#The Red Knight Seeks No Reward | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fabricated-misslieness · 4 months

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: prince alhaitham x knight male reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: settling into your new duty

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4.34k ~ PT.1 ~ PT.3

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: sword training, incredibly minor injury, classism, mention of civil war

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Sumeru is a kingdom of knowledge, the wisest, most strategic of all. Yet they had not foreseen the kidnapping of the Crown Prince, much less by a dragon.

Azar, the king of the nation, is a man that takes pride in his intelligence. He knows of risks and consequences as much as he does of rewards and outcomes—he uses this as his stake in the world of Teyvat. His immense knowledge and the expanse of his land strike fear in the other kingdoms, despite his nation's sworn neutrality. These aspects of his make him the most admired man in Sumeru.

At least, that is what the common folk think.

At first, the King did not seem to have noticed his adoptive son was taken; or at the very least, he didn't care.

The Crown Prince was a clever man himself. Ever since he was young, he had an insatiable thirst for knowledge. As he grew into his adulthood, his collection did not satisfy him still, even if he has shown that he is already smart enough to take his father's place.

Perhaps Azar saw him as a threat to his throne. The dragon was actually doing him a favor. Why did he need to undo a deed so convenient?

But his Queen begged him, and eventually he gave in. He could not have her daily weeping stain their reputation.

He sent you. Your men lacked experience, and you, among the rest of the war generals, were the only knight of low blood.

It was clear that he intended to rid himself of you. When the news that you had failed would eventually reach the castle, he would cradle his wife in his arms and tell her he had tried.

But then you were back, the beloved Crown Prince in your arms, and he was displeased.

The Queen wept, finally, out of joy.

It was she who bestowed upon you the great honor of being Alhaitham's Knight, his alone, and you should be grateful for it.

In her eyes, you should be grateful. In your comrades' eyes, you should not. You were to be ripped away from your beloved peers, all to protect the Prince you had already saved once.

You know you should agree with your comrades, and yet there is something inside of you that thinks otherwise...

☾⋆☆⋆☽

There was an oath.

You had promised many things, kneeled with your head pointed down to his feet. He stood in front of you, in his golden gown, with the most blessed waters from the churning river of the Asavan Realm in his hand. He poured this water onto your head as you spoke the words.

The water that streaked down your bloodied helmet and armor pooled red around his feet, as if the very words you spoke dripped down your body.

"I am your shield," You had said almost mechanically, "the blows upon your body will not be yours, but mine. I am your sword," You stared at his bare feet—even as he stood in the bloodied water he did not flinch, as though he too took the oath from you himself. "where you point, I will strike."

"I will serve and protect you as your Knight," You had said, then, with great conviction, a surge of emotion in your body you couldn't quite point an origin to, and said, "I am yours."

☾⋆☆⋆☽

What did Alhaitham need from a knight?

He was very thankful for what you had done for him–it was the first time in his life that he had thanked a knight, much less a low blood–but it did not mean he required his protection.

He did not need his shield, who would dare to strike him? He did not need his sword, who would he seek to harm?

He did not need you at all.

He didn't need you stalking behind him, every step he took mirrored by your feet, he would much rather you stayed behind. You were not allowed even to do that, it seemed. The oath was meticulous, your sense of obligation towards it even more so.

Yet, as he turned around to shout a command to keep you away, he could not.

How could he, the Crown Prince, not tell a simple command? He had done it all his life, to servants, to knights, to nobles.

And there you stood behind him, your steps stopping suddenly, your face turning startled as you had almost ran into him.

You were just serving your oath. You were just protecting him.

He turned back around and continued on without a word.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

The first night you turned him in for bed, bowed your head as you closed the doors, you didn't know what to feel.

But then, you had your first meal. It was big and hearty, nothing you'd ever eaten before. It felt like a King's feast: an entire roasted pig on a platter of lettuce, a basket of all assortments of bread, a big bowl of steaming rice, another platter of smoked brisket ready for the taking. All of this encompassed in one plate. You could enjoy this.

Then, when the servants redirected you to your new chambers, you got a room. Your own room, for the first time, in the royal chambers wing.

The moment you collapsed on the bed you let out a big sigh—heaven must feel like this.

