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senjuside · 3 years

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“Uchiha Izuna,” it—he rasps dryly, face cold as marble. “Good morning. Would you tell me why your brother keeps throwing gifts in my face everytime we meet?”

Looking at the sides of his futon with the sudden realization that Tobira isn’t letting him goes anywhere, with the heavy body almost smashing him in the mattress, Izuna thinks about how he should tell a fucking siren that his absolute insane brother is trying to propose in a very, very archaic way.

Giving a trembling, wry smile at the thing, Izuna shivers heavily when the siren smiles back, with too many sharp teeths to be peaceful or friendly in any way.

And they’ve the audacity to tell Izuna was the one who hadn’t any survival instinct remaining.

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara

Rating: T

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 2734

Written for @madatobiweek, Week 1: Folklore and mythology // The moment I knew. Read on AO3 or under the cut :)

(my bad for any mistake or something guys. english, as you'll see, isn't my first language :p good reading, anyway <3)

Madara had never been a usual lover—always all sharp barbs and rough language used as a comfortable shield to hide the soft gazes he’d give Tobirama—even if, Tobirama supposes, they’ve never been a usual couple either.

Madara is a peculiar creature, Tobirama knows. He’s harsh to deal with, hurdle, and for onces paranoid. But, Tobirama thinks with a nearly fond, in love smile, he would’ve his moments as well.

Like his apparently newly gained obsession with gifts.

It was quite cute from the very first time. A weighty book written in the old language of the dwarfs, that lived in the south. An anklet of silver, and a ring of amestice. Even a couple of heavy fur collars, soft that hurted at the touch, smelling distinguly like Madara.

All the gifts are carefully bestowed inside of his cave, in a safe bubble of air to not screw up with nothing. Was a really sweet action of such a rough man like Madara, rude like Tobirama is pretty aware he usually is, so Tobirama wouldn’t like to waste those kinda rare openly ways to show affection.

Unlike the dragons, sirens like Tobirama in general don't really give a matter to the thing’s price, gold or diamond—even if Tobirama is pretty sure that sirens do not usually get gifts from pleasure. They’re usually too busy with the ‘charming pretty sallys underwater and so devour’-thing to make good first impressions or build relationships.

But, Tobirama supposes, everything certainly has a limit.

And now Madara is nearly to overtake it. Hard.

“FOR YOU,” Madara yells, even if he's one step away from Tobirama, sitting poorly in the river’s muddy margens.

Tobirama blinks at him, wordlessly for a second, but Madara doesn’t offer anything more but turns into his back and runs away, giving Tobirama no chance to thank or say a word.

For the fifty time, just this week.

It’s starting to turn… cansative, Tobirama ponders, looking carefully at the golden mirror in his hands.

Pursing his lips down, Tobirama honestly thinks that this shit is elongating itself for a way more than it would be necessary.

If Madara isn’t going to get his head out of his ass, Tobirama may have some questions to ask the Uchiha.

———————

A drop of water falls down to rest on Izuna’s cheek, followed by another, and another. Izuna struggles himself over asleep, frowning.

Another drop falls through his jaw, to dive inside his open sleep-yakuta, cold as hell, making Izuna quivers hard and wake up suddenly, shaking, just to blink open his eyes, his vision cloudy by the sleepness, and get himself face to face with—all Izuna’s words — a sharp feature elevated above him, pale as a paper with devilish red eyes, imobile, gazing at him deeply.

The only thing that hinders Izuna to scream for help is the creature’s hand put against his mouth. The room still was shadowish by the close fusumas, and a thick trail of water left spots on the tatames. Not daring to look away, Izuna inbreate sharply, wide-eyed looking at the impassive face of the thing above him.

A vision that, for Izuna’s total and absolute terror, slowly starts to remind him disturbingly of some of Madara's descriptions.

And, although Izuna knew Madara has a lover outside the clan—and probably any person that could hear or read lips in the Uchiha did notice Madara being insupportable and repugnantly sweet when he was singing praises at his dearest Tobira— he could never expect a fucking siren just out of Izuna’s wrostes nightmares.

“Uchiha Izuna,” it—he rasps dryly, face cold as marble. “Good morning. Would you tell me why your brother keeps throwing gifts in my face everytime we meet?”

Izuna shallows hardly, repentinaly regretting deeply having fought with Madara to sleep for one more hour instead of attending the clan’s reunion this morning. Looking at the sides of his futon with the sudden realization that Tobira isn’t letting him goes anywhere, with the heavy body almost smashing him in the mattress, Izuna thinks about how he should tell a fucking siren that his absolute insane brother is trying to propose in a very, very archaic way.

Giving a trembling, wry smile at the thing, Izuna shivers heavily when the siren smiles back, with too many sharp teeths to be peaceful or friendly in any way.

And they’ve the audacity to tell Izuna was the one who hadn’t any survival instinct remaining.

———————

Dragons are such beautiful, sweet and possessive creatures, Tobirama learned with the time. Differently from his specie, for onces cold and kinda cruel, hovering in deep, cold waters, so deep that even the light couldn’t come in there sometimes, the dragons aren’t any different from the fire they could spit out.

Their love would burn, deep and beautiful, as blaze fierling all along the night.

Tobirama is a child from the sea; his love isn’t scorching as the dragon’s love is but silent and peaceful like a quiet summer night browsing in calm sea, at the same it is furious and instotable like the worst of the storms. It is measureless as is the ocean, for sure hurdle, for times, but never flawed.

Dragons are explosive as the fire that growls into their veins. They’re imediatalist, and they trust deeply or simply do not. There’s no middle term in love, in family. You’re theirs, or isn’t.

They’re explosions of emotions, stars collapsing in supernovas—all the opposite of Tobirama, cold and racionable when the situation needs, treacherous in confidence, never trusting in no one but himself, despite using it to climb at his objectives, and there’s no shame in admit that: he’s what he’s and wouldn’t change for nobody.

Tobirama knows he’s hard to deal with, but, if there’s a single resemblance between sirens and dragons, when you’re into his heart, you’re there forever—because the tide may change, but the trail will be always there for thoses who venture to travel and conquist. And when Madara stole that kiss from him, Tobirama allowed him to stay, for forever, if he wanted to. He was from Madara from body and soul since that time when Madara’s fingers nuzzled down his scales.

Tobirama chuckles softly to himself, nestling the pearl necklace Madara had given him this week against his chest. He’s just Madara's, but it seems like his koibito doesn’t notice this yet.

Little fool.

———————

“You were building a treasure for me.”

It is the first thing Tobirama says, his voice dry as usual while he points out, when Madara comes into his field of vision.

Naturally, Tobirama knew of the dragon’s tendencies to accumulate, of course. He may have spent half a life peeking around deep waters, but he’s not oblivious. Even Madara already had prided himself for Tobirama after he stole—”found around the battlefield, I ain’t a thief, siren of hell”— a sword or a helmet he considered good enough to be on his particular treasure.

He never thought, however, that this would extend to their partners.

Madara seems to freeze in half a way, a few steps from where he meets Tobirama almost every night. His heavy cloak rock softly with the wind, the stiff scale next to the horns in the temples fading out with the creamy skin the moonlight's light—light that doesn't do anything to hide Madara's soft flush when he stops throughout the trail to the river’s margers, looking anything but absolutely cute.

Who’d say that this ugly mug may be so adorable, Tobirama scoffs mentally, playful, as he perceives Madara starts to look more and more ashamed. So different from the pride warrior he had seen Madara transformed himself amidst the battlefield more than one time, tearing apart flesh with his claws as he'd cutting raw silk.

Tobirama smiles softly, although he’s been pretty aware that his sharp, long teeths probably doesn't seem like an amorous expression at all. "Stop get stood here like a idiot and come here, stupid," Tobirama scoffs gentily.

Madara's eyes narrow thighly, the narrow slits brighting in the night with a soft red glow, but does, taking a step in to sit in the river's margers

Tobirama pushes his body up to rest his head next to Madara's lap.

“You made quite a mess, you know that?” Tobirama said softly. “Your brother seemed to be absolutely terrified when he saw me.”

Madara frowns, widening his eyes a bit. “Did you go see Izuna?”

“Any problem?” Tobirama asks dryly, arching a cheeky eyebrow. “I was getting tired of having my partner throwing things at me and so turning away to run off, you know.”

Madara grimaces, poking Tobirama’s forehead softly. “Peace, siren of mine. I was just asking.”

Tobirama huffs, as the pride creature Madara knows he’s, narrowing his eyes before getting started again, “he didn’t help, though. I suppose he was too afraid of me eating him alive or something to mutter more than a couple of words without passing out.”

Madara cannot help but laugh. “Sounds like him. And explains why he was looking like a crazy man to the koi pond when I went off.”

“Of the couple of things he could make minimally undestable, I discovered some interesting things,” Tobirama continues dryly, but there’s a background of palpable diversion in his voice. “He said something about ‘absolutely insane relatives’—” Madara turns his eyes there, “—‘stupid courtship’ and I’m pretty sure he did yell a think alike ‘engagement.’”

Madara suddenly curses mentaly his pale skin when his cheeks sembles to catch on fire again, as well the always trained eyes of Tobirama, shining like two rubies in the damp, his gaze burning in his face, watchful at all his little reactions. Huffing to get away his sudden embarrassment, Madara grumbles grumply, “and you connect the dots. Of course you did, fuckin’ genius son of a bitch.”

Tobirama smiles, a simple contraction on the edge of his lips. “Naturally,” he brags himself, the insupportable. “I’d appreciate a contribution of yours, throught.”

Madara grimaces, but doesn’t take a word against him. Cleaning his throat with a soft disgust contraction on his lips, he gets started, “... yes, it’s kind of an engagement, but more like… a proposal. You know that every dragon has a collection of something, right? I collect bright, mortal things. Such as weapons,” Madara explains calmy, but he’s feeling anxious, Tobirama can say by the way he keeps his gaze trained in his hands, an adorable soft flush covering his pale cheeks. “Therefore, when we’ve got interest in someone, it was usual for the dragon to give his interest with gifts to add to their treasure. That’s why I wanted to give you something that would… fit with you. Not just. Trinket."

“I supposed it would be something like that,” Tobirama sings, smiling. “So, I should return your gifts, shouldn’t I?”

Madara whips up himself, stumbling around the words, “I-I mean, if you’d accept the courtship—”

Tobirama laughed. “Oh, you’re such a fool sometimes, my love.” Madara opens his mouth to hash out wrathful, but Tobirama keeps speaking before Madara can have the chance for saying anything, “of course I’d, Madara. If a siren matches, they’d match for a life. There’s no dating. You’re mine and I've been yours since the day I accepted you inside my home.”

Madara blinks. He breathes, “oh.”

Tobirama scoffs before he could hold himself, “oh, fuckin’ jerk.”

Madara squawks aloud, opening his mouth to fuss, but Tobirama just chunkles, getting on his elbows to stand up and press their lips softly.

“I hate you,” Madara murmurs against Tobirama’s mouth a second later, just to make his point.

One of Tobirama’s teeth nips on Madara’s lip lightly, not enough to hurt or to take off blood, but teasing. Feeling playful, Tobirama gently pushes down a handful of Madara’s hair to make him curve next to him, easing the angle for Tobirama to lick inside Madara’s mouth. “I hate you too, sweetheart,” he scoffs, “no worries.”

