocked full of all sorts you’d never seen – glad you had somewhat decent reading skills – unlike many of the other maids.

Soaping the water, you sat on the edge and waited with a hand wading through the warmth – and while biting your lip, you let your mind wander again – daydream, like it so often did – imagining what it would be like to feel it on the rest of your skin, warm and smooth, sucking all the stress out and leaving you soft like a newborn.

He watched you enjoy yourself, his stark eyes calmly assessing what they saw with a tilt of his head – trailing from the tip of your worn-out shoes to the tattered edge of your grey maid’s dress, up your lap to the cinch of your waist where your white apron was bound – taking his time until your eyes fluttered open to find him standing there.

You nearly fell into the water, hopping up to a stance. “Sorry, your majesty- I forgot myself! Please forgive me.” You bowed, looking down at the muddy stains on your gray shoes – in anxious wait of his wrath.

But instead of a backhanded slap that would send you straight to the stone floor or a spit of venom which would make you flinch and cry, he spoke a calm and patient “Come here-”

Though spoken in a certain tone of authority that forced you forward in quick steps until stopping just short of him – still with eyes downcast.

“Mh, I'm glad they haven't run out of cute ones down there.” He said then, once you stood only a hair's length from him – voice just as calm as before and inspiring just as much surprise in you still, though now joined with visible confusion in the crinkle it caused between your brows. A furrow that only deepened once he reached out his hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Your majesty?” You questioned.

“It’s master.” He corrected sharply, and you grew unsure if his voice wasn’t just cold rather than calm. “I like that better. Now quit wasting my time and undress me, slave – I have important shit to attend to today.”

You wavered only a second, feeling the words like a flick to the forehead. “Of course, your majes- master. Forgive me.” You blurted with hands quickly jumping forth to help detangle the knots keeping his robes together. 

Small fingers working hurriedly to appease him, setting aside the light leather cuirass upon his dresser once loosening it from his torso – wondering if you should tell him your name, though thinking better of it as he’d opted for simply referring to you as a slave instead of asking. 

You hadn’t been called that in a long while – slave – never by anyone in the kitchen, at least. You’d nearly forgotten it was what you were – a slave – and not just a busy member of the crown’s staff.

You bit your lip with another bow of your head, not wanting the Prince to see your face in its hurt while you undid the ties to the braces on his arms. The castle had become your home rather than a prison over the years, but… with the echo of your title wringing in that very heavy tone of his, along with standing there – bowing your head while undressing him of all fine body armor and robes – you couldn’t suppress the reminder of being of much lesser blood and birth. A fact that – despite never before having bothered you much – somehow seemed to strangle you now.

He’d dragged mud in with his boots – and given he’d not bothered taking them off, you were left to believe he wanted you to do it for him. And though humiliating as it was, you crouched down and began undoing the laces nonetheless – further feeling degraded while caressing the boot.

You pulled it off and repeated the action with the other foot – wondering if he meant you to remove his breeches and tunic as well until he, fortunately for you, lifted the shirt off and pulled the strings to the trousers himself. Leaving the undergarments in a pool on the floor next to you.

You kept your eyes down until he was completely submerged in the water, afraid to see something you weren’t allowed to – before getting up and padding back to the cupboard. You'd never been any lady's or lord's maid before, but you had been trained in the duties – and though heat rose to your cheeks at the thought of those duties, you still made to grab the soap and loofa in shakey hands before kneeling down on the stool next to the tub.

You’d never seen the prince if not from afar atop the castle balcony during speeches by his mother, the Queen – and had only ever heard of his appearance as something twisted and foul – but looking at him with his eyes closed, he really didn’t look as demonic as people had made him out to be. But further thinking about it, scrubbing his chest with soap and water and oil – you realized that none of those people were likely to have seen him up close either.

He looks every bit royal with his strength of face – cutting edges as though carved in marble, with chiseled muscles gleaming in the water and oil.

He was no doubt very handsome, you concluded silently – finally understanding why he was more of an eligible prince than what his attitude would otherwise allow – that, along with the kingdom’s riches, of course.

He sagged forward while you mindlessly amused your findings – though paying attention enough to take the cue – squeezing water onto his back with the sponge before rubbing over the broad flex of muscles, freezing once hearing him let out a heavy moan.

He leaned back again after you were done. Spilling water onto your dress once pulling his arms out to rest on the frame with a sigh – his chin tipped upward, lounging lazily on the back of the tub.

You reached for his face next – now with a silken cloth – stroking it lightly over the few droplets of blood splattered from when he must have cut into those poor runaways after hunting them down with swords and dogs in heel.

You shuddered some at the thought and must have let your eyes linger too long – or at least long enough not to notice him opening his – staring at you silently with eyes jaded in something that seemed to seize you by the throat.

“I’m sorry, ma-” You tried, but he seemed disinterested in it, reaching for you with wet fingers rubbing on the hem of your collar.

“You’re not dressed properly.” He said then, voice lazy yet loud – unimpressed, though not enough to be outright angry.

Gulping at the feel of his large hand so close to your neck, your voice only barely held it together. “I’m sorry, master. They hadn’t the right maid livery in my size, but I’ll have it ready tomo-” You started, hands folded neatly on your lap.

“Take it off.” He interrupted.

You blinked – tensing with your throat closing – sitting there stunned for a moment before mustering an ever so hesitant answer.

“Your majesty?”

“It’s master. Don’t make me tell you again, slave." He growled through grit teeth right at your face after yanking you close by the fabric of your shirt. "And you either dress properly, or you go naked. And right now, it looks like it’ll be the latter. Unless you want to be whipped for poor servitude?”

Your eyes – moon-big now while you shook your head – breathing thin through your nose. “No, master... I’ll undress.”

“Good.” He broke off your collar, dropping you back down onto your seat on the floor before rising with water rushing fast and heavy down along his limbs, dripping onto you as he stepped out with an unfettered splash.

You got up as well, beginning with the buttons on your shirt. Feeling him eye you while he wrapped himself in the towel you’d laid ready for him – his burning gaze leaving you goosefleshed and nearly in tears, bashful as you stepped out of your skirt – naked before him.

You didn’t dare look – even as he stepped toward you. Keeping your head bowed low – breath in shivers while eyeing the hand he reached for you, his fingers stopping just short of touching your bare skin.

“Clean yourself.” He said then, wafting the same hand to the tub he’d just used. Still filled with bubbles of lavender, though no doubt also of his own grime. But you wouldn’t refuse, no matter the degradation – your thoughts still lingering on the former kitchenmaid who’d disappeared not long after becoming the Prince's personal servant.

You stepped in, feeling the warmth close around your legs – still hot enough to prickle. Lowering yourself down, you sat there – swallowed by the bubbles with the loofa in hand, lathering your flesh with the mix of oil, soap, and water – brushing off soot and sweat – leaving you soft-skinned and smooth to the touch, but also riddled with goosebumps that wouldn't lower under the heavy leer the Prince was giving you.

“Get out and come here.” He said a short moment later, and you got out as told – taking slow steps toward the man, with footprints leaving soapy puddles in their wake.

He reached behind you to pull the pin from your worker's bun, letting your hair cascade in flowy wisps down around your shoulders – before brushing them behind you to clear your face and chest.

He’d dried off but didn’t offer you the towel – having dropped it into a wet pile on the floor – now reaching out to feel the smooth gloss of your breasts with brazen digits. Inspecting and assessing while caressing their weight as you stood there with your head still hung down low – silent and shivering.

Soon his hands fell from your chest down to judge your every curve, sliding over slippery slopes until reaching your cunt – stroking two thick fingers through the drippy curls found there. Gliding them between the lips, he circled your clit with his middle digit – tickling you – while dark eyes watched your lip quiver with a power-hungry gleam.

Stepping closer, the small smirk stretched on his face brushed your hairline where you tried bowing your head even lower in embarrassment – with brows tremoring similar to the hands hanging loosely by your sides.

“Aren’t you gonna bleat like a little lamb? Hmm... slave?” He asked then – low in a whisper, blowing gently into the sweat of your hair – cold enough to make you shiver even more. “The slut before you did….” He added with his smirk sharpening – lips stiffening against your skin where he brushed them in halfhearted kisses down your forehead and temple until reaching the shell of your ear. “I had to wring her little neck just to make her stop squealing.”

You sucked your teeth on impulse, jolting just a bit but not enough to make the dire mistake of moving. 

“I can tell you’re smarter. That’s good….” He continued with fingers kept at your cunt – playing your shivering core where you stood planted – dripping wet with bathwater and terrified of moving. “Weak little things like you do better understanding their place.”

Your hands formed loose fists, flinching at your sides as you kept from the urge to wring your thighs shut until he left your sensitivity alone.

“But smart or not, I believe you missed a spot earlier-” Both his hands found your hair instead. “So get down on your knees, slave.” 

One paw cupped the back of your skull in a ponytail while the other laid flat on your scalp, pushing you down until he had you leveled with his throbbing manhood – thick and high-strung – blushed red and strangled with veins – bobbing with might against the ant trail leading up to his navel and looking every bit impatient to be served. 

“Use this pretty head of yours to do better, and maybe I won't have to wring your little neck too.”

You eyed the swaying length with eyes crossing – sucking your lip at its intimidating reach and how it seemed to rise higher than your head – mumbling out a weak. “Yes, master...”

You dropped your jaw and produced your tongue – feeling him keep control of your head in his tightening hold, yanking your hair before you gave the large cock a flat lick – starting at the base of his balls until flicking off at the very tip.

Not too revolted by the mild taste of lavender and vegetable oil, you locked your lips around the head and sucked it in hopes he’d ease his grip.

“Sh-fuuhck- you really do know your place, huh slave?” He mouthed – his head hanging back in a heavy groan – holding your skull in both hands while using them to bob you against his crotch on repeat, lolling his hips inside the wet warm comfort of your mouth a little deeper for each time – only moaning with a laugh once you gave a whine for breath. “Sweet and obedient- just how I like- with a nice wet throat to fuck too….”

He thought of kicking you when you put your small hands against his thighs to brace yourself – but given how softly you held them there without nails and pinches, he decided he’d grant you the tiny mercy – thinking he’d later teach you to keep your hands on your knees when serving him head like a proper slave ought to.

Tipping his head back again, he looked down at you and the pretty curl between your brows and the cute sight of your teary eyes looking back up at him – giving a hiss at how it made his balls tug in excitement.

“Get up-” He growled, pulling you up by your hair and throat until you shoddily stood upright on unsteady feet – lightheadedly looking at him with dazed eyes and a wet pout. “’This tight cunt as loyal to the crown as your mouth, hm?” He asked with a hand smacking the soft place, making you yelp before he made to bury two of his thick fingers inside the taunt space.

You whined out softly at the intrusion – kept steady and close by the fist holding your throat in a choke – before he used the same hand to throw you over the bed – stomach first with a slap to your ass.

“Bow down, slave- and show me some fucking respect. You’re in the presence of royalty, remember?”

He mounted you with a pent-up groan – and a strong fist in your hair, pushing your face down into the mount of pillows you’d dallied with earlier. His knees dipped into the plush next to your hips, locking you beneath him with his spit-slickened meat resting between the soft valley of your ass, sliding between the cheeks impatiently.

Gathering your wrists in his other fist, he kept them crossed at the small of your spine – before pulling back and letting his cockhead fall right to your sweetly wet and welcoming opening – wasting little time in piercing it nice and deep in a direct aim – like an arrow shot straight through a target.

You winced and bucked your hips at the attack – feeling your walls weep and sting – fluttering hot around the size of it.

He leaned across your back – heavy against your shoulders with his mouth at your ear in gritty whispers. “I like docile slave girls like you who know a thing or two about pleasing a man. Good submissive sluts who understand they’re nothing but warm soft meat for men like me to devour.” 

His words groaned in nibbling bites on your earlobe – with a hand kept strict and harsh in yanking your head back for him as he slowly started dragging himself out and stuffing you so fast you couldn’t keep from yelping at the breach. Toes gripping the cold rocky tiles as your legs shook under you – being rocked into harsh and deep by the muscle strength of the beast on top.

“I'm not the first one you’ve bent over for, huh?” He continued with a grin, haughtily chuckling in low breathy condescension. “Probably the first one you’ve had take you in a proper bed, though, hm? And not in a hayloft on whatever dirty farm you grew up on.” 

Your fingernails punched into your palms where he wrung your wrists tight, keeping you pressed flat beneath him while he heedlessly rutted into you like you were nothing but his own snug fist. 

“I bet the whole village had a go seeing how pretty you turned out.” He laughed again, scoffing at it with his tongue tickling your ear. “Did they all fuck you like this? From behind like a farm animal? On all fours with your pretty face moaning in the mud?” Simpering, he sped up as though aroused by his own words.

Twisting your hair tighter and groaning louder against your ear – chasing your deepest parts with balls clapping hard against your clit.

“You’re all fuckin' inbreds- It’s a fucking miracle your filthy parents created something like you- prettier than all the bratty princesses I have to listen to yap all day.” He moaned – now fully drooling against your face, nomming on your ear with heavy breaths.

Fully draping you in his sweaty muscles, you lay gasping beneath the weight – cunt clenching hard around his shaft – making him hiss.

“Ah fuck- It's nice coming home to an obedient slave- so tight and warm- grateful for a royal cock in your poor slave cunt, huh?”

You winced at his pounding, so deep you felt it choke you – making your stomach fold and curl, trying to protect itself from the assault. “Yes- thank you, master- thank you-” You cried while he placed sloppy layers of wet kisses down your temple and cheek in return – until finally pulling off.

“Come here, down on your knees-” Ripping himself to his feet, he pulled you with him by the fist riddled in your hair and pushed you down at the foot end. 

Tugging on his cock in the other hand – quick faps in the slick – he kept you looking up at him while slapping the wet weight in sticky taps against your lips. 