For the first week, you are satisfied. You finally get to rest.

Then the second week comes, and you miss your brotherhood. The Prince is not a good companion. He does not speak to you nor address you, but you know he does care for your presence when you find him staring at you during conversations he does not quite care for.

His gaze is judging, then. At least you think so.

His eyes drag boredly over the expanse of your armor, like a foe on the other side of the battlefield looking for a chink in your armor, something to take advantage of.

Most of the time he finds nothing. Most of the time, he brings his eyes back to the person opposite him within the minute.

And that is that.

No non-noble knight nor servant was allowed to voice their opinion to royal blood; if they came to be in that position of lowly work, how could their opinion matter?

They were only allowed during open discussion, and even then, most brushed off their ridiculous notions.

Generals could, but you were no longer a general.

So you are silent, and so too is he. Most days he would be fine with this silence. Today he is not.

"You are just going to watch me read?" He had asked, a book poised over his lap. It was fiction. Scholars would be baffled by the choice, what need would the Prince fulfill with fiction? But he knew you were not going to say anything.

"Yes." It is simple. You are supposed to be simple.

"You may go."

"What?" Emotion, no longer simple. He had caught you off-guard, and now you were questioning his command.

He was merciful anyway, "Leave."

So you often spent afternoons in the middle of the week, when he was without duty and reading for leisure, with your comrades. Training, for there was nothing to do with the Prince that would keep your muscles built as they were supposed to be, and also, due to your time together, you had begun to crave the grueling hours of hard work. These hours were your respite.

Sometimes he came to watch. You found him in the corner of your eye. He though he was being sneaky.

He does not stare at you the same way he does when conversation no longer draws his attention. He stares at you with, what is it, entertainment?

You don't speak of it to him.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

One afternoon, he does not let you go.

He has to begun to be more tender with you. He's increased a lot of things as of late: his eyes flitting over to meet yours, his visits to your training sessions, greeting goodmorning and bidding goodnight. They are subtle, but welcome.

Today, he has given you the honor of sitting beside him. He is not holding a book. You think that perhaps today the focus of his leisure will be you. You are right.

"What's your name?" It hadn't occurred to you that he didn't know it.

"(y/n)." You had said then, and it was simple.

In Sumeru, a servant does not speak the words "I have something to say.", what would a master care for what a servant had to say? They say, instead, "I have something to report.", then it is something important.

"You might have not seen me, but I watch you train." You've noticed, and you find yourself working harder when he is there. "You seem happy then, should you not be strained?"

You have to tread on your words lightly. "Being with you, your highness...my duty has just been to follow you around, for now. It is not enough exercise."

The Prince's nose scrunches up and for a moment you think you've offended him. "You wish to exercise?"

"It is...a change of pace."

"Right..." He hums, his gaze fluttering away. "Well, I'll see if I can arrange something."

He does not. Perhaps his mother said no. She and his father were the only ones he could not object to; his father by hierarchy, and his mother by respect.

The next afternoon, again, you sit at his side. Today, he is admiring your sword.

"This is the one that cut down the dragon?" He asks, running his fingers over the blade.

"Yes, your highness." You nod. In a rise of panic, you forget that he is supposed to know certain precautions himself. "Be careful, your–!"

If he hadn't pricked his finger as he did, you would've been punished.

The blade falls harmlessly over his lap. He stared at his finger like he had never felt pain before, his eyebrows furrowed. You take his hand over your palm and examine the wound. It is akin to pricking one's finger on a needle, if not deeper. It is nothing serious.

He knows this, knows that the pain is lesser than that of an injury caused by even a paper, and yet he lets you examine it.

Touching a royal blood without explicit consent is punishable. He does not mention it.

"I should've been more careful," He speaks the words he sees so clearly at the forefront of your mind, "it's fine. I'm fine."

"Of course." You take away your hand, and for a moment he finds himself missing the cold steel of your armor.

He clears his throat and offers the blade back, "What do you think of your sword?"

It's a peculiar question. Swords were just tools to kill with, nothing more. Especially not for a low blood. This blade was standard, your fellows had the same blade. But it was different, you suppose.

The leather of the handle is frayed, the pommel flattened, and the edges of the sword sharper. It looks used, it looks yours.