Madara turns his eyes, sighing when he presses their foreheads together. “Shitty idiot. I was trying to be romantic, y’know.”

Tobirama arches an eyebrow. “I highly doubt you were romantic for a second of your entire life.”

Madara seems to be offended, bristiling like an urchin. “I’m very romantic, thank you! And thinking I did an entire courtship plan to you bawl me out like that…”

Smiling easily, Tobirama nudges softly, “did you, so?”

Madara flusters himself with a petty whiff, getting started grumply, “I mean, it’s a little anquite, but… I wanted to show you that, mm-I mean, like the tradition says. That you aren’t something I’m taking ownership of, but that I am sharing my treasure with you, and what’s mine is yours.”

“That’s,” Tobirama says a couple of moments later, blinking a bit of surprise, but with his voice repugnantly soft and gentle, “especially sweet of you. Thank you, Madara.”

Madara huffs. “Don’t mention it.”

Tobirama rolls his eyes, playfully poking Madara’s tight with sharp teeth. “Don’t be so smug about it.”

Madara arches an eyebrow. “Hope you haven’t forgotten I am an Uchiha. It’s in my blood.”

“Stupidness?” Tobirama asks dryly.

“No. We do like to exhibe our things. Especially those mortal and beautiful. Or just the ones that bite.”

Tobirama’s face covers quickly with red. He grumbles, pouting sulky, “shut the fucking up, Uchiha. That’s the only thing your pea-sized brain can think about?”

“When I’ve a willing, beautiful siren only for me?” Madara smirks. “Absolutely.”

Preening a hand across the soft, sleek scales where it united together with the almost phantasmagoric white skin from Tobirama’s belly, by where it is out of the water, resting in the mud next to one of Madara’s legs, Madara hums happily. “Sirens don't have some type of honeymoon?” he asks serenely.

Tobirama chuckles. “I think they’d.”

“I suppose I’ve to celebrate with my pretty fiancé.” Madara shudders. “Haven’t I?”

“I’m sure you’ve,” Tobirama replies easily, spreading out his arms to deliberately offer Madara a better vision of his chest, letting the way down his belly free, easy for Madara to slip with his hand. Arching an eyebrow, Tobirama asks, “shy now, Madara?”

Madara scoffs aloud. “Nothing I haven’t seen yet, bastard.”

“Tired already of, so?”

“Never.” Madara’s quick to ensure. “You’re always a show aside. And I’d suppose we'll have to consummate. Again. Dragon style.”

Tobirama cannot help but laugh. “Why are you always a shitty mood killer? Better—why do I accept getting engaged with you, from all the people?”

Giggling, Madara noses Tobirama’s jaw absently. “Because you love me, clearly.”

Tobirama does, of course—but it wasn't like he’s going to say it and inflame Madara’s ego more than it already is.

Instead, Tobirama just moans softly when Madara scrapes his blunt teeth in his neck, huffing a blow of heated air against the bruise he certainly left.

Greedy, his lover is, and Tobirama doesn’t do anything to appease that when Madara growls softly some verbal affirmation of that but smiles, his teeth scraping dangerously Madara’s pants, sucking a bruise next to his hips.

Tobirama’s smile is all teeth. “Cute of you to think dragon’s are the only ones with possessive tendencies here.”

———————

“There’s a motherfucker demon living on your koi pond, Madara! Are you fucking crazy?!”

“The demon surely has a name,” Tobirama rumbles, thicc and sharp, a dark playfulness trickling on his tone, from where he’s upholding his head on his hands, above the engawa, arching an eyebrow to Izuna as he smiles, all teeth.

“Madara!” Izuna cries out. “He’ll pull my feet when you’re asleep and so drown me! Look at him!”

Tobirama hums, without any shame, and, perhaps propositaly, arches his upper lip a bit to show his teeth better, as he’d growling.

“He’s learning how to smile,” Madara grumbles at him, blind by passion. Or charmed, Izuna thinks, narrowing his eyes to the thing, floating in the koi pond, looking absolutely suspiciously serene. “And Tobirama will be perfectly fine. He’ll not drown you or anyone. Stop being rude with my bride, Izuna! Where’s your manners?”

While Madara keeps talking around and complaining about Izuna, Tobirama arches a sharp eyebrow at him. “Easy now, Izuna. I’m living here, and I’d hate to eat my brother-in-law accidentally.”

Whimpering, Izuna would like to know where he could sign up to change from his family, thank you so much.

#madatobi #madatobiweek2021 #folklore and mythology #senju tobirama #uchiha madara #uchiha izuna #dragons and sirens #kinda suggestive #tobimada #tobirama x madara

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teamxdark · 3 years

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They say the pen is mightier than the sword...

My Dearest Arthur,

Today, as I was heading back to the castle, Galahad stopped me. He pointed out a bird, small and blue like the sky, drinking from a puddle on the ground. We both stopped, watching it as it drank its fill, stretched its wings, and flew away.

It made me think of you.

My love, you try so hard to be the best leader for us all. You do it without complaint, struggling with the problems of a populace, making the decisions that a lesser being wouldn't dare consider. I know how much this burden crushes you, but all the same, I cannot for the life of me think of anyone more worthy than you to hold such power.

I have heard the complaints of those who disagree with your choices. They throw about opinions without care for consequences. They know nothing of the thought you put into every decision you make, and every time I hear some scoundrel run their mouth about how they would do better than you, I feel the urge to silence them, with my words or my blade, I care not which.

The things you do to me, my love...

Yes, you are the most worthy king, of that, I am certain, but you are also the most deserving of the freedom you crave. I see it, Arthur. I see the way you stare out the window, into the sky, beyond the clouds, with such profound longing that I know and understand all too well. It is enough to make a man weep.

...I have wept, I must admit. For you, and over you. If I could grant you your freedom, I would do so in a heartbeat, even if it meant that you would be gone, leaving like that bird, flying away without a backwards glance and never looking back. My grief at your absence would only be assuaged by the knowledge that you are finally unburdened. That you are happy.

Sometimes, I like to imagine that you take me with you. I imagine your hand in mine, and your smile reaching your eyes, the portrait of joy that should never have left your face, and I follow you, just as I have vowed, to the ends of the earth and into the world beyond this life.

I know it is selfish. I know it is impossible. You, Arthur, are the most selfless man I know. I have seen you grow over many years, becoming more and more responsible with time and experience. It is I who has become selfish. It is I who indulges these fantasies of taking you away to bask in your brilliance that I can never get enough of. But you could never betray your people. You could never say yes to a premature freedom. You will not be king forever, and this we both know, and you are willing to wait for the end of your reign while I still imagine ripping you from this life without a care for those that remain behind.

My desires are inconsiderate, not just to you, but to everything you've worked for. To everyone who needs you. To those who need me, too.

I shall never be worthy of you, Arthur, but my heart shall never beat for anyone else in the way it does for you.

Forever yours,

Lancelot

...

Darling Arthur,

Do you remember when we were young? Do you remember when we were but boys, training until we were collapsed on the ground, day after day?

Do you remember the first time you called me 'Lance'?

I hated it back then. I warned you to never call me anything but 'Lancelot' again, for it was my name. It was the name my mother had given me, my mother who saved me and chose me before I even knew how to walk. My name was my link to her, an important part of my identity and my proof of being wanted.

I was, truly, a stupid child.

Now, I treasure the name you gave to me. I do not allow anyone else to use it. 'Lance' is the name you bestowed upon me, a name to signify our own link, our bond... one so close that it makes me dizzy with happiness when I remember just how much we mean to each other. I now hold that name close to my heart, next to my mother's 'Lancelot' and my son's 'Father'.

It pains me that I do not have such a name to give you, my love, save for the endearments in these letters that I shall never send. Yet I never miss how blissful you look when I call you by your given name. You appear unhappy by 'Your Majesty'. You appear troubled by 'my liege'. You appear vexed by 'Sire'.

And so, when I am able, I call you by your name. I call you my friend, so that you know that I love you and that you mean the world to me. You always have, even before my feelings shifted into what they are now.

I see you smile and it is as if I have been struck by lightning. I hear you laugh and I fear I might swoon. If I do even one thing to make you happy, I feel as though I am walking on air, and I wish to do it again, and again, and again, over and over, endless until you never know pain again.

Arthur, the way I feel for you consumes me, like a fire that will never go out. My feelings scorch me, leaving burns and scars that will never fully go away, hidden on the inside where you will never see them. You will never truly know just how deeply this arrow from Cupid's bow has pierced me... I dare say he's emptied his quiver on me, for the mere thought of life without you, without your smile, your warmth, your brilliance, your bravery, your understanding, without you and everything that you are...

I don't dare tell you about these newer feelings of mine. I know you, and I know you will not treat me any different if my particular type of love for you does not match that of yours for me, but my head is clouded by fear. I cannot stop imagining that you shall become uncomfortable in my presence, that you will hold me away at arm's length, that you will look for someone else to court in an attempt to help me move on... All the possibilities are so painful, Arthur. I would rather nothing changed, even though I know my fear is irrational. I should believe in our bond, trust in our friendship, rely on the knowledge that you would never push me away...

I am a coward, my love. To be called the Ultimate Knight feels like a joke, for I am so afraid that I cannot listen to the logic in my own head. My strength of body means nothing if my strength of mind is as fragile as glass.

Yet, even as I long for something different in my relationship with you, I cannot say that I am unhappy with what I do have with you. Perhaps this, too, is why I will not speak these words nor send these letters, for what I already have with you, such a close, personal friendship, is more than I can ask for.

You have always been enough for me, Arthur.

Eternally yours,

Lancelot

...

Glorious Arthur,

I must apologize. I must, for I fear my mind is spinning out of my own control.

Every day I think of you. Every morning when I wake up, every night as I go to sleep, in every spare moment of my life, you are in my waking thoughts.

You haunt my dreams, too. At all moments, it seems, my mind conspires against me. All I want is to be happy with what I have with you, but it appears my desires are only growing, not fading, with time, and they eat me alive with every passing day.

I imagine your forehead against mine, with your hands on my waist. You lift your head, kissing me once on each eyelid, and I feel weaker than I ever have in my life.

I imagine your hands, removing my armor so that they may rest upon me, touching my back, my shoulders, my chest, all areas that I keep guarded under steel and promises. You disarm me, and I allow it. My foolish heart wishes to be vulnerable before you, for I know I will always be able to trust you with myself.

I imagine the lightest touches on my arms, spreading like trails of fire as your fingers slide along my person, and I let myself be consumed.

I imagine your lips pressing to mine, and I lose the ability to breathe.

I imagine your eyes, looking into mine, glowing with care and love and happiness, and I drown without a second thought.

Sometimes I dream of things I dare not write down here, my sweet, for it makes my face burn and my heart race and all I want to do is apologize for thinking of you in such a way. It feels terrible, as though I am taking advantage of you in my thoughts, and I fear that one day you will discover the fantasies of my mind and feel discomfort or disgusted by me.

If I ever lost you, Arthur, I know my world would shatter, and I would never become whole again.

Apologetically yours,

Lancelot

...

Arthur,

I can't stand it. Today, I cannot stand it at all.