“Open wide, slave- here it comes-” 

Only one more jerk and it all blew in thick white beams shooting across your face – spewing in clusters, hitting you once on your forehead and another over the nose - dripping to your lips into your gaping mouth where he focused on squeezing out the rest – tapping the plush creamy tip against your tongue while panting. 

“Mh-fuck- clean me off and swallow.”

With breaths heavy and slowing, he detangled his hand from your sweaty locks and made to pet your head instead. Gently running his fingers over your hair while watching you obediently kiss and lick up all the spill in tired and slow yet devoted strokes with your tongue until it was all prettily wiped clean.

“Good slave.” The Crown Prince hummed then.

Finally sounding satisfied – still with a lazy hand holding your head where you so faithfully sat at his feet, swallowing his seed, while his satiated cock grew limp in regard.

“Now go wash off while the water’s still warm, and come out and help me get dressed.” He ordered, voice groggily soft in the after high. “I have a full schedule today looking at potential brides… and I want my little farm animal by my side to keep me going insane from boredom.”

BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi

JJK – Sukuna, Gojo, Naoya

HQ – Oikawa, Sakusa

BLLK – Reo

DS – Doma, Muzan, Sanemi

[autumnalfallingleaves]

Okay, so I've been thinking. Season 3 gave us so much in terms of magic and the origins of magic, specifically, which got me thinking-- it's stated that all magic originally came from Fairy Country, and, following that, all magical creatures came from there, which should include things like trolls and nisse, right? But young Johanna states that the sun never truly sets in Fairy Country, which wouldn't work for trolls, unless they were constantly in hiding. However, that wouldn't really seem good evolution-wise. Seems kind of weird, right? And nisse are another matter-- they are spirits, which suggests Wild Magic, but are primarily found in domestic spaces, thus suggesting a use of at least some Domestic Magic. Last I checked, Fairy Country doesn't seem to really have any houses (save for Phinium and Lydia's) or uses for house spirits. So what's the common denominator for two species that don't seem to have any common threads? And why do trolls and nisse seem to stand out in particular for being specifically not geared to Fairy Country, evolution notwithstanding?

One word: giants.

What about them? you ask. For that, we need to turn to the original Hilda: Hildafolk's Hilda and the Midnight Giant.

In the back of the graphic novel, we are presented with a visual guide to the mountain giants, which you can find me yelling about here. In that guide, we get this guy:

Who is named Björg, and, according to the book, was "the outcast of the group. He was fearful of the other giants and not well liked. When the others left he went into hiding. Trolls and nisse are descended from him." So this guy is the common link, giving trolls and nisse a common ancestor and a reason for why they may be the outliers in terms of magical beings. The mountain giants are now show canon, per the Faratok Tree episode, and seem to be lifted nearly 1:1 from the book.

From left to right are Halldór, Sigmund, Einarr, Valfreyja (who actually has a slightly different design from the graphic novels), Gertl, Aldinn, Bliða, Heimskr, and Jaðarrok. This basically confirms that all the giants listed in the graphic novel exist in the show, which means that we can extrapolate that Björg also exists, and seems to be in hiding, as the blurb suggests. I'm also thinking, based on the fact that the giants were on Earth really before humans were, that they left Fairy Country thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, of years ago, shaping Earth to their liking through the years. This may mean that, while the other giants stayed together, Björg went off and did his own thing, which, I'm thinking, perhaps may have been creating the species that would go on to split and become trolls and nisse respectively.

With the two species being so well-suited to Earth, my guess, taking all of this, is that they were created and Earth and were never native to Fairy Country-- they've got ancestral roots there, but it was never their true home. That's how we get a species that can only live in the dark, and evolved to do so, and a species that has a symbiotic relationships with humans and their houses, which create Nowhere Space.

Now, to go further, my guess is that nisse evolved into their own species later than trolls, as trolls were likely present before humans. The nisse branched off as their own species likely when a particularly small, particularly hairy, and particularly magical troll managed to get into the newly-created Nowhere Space and made a home out of it, which then became the nisse as we know them now.

Anyway. This magic system. I've got Thoughts™️

[sodamnradd]

“Give it up, Draco. You found what people spend a lifetime searching for, and you just let her leave without you.” Blaise fell back onto the leather sofa and crossed his ankles, looking pensively into the fire. “What I don’t understand is why. You keep saying that if anyone will win, it’s her. And yet here you are.”

Draco opened his mouth to deny, deny, deny. But what was the point? Blaise had seen them together in the prefects’ bath, and later, when Draco tried brushing it off as a casual hook-up, Blaise had only shaken his head and said, ‘I saw your face,’ as if that was supposed to override any lies that came out of Draco’s mouth.

His stomach had been a tangle of nerves since Granger had kissed him goodbye and disappeared with Potter and Weasley to save the world. That was the issue with Gryffindors, forever killing themselves over the next big heroic deed. He wasn’t like them.

“What would you have done?” sniped Draco. It was easy to cast judgement from afar, but Blaise wasn’t living it. “Would you just turn your back on your mother? On your friends? To hell with everyone if you’re in love?”

Blaise gave him a side-long look, grinning. “Are you in love?”

“You seem to think I am.”

“Do you see a future with her?”

“If the world wasn’t so fucked up?”

“Yeah.”

Draco didn’t really have to imagine it because it’s all he’d been thinking about since he first kissed Granger nine months ago.

It wasn’t just her physical being—the charged, tantalising pull of their bodies like opposing magnets—but a vision of what their life could look like. Granger didn’t need pure-blood persuasion to pave her way into the world. She could be self-made. And Draco would stand proudly beside her, as he did best. He could manage the accounts, pursue his hobbies, while ensuring Granger never felt alone navigating her mountainous ambitions.

Draco lived a satiated life, but with Hermione, all he knew was starvation. She was the one thing he didn’t want to barter or consume in small bites. If he had her, he was going to feast.

“It’s not that simple,” he concluded. “It’s not some playground romance anymore. She’s out there risking her life. I can’t afford to love her how I want if she’s just going to wind up dead.”

“Take this from someone who’s buried seven fathers—death is preventable.”

Draco looked up at Blaise, surprised.

His friend had an eerie look on his face, made worse by the fire casting strange shadows over him, but Draco knew the Zabinis had a complicated relationship with murder. And that’s what he meant: murder was preventable, not death.

“What makes you think I could protect her any better than Potter could?”

“The Dark Lord trusts you, you’re a sneaky fuck, and you’re in love. Nobody will fight harder to win.”

~

Donning a backpack full of survival gear, his wand, and the warmest clothes he owned, Draco used their matching bracelets to Port-Key to Granger the next Saturday morning.

She had woven the bracelets with colourful thread—red and gold for him, green and silver for her—and the next week, Draco had adhered matching charms to them. She didn’t know that he could sense her through it. That when she fingered the cool metal engraved with his constellation at night, he felt her presence. Or that it was a gateway to each other using the right spell.

Maybe he’d known he’d follow her all along.

The bracelet transported Draco to lush, crawling hills and enormous, craggy rocks. The sky hung bright white above him. He could sense Granger’s magic in the air, or maybe it was her perfume drifting in the breeze. He inhaled deeply, feeling closer to her already.

There was nobody around when he heard the gasp directly behind him.

He turned and saw the air wobble. The ward he hadn’t realised was there descended. Granger stood two feet away, eyes wide and lips parted. She was thin and pale and seemed afraid.

Regret washed over him. He should have come sooner.

“How do I know it’s really you?” she demanded, wand clutched tightly by her side, a combination of fear and hope flickering in her eyes.

Draco dropped his bag by his feet, taking three strong strides forward. He framed her cold cheeks in his hands, hoping she saw the look on his face and remembered how much she meant to him. He said, “Because nobody else knows how much I love you.”

He kissed her, and a second later, Granger threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back, sobbing.

“I’m here to stay,” he reassured her, holding her tightly. “I’m here to fight.”

And he thought of Blaise in the Slytherin common room, the only one who knew of Draco’s whereabouts, and their discussions of love and death. And he thought of the future he’d seen with Hermione, and he thought he could have it, maybe even a better version of it. One that didn’t involve him at home, pursuing hobbies, but being worth something, too. He could be that. He wanted to be that.

Draco wanted to feast.

(873 words, inspired by Don't Swallow The Cap by The National)

[six-white-venus]

the worst trait of me and my family is probably this: we never learned to say the word sorry.

i) my best friend and i, we are no people. knives? maybe. liars? definitely. but people? i’m not so sure.

knives were never forged to be tender (what a shame, what a shame) and we too, fall and slay what we meant to protect. him and i, we go for the throat when we clash. we hurt and bleed and oh, i should be terrified, i should be running for my life, but all i am is tired and a bit lonely and would really like his arms around me.

( “can we please stop fighting now.”

“oh god yes please.”)

because time and time again, this man has held my heart in his hands and cleaned its festering wounds with cotton dipped in alcohol (always the healer, always the lover) and wrapped gauze around them with clinical precision. and i have walked through the maze of his head and tended to his withering garden, have dragged the sun and fresh air and all the oceans to the barren land to make it bloom (always the poet, always the lover).

him and i, we have never needed words because we are knives forged in the same fire and at the end of the day, we both know that he will be the one who wordlessly stitches my broken heart and i will be the one who sings him to sleep.

ii) let me paint you a picture:

blue that fades into red that fades into black that fades into blue that fades into red. loud, clashing and nonsensical. a pit in your stomach that was dug with desperation and blunt fingernails. how do you colour anger that is also pain, grief, hate, love, fear and truth? the smell of the paint is foul and clogs your windpipes. blunt fingernails and blue and black and madness. can you bear to look at what you created without flinching?

that’s what anger looks like on my father. a horror. a mottled bruise. a hellfire.

all his life, my father has been scorned, belittled, beaten, spat on. his mother didn’t love him right because her mother didn’t love her right. my dad loves like he hates. something is fucked in his head and heart and his words fade into black and blue and red and this shitshow always ends with me sobbing, bleeding, dying on the floor. my father watches with his hackles raised and his eyes red and wide and glowing. once wounded, an animal never sheathes its claws. it strikes the ones it loves and walks away with its head held high and hands trembling.

but here’s what happens when the curtains close: he pulls me into his arms and brings me tea. he wipes away my tears with hands that has moved mountains to make me smile. he kisses my forehead and tells me that his mom didn’t love him right. my grief is like anger and indignation and love. i wrap my arms around him and cry all the tears he never had the luxury to. who should say sorry, really? is it him or his mom or his mom’s mom or this stupid fucking world? my father has never said the word sorry. he never needed to. this is what love looks like on us. a horror. a mottled bruise. a hellfire.

iii) despite it all, i am not usually an angry person. i take after my father and my mother, after all. i rage like my mother (quick, loud, fire that burns out almost as quickly as it sparked to life) and fight like my father (aim, shoot, bullseye). my sister does something even mildly upsetting and before i know it, i’m cursing her to be miserable till she dies. not even an hour later i’m draping myself over her shoulder and bugging her till she rolls her eyes and smiles ever so slightly.

(“do you have no shame?”

“yeah no i don’t think so.”)

my family and i, we never learned to say the word sorry. because the word sorry never meant sorry, not to us. because at the end of the day, that’s all it is: a word. and it sticks to the back of my tongue and the dents of my molars and gets tangled in my mouth when i try to spit it out. so i grab it by its throat and thread it into my being. i find it so much easier to hide my pathetic inability to do one thing that doesn’t scream that there's something wrong with me with the truth of another three words:

“i love you”

and they are always echoed back to me, just a few million times more tender, in ways only we can understand.

“yeah, i know.”

“that’s great, but there’s no escaping dishes duty.”

“oh, shut up, you.”

“what’s that for?”

a pause and a hum.

“i love you too.”

[juststoriesintheend]

I. Crossroads

Series Pairing: eventual Master Sol x Reader

Chapter Content: force visions, implied stalking

i suggest looking over the full list of content warnings on the masterlist page as this fic contains some darker themes

《 [series masterlist] 》

The Ushruu City Spaceport is less crowded than Helios would have anticipated, being that it serves as the main travel hub for the entire planet and the nearby hyperspace lanes. He would have liked to have a bit more cover, but there is only so much he can plan for. As it stands, he fits in better than on any other planet he’s visited recently - the population seems to be mostly human scattered with a handful of insectoid Surronians and pachydermic Aki-Aki.

He glides between disembarking passengers, his hood pulled up over his head. There is a thread that runs through this planet to the heart of him, damp and trembling like morning dew on a spider’s web. It hums when he plucks at it, sending out ripples in the Force that sound like a child’s nightmare or an adult’s scream - it’s the purest concentration of fear he’s ever felt. The Enchantress’ temple. He’s sure of it.

Encouraged, Helios cleaves through the crowd with renewed fervor and comes stumbling out of the spaceport into the multi-layered suburbia of the city. Sprawled across the valley floor are countless rows of stone and wood buildings, damp with the lingering remnants of the last monsoon. There’s enough light left from the waning twilight that Helios can make out a trail of lights leading from the city to the outskirts, somewhere in the foothills and encroaching slopes of the surrounding mountains and their impenetrable forests. When he focuses again, he’s rewarded with a subtle confirmation through the Force.

Fear is a powerful tool. He’s learned it well these past years, learned to accept its fury and its righteousness, learned how to stand strong against its current when it batters him against the short of his heart, and he knows now how to use it, to bend it to his will. So, when he pulls at that string again, he chases its responding cry and lets the sound drip down his spine to pool in his gut. But the string, he finds, doesn’t lead him to the chasm that sits at the edge of the valley, carved by water and the steady passing of time. It leads him to an apartment crowded beneath the canopy of a great tree.

Helios frowns. This is… not the temple of the Enchantress. He surveys the line of parked speeders and the clothesline strung from a branch to a window on the second floor, then the thinning streaks of paint on the front door - wood, oddly enough - and he wonders if he has finally lost himself to old age and idiocy. But no, no he hasn’t. Up on the second floor, behind the window, he feels a ripple in the Force, a cry that comes from within the mind rather than the mouth.