"It has grown old." You sheath it away. "Its whistle is not as sharp, it does not cut the air as it had once did. But it has served me well."

To think an object ages...yes, he has seen it. He sees that some books' pages are light, and others are dark as if coffee-stained. But a sword? "And your armor?" He asks curiously, "Has it grown old as well?"

"Well," You flex the plates over your fingers, "there is dust and dirt in the cracks, and it feels tighter than it had once been, but that is just me growing."

So the armor wasn't old, but you were? You were hardly a couple years older than he, and yet...yes, he sees it. He sees the way you are aged by battle. What battle? The failed civil war inspired by "king" Deshret, perhaps. But you must have been fourteen when you fought it.

"Did you fight in the civil war?"

"Yes." A nod.

"Do you wear this same armor?"

"No." You let your hand fall over the center of your chest. "But I wear the same chainmail." You remember how it had felt when you were young, slipping past your wrists. You had bound the excess higher with leather. It made your gloves fit tighter.

"How many years did you fight?"

"Two. I was thirteen my first battle."

So he was wrong. He rarely ever was wrong. It didn't taste bitter on his tongue like most wrongs he'd spoken. It tasted like revelation.

"Thirteen?" He asks, his eyebrows raised.

"Yes, your highness." You say it like it is nothing.

"Open discussion." He declares. You did not need to reply anymore, you could speak unprompted.

"Some of my comrades were twelve." You let your hand slide down your leg, the glove feels heavy over your knee. "Most of them died their first battle, others their second. I was among the youngest to survive that first year."

He asked many questions after that, and you answered truthfully. He asked about the battlefield, the civil war, your encampment, and many more things you had to dig your mind for. Despite it being open discussion, he did not leave you time to talk more after the question was answered.

Perhaps you had grown tired of it, because you asked, "Why are you so interested, your highness?"

He paused. You had taken him off guard, "Well..."

He was curious. Why was he so curious? You were a low blood knight, akin to a servant. The peculiarities you held were merely your battle prowess and the fact you defeated a dragon, and he already knew these things. What more would he need to know?

He was curious for the first time about a knight, for you weren't a remarkable nor infuriating scholar or servant, but a simple knight.

"I am simply curious." He replied, then, because he did not have an answer.

You couldn't ask him for a better one.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Today there is no time for leisure, only appearances. You trailed behind him in the city whilst he showed his face. It was meant to demonstrate that the royals were not so out of touch; the Prince had always thought it foolish.

Especially hauling a knight around behind him and not even talking to him.

You've long since gotten used to it, so the conversation of the last two days and his apparent need for another today was quite the challenge.

Don't speak out of line, don't speak unprompted, don't offend, don't speak too much.

"What do you think of this?" He asked, holding up one of the traveling merchant's wares, a model of a Liyuan dancer carved from wood.

An opinion. He was asking you for an opinion. No one but your fellows did so. You clear your throat to dismiss your surprise, "It is good, you can see the subject clearly. However, the carving is not smooth."

He nods his head and sets the sculpture down. "Then, which would you pick?"

Just a small look at each of the sculptures and you shook your head, "I would not."

"Why is that?" He furrows his brows, he hadn't expected that.

"None of the carving is smooth. There are edges you could cut yourself with." The Prince rolls his eyes, he thinks you're only fearing for his safety, but you continue, "It does not make for an appealing sculpture. It looks like it was carved with a butcher's knife."

The Prince laughs then. You'd heard it before, but this time it sounds different. It sounds pleasant, and dare you say more genuine.

"Right," He smiles at you. It's rare and all the more beautiful. "a Sumeru carpenter is better, then?"

"I believe so, your highness."

He nodded at this and moved on. He seemed appreciative of your opinion. A first for you, coming from a noble blood. It felt, for a lack of better word, refreshing.

He asks you again for your opinion at different merchant stalls. He asks you about the quality of this embroidered fabric, your opinion on pig's blood–you've never had it before, to his dismay–and even simpler, about the color green.

All these opinion had affected his choices.

When you came upon another carpenter, this one unequivocally Sumeru, he had not asked you about a single sculpture specifically, as he had done with other merchants' wares. Instead, he waved his hand in front of the display and asked, "Which one do you like?"