I feel desperate, like a caged animal. I feel my soul clawing at my body from within, needing to come out and indulge. My composure is in shambles, my mind is in disarray, and though you are not at fault, it is all because of you.

Arthur, I burn for you. My heart screams and cries out and it's painful. Every inch of me aches for the smallest touch, I long for the basest of acknowledgement from you, a look, a word, a smile, Chaos, anything! Just the thought of you giving me your attention sends me into a fit, and I know that even the brush of your arm against mine as you pass me in the corridor would be enough to bring me to ecstasy!

My head is pounding, my ears playing and replaying the sound of my name coming from your lips, and I crave it. I crave you, my love, and it has never been so powerful or so consuming before. I don't know what is wrong with me. I don't know why today is the day that I might go mad. I am afraid, Arthur. I am afraid that my need for you is pushing me to the brink of madness and that I will not be able to stop myself from jumping down into it.

Arthur, the love of my life, how can I even begin to fully describe this? I've written so much and yet it is only a crumb of what is flaring inside me. I think of you and I burn up. You are not an inferno, for that is a small candle compared to the one that burns inside me. You are nothing less than the sun in the sky, approaching me to incinerate me in an instant, but even that feels like a pale comparison today.

Arthur, I am deeply sorry, but I fear writing this is only making things worse. I must stop before I

...

My love,

My upcoming mission to Acorn Kingdom is fast approaching. Soon it will be time for me to depart. I hope that, when that day comes, you are not too busy to see me off.

I will miss you terribly while I am gone, but I take peace in knowing that I am doing this for Avalon, and for you. To make this world a better place, and for you to have one less thing to worry about.

It's pathetic, is it not? As a knight, I should be focusing on the best for my kingdom, as I vowed to when you first let Caliburn descend upon my shoulders and gave to me my title, and yet I know the truth.

It's for you, Arthur. It's always been for you.

...

In his study, the king shoves away the stack of letters, his face burning as a chorus of emotion swells within him, unable to take the guilt at having read so many of Lancelot's secret letters. His hands tremble as he searches around his desk for something to write with.

...

Dear Lancelot,

My wonderful Lancelot,

To Lance,

My dearest

Lance,

Please come see me when you have a moment to yourself. Do not be afraid.

Yours,

Arthur

#I wrote this on a note app while on a train so it is what it is.#Arthurlot.#Avalon Series.

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minuyu · 3 years

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undying love [yandere! prince! x female! reader!]

Warning: This story may contain dark and unsettling themes. Proceed at your own risk.

01: The Three of Swords.

“The prince may be the finest man I have ever laid my eyes upon. He is so light-hearted and sparkles like the most expensive jewel in the spotlight. He truly is perfect. I mean, have you seen his countenance ¹? His face has been sculpted by the very gods themselves. Not to mention, he excels in everything that he does. If he so much as looked me in the eyes, I would reach enlightenment. I do not have a doubt in my very words. Oh, he has lips that were made for kissing a maiden’s rosy cheeks. He has eyes that hold me hostage with their beauty, by much greater than the night sky ever could. His accent and words roll off his tongue like silk rubbing against bare skin, so soothing. I tell you, he is the love that all women want but no woman can receive.” The young, golden-haired maiden spoke in a hushed whisper on the streets to a small group of friends who huddled around her. With every dreamy sigh she took between her description of him, white puffed from her lips due to the cold weather. Despite this, the miniature crowd of women were warm in their hearts and cheeks, just at the very thought of the young prince.

“Can you believe that he has never looked at a woman with desire? Despite of this, I can’t blame him. Somebody who deserves their body to be placed in the stars as a constellation is much too good for me. Nonetheless, I still dream every night of him. His love must be the greatest treasure a woman can get.” One of the women among the crowd continue on. The women continue to swoon, packed on the side of the cobblestone street.

The kingdom of they called ‘home sweet home’ was one of cold weather throughout most of the year. Resting on the top of the tallest mountain that was surrounded by a ring of smaller mountains, it granted extra protection from possible enemies. At the foot of the mountains, about a two day walk from the kingdom, laid a deep and dark forest around this ring of mountains that gave them a great advantage over invaders. Tales about the forest had spread around the kingdom like wildfire due to it being so mysterious, but longer than any of the kingdom’s inhabitants. Perhaps, one of the reasons that the people were hesitant to leave the kingdom by foot, was the dark forest. Despite this, Spring still managed to peak out and greet the people with warmth and gracious nature every year. The kingdom was freezing, but with technologies advancing everyday, such as better ways of insulation and heating of homes with radiators throughout the floors and much more, they only got better at surviving the extreme temperatures. One must grow accustomed to the cold before they even think of treading in the King’s territory.

One may be surprised, however their King was one of the very best in centuries. He was one of great kindness and care for the people, a true father of the nation. In that respect, his son made the future of the kingdom seem brighter. Excelling in just about every field, prince Bastiaan, the only son and child of the King and the late Queen, seemed to be a promising leader. One subject of the kingdom could not even batter an eyelash at the royal family. Instead, she preferred to focus on those who were near to her, like other lower-class people who lived among compact housing.

Across the street from where the women had been gossiping, there laid a place where one could get their fortune told to them at a low price. Despite not giving a care in the world for the dearest prince and his father, women often came to her for tarot card readings that would hopefully predict that they would become the prince’s future queen. The shop, rugged in appearance yet strikingly colourful was her home. A big, wooden door with prune paint chipping off due to being worn out by harsh breezes during the dead of winter. On the door was a wooden sign hanging by a thick thread on a nail messily put into the door, that read ‘ Fortune Teller’.

Inside of this shop, their was a small table and multiple beanbags and cushions spread around the floor. Shelves were fulled to the brim of tattered books about astronomy, myths, tarots, readings and so much more. A small chandelier hung from a cracked ceiling, painted with a beautiful mural of golden and purple-toned flowers seeming to rain from the night sky. The chandelier had a purplish hue that made the shop seem all the more magical. In the back, through an empty threshold with a curtain of silver star-shaped beads, was a table higher off of the ground with symbolic carvings of gods and holy symbols in the purple paint of the table. Freshly lit incense stands in a painted ceramic bowl filled with rice, imported from the warmer climates down South, at the center table surrounded by the cloths design.

At the moment, two chairs were occupied. One, was taken up by a frequent client. Her name was Abella, who had also been entranced by the prince but not as much as other women. She came every week to the fortune teller, as she was always paranoid about the future. The tarot card readings gave her a sense of control, or at least helped her to prepare for any events that would take place. Abella had wavy white strands of hair that looked like the snow that fell outdoors much too often. Despite her young age, the white strands of hair were natural. Her face was long and clean, with little makeup placed upon to hide things that she called ‘flaws’. She wore a large, red trench coat that complimented her ruby crimson eyes beautifully. Only her grey, wide-ankle pants were able to be seen under the large coat she wore. She leaned in over the wooden table with the purple carvings with anticipation.

On the other chair opposite from her, sat a young woman with [hair colour] strands of hair. She wore a large and over-sized coat as well, except hers was made out of a porcelain white faux fur. Her [eye colour] eyes seemed like a maze easy to get lost in, and her black eclipse-like pupils focused on the cards as she swiftly laid them out with her [skin tone] toned hand. The back of the cards were identical, all with the same simple symbol of a round, golden circle on a plain, pitch black back. The cards were placed neatly in unison with ease that one could easily tell that the fortune teller, who was called [Name], was a master with the cards before she could likely even speak. Her soft gaze averted to the Abella, inspecting Abella’s face that was scrunched up due to the difficulty of thinking which card to pick. They all looked the same, but let to very different outcomes.

”Pick a card, any card. Your fate will remain the same. Choose the ones that call for you, and it will be true.” You reassure her. Abella was always terrible at making decisions, but with reassurance from the very person who she trusted to help her every week, Abella squeezes her eyes shut and quickly chooses three random cards. [Name] picks up with cards that Abella had chosen, and inspects them.

“For your past, you have gotten Death in the upright position. Death means that you have moved onto a new era of your life quite recently. It may have required some sacrifice and difficulty.” You tell Abella, who looked at you with her eyes as wide as saucers.

”I guess the Death card isn’t too bad.. when it’s the tarot explaining my past. Please, carry on to my present.” Abella says, biting on her lip afterwards in anticipation for what the next card would be. You move your attention back to the cards in your hand and put down The Tower card. Abella had never gotten this card before, so she quirked up at the sight. “What does it mean?” She asks desperately, as if her life depended on it. You chuckle slightly, and gently remove your touch from the tower card, leaving it in front of her and beginning to tell her what it meant, after you could hear the card speaking to you.

”The Tower in upright position. It means that there are big changes coming your way. These changes mean that any part of your life can be affected. Relationships, your job, or even financial circumstances. The chaos that the tower unleashes in this position will usually only affect one part of your life, but quite thoroughly as well. If the structures of your tower of life cannot handle this disruption without collapsing, then I suggest that it is best for you to add some new structures into your life.” You tell her, keeping your gaze focused on her to see the reaction you would receive from such a card. It wasn’t the luckiest card to get in present, but it also wasn’t the worst. The Tower meant that a part of her life will be heavily impacted. And that may be a good thing, as it will also give Abella a chance to build herself up again and choose better decisions in that part of her life.

To your surprise, Abella doesn’t speak out and shout in a blaze of worry, she continues to bite her lip and nods her head, seemingly accepting the card in front of her. It seemed as though she knew what you were talking about and knew that in the end, it would have a positive impact on her life. “Carry on, [Name].” She says, in a more serious tone. She was properly thinking about the road of her life and obviously looked like she wanted to take caution and just live the best life that she possibly could.

Finally, with the last card in your left hand’s fingers, you place it down on the table and tell her what was coming in the future, “You have gotten Strength in the upright position. This is a very powerful card and is generally a good omen. It means that anything bothering you at the moment will seem like nothing in the near future. Time will deal with all of your problems, but this happens all the time. You are lucky, Abella. The Strength card is a very good card to receive.” You tell her, a smile on your face at the good news. You feared that all the readings would be bad omens, but it seems that the Strength card turned the whole table around.

Abella smiles delightfully, tapping her shoes on the ground with joy. “What wonderful news! I was scared that The Tower would lead to more bad. It turns out it will lead me to Strength. I must go through the hardships against me, mustn't I? Thank you once again, [Name]. Knowing what is coming my way truly helps to calm my nerves.” Abella thanks you, before pulling her sleeve up slightly to show a silver watch, which produced the subtle sound of time ticking away. “I’m going to be late for lunch with my friend if I don’t hurry. I’m afraid I may have taken my sweet time.” She says before taking two silver coins out of her coat pocket and placing them on the table. “Thank you kindly for the services once again, [Name]. I’ll be back for another one next week, as per usual.” Abella says, a pleased smile on her lips, completely different to the serious and frightened expression on her face as she was biting her lip earlier. Abella rises from the wooden chair and walks towards the exit of the shop, her white hair looking like a waterfall of snow as it drifted to her tailbone. Soon, you heard the door open and slam shut, meaning that she had left. Now, you sat alone in silence, with the muffles of life outside barely able to be heard. You get the cards and shuffle them up once again before placing them inside a box.