Sparing only a moment to ensure no one is around to watch, he closes his eyes and simply feels, his arm outstretched, his fingers curling around empty air. The Force shows him what he cannot see, it speaks to him in the voice he’s been hearing, the voice crying for mercy from a dream that cannot be eluded. A figure lies behind the window, curled up on a threadbare mattress and trembling in a thick fog of fear.

This is the string he had pulled, the dampness of your sweat slicking the web of fate as you fell further and further into your own despair. Helios marvels at the strength of it. No living Jedi or Sith should be capable of this much strength and vibrancy in the Force, not enough to entirely derail his focus and eclipse the signature of a vergence, but it might be possible if you were drawing upon the vergence. He knows first hand the sort of magic that can manifest itself in the wake of a vergence, intentionally or not.

The wooden door gives way easily to his persuasion, and the security chain on the inside hangs loose when he enters the apartment. A holoscreen on the far wall is playing something that looks vaguely Mandalorian and a figure sleeps on the sofa below, bathed in its light, but it isn’t you. He takes the stairs two at a time and steps into your room with hardly a sound beyond the gentle whisper of his cloak, and is rewarded with the image of you in your bed, your mouth and brows deeply furrowed as you twitch through your dreams.

A cursory glance is all he needs to view them. Terror and confusion go hand in hand here, elevated above a cascading wall of water that means to drown you. Helios hears a voice in the water, too distorted to fully discern but the pity reads loud and clear, accompanied by flashes of people and places that he can only assume are your own memories. It’s too much, too loud, too suffocating, and he stumbles out of your mind with enough force to drop himself to one knee.

It feels like twenty years pass in the recesses of his mind, twenty years of cycling through that awful day, the day that everything changed. He sees a mother’s face and her daughter’s eyes, and he very nearly suffocates under the weight of it, but he comes to in the end, breathless and crying and so very weak, but planted firmly in reality once more. Helios blinks. Then he blinks again.

You’re incredibly strong. Vergence or not, your sensitivity to the Force is enough to trigger his own memories. He studies you, letting his breath come back to him as he picks you apart like a puzzle he doesn’t have the capacity to solve. The Jedi should have found you as a child, yet you remain on Ushruu, unmapped and unknown like the very vergence he came here to find, and something deep inside him thrills at that realization.

Nearly twenty years worth of forgotten dreams flood his senses in a single instant. Things he thought he’d grown beyond, things he thought no longer served him, they call to him now in the light of your strength. The Force brought him here. It had to have done that for a reason. And suddenly, the pieces of his life tainted and marred by impulsivity and a broken desire for something more, they all come screaming into place.

Stumbling back onto two legs with all the grace of a drunken Devaronian, Helios understands now what he must do. He tries to sort out the fractured images of your soul that you branded upon him as he casts his eyes about your room, cataloging each printed holopic, streak of paint, and paper book he sees. He wants to make a map of you and connect the points between your bleeding heart and Force-fueled terror, and he hopes - more than anything - that he’ll find himself caught at one of your many crossroads.

The shop is quiet when you enter. The market outside continues to squabble and barter, of course, but here it feels faint and far away. The familiar scent of incense and freshly carved bark hits your nostrils as you drop down from one step to the next, steadily lowering yourself further into the heart of the room.

“Morning, Dada.”

The Aki-Aki glances up at the sound of her name, but quickly drops her head back to her work. “You’re annoyingly chipper. What’s wrong with you?”

“Saw your beautiful face and all my problems melted away.”

This time, when she looks up, her eyes stay fixed on you. “Don’t try your charm on me today, kijana.” She wags her wrench in your direction, thoroughly unimpressed. “You’re late again.”

A glance at the wall chrono confirms as much. It’s embarrassing, honestly, but explaining why will just make you sound even crazier than Dada already thinks you are. “I know,” you groan as you squeeze behind the counter. “I’m sorry. I’ll be early tomorrow, I promise.”

The datacenter beeps when it scans your comm, and its intercom clicks, stalls, then reboots before finally processing. “Daily shift: started. You are twelve minutes late.”

“Yeah, thanks, I know.”

Dada just shakes her head. She’s a kriffing saint for putting up with you for so long, but you’re not planning to ask her why she does just in case she changes her mind and fires you. “Deliveries are on the back step. You’ll have to stop by the old fishery.”

You’ve already meandered into the back room by then, but the mention of your destination already has you curling your lip. Just thinking about that place sends shivers up and down your spine, let alone actually having to go inside… There’s nothing you can do about it now except grin and bear it.

The screen door whines when you swing it open, which mercifully covers your frustrated mumbling. “Or you could just not sell to that old kook and then I wouldn’t have to go there, but that’s a silly idea, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t hear you, which is for the best, really. Dada needs the money as much as you do; she’ll sell to anyone with credits, doesn’t matter who, where, or what they are. It’s not her fault that place makes you want to crawl out of your skin and die.

Your speeder’s packed up several minutes later, the little hoverbox attached to the back filled almost to the point of overflow as it always is at the first of the month. A nicely patterned kerchief strapped in place over the top gives you enough confidence that nothing will be falling out along the way, and, with a final farewell and a promise to be back before sundown, you’re off.

It’s just late enough in the morning that most merchants have already opened their shops and formed their own tiny flocks of customers, but the crowd thins out the further you travel from Dada’s apothecary. When you come to the trickling edges of the city about an hour later, there’s hardly anyone around. It’s just you, the trees, and the fishery that waits for you at the end of a little dirt path, beaten down by the weight and wear of time and footsteps too numerous to count.

It’s just your imagination. That’s what you tell yourself every time you come here. The horrible, inky darkness that consumes your heart when you deliver old Brijul’s medicine, it’s just your mind playing tricks on you, summoning demons where there are none. The images that swirl behind your eyes, always bloody and violent and so, so dark, they’re nothing but the result of an overactive imagination, unchecked anxiety, and the generations worth of stories passed down from mother to child.

So why does your skin still crawl when the fishery comes rolling into view? Why do you look over your shoulder, terrified you’ll find something wicked and dark breathing down your neck? Why do you feel like you’re drowning every time you pass under its shadow?

Brijul’s a sweet old man. His hearing went long ago and so did the majority of his teeth, but he always greets you with a smile and an extra credit for your troubles. You tell him you hope he feels better soon, and he gestures his thanks, and then you speed out of there like the darkest depths of hell itself are biting at your heels, but the fishery and its shadowy, spindled fingers dig into your mind long after you’ve gone.

You pull over into the nearest unfenced yard and clamber off your speeder gracelessly, palms digging into your eyes as if you could claw yourself free of the voices, the watery deep, the faces of men long dead that rise each night to haunt you. You’re distantly aware of your knees hitting earth and the brush of grass on your face, but the sensations are muted in comparison with the visions, these hallucinations you’ve been cursed to endure. Over and over again, you see things you wouldn’t wish on any other soul - fire-streaked eyes that glow unnaturally in the dark, a faceless man with a blade of white-hot fire in his hands, the cold abyss that lies at the bottom of the river, calling you by name.

Make it stop, make it stop, please!

Something touches you and you scream, and the darkness fills your vision before suddenly flashing white. Your body catapults forward. There’s nothing for a very long moment, just the pounding of your pulse and the rush of blood in your ears, and the vaguely shaped idea of a world around you, bits of blue and a cacophony of green. And brown. Not the reddish-brown of the earth, but the coco-colored warmth of a hearth in the winter, streaked with soot. You blink, and then you realize it’s not a hearth at all, but a man.

“Are you alright?”

The streak of brown you’d seen a moment ago is his cloak. It looks far too big on him, like the billowing sleeves and large hood were made for someone of a greater stature. The soot marking his frame are his eyes and the shoulder-length bit of hair, dark as charcoal. How had you managed to confuse yourself so badly on the basics of the human form? The world spins around you as the man helps you to your feet, and you find yourself blanching in horror at just how lost you feel. It’s never been this bad before, not in your waking hours.

The man gently clasps your shoulder, and the pressure from his fingertips jolts you back into reality. He repeats the question, slower and with a lower intonation, as his eyes survey you.

“I-I’m fine. I’m fine, thank you.” You politely wave away his concerned expression. “I’m sorry. Was this, um, your yard that I crashed into? I can pay you back if I damaged anything.”

It’s not much of a crash seeing as your speeder’s still hovering in place exactly where it ought to be, but what else can you call it? A ‘day-terror induced panic attack’?

“Just passing by,” the man says after a minute. His hand is still settled on your shoulder. “Are you hurt? You screamed when I touched you.”

This is awful. It’s agonizing, feeling so exposed and awkward in front of a total stranger because of some stupid anxiety attack that you can’t even control. Your discomfort manifests first as a grimace, then morphs into something smile adjacent. “No, I’m okay. I think something might’ve stung me, that’s all.” And it’s the worst lie you’ve ever told.

The man narrows his eyes, not exactly suspiciously, but he’s clearly unfazed and unimpressed by your lie. He looks like he wants to say something, and you’re about to pry yourself out of his hands and book it, when a shout comes from across the yard. It’s the woman who lives here.

“Are ya alright?” she shouts from the stoop. “Ya took quite a tumble!”

Bless this woman, she’s kind and she’s the perfect distraction to tear yourself out of this stranger’s grasp. “Just fine, ma’am, thank you! I’ll be out of your hair in just a sec.” To the stranger you offer a nod of thanks. “I appreciate your help, sir, but I have to get back to work. Have a nice day, okay?”

He doesn’t say anything else, but his eyes linger. You feel them on your back until the road bends and takes you out of sight.

Discontent pools in your belly. This is turning out to be one of the worst days you’ve had in years.

taglist: @wolffegirlsunite @thatlittlered @evyiione @padawancat97

[crisiscutie]

Dissidia Kadaj/Dissidia Darling headcanons

As the second main pairing of the Dissidia AU, why not give it some backstory? This is based on Sephiroth and Kadaj's storylines in Opera Omnia! Featuring Aerith/Darling and Sephiroth/Darling.

Content Warning: Long Headcanons

༻❁༺ You were separated from Sephiroth and Seymour after a fearsome battle with the summon Shinryu, lost in the chaos that unfolded after the battle.

༻❁༺ You were found comatose by the Warriors of Materia, your life force hanging by a thread. They were split whether to help you, given your affiliation with Sephiroth and Seymour and from previous clashes you had with the warriors. Some desired your demise, while others had faith in you.

༻❁༺ Your childhood friend, Kieran, vouched for you, saying that you were being manipulated by Sephiroth, just like you were by your father back in your world.

༻❁༺ So they took you back to the World of Light and made sure to keep a vigilant eye on you, with Cloud, Zack, and Tifa taking special care.

༻❁༺ Despite knowing full well about what you've done for Sephiroth, Aerith still volunteered to care for you as you recovered.

༻❁༺ Kadaj wasn't sure how to feel about you. Should it be hatred because you were an ally of Sephiroth? But there was something about you that made him feel closer to home, closer to being whole.

༻❁༺ Aerith also sensed something strange about you. She didn't want to believe it, but the negative energy within you felt familiar to her. She couldn't help but be reminded of JENOVA and Sephiroth's negative lifesteam, all too familiar from her own time in the lifestream.

༻❁༺ She also noticed Kadaj lurking by you as well, little by little. Not to mention, Zack and Cloud always seemed to have headaches and low energy levels, which only furthered her suspicions.

༻❁༺ During the discussion about your situation and Sephiroth's intentions, she stayed quiet, attentively listening to Kieran as he talked his childhood with you and the ability of summoners like yourself to harness energy (normally from crystals) to create celestial beings from other planes of existence.

༻❁༺ Upon hearing this information, concern and fear hung in the air for everyone, leaving Cloud as the only one willing to ask the dreaded question.

༻❁༺ "...If she is to summon JENOVA for Sephiroth, then where is it?" He asked, as everyone became gravely silent. Aerith watched him closely as he raised his hand to his temple afterwards, a subtle grimace of pain on his face..

༻❁༺ Kadaj himself stood in silence, his breath quickening with anticipation. Could it be? Was the long-awaited reunion upon him? His heart thumped against his chest, echoing in his ears. His purpose, at last, acknowledged. But now, faced with her presence, his mind raced. What should he do? What should he say!?

༻❁༺ Aerith already knew the awful answer, but she had prayed that she wasn't right. But now, the mountain of evidence left little room for doubt. "JENOVA is growing inside her," she somberly said, eliciting a few gasps.

༻❁༺ But just as she's nurturing the remnant of the man who killed her in her past life, Aerith firmly believed in your salvation, even when you will become one with the calamity that had wiped out her people. Cloud and Zack were surprised by her determination more than anyone.

༻❁༺ Later on, your childhood friend visited your bedside. He expressed his regrets, as he won't be around when you wake up. He must assist his fellow warriors in another world. Even while unconscious, the sadness still consumed your heart as a single tear fell from your closed eyes when he left the room.

༻❁༺ You stirred in your unconscious state later, as Sephiroth's voice echoed in your mind. "Mother, where are you!?" You grimaced, tossing in your sleep as he spoke more. "You belong with us, darling. Your destiny..." his velvety voice now held hints of a malicious growl.

༻❁༺ Aerith and Kadaj rushed to your bedside as they heard your panted whimpers. The words of Sephiroth (or JENOVA?) intensified, growing louder and more aggressive in your mind. "The Reunion!"

༻❁༺In an instant, your eyes opened, your breathing frantic as you quickly took in your surroundings. Your intense gaze then met Kadaj's, sparks igniting within you as you spoke. "S-Sephiroth?"

༻❁༺ Kadaj's heart sunk in his chest as that name escaped your lips, his slit eyes welling up with tears. That familiar doubt and fear within him resurfaced, gnawing at his insides. Surely, you're still in a stupor? That shouldn't mean that you don't know him or that Mother preferred Sephiroth over him!

༻❁༺ His lips moved, but no sound escaped them. He silently searched for the words he longed to say, but they eluded him. So he stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

༻❁༺ Aerith's concerned gaze followed his departure as she promised herself to check on him later. She then redirected her attention towards you with a warm smile.