It wasn't "which one do you find most appealing", then it would've been an opinion for him to take into account. He asked it like it was definitive.

"That one." You pointed at the sculpture of a tree, a mere weeping willow. It reminds you of the myth of Irminsul, but that is not why you chose it. The leaves remind you of the color of his iris; the orange shading of the bark, the ring around his pupil; and the gray-lilac of its flowers, the silver of his hair.

He does not question you, only shoots a smile at the vendor, completes the transaction and moves on.

It was strange, the way your opinions mattered to him, for all the reasons given before. It might've made your peers feel powerful, even, that they had so much sway over a royal blood's decisions, much less the Crown Prince. But to you, it only felt...like you were seen, in a way. That you mattered.

You did matter, in situations such as battle and the war table; but you never mattered in the smaller things, like what color pleased you.

He seemed to think otherwise.

When you returned, that same day, to the castle, it was already evening. Dinner, however, is not served yet, so again you are left to your leisure.

The Prince considers the objects he has bought. His father does not like him to keep them—they are made less than skillfully in his eyes, by low-blood hands and low-blood artisans. He buys them only for show, because, again, that is what his father wishes. The King does not make appearances himself.

The Prince never really thought it a waste. It was just the way things were, much the same as the world created rain only to dump it over barren soils.

However, as he held these objects in his hands, he thought it was a waste; not of material, but of your opinion. The sculpture, most of all, as you had picked it out of desire.

He gives the servant that greets you at the door most of the things he's bought, then turns to you with the sculpture.

His hand extends it to you. For a moment, you are too dumbfounded to realize he is offering it to you. "My Prince, I–"

"Take it." He only says, his arm still extended; neither does he mention the way you call him yours.

For the first time since you were declared a war general, there is sheepishness in your gestures as you take the sculpture. "..thank you."

It is not in his blood, even less in his title, to say the following words, "You're welcome."

☾⋆☆⋆☽

He stood a little closer today whilst you trained, even more when you beckoned him closer. It drove your fellow knights away, fearful of the Prince's gaze, but you didn't mind it. Perhaps you should've. It was because of him that you missed a chance to reconnect with them since last week, after all; but he was merely curious.

His curiosity about you was also curious. You couldn't quite put your finger on why he was so interested.

Except you could. You had saved him from a dragon. That is enough.

Although you knew the King and the Queen both were each inquisitive in their nature, they were hardly ever curious about their servants and their knights. With how alike the Crown Prince was to them, you would've imagined him to be the same way. He had been the same way in the beginning. Something sparked a change.

You don't find yourself worrying about it, not now.

Instead, you worry about your stance. You worry about the way your sword strikes the dummy and you worry about the way your feet strike the muddy ground.

Most of all, you worry about not making yourself a fool—or...

Is it that that you worry about, or is it about making an impression? Impressing him?

In your distraction, you make a mistake. You swing down your sword, and it does not quite sever the dummy's stuffed, fabric arm. You click your tongue and dislodge the blade, about to strike the dummy again when he speaks.

"You said your sword was old?" He phrases it as a question, but he continues as if it wasn't. "Why not replace it?"

"It works the same." You reply, in the next moment, severing the fabric arm entirely.

His voice cuts through the sound of your efforts, "The frayed handle is not hard to hold?"

"Perhaps." A frustrated grunt.

"And the pommel doesn't affect the weight of the swing?"

"It does." Another.

"And yet you keep it." This statement has you stopping.

It has you turning around to face him, balancing the sword in your hands so as to show him each aspect, regardless of the fact he has examined it before. "The other men believe it is luck to keep the same items. I do not know if it is true; my men wore old armor and wielded old swords when they were melted down by dragon's breath. What I do know that my blade holds is sentiment. It holds memories. I did not wield this blade during the civil war–those are bad memories–but I have wielded it during moments of hardship, and most of all during moments of victory. Killing the dragon, for one."

It was not open discussion. He hadn't declared it, and neither had he asked you a question. You weren't supposed to give an answer.

He seems shocked, not at the unprompted rant, but at your words. "...yes."