Standing up, you place the pack of tarot cards within a small wooden box on one of your shelves, where it was now accompanied by at least a dozen other decks in the box. Closing the box, you decide that perhaps it was time for yourself to grab of something to eat, after all you could hear your stomach crying out for something pleasant to the tongue. You walk to the other side of the back room and pull open a black curtain, revealing a dark wooden set of stairs to the second story of the building. In the kingdom, most people usually had a shop on their lower floor and their home on the upper one. You found it quite functional and began walking up the steps calmly, despite the planks of wood moaning out with the threats of snapping in two due to wear and tear for decades. You lived in quite an old building. While it was not the best, it still had cheap rent and was home to you.

Alas, your home could never compare to the gleaming white palace of pearl and golden detailing. The palace had towers that stretched up to the heavens and large windows that could barely give one a peek at their lavish lifestyle among the riches that their ancestors had collected through the eras. It may surprise a newcomer, however they were the only family that had ever been on the throne. True, pure blood royalty.

The main doors were large and plain white with golden detailing and a large star in the middle that was made out of stained glass. The stained glass changed, depending on who’s reign it was. During the current King’s reign, it was red with a white flower in the middle of it, standing for fortune, purity and hope. At the back of the palace however, things got even grander with a garden too large for one to walk around in one day and manage to admire every single beautiful thing that it had.

In despite of this, the prince’s keen, dark pearl eyes stared into the forest from his bedroom window, wishing for some adventure, or at least something new. Being forced to try your best at everything was tiring, and it was more tiring having to live up to everybody else’s expectations of you for your entire life. The prince was tall, standing at about six feet and three inches tall, about 190cm. He had a slender build, but his black outfit hid his well-toned muscle that had been build up over the years. Nevermind the fact of him being the best in combat, such as sword fighting especially, he didn’t have a single scratch on his skin that was as pale as the snow. Naturally, his cheeks were dusted with red due to the cold weather and slightly around his eyes as well, that were narrow and accompanied with orbs that were dark like the night sky. His lips had a slight red tint to it, but so subtle that one could tell if they examined him for a moment. His jet black hair was wavy and medium-cut for a man with it split in the middle of his forehead. His hair was undercut as well slightly, giving him an even cleaner look. His hairstyle was truly charming, and was one of the most trendy hairstyles every year. The prince nonchalantly ran his long, slender fingers through his hair and stood up from the window seat, the grey light peaking out from the clouds falling on his shoulders. The prince wore a long-sleeved black shirt was a button-up, however the shirt went past to be buttoned up at the left side of his chest. His buttons were also black. There was a golden dragon embroidered on the prince’s shirt, but nothing was embroidered on his pants. They were plain black as well, and his shoes were pointy-toed and gleamed with ever step, but could never out-shine the prince no matter how much one polished them.

“Your highness, the king awaits you in the amber private tearoom. He wishes to discuss your future.” The prince, named Bastiaan was being spoke to by a man who was neat in countenance despite the wrinkles beginning to form on his face. This man was his personal royal adviser. He had his grey hair slicked back, and the usual uniform of a white dress shirt and black pants but with red detailing, showing that his status was high thanks to the fact he was working closely for the royal family. The only person in the palace who ever dressed to show off their wealth was prince Bastiaan’s father, Alaric Beaumont Marchand Oscar D’Aramitz, who’s old age didn’t restrain him from wearing heavy red cloaks and jewels and badges all across the sash he wore. His pale grey hair still held some black streaks from his early, younger days.

”Very well then.” Prince Bastiaan responds monotonously, face void of emotion. His shoes clacked against the gleaming floor with elegance, and as he reached the expensive door, it was opened by two royal guards on either side. Walking past them, the prince makes his way to his father, the king himself. He could feel a nervous lump in his throat.

As Prince Bastiaan walks along the polished halls, the floor tiled with black and gold marble. The wallpaper was extravagant and light in colour. There were paintings of past rulers and paintings done by famous artists, some of the paintings centuries old. Soon, he regretfully arrived at the end of the hall at a door much larger and grander than the rest, so detailed by gold that you could barely see the canvas that the gold had been laid upon. Prince Bastiaan dusts his outfit off and fixes himself up before running his hand yet again through his dark, silky smooth locks. Then he clears his throat and stands still. At last, the guards open the grand door for him and he is wet with the conservatory. Despite it being winter, the glass was so thick that it was warm inside. The room felt cosy despite being fairly large due to the large fireplace that roared on viciously behind his father. There he was. The man of the era. The man that ruled the kingdom. The man that ruled his life. He sat deep in thought, not noticing his son’s glamorous arrival. Several of his knuckles rested upon his chin as he contemplated deeply about god knows what. The room was dim, most likely ordered to be by his father who disliked bright light, complaining about the strain it placed on his eyes. Instead, the orange light of the fire lit up the room, accompanied by several lavender scented candles scattered about the room.

Prince Bastiaan coughs, gaining his father’s attention. The king turns his head, looking at him with surprised eyes, having not noticed him enter. “You wished to speak with me, father?” He questioned, looking at his father’s grey orbs that matched his hair like the grey stone walls that had protected the kingdom for decades.

”Indeed. Please, take a seat, my boy.” His father responds. The king takes a porcelain teapot with fine blue designs on it from the table, and pours chamomile tea into two matching tea cups. There was a small three tiered tray of savoury treats, all attractively colourful and delicious. Their smell mixed with the lavender, making the room that tiny bit more enjoyable. Following his father’s wishes, the prince swiftly sits down on a matching, large wooden chair that was cushioned with soft, velvet, maroon fabric.

”It is time to speak about a certain topic, my boy. Your future. However, I would like to focus on a specific part. Which is, love. Every king and every queen has had a partner by their side. Love makes us stronger. My son, you are a gift from the heavens. Everyday, with each new achievement you make, I think to myself, ‘Is he really my boy? He’s so talented, and capable, someday maybe he will be as great as me.” The prince’s father begins. The prince stays silent, grabbing his tip of tea gently with his left hand as he pays attention. The only thing interrupting his father was the slight cackling of the fire.

“My son, I wish for you to find a beloved. Perhaps, even a wife. Or even, a meaningless fling with a noble lady to your liking. You must relax. Sometimes, I look at your listless face and ask myself, ‘What happened to the little boy who used to smile at every single thing, as if it meant the world to him?’. I do not wish to find you a wife myself, however I may feel inclined to if you do not find one within the next six months. Or at the very least, a love interest. Every woman in this kingdom rests at your feet, worshiping your status, beauty and intelligence. Surely, it will not be an issue.” The king states.

”Father, this is unfair. I hate to argue with you, I truly do, but I do not wish for any of these women. There is no challenge. They all fall to my feet and would willfully marry me if I so much as glance at them. They claim to love me so deeply, they claim that I am god’s lost child, however they do not know me at all. The noble ladies wish to marry and converse to me for the status and money. My looks and capability are just a bonus. If I marry women like them, what will become of me? I must set an example, and if I get married, my wife shall be an example to the rest of the kingdom as well. I refuse for you to control my love life. I am perfectly capable of ruling this kingdom on my very own. When the time is right, I will marry. If that time never comes, it is of no importance. It is only love.” The prince responds, hands tightening around the arm rests to restrain his temper. In his head he could hear multiple voices of those who have commented on his love life before.

‘Prince Bastiaan is perfect, so why doesn’t he marry already?’, ‘I wish he would look at me and realize that I’d be willing to marry him. He’s a gift from the divinity I tell you.’, ‘Have you seen the prince? He must be quite a loner if he hasn’t ever had a lover at his age.”

You could visibly tell that Prince Bastiaan’s calm response had set the king off with rage. “You will marry. You have six months at most. Do not dare defy me once more.” The king threatens, his voice dangerously low. Full to the brim with anger and disappointment towards his father, the prince raises up to his feet and begins taking swift and large strides along the halls towards his bedroom. Once he reaches his destination, he opens the door himself, leaving the guards slightly confused, only to realize what had happened when the prince slams the doors behind him

His back was now pressed against the door and he looked down at his feet. He knew that he couldn’t impress everybody. He knew that everybody admired him, or at least, everyone except his father. He couldn’t understand why it was so important to find a partner in life, and he truly didn’t wish for one. He had read multiple romance novels from the palace library and all seemed to be filled with heartache and tragedy. He was not about to sign himself up for something that he knew would inflict emotional pain on him. If he was hurt in any way, he couldn’t continue being the perfect man that he was, and it seemed that only god knew how difficult it was to live to people’s standards. With the marker set up so high, even if he was slightly off target, everybody would be disappointed. The prince clicked his pointy tips together before walking towards the window and inspecting the kingdom that lay before him. The kingdom that he was set to reign over.

Prince Bastiaan had heard from whispers on the street that there was a fortune teller. One that could tell fortune with great accuracy, and who’s abilities brought those who didn’t believe in her to their knees. He gazed out, looking for his answer in his mind. If he hired the fortune teller, perhaps it would help with his love life. Especially if she would tell him about his progress every week and what is to come. That way, he could be prepared for any emotional storm that would come. That way, he would learn how to win a woman’s heart with his personality alone. Despite of this, the prince felt his hope slip through his arms as he realized that he did not know what his personality really was. He was a puppet, or even a mere doll that everybody played with. The doll had to be whatever the people wanted, and they wanted a true idol. One that could compete against the greatest gods. Before he could think any further on that matter, a loud knock sounded on the door.

“Your highness, lady Isla from the house of Brodeur has come for your meeting. She is waiting for you inside of the amber private tearoom where you once were. Your father has retreated to his private quarters, so you two will have the tearoom to yourselves.” The royal adviser's voice informed the prince through the door, slightly muffled.

”Yes, I’m on my way.” The prince says. “That’s today?” He whispers to himself surprised. He sighs, deciding that perhaps lady Isla was his only choice at the moment. After all, she was obsessed with him. She stuck to him like glue and whenever they were at the same ball or gala, she would follow him despite the weaves and turns he would make. She often bragged to her group of friends with how she was childhood friends with the prince, despite him not considering them friends at all for that matter. Her affections were completely one-sided yet she never stopped chasing after him. The prince looked back at the kingdom and sighed. Perhaps he should gather some suitable choices for himself before making his final decision. He needed somebody suitable to be the mother of the country. He wanted them to be great, or even greater than his late mother.

The prince spun on his heel and went through the same corridor and door to return back to the tearoom. He had managed to recollect his thoughts, and felt much more calmer now. However, he had no idea how he would appeal as amorous or even properly flirtatious to a woman. After all, he did not find Lady Isla even the slightest bit appealing, not as a lover or a queen.

When the prince entered the room, he saw Lady Isla standing tall and joyfully. At first glance, she seemed neat and mature. She was quite tall for a woman, standing at around 5’9. Shiny dark brown hair cut into a bob. Her diamond blue eyes scan over the prince, taking in all of his beauty with a pleased smile on her face.

“Your highness, thank you for meeting with me today. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.” She says thankfully, grabbing the back of the chair where the king himself had once sat, and curtsied, bowing her head much deeper than required to show how grateful she was. In all honesty, the prince had only agreed to this meeting in order to tell her straightforwardly that he was not interested in her. The love-sickness that was tied to him had grown annoying and was interfering with his work. Now it seemed that we had to do the complete opposite of what he desired to save face.