༻❁༺ "Hey, how are you?" Her voice was tender as she placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I'm Aerith, a friend of Kieran's." Your eyes widened at the mention of Kieran's name. "Looks like I have a lot to catch you up on!"

There'll be more!

[r1mmvhub]

✄ siren song

tw: +18, aged up, au, mermaid, open end, an unpleasant description character: ran haitani/rindou haitani summary: rindou had already forgotten about him, as well as about everyone and everything. an imaginary world is a forest with cruel rules in it. kill or succumb to the axe of the creator, only enjoying it, dying in the orgasm of a guinea pig, bequeathed by the works of leopold von sacher-masoch.

«oh look who's laughing now, baby big hunter man become the prey oh, oh look who's laughing now, baby the siren song begin to play» ⤷ shayfer james ( siren song )

art by rlackgus

the snow crunches freshly under rindou's weight, continuing the traces of his sole — a massive pattern with the number 41. fluffy branches of fir trees rustle against his jacket, shaking off the snow, leaving a wet trail on his clothes and face, burning hotly with the cold of a january morning.

the fog enveloped the mountains of tosca, and rindou still has the same dream: a black horse (clearly standing out among the entire landscape of the forest) trampled on the spot, holding steady on the ice, persistently and angrily punching a new hole in the frozen river with its front hooves, as if the previous ones were not enough, not enough splashed icy water, but small knuckles fish.

driven by a recurring dream, unlimited by nothing, fanned by the evil and doom of god, by a single obsessive thought. «not because of a paranoid spot in the soul and one gyrus of a slippery, wonderful, abnormal brain» — the fugitive from the whole world convinced himself, lost somewhere in the forest of sodomites and masochists, so confidently parallel to each other in creativity and inner "self", covered with snowdrifts of innocence and purity. in the same way, the runaway brother, — rindou reasoned, — is fanned by a riot of emotions and feelings that so poisoned the subconscious and the reality of consciousness itself, stretched from heart to heart by one red line, the thread on which everything rests, on which lies all responsibility. responsibility for what has been done. our values should be responsible for guiding us through our life path, if we stay true to them, our actions will always be the most appropriate.

rindou had already forgotten about him, as well as about everyone and everything. an imaginary world — is a forest with cruel rules in it. kill or succumb to the axe of the creator, only enjoying it, dying in the orgasm of a guinea pig, bequeathed by the works of leopold von sacher-masoch.

he believes that he died a long time ago somewhere in the open sea, or was crushed by beams on a construction site, or, inadvertently leaning out of the bus window at high speed, a pole blew off his head, or wild animals in the cursed forest chewed his flesh, or weights were tied to his magnificent hair and dragged underground, or he became one of the victims of a crazy doctor somewhere in western europe, who makes live whore dolls, completely depriving them of speech, hearing, vision, knocking out their teeth so that the penis can enter the desecrated mouth pleasantly, feeding them just like babies — out of the bottle, before amputating the legs and arms, so that the homemade lolita would certainly not leave. so it happens in life that sinful conquerors of new lands, crossing seas and oceans, bring — heresy and lust to the people — who previously lived according to god's laws, observed those rituals and customs that only bring them closer to the status of the sublime. rindou prefers to keep quiet about the incident that happened between them. as if enchanted by some drowned woman, carrying obvious fear and the smell of rot in her hair, with horsey speed — galloping — pushing fear with her very fingers, for some reason meat in texture, into the hole of his mind. «the west is to blame for everything» — rindou thought, coming out onto the shore of a frozen river.

under the water, the guy saw only a dark wilderness. the axe didn't break the ice well, so he just continued to stare into the shallow cut — the wound — of the ice, picking at the frozen water with his fingers, bringing infections to the young river. he sees complex patterns of ice (apparently horses really passed through here), fear crept up like a rough lump right into his throat, boiling his blood, hitting his head with adrenaline, but still holding on persistently and angrily.

as if alive, the water began to breathe, heaving ice like a man's chest. with a thud, something crashed into the ice, declaring itself, trying to scream at the top of its voice. and rin guessed, he ran back with animal fear, but he guessed… no, he k n e w who w a s m a k i n g himself known.

13.12.1999.

2 2 : 3 7 pm

— i paint pictures, have i told you before?

ran listened to his brother peacefully, untwisting his wet braids, feeling the cold still not go away, and the split ends of his hair were still covered with frost, but with a new movement of his fingers, he immediately came off, leaving a memory of himself like a dotted dew.

— and draw me.

the elder haitani acts abruptly, almost imperceptibly throws the stretched elastic bands somewhere to the side, not caring about them anymore, only splashing more water with a slippery resemblance to a tail with almost a million scales of some kind of wonderful, abnormal color that goes to the very base of the tail. «whore» — rindou thinks, wiping his wet hands on his pants, watching his brother sit back, sticking his tail out of the tub, barely moving it.

14.12.1999.

0 0 : 5 1 am

the tail moves slightly. his thin bones — like a transparent accordion — improperly protrude through the red, stringy meat hanging from the ceramic with an ordinary cloth pressed into the blood.

— don't move, ran, — rindou says sternly, making another brush stroke.

— i'm suffering, — the merman says, almost crying, clutching the hot wound of his tail with heaviness and gasping, from which blood flows and turns the bath into a bloodbath. he writhes in pain, angering his brother in the same second. ran likes it. like to see brother angry, a l i v e. ran likes pain in any form, and it's not for nothing that he lives in this forest. the forest is guided by the vulnerable work of hieronymus bosch and all the scandalous writers during the revolutionary france. it seeps through the body, making us forget ourselves, satisfying the innermost desires of the most daring minds, without limiting ourselves to anything.

dipping his brush into an open wound, tickling the hairs of a squirrel's fur, or pig's stubble, which rindo did not understand (and did not really want to), the bleeding walls of the fish tail, given by poseidon and all the features of hell, he returned to the painting, painting his brother's lips with blood like lipstick (on canvas) in bright red, making them such a genuinely provocative accent, inviting, attractive.

— i like it, — ran sighs, glancing wildly at his portrait, which is so beautiful, amorous and angry, not like it is in real life. he speaks indistinctly, but with a smile that makes it difficult to tell that he wasn't forced to press his forehead like that. — like it…

it's not just the forest that is responsible for our personality changes, and it's not the innovations from other countries, — that the reader's dear friend hated so much, — decorated with a beautiful wrapper and a lush bow on top. life is such a strange, meaningless and complete lack of something moral for the passage of time that bypassing these very moral values has already become a habit. even this is becoming full of nonsense. but someone denies their guilt and throws it on someone (in our case, something) else.

blood flows in a thin thread straight down the tail, falling in dull drops into the jar that rindou kindly placed, not letting the good go to waste. wanting to help, to do the best he could, he just finished off with a furious erection in his pants and full of self-satisfaction in his chest.

[vintersang]

@dangaer has walked into the unknown.

Her hands have been trembling all day, starting ever since the gates were opened for her coronation day. Only God knew this, but Elsa has used her three years to try to prepare herself for the day where she must take her vows. Once a week, maybe twice a week if she was feeling brave, she would secretly go to the royal chapel to train herself. She would grasp the solid scepter and orb, gold and ancient, without the use of her gloves. She should lose herself in prayer when visiting the royal chapel, but all she could do was practice and practice on holding her pose.

Three years of private training by herself were wasted, however... Frost still crept over the sceptre and orb the moment she was forced to remove her gloves, much to her dismay. No one, she hoped, would notice the sight of their newly crowned queen. They may see her stiff shoulders, maybe even the rigidness of her hands, but hopefully not the chill in the air. Completing one single day is all she needed to worry. Her coronation day may have almost gone terrible, but she managed to handle such a daunting task... only by a thread of pure luck.

Everything was almost over. All she had to do is survive the celebrations until it was time to retire back to her bedchamber, safe and all alone. She skillfully avoided invitations to dance, weaving together excuse after excuse. Not many, however, had the courage to ask for her hand. One messy conversation with Anna, her dearest sister, is all that it took for her world to come crashing down before her very eyes. Ice burst forth, dangerous and sharp and refusing to listen to her. Everyone saw the sight play out, including many wide-eyed foreign guests— The Duke of Weselton cried out of the word she feared most: Sorcery!

One word is all it took for Elsa to flee from her own home.

It rang in her mind, louder than any church bell.

The horror of the people, her people, played back in her mind with each step she took across the lake. She ran and ran and ran, adrenaline fueling her legs to keep moving. She ran until her lungs burned. She left a trail of decay in her wake, frost creeping over everything around her. Elsa didn't know how much time she has lost, but soon the world was covered in snow. The cool summer night is gone, replaced with a cold that was more colder than the corpse of a body. The wind howls, matching the unseen storm within her racing heart...

Fat snowflakes fall from the heavens above, not showing any signs of stopping any time soon. The onslaught of snow and loud wind make a violent yet beautiful dance. Anyone caught in this weather would no doubt lose their bearings... if they weren't already freezing to death. Elsa pushed forward, still wearing her coronation dress. She kept moving, not bothered by the weather. She only had one single thought in her mind: Get as far away from Arendelle as possible.

How many in attendance saw her secret become revealed? She knew there were many influential people at her party, ranging from the Southern Isles to all the way in Italy. The list was too long for her to remember, but the castle's staff were more than prepared to welcome as many guests as possible. They had more than enough plates and finery to entertain foreigners, eager to have the castle come back to life again. Even though she was far from the eyes of society, the memory of all their eyes landing on her body is enough to make her feel sick to her stomach. Their shock and horror stabbed her, pinning her to her spot. Even now, the thought of being caught only encouraged her to move.

"What do I do now?" She murmured the desperate question to herself, but she knew she was speaking to her father. She secretly wished for her father's spirit to materialize, though she doubts she can handle the sight of his disappointed expression. She longed for his comforting hand as much as she desired a drop of his wisdom. There are no spirits on the mountain tonight, no one here to guide her away from herself. Like her mother and the rest of the people on their ship, her father's body is lost at sea. Her prayers for them to miraculously survive were not granted as the whole world of Arendelle fell upon her shoulders.

Elsa falls to her knees, hindered by her dragging cape and aching legs. The snowstorm continues to beat down upon the land, only lightening up once every few minutes. Soon, her tracks will be covered up by snow. She stares down at the tiara in her bare hand, weighing the options in her head. "I don't know where to go..." The words are released to the wind, unable to escape from the harsh reality of how she fled from her people and duty and... her own sister.

"But I can't... I can never go back..." They will kill her, will they not? No one, not even Arendelle's nearest and oldest allies, will accept a sorceress as a legitimate ruler. A witch with a cold heart is not meant to rule anything or anyone; their fate is meant to be condemned to death. She was, perhaps, even more disliked than a bastard trying to claim the throne. Elsa remains on the snow-covered ground, clutching her tiara closer to her chest. She allows the wind to muffle her sobs, unknowingly allowing the wild storm to grow stronger...

She doesn't know how long she sits in the snow upon the mountain, lost and confused. She knows her tears have long since stopped, but she still clung to the tiara in her bare hands. She has allowed both her cape to be carried away by the wind. She, however, was still unable to throw away the tiara. The quiet sound of a crunching snow alerts Elsa in an instant, drawing her gaze upward to gaze upon a man with semi-long brown hair and ocean blue eyes...

She stares at him, voice now caught in her throat. His body, she distantly noticed, went still as a statue, almost as if she caught him red-handed with only her very gaze. Any stealth attempts were foiled by the unnatural snowstorm, though she couldn't quite confirm if he was aiming for stealth. He looked vaguely familiar, but what did look very familiar is the sight of her purple cape in his grasp. He has a handsome face, but what caught her attention a lot more faster is the sheathed weapon at his hip. He looks very pale, no doubt struggling with the harsh winter in the middle of July. The inner depths of Elsa feel completely and utterly unraveled, but she is certain that she still appears as cold and unapproachable on the surface.

"Why are you here?" Elsa has found her voice, breaking the spell of silence with her now hardened voice. She remains on the ground, snowflakes kissing every inch of her body. Though she is tired, she still tracks every little move the man makes with her piercing gaze. She has no weapons on her person, not like him, but the cold air has only dropped until it was as cold as a winter night. There is no need for pleasantries or small talk on the mountain tonight, not when she is on the run.

"Who are you?"

[theoddest1]

i fear viv is like j*k*r -

there is evidence, proof, so so much of it. and even then, just her behavior alone, without the really bad stuff, is questionable to say the least. i dont know how to put it, but she and her fans act like 12 year olds on wattpad (i used to be one of those kids to some extent ik what im talking about here lmfao). it is a FACT she's horrible and disgusting (i could list a thousand other things here but the critical community already knows all this) and still people defend and dickride her. it is no lie that her fanbase is like a cult. i wonder if these people are actually completely oblivious or are just as horrid because the fact she's a horrible person is as clear as day. the fetish shit, her weird ass transphobia, her blatant disgregard to actual victims that aren't her fans, her drawing... that , her racism, her- should i go on? and i fear there is no consequences for BOTH these people- they will go on until they die without ever facing their actions and stuff. its disturbing.

its like j*k*r all over again. i sense a pattern here. not sure what kind, but its so fucking baffling how both are horrid and insufferable AS CLEAR AS DAY as people and HARM OTHERS and still get so much support. both need to be studied because what the fuck have they going on that protects them meanwhile some people on social media get cancelled for one sentence they said 17 years ago (not that that's not "valid" it's just baffling how some people get cancelled over the smallest shit meanwhile....) and these people get to enjoy their life without consequences while there's MOUNTAINS of proven evidence.

i feel like i discovered a goddamn alien baby the way im so fucking flabbergasted at all this.

anyways, sorry for the rant.

i hope you have a nice day/evening/morning/night!