It had not occurred to him that the age of things was good, nor that it might hold sentimental value. The tunics he wears this month are not the same as the last. The tunic he will wear for this year's Enlightenment Festival will not be the same tunic as the one of the year before. His plate is not the same each dinner, and his utensils neither.

Nothing in his life has been the same, permanent. Everything changes. He had never thought it a bad thing, not until now.

Your breathing steadies, the frustration fades. You speak your apologies, kneeled with your head pointed down to his feet, the pose of a beggar, the pose of an oath-taker. "I'm sorry, your highness. I did not mean to speak out of line, I only–"

"Haitham." He replied.

His name? You knew his name. You keep your gaze on his feet, "Prince Alhaitham, I greatly apologize–"

"Haitham." He repeats. Not Prince Haitham, not Alhaitham. Just Haitham, no respect to the name, no "Al", no title. Just Haitham.

You don't know what to say.

"Lift your gaze, (y/n)." He speaks your name...tenderly. Full of apprehension, you obey, looking into his green irises and red-rimmed pupils. When you meet his eyes, you see that he looks down at you not with anger, but with sympathy. "Speak my name. No apology."

"Haitham." You say. It feels strange on your tongue: titleless, respectless.

He smiles. It is a tiny thing, but it is directed to you. "I forgive you." He offers yet another mercy, "You don't have to impress me, even though I know you will continue to, subconsciously."

He was right, but it eased your nerves a bit.

You turn around and continue to train. Your sword whistles in the air, now, with ease; creating a song he quite enjoyed. The uninterrupted harmony created by metal as it thrummed with each coordinated swing of the sword felt akin to the pieces he played during his harpsichord lessons, though the playing of the instrument seemed much more mundane in comparison to this.

It was much more than music too, it was a dance. The step of your foot with each lunge and each strike–recovering from the strength required for each swing and simultaneously gathering more strength–seemed to take as much grace and effort as a ballerina.

There was beauty in this, beauty in the skill to slaughter, ignoring the reason for which to know it.

"My Knight," He speaks not your name, but to be his is still a special condition that sparks emotion, "what do you say I follow you around tomorrow?"

The excitement created by the way he addressed you turned into confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

Alhaitham shakes his head with a smile, "Open discussion."

"Why do you need to see what I do on the daily, your highness?" After all, your routine was hardly important. No one would ever ask such a question of a knight nor a servant.

"I am merely curious."

He was always curious as of late, mainly about you. It was starting to seem normal now. "My routine...my duty is to be your protector, your highness." You press your lips into a pitiful line, "I do not have anything outside of that."

He frowned. It was true, and he hadn't considered it. It was a strange thing, to not know what came next, unlike how he always did. Actually, it felt a bit exciting. "Then how about what you did before?"

He likely knew what you had done before, if he ever paid attention to the knights' routine. Yours was never separate, you've been doing the same thing for over a decade. But...you had actually started to miss it. It was evident in the thrill you received from taking up your training once more, even if sparsely.

When he speaks up again you think he only seeks to break the silence, but his voice was soft, empathetic? "I'm interested."

It sounded narcissistic at face value, but he was easing your concern from the mundanity of the routine. "Sure."

You hadn't imagined the Prince ever taking an interest in you, much less another noble. This will be interesting.

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x male reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x male reader #🎟 // genshin impact #🎫 // alhaitham #🌸 // success!

187 notes · View notes

majunju · 7 months

Note

Is there any particular reason why you like red hair ml?

BAHAHAAH did u come from my twitter omg i made a tweet ab this like yesterday 😭😭 also no tbh! my two fav manhwa mls just happen to be redheads (aenon from queen cecia's shorts and kaillou from the red knight seeks no reward)

#asks #anyways if u havent read those two series plz do theyre two of the very few series i actually enjoy LMAO #ik ppl r probably sick and tired of hearing me complain ab the current state of otome isekai series but man it's so ass #same flavour of ml same flavour of fl same plot same everything . it SUCKS

76 notes · View notes

simping-overload · 3 months

Text

Day 3 - Sampard

a/n: I'm totally ignoring the fact it's January, and I'm gonna finish this kinktober project 🙏🙏 ao3 link

including: vampire sampo, bitting, blindfolds, edging,

ヾthis is a multi-fandom blog that is designed for mlm/nbmlm identifying readers! so if you're female or fem please do not follow or interact with my mlm related post!! you will be blocked if you do not heed this warning ゛

The sight of Gepard was delicious, he's sprawled out bare against the crimson silk sheets with a blindfold covering his baby blue eyes. His thighs twitch and tremble as Sampo teases his cock. His skillful hand fist the knights cock, his pace was agonizingly slow. While it still brings him pleasure, it's not enough to seek out that realses he desperately craves.