”You may sit.” Prince Bastiaan says motioning to the chair in front of him. Lady Isla blushes as she sits down on the maroon chair. The fact she was in his presence and could have his full attention for a small while made her feel like her heart was about to pound of its chest. The prince saw her as foolish, especially since she had sat down. Yes, he may have told her to, but she should know that it is required that any royal blood sits down first. It seemed that she had failed in the department of manners. How could a queen not even know the rules, manners, and laws of her own country? Prince Bastiaan sat down opposite Isla and felt pressured by her large eyes piercing at him intently, not leaving his figure for a split second. He felt uncomfortable but decided to use his confidence. He was a prince after all.

The prince looked Isla directly back into her eyes with a listless face. She could feel that her heart was skipping beats like crazy, she was surprised that she had not fallen over with a heart attack. Though she didn’t know that the prince was testing out one of the moves he had learnt from reading romance books. His heart was supposed to flutter at the very sight of her, he was supposed to feel his heart skip a beat. But there was no warm feeling, no happiness, no sped up heartbeat. Nothing. Perhaps it was time for him to accept that he had been granted the gift of being talented in return for his ability to love.

“How was your morning?” The prince asks, as a servant comes over and begins to pour them a pot of freshly brewed green tea. He breaks gaze with Isla and picks up his teacup, taking a small sip out of it to take the warm liquid in.

”It-It was alright. And yours, Bastiaan?” She asked, longing for his dark orbs to stare into hers again. Even if the interaction was over, her heart would not stop beating quickly. Prince Bastiaan put down his teacup as he tried not to flinch with repulsion and her poor manners. Was she a noble lady or a slave? He decided that she really was not the one that was worth the status of being Queen.

”It was lovely meeting you once again today. I have my studies to attend to. Thank you for coming, perhaps we could meet again in the near future. However, I am quite busy today.” The prince lied with his cold tongue. In whatever way though, the noble lady’s heart could not be cooled down.

“That is...is quite alright,” She stuttered out, in disbelief that he had actually said that he hoped that they could ‘meet again in the near future’. Had something changed? Perhaps the prince was finally paying attention to the sort of things that other men his age would. Regardless, the prince just wanted to get out of this situation and as far away as possible. He didn’t want to appear rude after what he had pulled today, it may damage his reputation.

“I’ll be off.” He vocalized, before standing and retreating back to his chambers. He rushed to the window and placed his hand on the clear glass, as if reaching out. Taking a deep breath in. He needed help, desperately. He was afraid to admit it, but this fortune teller seemed to be his only choice. If he was to find his perfect bride within six months, he needed to get help in avoiding women who didn’t live up to the standards. He needed hints. So with that, the prince walked over to the part of his room where a rope hung from the ceiling. Grabbing it with his hands and pulled, ringing the summoning bell. Several moments later, the royal adviser walks inside of his bedroom.

“Summon that fortune teller near the compact housing. The one that the common folk and nobles alike speak of.” He demanded, not seeing any reason to justify his actions. He was simply complying with his father’s wishes, but not so much in the way that the king expected. He spoke with utmost certainty, determined to find the perfect queen, even if there were no feelings of admiration.

The royal adviser simply compiled, slightly caught off guard by the request. “Right away, your highness. I will come back to you with them soon.” The adviser responds, before disappearing once again, the doors shutting closed silently behind him.

Prince Bastiaan sighs sorrowfully, and sits down on a large couch in his bedroom. His room had a black and white marble floor, with wallpaper that was black and golden. Black was his favourite colour. It was practical and fit every occasion. Parties, afternoon tea, funerals, ceremonies, etc. Not only that, but the young prince swore to wear black for the rest of his life after his mother had passed, at the age of eight.

Entering your shop, you move to take your coat off but are interrupted by insistent knocking on the front door. You open it a smidge and peek through to see a young man in full plate armor.

“Are you the fortune teller of this shop?” He asks eyeing you down.

“Yes…?” You answer, opening the door a bit more. You are about to ask what kind of fortune he wants to be read, when he speaks again.

“Prince Bastiaan of the royal family requests your audience.” You stand there with a confused look on your face. You had just gotten home from finishing a late lunch, and several minutes later, a palace knight had come knocking on your door. To tell you that the prince “requests your audience”.

”Why?” You ask, hoping to get some answers. The whole scenario makes you scratch your head, wondering why the prince would want a simple fortune teller.

”You are expected at the palace by ten in the evening, tonight. A carriage will come to pick you up at nine in the evening. Have a splendid day. Long live the king.” The knight states, completely dodging your question. It seemed that your question was either confidential information or the guard did not care to answer. You sigh, seeing that you had no choice. You slam the door shut with anger at the knight who hadn’t even bothered to give you a simple answer. Now, your thoughts will wander until ten in the evening, when you were supposed to meet the prince. Then, you froze. Akin to a statue when you realized that you were meeting the acclaimed perfect prince from fairy tales that young ladies dream about. You had to look your best. If you looked the slightest bit scrappy, god knows what would happen to you. The prince may think that you are disrespecting him with informality and as a result, his father would behead you. Alright, perhaps that was a bit of a stretch, but it was still plausible.

You hurried upstairs. It was already six in the evening and you only had three hours to make yourself look better than you ever have before. You admit, you didn’t care much about royalty or wooing the prince. However, you did care about paying respect to where respect was due. Though you hated to admit it, the prince had a heart of generosity. Not only did he give 90% of his homeless subjects homes and jobs, he helped fill their stomachs until they were stable and able to survive on their own without his aid. Prince Bastiaan had even risked his life in battle more times than you could count for the kingdom, returning without a scratch. He was the rightful owner of the title, Angel of Beauty and Blood. It sounded quite cliche to you, but you knew that it was true.

Your wooden planked floors creaked with every step you made, begging for repair and threatening to break. You paid no mind to the creaks and entered your small box of a bedroom. It was full of herbs, orbs, and dried out vegetables, specifically for making medicines. The white wallpaper was stained yellow and was chipping off of the wall. Some of the wall was covered by a large tapestry of a purple eye, which was pinned up with two small nails. In the corner of the uncomfortably small room was a dresser, with your clothes hung up with thin, metal hangers. There was a drawer at the bottom, where inside were your underwear, tights, shirts, and pants. You reached out for a hanger that held a purple and white dress. It was lilac and strapless, and the chest area looked as though it was a purple-toned water lily. The bottom was quite puffy and had translucent fabric stacked on top in order to add that extra volume. It had small, silver shimmers that seemed as though they could catch the moonlight, and overall, was quite cute and elegant. It had matching, long lilac gloves that went up a few inches past your elbows, and had silver ends with white flowers embroidered on neatly. This dress was once your mothers from what you could tell judging by the tag inside having the words ‘from mother’ sewed into it. You only wore it on the most special occasions, and this one was certainly a special occasion.

You slithered out of your day wear, abandoning your old clothes on the floor before picking them up and placing them in a small laundry bag that hung on door’s knob, handcrafted from an old sack of potatoes. Afterwards, you proceeded to put on your special outfit. You admit that perhaps you had grown quite a bit since your last special occasion, as it was slightly more difficult to zip yourself up into the dress. As you put on the rest of your outfit on, such as the gloves and your white tights due to the cold weather. Afterwards, you went into the bathroom and stared yourself in the mirror. You wanted to give yourself a speech to psych yourself but as your lips parted, nothing came out. You had the lowest rank a person could have, and the second highest rank, only to the king, that belonged to the prince wished to get in touch with you. Yes, you. The [hair colour] haired girl staring right back at you in the cracked mirror. Perhaps you had the right to believe that broken mirrors granted you bad luck. If word got out you met with the prince, wouldn’t business become better? What if they gave you free snacks there? What if you were making a big deal out of nothing? What if you showed up to palace looking like a purple doll while the prince was in his pajamas? Wouldn’t you look like an idiot? In fact, what if business went south? What if people got jealous that you talked to the prince? What if all the women in the kingdom couldn’t accept you?

You shake your head before the anxieties driving around your mind could come back to you any faster. You gripped the edges of the sink with your fingers turning white due to how hard you gripped it. You breathe in. “One, two, three. Breath out gently.” A young man with golden hair and snowy white orbs, looked you right in the eyes as you opened them gently. “Better, isn’t it? If you feel worried, then remember to breathe. I won’t always be here to remind you of that.” He says, a small smile on his rosy lips.

“I feel much more calm now. My nerves.. aren’t as tense. Too bad the sweat on my hands can’t be taken back into my skin, I feel like I’ll form a river. I just.. I’m so nervous for this. I truly believe in this, Florian. I truly do. If I can make even the smallest change-“ You were cut off by Florian’s small, melodic chuckle.

“Yes, I know, I know. [Name], you can change the world. You can do much better than your pathetic excuse of a friend. Keep your head held high. As a famous poet once said, ‘a happy soul is the best shield for a cruel world’. Stay smiling bright like you always are. Now, get out there and knock their socks off!” Florian reassures you, his hands gripping the sides of your arms and encouraging you. His smile shone brighter than a million suns and you felt blinded by his beauty and grace. Your soft fingers gripped into the sides of his arms in return, with stress and darkness. It was as if there was a rain on your parade and the sun had come to personally greet and save you. You regretfully let go of his arms, your own dropping to your sides. You bite your bottom lip and nod, feeling determined.

“You sway the heavens like the branches in the wind. Surely, you can sway this crowd of people with your talent.” Florian says, before squeezing your sides tightly then letting go.

You pant, your eyes wide and shaky. Your legs tremble and you fall down onto your backside, colliding with the hard tiled floor of the bathroom. Who was Florian? Yes, it seemed like a memory, but you weren’t sure if flashbacks got that intense. Your hands felt numb and your fingernails hurt from how hard you had unknowingly gripped upon the sink.

Though you did not like to spread the information, you had amnesia. The earliest memory you ever had was waking up on the side of the street completely stripped of any memory or coin, as though you had been brutally kidnapped then abandoned. You’ve been dealing with it for seven years. Seven years of never knowing who you were, where you came from or what your family was like. It did not make you too sad because you couldn’t miss a part of your life that you couldn’t remember. You occasionally got, what you believed to be, glimpses of your past. They put you through intense emotions, and left you feeling as though you had experienced a panic attack about a hundred times within a minute. Your head ached desperately as your fist weakly hit the floor. God, you wished that you could remember something. Your fist raised from the cold floor and onto the top of your head. However, your hit against the top of you head was weak as well. Your fingers, covered by gentle cloth intertwined with your [hair colour] strands that rose messily out the top of your head.

Getting back up shakily, you stare at yourself in the mirror. There was a small, wooden clock that ticked sorrowfully in the lonely bathroom, signalling that it was already at seven in the evening. Had time really flown by so quickly? Well, time is a construct. It flies by when you long for it to linger for longer, and lingers for longer when you long for it to fly by.

You pick up the brush that rested on the sink and brushed out the tangles in your hair, and styled your hair in a way so that it was neat and tucked behind the ears. Doing so gave you a clean look, as if you were a completely different class. You practiced smiling in the mirror. As you practiced, you suddenly halted. Had you become crazy? Why were you practicing how to smile?