Hey, no worries! Rant away! It's a very strange enigma for sure, and the fandon does indeed act like a cult! My guess for how Viv keeps getting away with all this stuff is that she has a parasocial relationship with her fanbase. The idea of landing a job or getting close with a creator with such a large following overrides any sense of reason or care for her actions, so people keep gassing her up because it could likely lead her to like or comment on their stuff. There's also the pseudo kind act she puts on, so people think she's the sweetest person ever when she has showcased the opposite. There's also a loooot of fandom bullying. Lots of the big dogs in the fandom bully people into silence or make em think they're in the wrong.

There's a WHOLE lot of control going on here, and thanks to her ass kissers logic is thrown out the window. Finally, there were the overblown posts highlighting things that, while weird or gross, aren't "cancelable" enough or downright exaggerations of the truth or lies. These threads on Twitter, especially back in 2019, did more harm than good and led many into believing there was a mob that simply wanted to cancel her for being popular. The threads consisted of her old cringe art (some are very questionable don't get me wrong) rather than the ones where she encouraged fandom bullying and made fun of a 15 year old fan for simply being critical of her work and called them nasty for it. No one did any research on her behavior or how she was an absolute bully to people like Starvader. Callouts need to consist of hard evidence so stuff like this doesn't happen, where your callout does more harm than good.

These factors led to many straight up turning off their brains and blatantly ignoring hard evidence. It's very, very stupid.

Also, who is the other person you mentioned? The only one that comes to mind is the guy who plays League of Legends and is famous for winning many championships.

[senka-mesecine]

I liveeee for some enemies to lovers, so how do you think Barnes would handle having a thing for a nurse who generally doesn’t like or respect him, like, publicly? Would he just declare she’s his and she can just cope or would he have a little more tact? Also, how do you think he’d react when she finally comes around?

-

Thing is, I firmly headcanon that once upon a time him and Elias used to be friends.

Really good friends.

Heck, even Taylor himself proclaimed that he admired Barnes...in the beginning anyway. Rhah even outright begrudges him for it. Most of his fellow platoon members had a phase when they downright loved or admired him, only to jump to hating or fearing him, so this is nothing new to him and Barnes doesn't care because there's a new sucker born every minute --- he gets sent brand new men fresh in from the world and the cycle restarts itself and there will be new sons of bitches who either love him or hate him, so really, what's new under the sun? He's still fighting for the taking of everyone's souls regardless, or to be less poetic, he's fighting to ensure his influence over them ultimately wins out and trumps everything and everyone else whether they want to or not --- a nurse who hates him is no different, nothing he ain't seen before and he might even openly say she's his to her face and that wont ever change, repackaging and reframing the meaning of his words in a way where it sounds like she as a platoon member and an asset of it that is his, rather than she as an actual person is his because Barnes still has enough of a professional veil to thread with calculated tact, but the point is just transparent enough for her to be able to know exactly what he meant.

Barnes is amused by her hatred, if anything.

It's like witnessing an angry little pup barking up his legs.

He might just go out of his way with shock factor to outrage and repulse her even more; garner even more ragefuel which he can throw in her face later. See, someone running on that much loathing can't be all that good herself, he might reproach her as a way to gaslight and manipulate her. Ultimately, Barnes might think alright, she dislikes me, I'll give her something to truly dislike me for and genuinely start being more of a hard-ass than ever before purely so he could garner that nurse's resentment to the maximum, down to the last drop, until she legitimately starts becoming a worse person for it because she's becoming a negative individual herself --- after all, he sees it as a weird sort of victory. He's on her mind unwittingly day and night because she's there heatedly and obsessively pondering how much of an evil lowlife prick he is, that he should be court martially, dishonorably discharged, jailed, you name it, and all these bad thoughts are winning out over good thoughts she could be having instead and Barnes knows that, viewing it as spiritual warfare. A spiritual war he's singlehandedly winning. She's not thinking about a beau or a sweetheart back home, how she'd like to be a bride upon return, about how she could best compose a letter to her family, how she'll arrange the figurative nursery, but she's thinking about him instead. Out of all the uplifting, beautiful, hopeful and kind things in the world --- it's him she's piqued on. Not even people who love each other are this invested.

So, when she starts coming around?

Barnes has been expecting it all along.

The opposite of love is not hate; it's indifference, and the nurse has been anything but indifferent. She might think he's an animal, a war criminal, a common murderer, an uncultured mountain hick and a barbarian. A savage. The devil. Sure. Basically he's conned her into conning herself into being so hellbent on him and what he does and how he does it she's accidentally fell into the trap of a fixation, a passion-filled, begrudging hyperfocus and then love with him. He doesn't gloat openly about it. Whatever arrogance and cockiness he feels mainly unfolds internally. His victory dance is very subtle. Almost invisible. Might be contained mainly in his eyes. Barnes thinks that the very fact the person who loathed him most vocally in this platoon is now coming around and warming up to him is triumph on it's own and that he should let the action of that speak louder than words. He quietly and almost stoically accepts the nurse coming around and none's the wiser of just what a complicated, nuanced bit of crusade for one's soul unfolded here or the exact ways in which Barnes won at someone else's game. After all, he's the master of hate and people shouldn't try him; he'll always have the upper hand and turn it around on you. He's been doing this far longer.

[soulstagger]

💥🔥 Mao

Make my muse talk about one of their...

🔥 Fears / worries 💥 Regrets

"My fears and worries all came true a long time ago. Watching those I cared about.. and those I trusted turn their backs on us. Watching them burn us, and being burnt."

"I regret trusting any of those back then...we needed help. Yet they set the mountain on fire alongside those.. Oda. Those samurai.."

"You should leave, Kasen would be mad at me for having a guest over."

"Never trust someone you don't have threads in."

[archaictold]

DESERT'S END.

A conclusion drabble for Phantasm Amalgam Part Two. It'll have more context as my threads progress. Warnings include: suffocation, parental death, character death. Not suicide, but the intent might be similar, so please proceed with caution.

' You look just like her. '

Staring into nothing more than a phantom image, whipped loosely into shape by a desert cyclone, he sees the truth of what he's always been told for the first and only time. It is not a meeting in the flesh as he's dreamt of countless times before, for she is not flesh and bone—she has not been for years. His mother is a ghost, her body but crumbling sand, yet her eyes are his own, her smile, dimpled on one side, is too; that is enough to delude him. With outstretched arms, she beckons her to him, parent to child. And Zhilan's steps move him forward despite the danger it poses, an elbow braced above him, his posture fighting against turbulent hot wind and airborne dust. My son, she coos. My mountain orchid, how much you have grown. As he allows his body to fall into her embrace, the weight, the solidity of her, is almost real. He shuts his eyes to make it so. A hand soothes through his hair as the gales grow violent. ❝ Mother... ❞ Her touch takes him by the sides of his face, cradling him; for once, he believes she thinks of him as precious, her love for him sincere. That there is wetness already trailing down the apples of his cheeks is no deterrence to her, though it sticks sand granules to him. She strokes away a hot tear as it rolls from the corner of his eye before he can catch it, the tip of her thumb eroding away with it. If only other nightmares like this one had been so kind to him. Do not cry, she comforts. I am here. Logically, she is not. This projection of his mother is merely a mimicry, and it tells him all he has ever wished to hear. But the hurt of accepting her as an illusion is too much to bear, the voice of logic too cold. The cyclone begins to bury them both, and Zhilan lets it, deciding that he doesn't care to leave. This nightmare will end, with or without him. Should the sand entomb him, suffocating him inside it, Zhilan will likely wake again on this island, still worlds away from home. And his mother will have disappeared, gone for good. The chance to feel her arms around him, to hear her voice, may never present itself again. Together, they sink. His legs disappear first, his waist soon after. He throws his arms around her back as the density of sand around his chest makes it harder to breathe, using her as a buoy to stay above the raging current of fear. Zhilan. Zhilan. Her form begins to crack and crumble away, and the crown of her head caves. The smile she wears, so much like his own, deteriorates, and Zhilan can start to feel her slip through his fingers. Through a quiet sob, he tries to gather sand and shape her back into being, only for his arms to become engulfed by the desert. He tips his head back, mouth towards the air in search of breath, as sand closes in on him. Zhilan, you must be so tired.

He is, isn't he. So very tired, both in mind and in body. Maybe he will sleep now, a comforted soul in a tomb of sand. It drags him beneath, filling his mouth and nostrils, and Zhilan does not fight it. He chokes and sputters on instinct alone, then finds that the burn is not so bad, thus suppresses the urge. The heightening pressure of the earth swallowing him up—isn't that a little like an embrace, too? His eyes stay closed, and the phantasm remains real. The darkness and its silence do not frighten him any longer as their hold on his consciousness tightens. Dying is somewhat the same as falling asleep, only it is absent of dreams. Zhilan drifts into blackness, taking solace in that: to rest without dreams or nightmares to plague him. As his pulse snuffs out, the desert, too, descends into naught. The nightmare fractures, wind carrying it into a waiting abyss. And sand gives way— to nothing at all.

[tada-no-honzuki]

Ascendance of a Bookworm (29) Part 5 Volume 8 Extra Chapter 2

This translation is not supposed to replace the official releases of the light novel series and is purely made for my own entertainment. Please purchase the official light novel when it becomes available!

Since the title of this chapter contains spoilers, it has been hidden beneath a "read more" for your safety!

[The Battle for Ehrenfest] Brigitte - The Battle of Illgner

"This is Helfried. Brigitte, could you please come to my office?"

I tilted my head in wonder as I received an ordonnanz from my brother, Giebe Illgner. Now that I was married to Victor and the paper-making industry was on track, the number of nobles living in Illgner was gradually increasing. As a result, I was rarely called into the office. The last time was when Lady Rozemyne ordered a large quantity of magic paper.

“Does Lady Rozemyne desire more magic paper?” I mumbled, mostly to myself.

"Helfried even sent an ordonnanz,” my mother replied.  “That means it must be urgent, right? I will watch Lilarose for you. Now, don’t make him wait."

My mother smiled and gestured for me to get going. We had been embroidering together in the children’s room. I put my needles and thread away, then looked at my daughter, who was fast asleep in her bed.

"Thank you, mother. I hope Lilarose is a good girl and doesn’t wake while I am away."

I left my one-and-a-half-year-old daughter in the care of my mother and quickly headed to my brother’s office. Just as I arrived, Volk, a former gray priest and trusted aid of my brother, exited the office. Maybe he had heard my footsteps approach?

“Volk, I was called by my brother. May I go in?”

"Of course,” he nodded. “The Giebe is waiting for you. Please come in."

Since Volk had already opened the door for me, I went inside without knocking. I was met by the troubled faces of my husband and brother, who were both reading a letter.

“Brother, what happened?” I inquired.

"It's a letter from Lady Florencia,” Helfried replied. “Apparently, it's been sent to all Giebes."

I accepted the letter and scanned its contents. It informed us that it was highly likely that Lady Georgine of Ahrensbach would be invading Ehrenfest to obtain the foundation, so we were to increase our patrols of the area and contact the castle if we found any suspicious people.

"We received a similar request at the beginning of spring, remember?” Helfried said. “So, we were just wondering how to respond this time."

Last time, we prepared rejuvenation potions in case a battle ensued, but Illgner didn’t have many knights to begin with. Even if they told us to prepare for an invasion from Ahrensbach, there was not much we could do.

“It says it is highly likely, but I don’t get the feeling there is any particular urgency to the request,” Victor remarked. “If Lady Georgine is aiming for the foundation, Illgner holds no value.”

Illgner bordered Ahrensbach only on a small section of land. Although we had acquired some extra funds thanks to the paper-making industry, our land held no strategic value. It was too far from the castle to be used as a base of operations, and most of it bordered Frenbeltag. Attacking Illgner came with the risk of getting Frenbeltag involved as well.

“Besides, if a noble from another duchy crossed the border, the Aub would notice, right?” Victor continued. “Don’t you agree it’s unlikely to cause any issues if we act only once we are notified?”

"For now, I think we should increase the patrols and keep a close eye on the border,” I advised. “How about twice a day? Once during the day and once at night? Personally, I don't think it’s necessary, but I fear we don’t have a choice."

The mana of Ahrensbach’s land seemed to be weakening, and the duchy’s starving commoners often ventured into Illgner’s mountains in search of food. If we were going to keep a close watch on Ahrensbach, we must be wary of its commoners too, and keep them out.

“It is possible the Aub will reprimand us for overlooking certain activities until now,” Volk noted. “I feel sorry for the commoners, but we can’t please everyone. Filling their land with mana is the duty of Ahrensbach’s archducal family and its temple.”

Although Volk grew up in a temple, he was able to cut off the commoners with surprising ease. As we looked at him in surprise, he smiled, looking a little embarrassed.

“It only makes sense that when the situation changes, the treatment of the commoners changes drastically as well,” he explained himself. “It would be in Illgner’s best interest to prioritize the needs of Ehrenfest’s archducal family rather than the wellbeing of another duchy’s commoners. I also believe it would be wise to gather information from the merchants. Lumber traders go all over the place."

Even after discussing things with Victor and Volk, I couldn't think of any options but increasing the frequency of the patrols. Since we wished to prioritize the paper-making industry, our main source of income, it was difficult to maintain a state of heightened vigilance for a long period of time. Especially since we had no idea when and if Lady Georgine would invade the duchy.

"Very well, I shall inform...  Oh? An ordonnanz."

Just as I was about to head out and give orders to the few knights Illgner had, an ordonnanz flew into the room. I expected it to head for my brother or Victor, but it landed on my arm.

“This is Rozemyne.”

Lady Rozemyne had been so ill that she had been unable to attend the feast celebrating spring, but it seemed she had recovered. Her voice sounded more mature than I remembered. Although I had no proof, I could tell she had grown.

“Lord Ferdinand is hovering on the verge of death due to Lady Georgine’s scheming and we expect her to use this opportunity to invade Ehrenfest. It seems she has already closed in on the border and may act as early as today or tomorrow. At the latest, it will be a few days from now.”

We exchanged worried looks. If Lady Georgine had already closed in on the border, wouldn’t that make this an emergency?  Lady Rozemyne’s message conveyed an urgency that hadn’t been present in Lady Florencia’s letter.  I could also tell how worried she was about us. On top of that, Lady Rozemyne even added some pointers should it come to a confrontation.