His brows are furrowed when bucks his hips against Sampos hand, hopping the con would get the hint to go faster.

Sampo chuckles at the whine that slips from Gepards lips, "Nuh uh~ My little knight, if you want something, you have to be a big boy and ask.

The tips of Gepards ears flush a bright red, he mumbles out something but is too low for Sampo to hear. The blue haired con trails his hand along Gepards inner thigh, feeling the muscle tremble and tense underneath his touch.

"You have to speak up, little knight."

"Go faster... please." He pleads his cock twitching against Sampos hand.

Sampo doesn't say a word as he quickens his pace, he runs his tongue over his fangs when he senses the blood pulsing in

Gepard digs his fingers into the sheet, head thrown back against the pillows as droll begins to seep out from his mouth. He doubts he could ever work his cock like this with his own hand, his rough and calloused hand in comparison to Smapos soft and smooth ones.

Sampo leans down, his pace not wavering as he presses kisses into Gepards chest. He knows every sensitive spot of his lovers body, his chest, esspically. Now that he has taken his sight away, his other senses are working overtime, causing his knight to be even more sensitive then before.

The blonde lets out a gasp and moans when Sampo latches himself onto his nipple, instinctively arching his back when his warm tongue touches his cold bud.

Gepard can feel himself getting closer. He raises a shakey hand to Sampos' shoulder and gets his attention.

"Ah— Sampo, I'm close."

Sampo looks up at him, removing himself from the nipple, running over the swollen bud with his free hand. He suddenly slows his movements on Gepards cock, going back to the pace he had before.

"Sampo? Why..." Gepard asks, frown prevalent on his lips. He tries to sit up but gets held down by the hand on his chest. He doesn't know what the blue haired man is doing until he can feel sharp fangs grazing his neck.

"I just want to get taste of my little knight, then we can continue, okay?" Sampo says, waiting for Gepards approval before sinking his teeth into his neck.

As always, his love tasted divine. He shuts his eyes, relaxing and savoring the taste as it flows into his mouth. Gepard wraps his arms around Sampos' shoulder and holds him close, moans slip past his lips, sounding like melodies to Sampos ears.

As he drinks, Sampo decides to quicken his pace on Gepards cock, as a reward for letting him feed off him this time. Due to Gepards, it was very understanable, and anxiety after a time when he drank a little too much. He was forbidden to drink from him again for a few months.

Gepard admittedly enjoys the feeling of getting his blood sucked. It made him feel relaxed and kept his mind away from his stressful Silverman Guard duties. However, for the most part, it makes him feel close to Sampo, closer than he had ever been with anyone else before.

Sampo pulls away, licking at the blood seeping out of the wound until it stops. He gives Gepard a few more strokes before the blonde cums all over, it spurts out in long thick strips, covering Sampos hand and his stomach.

He removes his hand, placing it on Gepards quivering thighs, rubbing small circles to calm him down from his high. Sampo uses his freehand to undue the blindfold. Gepard blinks a few times, trying to readjust to the light. Thankfully, Sampo had enough mercy to dim the lights beforehand.

The blue haired man brings a hand to the blondes face, pulling him away from his clouded mind and onto him. Striking blue eyes lock with his emerald green ones.

"You did so well, my knight." Sampo praises, leaning down to place a final kiss on his lovers lips.

#sampard #vampire sampo #smut #sampard smut #sampo x gepard #gay #mlm #vampire x human #vampire #human #hsr #hsr smut #honkai star rail

20 notes · View notes

yandere-writer-momo · 1 year

Note

is it okay for me to request about the white king jack? you don't have to do it if you want to.

Of course!