Slightly angry at yourself for wasting time by getting carried off on a tangent, you hurriedly finished up your hair, using all sorts of products to make it smell luscious and look better than it ever had in its lifetime. You finished several minutes after the clock had hit eight. Now, you lightly placed some natural appearing makeup and hugged your faux fur coat tight around your body. You looked at yourself and took out a pearl necklace. It was on sale, and perhaps fake due to the cheap price you managed to get it in, so you had bought it just in case something like this had come up. You slipped on some white flats, not willing to risk a mishap in heels.

It was now half past eight and you were pretty much ready. All that was left was to pack the things you’d need. The prince most likely called upon you as audience due to your fortune telling abilities. You made your way downstairs, switching the light off in the bathroom.

You picked up a white satchel with some embroidery done into it of purple flowers. You had gotten it for such a cheap price despite it being quite the steal, especially since there was purple. You felt connected to the colour, even if it maybe wasn’t your favourite. Your empty satchel felt like a feather as you wrapped it around your body, then proceeded to look around the shelves. The small, brown box called out to you from the shelves, driving you to pick it up. Inside, there was a small, glass orb. The glass orb could give the user a warning to one’s future at the price of a drop of blood. This let the orb know whose future to read, and helped it to accurately show a glance at one’s future.

You began your course of action for the drab, amber box that held around about a dozen different tarot cards. You selected the one that stood out of the pile. The cards had a back of black with the national flower painted upon. It was truly a beautiful selection of cards, so you put it into your bag as well, with all the cards held together inside a black card box. It wasn’t in top condition with numerous scratches on the cover, however you didn’t pay any mind to this, considering it was the tarot cards that mattered.

Deciding to not travel too heavily, you simply place your purse into the satchel, now ready to go. You wait several minutes while sitting at the round table in the back room, eyes straight at the rusty clock. It was ten minutes away from nine in the evening, which was when you were told to be picked up. However, you jumped slightly when you heard a loud, firm knock upon your wooden door, causing the door to threateningly shake, as if it were to fall any moment.

Quickly, you advance towards the oak door, unlocking it shakily. Your hands shuddering slightly as the brass key in the lock turned. You opened the door just by a peak, to see the royal knight’s eyes shift from staring straightforward at the door, towards you. His eyes widened slightly, yet he was quick to conceal his feelings. The royal knight seemed to be around his early thirties, still looking fairly young despite signs of ageing beginning to form. He wore a cerulean and argent uniform with a plain white sash around his slightly built form. There were several badges on it, indicating that he was of a fairly high status.

”Greetings. I came here early to warn you, but it appears that you’re ready.” The knight says, able to see part of your outfit and how nicely you had done your hair compared to beforehand. “Well, I’m glad that we’ll have no rush. We can leave early if you’d prefer. That way, we can be positive, with the utmost certainty that you won’t be late.” The knight suggests, his grey gaze staring at you, waiting for an answer.

“I guess that’s logical. Let’s be on our merry way then.” You respond, stepping out of your house and locking the door behind you. Afterwards, the guard leads you to a black car that was as spotless as a ballroom floor. Waxed so greatly and excessively that you would’ve mistaken it for some sort of gorgeous eclipse. The windows were lined with a pale gold and there were two small kingdom flags on either side of the back. The guard holds the golden handle and opens the door with ease, gesturing for you to go into the car. In all honesty, this felt a bit sketchy, as though you may be getting kidnapped.

Despite your thoughts, you complied and simply stepped into the vehicle, resting against the fine, red leather. The front of the car was separated from the back with a wall, which had a screen inside, allowing the person at the back to open or close it as they pleased. You stay still and gaze outside the window, reality starting to come to you. You really were about to meet the prince. You really were in a royal car. You really were summoned. As all this was processed, you gulped nervously.

“You did amazing, [Name]! I’m so proud of you.” Florian tells you, a bright smile on his lips.

“I know this is a competition but my god, you are good. I don’t think I can win this.” Florian adds before gazing towards the mountains. Your gaze follows his, resting on how the snow fell gently, like a million feathers upon the ground. You smile gently to yourself, seeing the sunset paint the sky purple and red, all as though it was from an expensive painting brought to life.

“I only did well thanks to your great advice. Remembering to breathe helped me much more than I would have thought. All of the methods you teach me are very helpful.” You reply gladly.

”Gosh, this is tiring. I guess we’re working together now instead of going solo. On the bright side, there’s only one more mountain to go.” Florian reminds you before pointing his pale finger towards a tall, dark mountain. Clouds hid the top of the mountain, with shadows from the sky cast a cloak of mystery and dread.

“Are you sure that’s the right mountain? I thought the instructors said that we wouldn’t have to go up a mountain that high.” You speculate, hand on your brow in confusion.

”Please, [Name]. My navigation skills are top tier. You’re lucky I’m helping you. Look at the map, I’ve read it perfectly.” Florian responds harshly, obviously stressed. He didn’t have the best map skills, but believed that he could manage. So, he handed the tattered map over to you.

“Oh, this is supposed to be a competition. Why are you so supportive? Do you have some ulterior motive?” You interrogate him, your gaze breaking away from the frosty mountains and towards your friend with golden strands. His diamond eyes squinted slightly before turning to you. He pouts as he turns to gaze at the mountain again.

“You’ll feel relieved to know that I don’t. I understand how this competition can benefit us both, however. Enjoying these moments with you along the way is much better. I’d be happy to let you win, [Name].” Florian responds, before his smile fades away and his eyebrows knit together, concerned. While you both chat, you continue to look at the map.

”Florian, the map is upside down!” You yell, before sighing heavily. “I can not believe this. This is outrageous. We’ve been walking for a week in the completely wrong direction, Florian!” You complain, a whine escaping your mouth as you kick your legs in a childlike manner.

“What?! Since when-?” Florian is cut off by a knock. Wait, a knock?

”Ma’am, please wake up. I’m terribly sorry to disturb your doze, however we have arrived.” The knight tells you from outside the window, his knuckles gently acting as an alarm for you to wake up to. The knocking had brought you to your senses as your [eye colour] eyes examined the real world around you. Two flashbacks in one night? This was too much for you. You noticed you had a blanket of goosebumps on your skin and that you had been lying there in a cold sweat. Slightly embarrassed, you nod your head.

”Yes, it is no problem. Do not apologize, I’m the one who should be sorry. I apologize for falling asleep in the car.” You reply, your fingers reaching for the handle, only for it to be pulled away by the guard opening the door for you. He had no need to bow, especially since your rank was lower than his. In fact, you were lucky that he was being kind to you at all. You heard many stories of knights who were disrespectful and rude to those in the lower class.

You step out of the polished black car and as soon as you do, a butler steps inside and drives the cab away. You watch it for a second before following behind the guard towards the palace. As you looked up at it, you felt your jaw drop to the ground. It was more beautiful than the paintings or stories could have ever told you.

The palace consisted of pearl and white marble on the outside, with gold intricately interrupting the sheet of white, adding more elegance. The palace was so large yet sparkling clean, as though there was a layer of fresh snow, glimmering with beauty and grace in the moonlight. Marble steps led up to the palace. Taking note of this, you were careful of each step you took towards the top of at least dozens of steps, especially as marble was slippery, and looked freshly washed. This made you thankful for the light blue carpet that extended from the landing at the top of the steps and through the closed doors of the palace that hovered over you.

“We’ve arrived ten minutes early, so please wait in the staff room. Once the prince has summoned you, I’ll ensure somebody comes to guide you to his private library.” The knight informs you. As you both walk towards the main door, two other knights equipped with gleaming gold did some sort of knock on the door, signalling for it to be opened. As the large doors open, you felt all the luxury hit you in the face. Standing in shock at the perfect fairy tale scene. You had no idea that the inside would be able to compete with the extravagance of the outside.

The walls of the palace were tall and were not shy to show off the expensive foreign wallpaper plastered upon them. The floor was made of black jade, with golden symbols detailed upon the jade. On the ceilings hung chandeliers as if they were made of the most expensive pure diamond, crying droplets of light that illuminated the hallway. There was a bright red carpet on the floor that led up to a set of silver and golden double doors at the end of the hallway.

“Please follow me, ma’am.” The knight who was accompanying you stated, leading you down the long hallway. You were still in the hall, your eyes gleaming like a child eyeing their Christmas present and your legs nervously wobbly from the thought of the person you were about to encounter. One’s home reflected the person, and if the prince’s home was this grand, then perhaps, you had underestimated just how meaningful, important and powerful the royal family really was. You knew they had the power to kill you without a single person questioning the act, but you had never known that perhaps the empire was larger than you had thought. How were you supposed to know? Books were not exactly of easy access to you, as you had to buy them or pay the entry fee to go inside the public library.

The knight takes a left, leading you down a different hallway. Stopping at the third door on the right. The door was extravagant, however looked less expensive than the others. The knight proceeded to open the door for you and stepped to the side, his arm pushing the door open.

“Go inside, ma’am. You will be summoned shortly.” The knight states as you walk through the door, only to jump slightly as the knight lets it slam shut behind you. You look around to see several maids sewing and gossiping on a purple velvet couch. Several butlers and cleaners seemed to be resting as well. It seemed as though you had been put in the staff’s resting quarters. Your feet tapped against the grey and white marble floor. You approached a small, round table colored brass. You sat down on the matching chair nervously, hoping not to catch too much attention. Despite your attempt, one of the maids seem to notice your presence at long last and whispers to the other maids before putting down the scarf she was knitting to approach you. She sits down on one of the four chairs surrounding the table, and smiles kindly at you.

The maid was wearing the usual black and white outfit, with her hair a shade of premature grey. Looking to be in her late twenties.

“Hello there, I am Guinevere. I’m the co-head of the south wing’s maids. Are you here for work?” She asks, tilting her head with curiosity.

“Actually, I’ve been summoned by the prince to tell his fortune. It is lovely meeting you by the way, I am [Name].”

¹ countenance ; a person’s face/expression

Status: Edited

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #reader #reader insert #self insert #prince #horror #fiction #romance

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akampana · 3 years

Note

Oh, oh, how about a Gil vampire lord and arty famous vampire hunter in a eternal rivalry for no.1, kinda Hellsing and dracula rivalry but with a twist

“I couldn’t live with myself, if I didn’t tell you.” Gilgamesh x Arturia Vampire x Hunter. Enjoy!

_______

Three bullets.

Two knives.

One vampire.

Arturia Pendragon clicked the cylinders back into place and brought her weapons up to her chin, the warmth of her breath misting the polished barrel. She was the only thing in this accursed mansion that had any sense of heat, as everything inside was either unlit, inanimate, or dead.

The small hunter cursed the winter. There wasn’t a poorer season for killing vampires than one that was as dark and cold as the night creatures’ hearts. However, she could wait no longer. For generations, her family had pursued the blood-sucking fiends, hoping to one day cease the plague that had haunted their lands. At last, it could come to an end. There would be no need for her little brother to learn to handle a gun as well.

All she had to do was put Gilgamesh to rest.

A sudden movement from the right had her fingers on the triggers, but it was an effort wasted. There was nothing but the creak of wood and a curtain dancing in the cold breeze. However, she was not too quick to drop her guard. The vampire she hunted tonight was older than time and just as wise. Tricks like this were not beyond him. It made his hunts more interesting, she bet.