"Be very careful when the enemy is dressed in silver-colored clothes. Mana cannot penetrate this cloth. I advise you to carry weapons like the ones that commoners use at all times, since schtappe-made weapons and mana attacks have no effect. It is also possible they will utilize a powdered type of poison. Please cover your mouth with a piece of cloth. Lady Georgine will likely travel by carriage rather than highbeast if she intends to operate in the shadows. Be sure to gather information from your province’s commoners, and keep in close contact with the other Giebe along the border. Grandfather is ready to provide backup at any moment. If you notice any border irregularities, contact us immediately."

After repeating the same message three times, the ordonnanz turned back into a yellow feystone. We stared at the feystone that had warned us of the impending danger in a daze.

"That sounded quite different from Lady Florencia’s letter...”  Victor muttered.

"It would be best to send a patrol out at once,” Helfried concluded. “It sounds like she will be here in a few days at the latest."

“I shall intensify my training so that I may participate in the battle.”

I had resumed training when we were informed of the impending threat in early spring, but I had been absent for a long time due to pregnancy and childbirth, so I was far from my peak fighting strength. Still, we needed as many knights as possible so we might protect Illgner and our families. The more hours of training I had under my belt, the better.

“Brigitte, I understand your enthusiasm, but please send a reply to Lady Rozemyne first,” Victor pointed out. “She likely shared this information with you because you used to be her retainer. Although you are no longer in her service, she is clearly still worrying about you.”

I immediately sent an ordonnanz to Lady Rozemyne to thank her. It reminded me of the days when I served her, and it warmed my heart to know that she still thought of me.

“This is Brigitte. We received an ordonnanz from Lady Florencia earlier, but she didn’t relay nearly as many details. I would like to thank you for the additional and valuable information. We shall keep in contact with the other Giebe and ask our citizens to keep an eye out.”

As I watched the ordonnanz fly away, my brother placed several ordonnanz stones on his desk.

“Brigitte, may I ask you to send the ordonnanzes to the other Giebe as well? The urgency of the matter would be better conveyed if they received it from you, since you directly served Lady Rozemyne.”

Since Lady Florencia's letter did not convey a sense of urgency, our warning might be ignored. However, since I used to serve Lady Rozemyne, they would likely take it seriously if I told them, “I received an urgent message from Lady Rozemyne”.

As I sent the ordonnanzes, the men in the room started discussing our next step. If Lady Georgine might commence her attack as soon as today, where should we start? There were many things to consider.

"It's important to gather information from the commoners,” Victor said. “But shouldn't we first warn those going into the mountains? It will be trouble if they come face-to-face with knights from another duchy."

“We have secured enough food to sustain a siege for a few days and the evacuation site is ready, but please consider how to guide the commoners as well,” Volk added.

"Let's issue a warning to stay away from the mountains near the border until we receive further information about Lady Georgine.” Helfried proposed. “We should have more information within a few days."

I took a deep breath as I realized that the men were only focused on protecting the commoners. While it may be the right thing to do for a Giebe, the knights would not be able to act unless they also considered what came before.

“Brother, I agree that evacuating the commoners is important, but whether Ahrensbach launches a large-scale attack at the border, or stealthily invades with a small number of people to acquire the foundation, will greatly affect the number of knights we must keep on guard duty and send out on patrols. Won't that also impact the number of people available to assist with the evacuation?”

“Brigitte, I understand what you're trying to say,” Victor said while looking at a map of Ehrenfest. “But at this point, we don't know how they are going to attack. If they intend to attack Ehrenfest from Ahrensbach, it is far more likely that they will invade through Gerlach, Wiltord, Garduhn, or Griebel. I doubt they will come all the way out to Illgner.”

If one considered the small stretch of land bordering Ahrensbach, it was certainly unlikely that we would be a target. My brother seemed to have the same idea. However, we could not let our guard down.

"Victor, I understand your point,” I countered. “But Illgner has fewer nobles and a weaker defense. If Lady Georgine is aware, it is possible we may be besieged to create a diversion."

"A diversion... "

“I see,” my brother said. “It seems like Lord Bonifatius is ready to provide aid, but we cannot say with certainty how long it will take for our request to be approved by the Aub, the orders to be issued, and the knights to be ready for departure.”

"Yes,” I agreed. “And on top of that, no matter how fast they fly, it will take them a whole day to arrive. In the meantime, we will be on our own."

As Lady Rozemyne’s former guard knight, I was the one who knew the most about the inner workings of the knight’s order. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how dangerous it would be if Illgner was targeted. Victor seemed to understand the danger we were in after my explanation.

“If prompt discovery and communication are the key, then we should increase the frequency of our patrols.” Victor agreed. “The situation isn’t likely to last more than a few days. If we only increase the patrols near the border, we should be able to achieve it with the bare minimum of people."

My brother nodded, “If our enemy aims to acquire the foundation, they will likely hurry along without slaughtering the commoners. I want you to focus on minimizing the casualties as much as possible and buying time until the reinforcements arrive.”

I immediately headed to the training grounds to inform the knights.

" ...And that's why we must increase our patrols near the border,” I explained. “I shall assist as well. Did last night's patrol notice anything of note?"

"There have been no reports of unusual activities, neither last night nor this morning," the commander of Illgner’s knights assured me. I immediately felt a wave of relief wash over me.

“Lady Rozemyne said to expect movement in the next few days,” I warned. “So, please be careful when patrolling at night. If they are planning to sneak across the border, they will likely act under the cloak of darkness.”

 “It would be helpful if they would stealthily pass through when the commoners are asleep. Then we would only have to inform the archducal family…”

Our knights specialized in hunting feybeasts. Outside of practical lessons at the Royal Academy, they had no experience fighting other people. Besides, there were only fifteen adult knights in Illgner. Even if I included the apprentices and myself, we still had less than twenty people. I completely understood their reluctance to go up against a greater duchy.

“That certainly would be great,” I agreed. “But in that case, they would probably pass through Griebel instead of Illgner. There is no guarantee that the enemy will appear in our province, but let’s stay alert.”

"Indeed,” the commander nodded. “I plan to entrust the real fighting to the reinforcements from the noble’s district. Though, I would like them to hold back on using destructive magic tools if possible."

If our mountains and forests were destroyed, that would greatly impact the paper-making industry. So, avoiding battles that used large numbers of destructive magic tools was certainly preferable.

"Regardless of the enemy’s plans, if you are joining the fight, Lady Brigitte, that will make it easier for us to contact the Giebe. Not to mention, you are a mednoble and thus a valuable battle asset."

It was decided the patrols would focus on the area near the border with Ahrensbach. We were on good terms with Frenbeltag, and Lady Rozemyne had not included them in her warnings, so it was safe to assume we would not be invaded from that side. I accompanied the squads on their rounds, but nothing of note happened that day.

The next afternoon, I and five other knights were out patrolling the border on our highbeasts, when I noticed a change in the scenery.

"Don't you think the shape of that ridge looks different?" I asked as I pointed at the mountain ahead.

I wasn’t quite sure how to put it, but it seemed like an abnormal dip in a part of the tree line, or rather, like an unnatural dent in the gentle curves of the ridge.

"Let's have a closer look."

Sensing something was off, we cautiously approached. As we got closer, I quickly noticed almost all the trees on the opposite side of the mountain, next to Ahrensbach’s border, had disappeared. The bare, reddish-brown soil reminded me of the aftermath of a trombe attack.

“Just what on earth is going on!?” I exclaimed while squinting my eyes to get a better look. At the same moment, more trees disappeared up ahead. As I stared at the empty spot in a daze, unable to comprehend what just happened, two of the knights cried out.

"Look over there! I see people!"

"Those are Ahrensbach's capes!"

Several people could be seen standing atop the center of the reddish-brown soil. When I noticed they were all carrying black weapons, an audible gasp escaped my lips.

"Black weapons can be used to steal mana from dark feybeasts,” I said. “Maybe they can be used to steal mana from the land as well."

Since the archducal family had contacted us, we had mentally prepared ourselves for the possibility of an invasion. However, we had not seen this coming. We had not expected the enemy would try to steal mana from our land, rather than head straight for the foundation.

“If they were just trying to pass through Illgner, we could have watched from a distance,” I muttered in shock. “However, we cannot sit back and watch as mana is stolen from our land and the trees are disappearing before our very eyes.”

If they took our trees, that would greatly affect the paper-making industry.  Moreover, most commoners relied on the blessings of the mountains for their meals. Not to mention, if it rained, the flow of the rivers could change as well. In the worst case, life in Illgner could be destroyed.

"I count four,” one of the knights said. “Shall we attack?"

"...no.” I shook my head. “Let's head back and request the Aub to send reinforcements. If there are any people hiding out of sight, we will be outnumbered."

Just then, arrows came flying at us. Our enemy was swiftly making way for the tree line while attacking us to keep us at a distance.

"They spotted us! We are under attack!"

"Kill them before they can hide! "

"Mana attacks will be absorbed by their black weapons!” I warned. “Be careful!"

Since the area was already devoid of trees and had turned a reddish-brown hue, there was no issue in using offensive magic tools. We flew overhead and dropped magic tools from above. Two of the intruders disarmed their black weapons and readied their shields.

"Once they disarm their weapons, it will take about a day before they can use the blessing again!” I shouted. “Attack with the intent to make them cancel it and use their shields!"

Without the darkness's blessing, they would not be able to steal mana from the land, at least for today. As everyone readied themselves to attack, a gasp escaped my throat when I detected numerous mana signatures approaching.

“There are more units nearby!” I alerted the others. “I can feel their mana! They are swiftly approaching us!”

The fact was, the unit before us already had the upper hand strength-wise. On top of that, they were about to regroup with other units nearby. It was abundantly clear we were at an overwhelming disadvantage. Try as we might, there was no chance of winning. In fact, we would likely lose our only chance to retreat.

"Don't pursue the enemy!” I shouted. “We shall retreat for now!"

While sending an ordonnanz to my brother to warn him, we returned to the summer mansion.

“Brother, Lady Rozemyne was right! The enemy is here! Not only are they draining the mana from our land, but we are also dealing with a large number of people spread out over a wide area. We cannot deal with it by ourselves. Please request the Aub to send reinforcements."

When I arrived at my brother's office with the commander, he and Victor were already waiting for us with a map of Illgner spread out on the table.

"I immediately sent the request after receiving your ordonnanz,” Helfried replied. “It seems Lord Bonifatius will lead the support unit. However, considering how much damage has been done in such a short period of time, I wonder if Illgner will last until reinforcements arrive. Brigitte, what is your opinion as a knight?”

In this case, simply scattering the enemy would not be enough. It was important that we limit the amount of damage to a level that would not interfere with the lives of Illgner’s people.

“The enemies we encountered were acting in small units, but I could sense mana everywhere around us. Even if we gathered all our knights, I cannot say for certain how long we would be able to stall for time. Neither can I predict how much damage will be done to the land until reinforcements arrive.”

If their sole purpose was to drain mana from the land, we could limit the number of human casualties by staying quiet and holing up. However, Illgner’s land would be devastated.

" ...those were nobles from old Werkestock."

"What?"

“I remember them from my time at the Royal Academy,” the commander explained. “The one they were protecting is a Giebe from old Werkestock.”

The frequency at which we found commoners from old Werkestock and Ahrensbach invade our mountains in search of food made it abundantly clear that their lands were lacking mana. However, I had never expected that a Giebe of all people would invade another duchy to steal mana.

“If this invasion is headed by a Giebe of a mana-deficient duchy, and has the support of Lady Georgine, they won’t give up easily,” I observed.

As a member of the Giebe’s family, I understood their desire to have enough mana to fertilize their land and feed their starving people very well. I could tell neither of us would back down.

“Both Old Werkestock and Ahrensbach are greater duchies, and we are greatly outnumbered,” the commander said. “It is only a matter of time before we are overrun. But even so, we have no choice but to stand our ground until Lord Bonifatius and the reinforcements arrive. That said, I would like to avoid casualties among the younger generations as much as possible.” He let out a deep sigh.

"Whatever will become of us if we cannot count on Illgner’s knights to protect the lives of the province’s people?” I asked, then added, “I will fight too."

"Brigitte, wait," Victor said, his face as white as a sheet. He shook his head in disbelief. "You are no longer a knight. You are a member of the Giebe’s family and Lilarose's mother. For your daughter’s sake, please do not rush into a battle that the commander himself deems reckless. Haven't you been away from training for a while due to giving birth and nursing our child? Right now, you are more vulnerable than the other knights."

I understood what Victor was trying to say. However, I did not agree with him.

"I am a member of the Giebe’s family and a knight,” I declared. “Isn't it natural that I go out and protect Illgner? If I back out, it will affect morale."

"But... " Victor tried.

"I won’t be in any more danger than the other knights,” I said. “Moreover, the reason I resigned as Lady Rozemyne’s guard knight and got married was to protect Illgner. I have no intention of backing down from the fight to protect it now."

Although I was no longer her guard knight and there was a long distance between Ehrenfest and Illgner, Lady Rozemyne still looked out for us. She continued to support our paper-making industry and had provided us with valuable information. Although I only served her for a short period of time, I was greatly indebted to her. More than anything, I wanted to be a knight who Lady Rozemyne would be proud of.

“Besides, if I can’t even protect Illgner here, I won’t be able to protect Lilarose either,” I stated. “Suppose I was to perish in this battle, Lilarose still has you, her father, my brother, and my mother to protect her. Illgner, on the other hand, has very few knights to protect its land. I will entrust our daughter to you. So, please let me go. "

Victor looked at my brother with a pained expression, but my brother shook his head.

“I'm sorry, Victor,” he said apologetically. “As a Giebe, I want as many knights as I can get. Besides, I cannot keep my sister away from battle because it might be dangerous, while at the same time demanding the other knights risk their lives on the battlefield. Brigitte, if you wish to fight to protect Illgner, I will respect that. ... although I pray you won’t do anything too reckless.”