Yandere Baki Short Stories:

The White King

Sneaking away from Baki was easier said then done but you were able to do it with the help of Hanayama. You didn’t know why the red knight was so interested in assisting you but you didn’t question it. You didn’t want to know the reason on why his eyes were always on you either.

Hanayama held your hand in his much larger one as he lead you to the outskirts of the kingdom. His dark eyes glancing around.

“Meet me at this spot in half a day’s time. I will fetch you and bring you back. Ask the White King for help to be able to go home.” Hanayama whispered as he gave your hands a gentle squeeze. “He should know how to send you back home.”

“Okay. I’ll should be back by then. I’ll be back soon, Hanayama-“

“Kaoru. Call me Kaoru.” Hanayama smiled at you as he released his hold on you.

“See you soon, Kaoru.” You then turned on your heel and walked over the border, unaware that you dropped your white handkerchief.

The knight quickly scooped it up and held it up to his face. He was so happy you were finally on a first name basis with him.

It wasn’t a long walk until you stood before a giant White Castle. A knight in all white armor approaching you.

“Halt! Who are you and what is it that you seek?” The knight held up his sword to you as you tried your best to remain calm. You could feel sweat drip down your back as the sharp blade nearly nicked your nose.

“I am here to see the White King. I need his help.” You surprised yourself with how steady your voice was. You didn’t cower under the knight’s sharp gaze despite wanting to. “I’m not from here and I really want to go home.”

The knight paused for a minute before withdrawing his sword. A sigh escaping his lips.

“You’re the Alice.” The knight took off his helmet to reveal a feminine man with long red hair. “I will take you to the King.”

“Oh. Thank you-“

“My name is Kureha Shinogi.” The knight interrupted her with a smirk. “Don’t forget it.”

He was a douche. That was just wonderful.

“My name is (your name). Pleasure to meet you.” The knight only hummed in response.

There was a comfortable silence between the two of you as he lead you to the throne room. You were surprised to see a colossal man covered in scars sitting on the throne. You could feel a lump forming in your throat once his eyes met yours.

“The Alice finally makes their grand appearance.” A deep voice rumbled out of the king’s chest as he stood. You blushed once you realized he was shirtless and only has a fur robe on to cover his chest. “What brings you to my domain?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you tried to get over how truly terrifying this man was. He had to be over eight feet tall. He was almost as tall as a tree.

“I…” you took in a deep breath to calm yourself before exhaling. You got this. “I need your help to be able to return home.”

“Home?” The king made his way over to you before reaching a hand out to clutch your chin. “And what do you define home as?”

“My home is where my family is.” You replied without hesitation. You were trying so hard not to cry from being under this man’s intimidating presence.

The king hummed as his blue eyes studied every detail on your face. A smile forming on his lips when you didn’t tremble.

“You’re very pretty...” The king whispered as he pulled away. “Alright. I’ll help you but you must give me something in return.”

“Of course! I’ll do anything.” You replied without hesitation unaware that you were making a deal with the devil.

“Then when the time comes, I will take my reward.” The king smiled as he took her hands in his massive ones. “What is your name?”

“My name is (your name).” You smiled at the king whose cheeks flushed red.

The king cleared his throat as he shyly glanced over to the side. “My name is Jack. Jack Hanma.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you.” You closed your eyes as you gave him another smile, unaware of the furious blush on Jack’s face.

You were not afraid of him… you didn’t cry when he smiled at you and you didn’t tremble under his touch. You were the one. You were his destiny…

You glanced at the clock before frowning. You needed to leave before you were late to return to Hanayama.

“I must go now… I’ll try to see you again soon.” You gave Jack a grin as you pulled away. The king frowning when your warmth left him.

“I’ll hold you to your word then.” Jack whispered as he glanced at Kureha. The knight giving him a knowing smile. “Lead them to the border, Kureha. We have a lot of work to do until they return to us.”

“Of course, my liege.” Kureha bowed as he began to guide you out of the throne room.

You cast one final glance at Jack to give him a bright smile.

“Thank you again, Jack. I’ll see you soon.” You gave him a wave before Kureha shooed you out.

Jack remaining crouched down before he fell to his knees completely. The giant clutching his chest to stop his heart from beating out of his chest.

Was this… love at first sight?