"There you are, my love."

...

Too slow!

The Pendragon ducked to the floor just in time to hear his palm smash through the stone brick behind her. Aiming her revolvers, she sprang up like a gymnast, twisting midair to face the hellspawn.

Silver shot out of her gun, but she already knew it would miss. Vampires were quite the agile creatures, having shed their human limits in exchange for their souls. Even if Gilgamesh looked mortal like herself, the way he sidestepped fire at such a short distance clearly suggested otherwise.

The soles of her boots screeched against the floor as she secured her landing by chucking the revolver at her opponent. Empty guns were useless in fights that required all her attention, but thankfully, this one had extra utility against creatures of the night.

When a high pitched squeak more suited to a frightened pig passed her old rival's lips, she knew she'd made a successful play.

"A silver-barrelled gun? Ha! And here I believed you had exhausted all your options," the older one smirked, the skin of his hands hissing from the contact. "That must have cost your family the entire treasury, my dearest Arturia. Who did this once belong to, hm? Was it your father's? Grandfather's? Great-grandfather's?"

Arturia grimaced as she snatched one of her knives from her heel.

"Killing your kind brings quite the fortune,” she answered, as per their usual simultaneous verbal bouts. “I can buy a hundred more with the price on your head, Gilgamesh."

She spun the blade round her fingers to provoke him, stopping in a backhand grip.

"More of your distractions, girl?" he sneered, just a hint of irritation breaking through his haughty mask. "It will take more than parlor tricks to fell the likes of me!"

Arturia lunged like a fencer, weaving through his usual jabs till she nicked his skin, lamenting how terribly shallow the cut was. As her breaths began to labor, her eyes flickered to the hallway, debating whether or not she could make a break for it. There was no outmatching a vampire in a direct dance to death, but she’d already made that play. Gilgamesh was not going to let her go a second time-

A sharp hiss was the woman’s only warning before his hands seized her throat.

No!

Desperately, she fired the gun at his knee, but all it did was have him bruise her skull on the floor instead of the wall, flinging her around like she weighed nothing.

The woman kicked and thrashed, but for all her effort, all she managed was a slash to his face before he rid her of her knife. Black spots began to cloud her vision, but Arturia took aim even as her lungs began to burn.

She had one bullet. One final attempt to make sure no Pendragon would ever have to take up the craft again. She had to spare poor Arthur. Only six and already being taught how to wield a knife. Igraine was already planning to take him out to hunt foxes. Arthur loved foxes. God. She had to make this one shot. Just this last one. For his sake. Please.

It didn’t take Gilgamesh any effort to bat her gun away.

Arturia’s emerald eyes locked with those of her assailant’s. Her whole life, she’d trained for this day, only to still come up short. It didn’t matter, the thousands that had fallen to her technique. She was still no match for him, not even after all this time.

Her nails clawed into the skin of his knuckles as Gilgamesh dipped down toward her shoulder, no doubt preparing to sink his teeth into her jugular.

Was this how she was going to meet her end? So close to finally ridding the continent of every vampire there was? So close to liberating her brother, her entire clan, from cruel deaths at the hands of the immortals? Why, after all she’d sacrificed, after giving up her life to become a hunter, did she have to fail at her mission’s most crucial moment?

Tears fell from her eyes as she shut them tight, refusing her last glimpse of life to be the eerily perfect face of the undead.

His teeth scraped against her skin. A final torture before he drained the life out of her.

Arturia braced herself for the bite, her head screaming apologies to every person she was letting down. Igraine, her late father, her cousins, Arthur.

But it never came.

“You have done well, my queen,” whispered the old creature, his cold lips brushing against her neck. Arturia gasped for air, hacking and coughing beneath him, a million questions running through her mind. He quieted them all with his thumb on her bottom lip, freezing Arturia where she lay.

“I have endured several of your lifetimes. Each, more passionless than the last. I thought myself fortunate at first, able to experience every pleasure the world had to offer, but a thousand years can make even the sweetest fruit seem vile.”

A flicker of irritation crossed his sharp, eternal features, but it was quickly replaced by something Arturia had never seen before. The emotion swelled within his vibrant ruby irises, which glowed even through a night as dark as this one.

“Eventually, I saw this ‘gift’ for what it truly was: a curse, bestowed upon me by that loathsome snake an eternity ago,” he voiced cryptically, knowing this beautiful little girl would likely never grasp just how long he’d walked this earth.

The Pendragon stared up at him with those fiery irises he’d been fond of since the first time he beheld them.

It was exactly twenty years since the day she first came here. Fifteen years old, a mere child, yet one that possessed the gall to challenge him to a duel. He spared her that day, and she went on to challenge every single creature in the continent that had been turned, coming back every now and then for another shot at his head.

Arturia wasn’t anything like those that shared her last name. Her clan was stiff. Traditional. She took their knowledge, but did not stop there, taking various forms of study to hone her craft. She'd been to Ireland to study their methods. To France to understand alchemy. Three years ago, she nearly killed him with near-invisible wire she acquired from the east. Before that, it was a sword of fire. Today, apparently, she’d gotten dexterous enough dual wielding either guns or knives, when she hadn’t that skill prior.

Ever since they met, his days were full of excitement, anticipation for the day she’d return. Suddenly, he was always on his toes, rising at the first sign of night to prepare for her next arrival. His hunts were no longer mechanical, for he knew now that he and she were bound to cross paths. Where would she see him next? On a hike into the mountains? In summer, when the days were long? Maybe even at the local ball? There were so many possibilities!

About a decade into their arrangement, Gilgamesh realized he was feeling something he hadn’t felt in eons.

He felt alive.

But like most living things, he knew Arturia had a limit. And before she reached it, before his fun could be taken away once more, he knew he had to do this. What better time than now, when he had the opportunity to caress her cheek for the first time?

“However, despite how I’ve loathed my own longevity, I never want our duels to end,” he admitted, memorizing her face, counting her freckles, brushing his thumb against lips he didn’t dare kiss for fear of imparting his curse.

“You, wicked woman, have made this soulless being crave a soul, if only to meet you once more beyond the grave.”

Minutes passed in silence as Arturia registered his confession. The night did not conceal her expressions from him. Not the fear, the anger, the confusion. He witnessed the exact moment of her realization, felt her heartbeat quicken, saw the heat rise to her cheeks. At last, she understood why she lay under him and had not yet fallen victim to his fangs.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked calmly, her voice strained, but clear. “Why now?”

“I have desired to do so for half a decade, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell you...and I cannot die without you knowing that you are treasured beyond belief.”

Slowly, he reached for her ankle, where he knew she’d hidden her last knife. It burned his flesh as he grasped the hilt, rejecting the impurity of his being, but he persisted anyway, rejoicing in the sensation. This would be one of the final times he’d experience it.

“Wh...what are you doing?” she asked as he pulled her up to face him, placing the dagger in her grip and clasping his hands around hers. Even presented with the opportunity, it was no longer killing intent that resided within her eyes, only conflict.

“Without an end to one’s existence, love, the delights of what you call ‘life’ have no meaning,” he explained, moving her arms so that the blade’s tip rested just above his heart. “Therefore, Arturia Pendragon, I ask that your worthy hands grant me mine.”

He’d expected his death to be immediate, to happen as soon as he loosened his hold. Gilgamesh knew better than anybody what Arturia had at stake and who she was protecting. Hell, he was excited just contemplating what kind of life she’d lead, now that she’d been liberated of her family’s burden.

But now, when her goal was right in front of her, she hesitated.

For what seemed like a better eternity, Gilgamesh watched her stare into his exhausted red eyes, like she was engraving their intimidating splendor into her memory.

“Thank you.”

His death couldn’t have been sweeter.

#thank you for the ask #i hope you liked it!#gilart #gilturia #gilgamesh #archer #caster #arturia #arturia pendragon #artoria pendragon #artoria #saber #fate fanfiction

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frogjutsu · 3 years

Text

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi x Maito Gai

Word Count: 2088

Warnings: slight angst, lots of tomfoolery

A/N: written as part of the KKG server gift exchange! Feel free to read here or on Ao3

The sun filtering through the branches felt like a lover's caress. It was almost enough to make Kakashi forget how lonely he was. With a sigh he settled further against the tree. The bark scratched against his back and the grass felt cold against his thighs but the scent was comforting. The scent was home.

Kakashi turned a page in whatever copy of Icha Icha he'd brought with him today. He'd read them so many times he could probably quote them from memory, but he had appearances to keep up. Anyone who saw him would simply assume he was reading his pervy books again and leave him alone. Well, almost anyone.

"Ah, there you are, rival," Gai's voice boomed as he jogged up to Kakashi. He was surprised Gai wasn't running on his hands this time. "I've been looking for you."

"And you've found me," Kakashi said, not looking up from his book. It would be too much like looking into the sun.

"I've devised a new challenge for us. One that will truly test our limits as shinobi. Are you interested?"

Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes, Kakashi thought, but what came out of his mouth was: "I suppose" coupled with a shrug.

Gai laughed and it echoed through Kakashi's heart. It might've been the most beautiful sound he ever heard. "Cool as ever, dear rival. In that case, you'll need this." Gai whipped out a small booklet - from where in that skintight suit Kakashi couldn't tell. If Kakashi's eyes lingered too long, Gai didn't mention it.

Finally, Kakashi set his copy of Icha Icha to the side and reached for Gai's hand. Their fingers brushed as he took the booklet and Kakashi wondered if all of Konoha could hear his heart pounding. Before he could ask what the book was, Gai interrupted: “Meet us at the theatre tomorrow night.”

“Us,” Kakashi asked as he opened the book. His eyes trailed across a hand-written script. The character “Damsel” was highlighted.

“Yes! Team Gai is going to put on the ultimate display of youth and you are to be our damsel in distress. Then the audience shall decide who embodied their emotions better: the infamous Copy Ninja or the Green Beast of Konoha.” Gai planted his fists on his hips, striking a pose as Kakashi stared at the pages before him. What had he gotten himself into?

It was not the only time Kakashi asked himself that question. In fact, it seemed to be the only thought he could form as he memorized the few lines he had and showed up to the theater, only to be rushed into what was clearly a storage closet someone had hurriedly turned into a changing room. Sakura and Ino had been roped into helping Team Gai with makeup and wardrobe, though, as they forced him into a rather skimpy pink dress and braided wig, Kakashi doubted they really needed any convincing. At least Sakura was thoughtful enough to include a matching pink mask.

As he was ushered onto the stage and the curtains lifted to reveal most of the village gathered around to watch this farce - play, Kakashi corrected himself - Kakashi tried to pinpoint exactly which decisions in his life had led him to this point: dressed in pink and lace surrounded by a trio of children with plastic swords and too-big costumes pretending to be pirates. Perhaps if he’d never joined the ANBU or if his father had never died. Maybe it was just an inevitability. Perhaps Kakashi Hatake was always doomed to give more of himself than he would ever receive.

He was broken out of his gloomy reverie when Gai burst forth from the wings, dressed in a loose flowing white shirt and pants that seemed even tighter than his green jumpsuit. His hair was held back with a leather band and - Did he oil his chest? Kakashi thought, noting how Gai’s skin glistened under the stage lights.