Hearing my brother's words, Victor hung his head and sighed.

"As much as I hate it, you truly are a knight at heart. I understand your desire to protect Illgner and your pride as a knight. However, you are also Lilarose's mother. Don’t be reckless. Stay aware of your surroundings and retreat if necessary. We are just trying to buy time.”

Watching Victor concede to my desire, the commander smiled wryly.

"Lady Brigitte, please don't disregard everyone's concerns. The fewer the casualties, the better. As Lord Victor says, buying time is our top priority. If we can make them cancel the darkness blessing, that will be enough. Let's work together to get every last one of them."

While we were discussing how to make our enemies cancel the blessing and what magical tools might be useful, an ordonnanz flew in.

"This is Bonifatius. I have received the Aub’s permission to use the teleportation circle. I will arrive at fifth bell. Clear the area around the teleportation circle in the front yard of your estate, and have your knights ready to depart. We will head into battle as soon as I arrive."

After repeating the same message three times, the ordonnanz turned back into a yellow feystone. Even then, I still couldn't believe its message.

“Hold on, fifth Bell?” I asked confused. “He means today? And they will use a teleportation circle? To teleport a whole unit of knights?”

We had discovered the enemy when we set out on patrol after lunch. After we returned, we immediately reported to my brother, so we had yet to formally inform the other knights. Yet now we were told that the reinforcements would be arriving within less than a bell.

“Isn’t fifth bell about to ring!” Helfried shouted in panic. “Where is that teleportation circle!?  What is the front yard!?”

"Please calm down, Lord Helfried,” Victor said. “The front yard is the front yard."

“Lady Brigitte, we should inform the knights!” The commander interjected. “At this rate, we won’t be ready to head into battle!”

My steadfast resolve was instantly blown away. First, we had to prepare Illgner to receive the reinforcements, and those of us who went on patrol needed to recover and prepare for the next battle.

As reported by the ordonnanz, right as fifth bell rang, a magic circle appeared in the front yard. Black and golden flames whirled around, and figures started appearing. I had been told that the magic circle connected to the Royal Academy could only transport three people at a time, but I could see the shadows of about fifty people in this teleportation circle.

Once the flickering of the flames subsided, the knights exited the teleportation circle in an orderly manner with Lord Bonifatius in the lead. However, a group of at least ten people remained in place. When he noticed the person standing at the center, my brother cried out in surprise.

“Aub Ehrenfest!?”

We had known that reinforcements would arrive by teleportation circle, but we had not expected the Aub would be accompanying them. As our eyes widened in surprise, Aub Ehrenfest calmly gestured us to calm down, “There is no need to panic. This teleportation circle can only be activated by me, so I had to come along to deliver the reinforcements. I will be returning at once."

"Aub Ehrenfest, I cannot thank you enough for your kind consideration. I didn't even know that there was a teleportation circle like this."

As my brother expressed his gratitude, the Aub nodded lightly.

"Neither did I,” he admitted. “Until Rozemyne mentioned its existence. This battle is the first time I am using it. She read about it in some old book it seems. I am sure you have heard she has been busy reviving ancient magic circles and rituals recorded in the bible and other old literature. That appears to have led to the discovery of this teleportation circle.”

“Lady Rozemyne… ” I whispered.

How could I ever express my gratitude? If not for Lady Rozemyne, this teleportation circle would likely never have been discovered and Lord Bonifatius probably would not have been able to reach us in time.

"Giebe Illgner,” the Aub continued. “These men here are just scholars I brought along to activate the teleportation circle. They aren’t part of the reinforcements."

Apparently, the people who remained standing on the teleportation circle were providing the mana necessary for the Aub to return.

“I cannot send any more people at the moment. So, Illgner is in your hands now.”

I decided to leave it to my brother to see the Aub off, and headed over to Lord Bonifatius, who was giving instructions to the knights.

"Those who assisted with the teleportation will stay here for now. Prioritize your recovery. The rest of you will follow me. Now, who is in charge on Illgner’s side? I want to know what we are dealing with."

"Lord Bonifatius, please allow me to explain,” I said. “We happened upon the enemy while we were out patrolling the border."

"Ah, Brigitte. It's been a while."

In truth, this would have been the job of the commander of Illgner’s knights, but he begged me to take his place, noting, “I'm much too nervous to talk to a member of the archducal family. Who knows what kind of mistakes I will make.” Since I had received special training from Lord Bonifatius as Lady Rozemyne’s guard knight, the idea of having a direct conversation with him did not bother me.

"I see,” Lord Bonifatius nodded. “Those black weapons certainly spell trouble. Not only can they drain mana from the land, but our mana attacks will also work to our opponent’s advantage. It would be better if we used metal weapons. Come to think of it, were they dressed in silver cloth?”

"No, as far as we know they aren’t,” I replied. “Since they can counter our mana attacks with their black weapons, there probably was no need to use silver cloth."

"Since the Aub has been unable to detect their crossing the border, I guess there is a high possibility they do own it though... " Lord Bonifatius mulled. After thinking it over for a moment, he nodded.

"It's not a bad idea to prioritize canceling the blessing. Moreover, it is likely that they are using small chalices too, I have been told. That way they can use the stolen mana to revitalize their land. All right, let's go."

Perhaps Lady Rozemyne had told him that too? I remembered the days when I accompanied Lady Rozemyne across the duchy to perform rituals. Small chalices were divine tools used to fill the land with mana, but it seems that in the hands of the wrong people, they could be used to steal mana from the land as well.

Lord Bonifatius set out, leaving behind the knights who were still drinking rejuvenation potions.

... yes, Illgner will be fine now.

The battle was only just beginning. Even so, the thought of having Lord Bonifatius with us was reassuring, and for some reason made me believe everything would be okay.

... first, I would like to recover the mana that was bestowed onto Illgner by my master and the temple.

“Lord Bonifatius, it’s over there. …it seems more land has been drained of mana.”

As I guided Lord Bonifatius towards the border, I couldn't help but feel frustrated seeing the barren spots of land.

"Can any of you feel the enemy's mana?" Lord Bonifatius asked.

" ...maybe if we fly a little lower," I suggested,

Mana could not be detected if the distance was too large. As I began to lower my altitude, I noticed some trees disappearing out of the corner of my eye.

“Over there!” I shouted.

"Follow me and seize the chalices!" Lord Bonifatius instructed the knights, then immediately sped up, charging the enemy alone.

I saw a schtappe appear in Lord Bonifatius’ hand while he was clearly anticipating the enemy’s route of escape. Even though he had ordered the knights to use non-schtappe weapons to counter the black ones, he changed his own into a halberd.

“Lord Bonifatius!?”

We could not help but cry out in surprise. While we still had no idea what he was aiming for, Lord Bonifatius raised his halberd in the air.

“Lord Bonifatius!?” One of the enemies shouted. “What is he doing here!?”

"Don't stop!” Another yelled. “Counter his mana with your black weapon!"

“Protect the Giebe!”

“Spread out and run!”

To the enemy, it must have been looking like he was attacking them head-on, as they started to scatter in confusion. That’s when Lord Bonifatius brought his halberd down.

"Hmph!"

His mana attack was not aimed directly at the enemy, but instead hit the tree line along their path of escape. Shredding the trees to pieces, causing roughly chopped logs and thick branches to rain down upon their heads.

"Holy shit!"

"Entwafn ... ugh!"

Their black weapons had no effect on the mana-less pieces of wood, nor did they have enough time to cancel the blessing and bring out their shield. Soon, the enemy was buried under a thick pile of logs and branches.

"Don't let them escape!" Lord Bonifatius ordered as we caught up to him.

From there, everything went fast. Most of the people buried under the trees were seriously injured, and even those with minor injuries were unable to make their escape, so they were easily captured.

"I found the chalices! We can return the mana to our land!"

After we stripped the captured Giebe of his possessions and seized the small chalices, joyous shouts of victory emerged from Illgner’s knights.

However, the battle did not end there. Last time, the enemies present in the surrounding area had rallied together to aid their friends. However, this time, they immediately scattered and ran away in fear of Lord Bonifatius’ might.

"We have told Frenbeltag to be on guard, so the enemies’ options for escape are limited,” Lord Bonifatius said. “They are not particularly strong, but if they spread out, it will be enough to prolong the battle. Creating a diversion to keep the knight’s order occupied must be their true aim. Not to mention, their number is smaller than expected.”

I noticed a bitter expression on his face as he spoke. The attack would not destroy Ilgner, but it was intense enough that Illgner’s knights could not deal with it alone. And since the land's mana was being drained, the archducal family had no choice but to respond.

Unfortunately, Lord Bonifatius had been completely right. The next day, the enemies that fled from Illgner started showing up in Griebel.

"Griebel has also requested reinforcements.” Lord Bonifatius announced. “So, we will head for Griebel while mopping up enemies along Illgner's border. Brigitte, you and your men will stay right here!"

"Yes, sir!" I replied.

It was decided that Illgner’s knights would remain camped near the border to prevent a new invasion. Lord Bonifatius promised he would leave some of his knights behind, but to be honest, it was disheartening to see him leave.

"Don't worry,” he said with a confident grin. “I'll give you a good view, so you can focus on protecting the border. If you are overwhelmed, inform me at once."

Lord Bonifatius and his knights unleashed powerful mana attacks on Ahrensbach’s land, mowing down the trees on the other side of the border bit by bit as they moved toward Griebel.

"I see. The view has become much better indeed."

"The enemy can no longer hide, but they may shamelessly attack from the sky. So, let's remain vigilant."

As Lord Bonifatius had said, their purpose was to keep the knights occupied, so the enemies showing up from time to time were not that strong.

"Lady Brigitte, I have something to report,” one of the knight apprentices said to me while we were between battles. “I wanted to inform the Giebe directly, but since a mobilization order was issued, I have instead come to you... It seems that a lumber merchant who traveled to Leisegang by boat to make a delivery noticed some strange noble-looking people trying to board a ship to Ehrenfest while he was there.”

As I listened to the rest of the apprentice’s report, I felt cold sweat start dripping down my back. It had been two days since the lumber merchant saw the people who appeared to be nobles. Even if it was a merchant ship that made stops along the way, there was a possibility that it had already arrived in Ehrenfest.

“I must contact Lady Rozemyne at once!”

However, the ordonnanz I tried to send her immediately turned around.

...don’t tell me Lady Rozemyne is…!

I held my breath as my mind jumped to the worst possible explanation. Ordonnanzes would refuse to fly if the receiver was dead. With trembling hands, I tried sending an ordonnanz to Cornelius and Angelica,

"This is Brigitte. What's the situation over there?”

To my despair, both returned to my hand.

“Then, what about Damuel…?”

Contrary to my fears, the ordonnanz I sent to him soared away as normal. And soon his response arrived.

“We are still waiting for the enemy to make a move.”

His voice sounded as nonchalant as ever, as if nothing was amiss.

I had been fighting for days on end and scared out of my mind at the prospect that Lady Rozemyne might have perished along with her guard knights. Hearing Damuel’s carefree voice made an indescribable anger well up inside me.

I was aware in the back of my mind that I was being irrational. However, if Ehrenfest wasn’t under attack, then why didn’t my ordonnanzes fly? The lack of rest between battles was probably to blame for my heightened emotional state, and in addition, I suppose part of me felt that I was allowed to be casual with him like we used to. So, the reply I sent was dripping with anger.

“Then why can’t I reach anyone by ordonnanz!? I have vital information to report! Where are Lady Rozemyne, Cornelius, and Angelica?”

After that, I included the report from the lumber merchant, and concluded with, “Since we are still under attack, we do not have the leeway to investigate when the ship will arrive. Please make the inquiries yourself and stay on guard.”

"We shall contact Leisegang,” Damuel replied. “Thank you for providing this valuable information in the midst of a tough battle. ... Oh , and Lady Rozemyne and the others are in Ahrensbach, so ordonnanzes won't be able to reach them."

Without even naming my unreasonable anger, Damuel casually told me Lady Rozemyne's whereabouts. I felt so embarrassed that I was the only one getting emotional that my anger slowly began to subside. Once I calmed down, I realized that even Lord Bonifatius had not mentioned the information Damuel had shared with me.

...Lady Rozemyne is in Ahrensbach?

I remembered the Aub had said that he couldn't send any more reinforcements. So, it made sense that even Lady Rozemyne was fighting to protect Ehrenfest.

...it sounds like she is still giving it her all.

I remembered the days she would fight alongside us to collect the materials for her jureve. Although a normal archduke candidate would leave it all to their guard knights, Lady Rozemyne joined the battles despite her frail body, and while falling asleep from exhaustion. Ever since then, Lady Rozemyne hadn't been just a little girl that needed to be protected.

...the people around her seem to have changed though.

Back then, it was me, Damuel, Lord Ferdinand, and his retainers fighting alongside her. Cornelius and Angelica, who were minors at the time, were made to stay behind at the castle. Now that they were adults, she would be taking new guard knights in. I left due to my marriage, and Lord Ferdinand and his retainers moved to Ahrensbach due to his engagement.

I suddenly felt the passage of time as I realized that not only the people surrounding Lady Rozemyne had changed, but my position as well. I was no longer protecting Lady Rozemyne, I was fighting for Illgner and my family now. Although, my desire to protect what was important to me had not changed. If Lady Rozemyne was fighting to protect Ehrenfest, then as her former guard knight, I could not afford to muck around. Through fighting and winning the battle at this border, I would be able to help Lady Rozemyne protect Ehrenfest.

“Lady Brigitte, we have spotted the enemy!”

I jumped to my feet at the sound of the knight's voice. The other knights also mounted their highbeasts, reeling with fighting spirit.

...Good luck to you, Lady Rozemyne. I will do all I can to protect Illgner.