53 notes · View notes

aroace-polyshow · 3 months

Note

inbox invasion but. just some of my recent fav manhwa (my mothers contract marriage; the red knight seeks no reward; heres the silver spoon) idk if u'll care but i love them

I DO IN FACT CARE!!!! the art style is nice :3

#asks

14 notes · View notes

ainulindaelynn · 6 months

Text

[20 Question Fic Writer Tag]

Thanks for the tags, loves! @brasideios @whereforartthoumisthios

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

1, technically, as they’re all connected.

2. What is your AO3 word count?

Currently 12k-ish. I pulled a bunch down a few months ago to rework things that were half-edited and bothering me. They haven’t returned yet, but I’m optimistic.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

AO3 will tell you only AC Odyssey, but in my active drive I have WIPs for AC Valhalla, Red Dead Redemption 2 (which I need to lure more of my AC mutuals into playing... ;)), Stardew Valley, and BG3. There maaay be a few pieces I'm reworking from fanfiction.net also. Those ones are for Knights of the Old Republic, Dragon Age Origins, and maybe even a Snow White & the Huntsman (xD). As a teen I wrote a bit of LoTR and Star Wars (old republic era OCs mostly), but that's been ages.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Fewer than five posted, so I'm skipping this one!

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, mostly because I know most writers love comments, so I try to reward people who take the time. Honestly, if not for that I would blind-post everything and opt out of seeing kudos/comments. I love them, but it's too easy to depend on the reassurance. I'd rather drop them into the internet abyss and interact with people who seek me out on tumblr. I’d never give up the chance to connect over them though. You all are too kind and awesome <3

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

KotOR probably. It’s about Revan recovering her memory and reconnecting with the purpose of her fall, which leads her to walk the same way again, but with more care and less hope. Also going alone, as repentance for Malak’s fate.

ACO's has an angstier storyline (Brasidas Dx), but the actual ending is long after that wraps up, so it doesn’t quite count ;)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

SDV probably. How could anyone write Shane without giving him a happy ending? That guy needs a happy ending!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not so far.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, mostly by accident. There's a lot of chemistry exposition there and I always cave to that. Probably equal parts F/F and F/M.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nope! Open to it, but my brain doesn't leap like that.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge. Although if anyone wanted to take my old ideas and run with them, I' it'd save me a lot of work reconfiguring! xD I also love re-writes. Everyone picks up on different nuances and I love to see the same idea expressed different ways. Direct theft not so much.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

When I was a young teen, but not since. My co-writer and I reconnected last year and its funny the kind of bond (and friction) that forms.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I'm not capable of answering that question. Genuinely. Pass!

15. What's a WIP you'd like to finish but doubt you ever will?

I'm happily in denial about all of them, thank you very much. Leave me and my 25 fics alone! xD

16. What are your writing strengths?

Oh gosh. I've been told action, but if that's true it's entirely by luck. Writing it is like pulling teeth. I'm going to join this question with the next, because I think strengths and weaknesses are often two sides of the same, and say introspection and body language minutia, because I LOVE those, but could easily write entire chapters of that, so I'm constantly cutting that down. Blessing and a curse, ya know?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

The above, because it's to excess, but also OCD editing tendencies. I have a thing about cadence, varying paragraph and sentence-length, and (most oppressively) magnetizing my sentences. I'm not sure what the actual term for that is, but when you tie the end of one sentence to the beginning of the next with a common thought or word. We’re taught to do it with paragraphs, obviously, but on a tighter level. Every sentence. It's fun for reader fluidity, but way too much work.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I have no skills for it, but as long as it's translated, I enjoy reading it!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Probably LotR. I had an OC who insisted on following two steps behind the fellowship, intersecting with them a few times. Third Age, the game, was built on the same premise, so I eventually abandoned it in lieu of that.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Imagined or written? Because the answer is different. Imagined is probably DA:O. Written is ACO, by far. I've never put so much time in on a story. Someday I'll make it cohesive enough to post! xD

I’m still emerging from my hermit cave and don’t know who’s done what, so I’m going to skip tagging this time, but I missed you all and am glad to be back(ish) 😂

#tag games #fanfiction #ainulindaelynn

9 notes · View notes