[birgittesilverbae]

that which they defend

The study's lamps are burning low, near the edge of sputtering out, and the flickering light is making Siuan's latest headache that much worse. But she's long since sent the Accepted who'd been standing attendance on her and Leane off to her bed, and maybe she should just take the failing light as a sign to wrap up her work. She's exhausted as it is, bent over a stack of purchase orders that don't quite make sense, and she's fairly certain Leane, chin propped on one fist, has already fallen asleep more than once.

The quiet is broken only by the shush of the night breeze stirring the curtains, the scratch of Leane's pen nib across the parchment. Siuan finds she's on the verge of sleep herself, her eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment, her chin dropping towards the table.

The rush of emotion from the back of her head feels like being dunked into icy water. Relief warring with uncertainty, hammering through her all at once. Her breath catches in her throat and she jerks up out of her chair, upending her ink jar across the papers. She absent-mindedly waves a hand to tidy the mess as she stalks to the window. 

Even without the covering of night, she wouldn't be able to see the mountains that bracketed Shienar, but still she stares, fixed on the point far in the distance where Moiraine has just- Has just what?

She picks through the tangled knot of feeling, singles out hope, resolve, determination. Not the thinnest thread of fear. 

Her awareness of Moiraine had been muted shortly after her departure, the bond an echo of itself, and she'd come back to startling clarity that afternoon. She wouldn't have headed straight into the Blight, not on the heels of a forced march through the Ways. She'd have given the children a night. So this sudden resolve? It had to mean something new. It had to mean a discovery. It had to mean-

"Mother? What's wrong?"

Light, she'd all but forgotten Leane was in the room. "I believe the world will change tonight," she says softly, still wrapped up in her realisation. Clever Moiraine, almost too clever for her own good. She'd worked it out, which child must be thrown to the lionfish, which of the others could be saved.

Leane comes to stand at her shoulder, following the path of her gaze. "Did you Dream of the Blight?"

Siuan hums, her head abuzz with borrowed adrenaline. "Whether it will be a favourable change, I do not know. Send word to your Shienaran agents." She sweeps back to her desk, using a weave of Air to right the chair she had upended in her haste. Careless, that, with Leane's inscrutable gaze on her. She's been growing too careless of late. "Does Fal Dara still stand watch over Tarwin's Gap?" Too blunt by far. If she doesn't bring herself back under control, she's liable to find herself lying gutted on a dock.

Leane's eyes widen the barest fraction, all but equivalent to a shocked gasp from anyone with less tightly reined-in emotions. "Yes, Mother," she replies demurely, the picture of Aes Sedai serenity if not for the slightest waver in her words. She takes her seat opposite Siuan and pulls the box of untouched paper slips towards her.

Siuan's fingers itch for rope, for the meditative calm of mending nets and practising knots, but she forces her hands flat on the table as she watches Leane write. The Dark One and all the Forsaken are bound– 

Leane had had a Warder, once. Long since lost to that vileness after the Aiel War. Sometimes Siuan still feels a pang of regret when she recalls providing the actionable intelligence that had led, inevitably, to Anjen's death. 

Sometimes. Only a fool dwells on those things they cannot change.

"How did you cope with… losing Anjen?" She might as well paint her face, then. What had brought that to her tongue?

Siuan schools her face to impassivity, but dread seeps into her bones. That question, under these conditions, in light of the previous day's events? She's all but confessed everything. She waits with bated breath as Leane cleans ink from the pen nib and sets it aside.

Leane fixes her with a calculating gaze, but her words are gentle. "Do you fear what Alric will discover in Arad Doman?" Bless Leane for giving her the out. Or is she simply playing her own games, lulling Siuan into a false sense of security, or– Games within games within games. Leane probably already suspects, already knows.

Siuan sighs.

"Not him," she admits softly, meeting Leane's level stare. An impulsive urge grips her, a cocktail of euphoria and resolve spurring her overboard into recklessness. "Moiraine has taken the Dragon Reborn to the Eye of the World."

Her widening eyes the only sign of shock, Leane mutters a quick prayer. Then she looks at Siuan and her face softens into something approaching pity. "You don't expect her to survive it."

Siuan smiles grimly. "I've sent her out into the Sea of Storms in a leaky rowboat. All that remains to me is hope."

It's at that moment that the awareness that's sat in her skull for more than two decades, that has become so much a part of her, winks out.

Surely she would know if the bond had been… Surely she would feel something more than this void. But she's never been on the receiving end of a masked bond.

She prods the dull patch in the back of her skull, her brows pinching in thought. Is the bond masked? Or is it… She refuses to even entertain that possibility.

She cannot be alone in this. Not now.

She is not. Alric's somewhere far to the west, a steady knot of emotion that only serves to highlight the absence alongside it. If he is all she has now, that has to be enough. That will be enough.

She's long known this day could come, after all. An Aes Sedai's Warder will always be her last line of defence. Her sword, her shield.

Her sacrifice.

[livestosave]

Theoden as an Ironwood Allusion

So. Many of you likely know that my primary allusion for James Ironwood is Boromir from the Lord of the Rings. What you may not know (because I show it more rarely) is that I also consider Theoden to be a strong primary allusion for James. Both the literary and movie versions!

"But Liz!" I hear you asking. "How on Earth/Remnant can James be like Boromir AND Theoden? Those seem like vastly different characters!"

Well, let me explain!

Boromir is a man still in his prime, with a will to protect others that is so pure and strong, it's the only 'in' that the Ring itself can use to manipulate him. A will to protect so strong, that even under the Ring's influence, he never draws a weapon on Frodo even when being actively denied it. He may get angry, but he never harms the Ringbearer, because such is simply not in his nature. The One Ring must work within the framework of the beings it seeks to manipulate, and Boromir is neither cruel nor murderous. But he is full of despair for his kingdom and his people, and desperate to save both as they lie in Mordor's shadow in this time of growing darkness.

So that's where Boromir sits, and I'm sure that even without my future meta about how that is so resonant with ironwood, the basic beats line up, yes? So then we are left with "Alright Liz, but. Theoden???"

Theoden is the great leader of his people, grown old and tired, and in his exhaustion he has been poisoned into inaction. Inaction as his men are slaughtered by orcs, inaction as his son dies, inaction as his nephew is banished and his niece begs for him to see the pain of their people. And when, through the actions of a Good Wizard, that veil of poisonous inaction is lifted, Theoden must take up once more the heavy mantle of king. King to a people who now suffer due to his inaction. A hunted people.

Theoden must pull himself together in the wake of his grief, and give his people a leader in crisis. He must face the potential end of his kingdom, of the world, and stand firm.

And he doesn't!

Wait wait, you gotta let me explain!

Theoden doesn't do it perfectly. He slips, and he stumbles, but he never falls. Despite all the bad shit that Theoden faces, he chooses - over and over and over again - to face the darkness, and to charge into what should be certain death, because it is the honorable, noble, right thing to do. But he has doubts! He feels fear! He stumbles and lets himself give into despair! But he never stops there! And more than that, he is the leader of his people, and he cannot let them lose faith.

Théoden: "They will break upon this fortress like water upon rock… Crops can be resewn, homes rebuilt. Within these walls, we will outlast them." Aragorn: "They do not come to destroy Rohan’s crops or villages, they come to destroy its people—down to the last child." Théoden: "What would you have me do? Look at my men. Their courage hangs by a thread. If this is to be our end, then I would have them make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance."

Like Theoden, James knows the value of a show of strength and optimism. If you frame even a hopeless battle as one that has hope, with confidence in yourself and your people, they will fight that battle with that hope. And if they think that they will die, huddled in fear? Why bother to stand and offer resistance, if it doesn't matter what you do?

And yet, for all his show of strength for his people, for his men, when it is just Theoden and his counsel/attendant, that image cracks, and we see that even cured of Saruman's spell, Theoden is old, and he is tired, and he is afraid, as any man should be.

Theoden: “Who am I, Gamling?" Gamling: "You are our king, Sire."Theoden: "And do you trust your king?" Gamling: "Your men my Lord, will follow you to whatever end."Theoden: "To whatever end... Where now are the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow; The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow." Theoden: "How did it come to this?”

This is a speech that a man with doubt and fear gives. This is the speech a man who is seeing the fall of his people gives. But even as he says these lines, Gamling armors him. Even as he speaks, he prepares for battle, where he fights alongside his men.

This has a lot of echoes of James & Oscar in the vault with the Staff of Creation in V7. The gentle way that James asks if Oscar believes in him, the way they talk down there before James has to go into his own battle: the party hosted by Jacques. The doubt and fear he shows down there. And then he turns around and, when presented with his next battle, goes to it without hesitating.

And when all seems lost, and Theoden falls into despair again? It is Aragorn, his friend, who pulls him back. Who brings the king back to realizing that they must meet evil as it is, and not cower in fear. If they are to be slain, then let it be such an end, right?

Theoden: "So much death. What can men do against such reckless hate?" Aragorn: "Ride out with me. Ride out and meet them." Theoden: "For death and glory." Aragorn: "For Rohan. For your people." Theoden: "...yes. Yes! The Horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the Deep. One last time. Let this be the hour, when we draw swords together." Theoden: "Fell deeds awake. Now for wrath, now for ruin, and the red dawn! Forth, Eorlingas!"

What Theoden is doing here - not knowing that Gandalf is due back with Eomer - is facing almost certain death, and going to meet it, head-on. Knowing that there is no victory, but leading his people because that is what they need, and because that is the responsibility that a king bears. And he will not let his men down, let them fall in fear and darkness. Nor will he allow himself to shrivel in the face of evil, to wilt and fall to inaction again.

James does something very similar in V7, when the grimm break through the wall and Watts has taken the ehating grid down. While he crumbles for an instant upon learning about Salem, he pulls himself back together to defend his city, because that is the responsibility of leadership. King, general, headmaster...it doesn't matter. Defending those people, the kingdom, humanity...all you can do is pull yourself together and meet the evil where it stands. You cannot cower.

And the thing is? At every point after this, when the choice to go on is so hard? Theoden is the one pulling everyone up with him. He does not shy, or wilt, or give into despair. He stands, and he reassures, and he faces the end of the world with strength, and honor, and nobility.

Gamling: "He leaves because there is no hope." Theoden: "He leaves because he must." Gamling: "Too few have come. We cannot defeat the armies of Mordor." Theoden: "No we cannot. But we will meet them in battle nonetheless."

This is a great exchange at the base of the mountain in the film, where Gamling - who has always been at Theoden's side, a steady voice of reassurance - has his own doubts, and it is Theoden who must reassure. And he does!

And the thing is, James does this too. While we know he has doubts, that he knows his choices aren't popular, he supports the group as best he can. He gives them their Huntsman licenses. He gives them training with operatives who will help them grow. He trains Oscar, so that he will be able to hold his own better.

And then Theoden and his men ride out the next morning, and then...oh then. The speech I wish we had gotten a version of in Volume 7 instead of...what we got. I don't care whether it is book or movie, Theoden's speech at the Battle of Pelennor Fields will never fail to bring tears to my eyes.

"Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden! Spear shall be shaken, shield shall be splintered, a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises! Ride now! Ride now! Ride! Ride for ruin, and the world's ending! Death! Death! Death!"

He is seeing the force of Mordor, the gates of Minas Tirith - that have never been breached - shattered. But he cannot turn away. If Rohan does not answer Gondor's cry for help, Middle-Earth itself will fall to evil. The immortal, evil bad guy will win, and he must stop that at all costs. Because he is a king. Because he is honorable. Because it is right.

And I know, mostly, I've been talking about Theoden here (it's like I used to write him at some point....huh...) but! The point is, many of these same concepts can be turned to James, particularly in Volume 7. It's why I just can't accept his fall as it is written. To dip into my Boromir allusion (despite the title of this, shush), the Ring can only work within the framework of who someone is. And James Ironwood is a man who routinely shoulders the mantle of leadership, even in the face of impossible odds, in the face of pain, and fear, and loss and grief. He stands and rallies those around him, gives them hope even when his own is running dry. He looks the big evil bitch in the face, cowering against the wall of his office...and tells her to get out.

Salem: "The people of Atlas have suffered enough. Surrender the Staff and the lamp to me, and they needn't suffer any further." Ironwood: "That's..." He pulls himself together, visibly squares his shoulders & regains composure. Ironwood: "Not going to happen."

James looks at what equates to Sauron himself, and stares Salem down, and tells her he will not bend to her. He will not cower, or surrender. He will fight. He will lead his people. If this is to be their end, then it will be such an end...see?

And I haven't even properly touched on the parallels between Ironwood & Winter with Theoden & Eowyn, or Ironwood & Oscar with Theoden & Merry! Or hells, even ironwood and Weiss, and how the way he routinely defends her from Jacques (and the rich jerks at the party) is a great show of his own nobility and gentility, the eternal hand being offered to her for safety if she would like it. Offered but never forced.

Just. Theoden King has his own darkness, his fear and despair. The exhaustion of age, of grief. And yet he still, every time, chooses to face the shadow facing his world and his people, standing tall, charging into battle and expecting not to come out.

And the death scene James deserved? That I will stand by to my last breath? The death scene we were robbed of? A beautiful parallel between Winter and Eowyn, done so perfectly in the films:

Theoden: "I know your face...Eowyn. My eyes darken." Eowyn: "No...I'm going to save you." Theoden: "You already did. Eowyn...my body is broken. You have to let me go. I go to my fathers, in whose mighty company I shall not now feel ashamed. Eowyn..."

The vibes here. Winter, having to let go the man she sees as a father figure, as her hero? The man who gave her safety, and even love? Trust? Freedom? His body broken, and begging - gently - not to be saved. Not to be fixed.

Where is the horse and the rider indeed. Where is the death that would have satisfied James' arc? A redemption of his paranoia and fear, a reinforcement of his strength and kindness? Where is the death for a general of men, in service to all mankind, seeking only to save them from the true evil of the world?

Anyway. That's the meta. That's the vibe. I will probably do another in future with Eowyn and Merry, and how their relationships with Theoden parallel Winter and Oscar specifically, but. I think this meta is long enough, don't you?