Lee elbowed Kakashi in the hip. “It’s your line, Kakashi sensei.”

“Oh,” he replied, forcing his thoughts back to script. He cleared his throat and began:

“Blessed be the gods for sending the Green Beast. Save me from these scoundrels and then we shall feast.”

Gai stalked across the stage, pulling his own plastic sword out of its sheath. “My dear Princess, it would be my pleasure / for rescuing you would be life’s greatest treasure. / Avast, ye pirates. Stand and fight! / Draw your swords and face my might!”

Now it was Lee’s turn to jump forward into the spotlight. “First you must pay the princess’s ransom! / I don’t care if you are devilishly handsome. / 10,000 yen is what we agreed. / If you can’t pay she’ll be tossed to the sea.”

Silence fell over the stage for a moment as Lee and Gai stared each other down. Then, Lee coughed and looked at Neji out of the corner of his eye. Kakashi thought he heard Neji mutter something about wishing the swords were real so Gai could kill him, but he stepped forward nonetheless.

His voice was blank as he spoke, brandishing his sword as if he wished he were anywhere else. “Captain, please. Don’t be a fool. / There’s no way you could beat the Beast in a duel.”

TenTen took a step toward Kakashi. She was definitely the most comfortable of the three of them, and, as she pressed the sword under Kakashi’s chin he honestly had to remind himself that this was just a play. “Take another step and I’ll end her life,” TenTen said. “And then you’ll never take her as your wife.”

Wife. Kakashi let his mind turn the word around in his head, wringing it out until he could pull a drop of meaning from it. He’d never been one for domesticity. Never really given a thought to marriage, having spent so much time alone already, but Kakashi had to admit the thought of being whisked off his feet by a local folk hero and devoting himself so wholly to them held some appeal. Then again, as Gai leapt forward and began his choreographed fight with his teammates, Kakashi realized he was already devoted to someone.

The fight was beautiful, really. Kakashi was sure Gai choreographed it himself. He could see the fluidity in the movements, the way each step was tailored to each character. Kakashi found himself distracted by the sheen of sweat dripping down Gai’s chest, trailing down and out of sight past a tear that appeared where one of the kids got too excited by their role as villains. The clash of plastic swords could barely be heard over the cheering of the audience as Gai gave one final blow to Lee and he died dramatically, dropping to the stage floor next to Neji and TenTen.

Kakashi walked forward, hands still bound behind his back. “You truly are a hero, my dearest Gai. / Stuck with those pirates I was afraid I would die.”

Gai closed the distance between them, reaching around Kakashi to pull at the rope around his wrists. It fell free with little effort, but the action brought their chests together and Kakashi swore he could feel the rumble of the next words Gai said in his ribs. “I will always save you, my dear Princess. / No matter the challenge. No matter the test.” Gai brushed his knuckles against the underside of Kakashi’s jaw, pulling his mask down just past his lips, and wrapped his left arm around his waist. “You’re free now to do what you like. / Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“The honor is mine,” Kakashi said, more breathless than he’d intended. He hoped Gai would just write it off as good acting. “After such a brave feat. / No better man could I hope to meet. / So ask me again. I’ll respond with a sigh. / There’s no greater honor than becoming Mrs. Maito Gai.”

The audience cheered as Gai pressed his forehead against Kakashi’s, but neither of them heard it. There could have been a stampede of elephants running across the stage or a surprise ambush from a neighbouring village and it wouldn’t have mattered. All Kakashi could think about was how warm Gai’s skin felt against his and how Gai’s hand felt like it belonged on the small of his back and how easy it would be to just lean forward and claim his lips and argue that it was an acting choice later, but that would require spine and Kakashi may have been reckless at times but he’d never been brave and -

And then Gai did something unscripted. He pressed his lips against Kakashi’s and his knees buckled. Kakashi was sure he would’ve fainted if Gai’s arm hadn’t been there to hold him up. Gai was always there to hold him up.

The audience erupted into cheers again, but Kakashi only cared about the taste of Gai’s lips. Salty and sweet, tasting vaguely of sweat and matcha and the dango they’d all had backstage before the show started. Kakashi let his tongue brush against Gai’s lips, but he broke away with a laugh.

“Eager, I see, my dear Princess. / But after such an ordeal, I’m sure you must rest. / After all this concludes our heroic tale. / So now I must bid you all farewell.” Gai stepped away from Kakashi and took a deep bow. It wasn’t until Lee, Neji, and TenTen returned to the stage that he realized he was supposed to do the same. Gai’s hand felt like a hot coal in Kakashi’s. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to toss it to the ground or cling to it until it became a diamond in his grip.

After what felt like an eternity of bowing and clapping and greeting the audience, Kakashi finally escaped back to his changing room. He quickly peeled the dress off and yanked on his uniform pants. He wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to simply use a teleportation jutsu to get home. Otherwise, he might have to face Naruto in the audience, and Kakashi wasn’t sure his nerves could handle that right now.

A knock interrupted his plans. Before Kakashi could say anything, the door opened as quickly as it shut and Gai stood before him, still in his costume. The closet changing room didn’t offer much space and, with Gai blocking the exit, Kakashi knew there was little chance for escape.

“You were wonderful out there tonight, rival,” Gai said. His voice seemed even louder in the small space. Kakashi didn’t think he’d ever get tired of it.

“Thank you, but I think you’ve bested me this time.”

“Almost certainly,” Gai laughed. “But I must say, pink is your color.” He stepped forward and brushed his knuckles against Kakashi’s jaw again. In the dim light of the closet, far from the scrutiny of his peers, Kakashi let himself enjoy the moment. He closed his eyes and leaned against Gai’s touch, let himself be led as Gai pulled Kakashi closer by the hips. “What do you say to rehearsing for our next performance?”

Kakashi might’ve said something in response, but it was lost as Gai claimed his lips with his own. It quickly became clear that the kiss on stage was an act, a buildup to this beautiful crescendo. Gai was more insistent now, pushing his own tongue between Kakashi’s lips as one hand slid up Kakashi’s bare back to tangle in the short hair at the nape of his neck and the other held so tightly to Kakashi’s hip he knew it would bruise in the morning. He couldn’t bring himself to care as he cradled Gai’s face close to his, unwilling to let go. Unwilling to admit that this was probably just a dream or an act or something unreal because good things simply didn’t happen to him and there was nothing more good than Maito Gai.

Finally, Kakashi’s brain caught up with him, though, and he jerked away. “Wait. What do you mean next performance?”

Gai only smiled, reaching behind to pull another booklet out of his back pocket. “A chance to regain your honor and prove who’s the better thespian when we perform the sequel.”

Kakashi hummed in response as he took the booklet. Gai’s hands settled on Kakashi’s waist, stroking the skin over his hips and sending fire coursing through Kakashi’s body. He flipped through the booklet and pretended to read the words as Gai began to kiss the skin of his shoulders. There was a single character highlighted: Damsel.

#my fics #kakashi x gai #hatake kakashi #maito gai #kakagai #happy late birthday grandpa gai

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lordnoctxrnal · 3 years

Text

a song or the blooming of flowers - english translyrics

(english translation taken from the official wiki here) feel free to use - please credit me by name and link this post somewhere visible!

key: futaba - bolded kaoruko - italics both - bold + italics

(intro)

many years ago we swore a childish vow to always be within reach of each other's hearts oh how long has it been we've grown so much since then the flowers on our tree have slowly fell apart

those petals that so caught my gaze were bright like stars against my life's mundane haze

but even when i longed for them the blossoms in your heart escaped my reach again

if our paths diverge and if you choose to leave my side i will let you spread your wings out and fly if you cannot find your happiness when next to me then i'll cherish your bloom on another tree

but i want to be the first humble flower to see when your petals bloom in the spring!

(music)

i believed without a doubt that you would be a shield and sword perpetually by my side but you are just a bird inside a gilded cage i saw you look longingly towards the sky

when did i a helpless bird learn to sing with bold and valiant words

both your blooms and wings hardwon reflect the stars as you fly towards the sun

i bid you farewell and leave behind my dearest friend as our shared tale has come to an end but i can't forget our treasured past that i hold close i will bear that loss in my heart when i go

(music)

river current flows as fast as time slips through our hands though divided we will meet once again even if a path splits like an errant branch from a tree it will always find its roots in the end

i will bloom for you for as long as our fleeting lives last to the bond we share i'll hold fast!

#revue starlight #shoujo kageki revue starlight #revstar #starira #revue starlight translyrics #lordnoctxrnaltranslyrics #hanasaka uta #kaoruko hanayagi #futaba isurugi

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lisinfleur · 4 years

Text

In your eyes

The request:

Author’s Notes | It took me so long, but I’m in love with this piece! It came out SO SWEET! I hope you like it as much as I did!

Universe | Vikings

Pairing | Harald x Reader

Info | Viking Age AU, requested by @honestsycrets

Words | 1806

⁑ Warnings: Mentions of heathenry and magic.

source: x

Galdrastafir.

You saw his fingers drawing it slowly, sliding the blood of some sacrificed animal that lost its life for his deeper and dearest dreams he was corrupting one rune at a time.

How deep did your king had descended into the dark to use such a low strike for what should be a noble conquer?

How painful was the emptiness into his heart to force him into such a devious path towards the fulfillment of his desires?

You knew him.

Harald wasn't like that.

But he wasn't himself anymore. He was lost. Maybe taken by the despair of his last queen's death - enough to ignore her obvious betrayal. Maybe lost by the failed conquest of the crown of Norway - that was now his, but still under Björn's influence once the son of Ragnar was still respected as a god, even thou he wasn't the king of kings after all.

You could count the numerous reasons for your eyes to be watching as your king was drawing the runes of that despicable spell on his palm, intending probably to bewitch the Dane princess his castle was about to receive along with her father and the other two kings of the trinity - one of them, the second son of Ragnar Lothbrok, Ubbe, who was converted into a king by the fight and victory against the one he was replacing now. Ragnar's blood was always around, spreading the insecurity that was the probable reason for your king to go this low.

You came closer. You could do it. You were the only one who could after years serving his castle.

You were his family servant since his father was still alive and you were nothing but a child, serving his table, cleaning his windows, preparing his room so he could sleep. You would do anything you were ordered to do for him and you wouldn't ask a single coin for your services as long as you were serving his needs, for since you placed your eyes over him for the first time, you fell in love with Harald and your heart never accepted another.

You passed the time to get yourself a husband dreaming about marrying him when he was nothing but a small man. Then he became a king, and your heart was broken when his promises were made to Elisif and not to you, but who were you after all? Sewing his clothes, cleaning his floor, making his food... A servant. Almost a slave, but a paid one. Nothing but a part of the furniture in his house, right?

Wrong.

You became a friend after Elisif's treason, serving his mead at his tent until he was drunk enough to speak his heart to you; listening to his sober words asking you to hold his secrets at the next morning.

You never exposed him.

He came to tell you more.

And you learned about his desire to become what he was now: the king of all Norway. You heard about his dreams of making Vestfold the capital of all Norway and all his hopes to discover new lands, bring treasures, make the people of that town rich and prosper. But his major and dearest dream was the one in your heart as well...

"A beautiful wife to receive me... Children to raise..."

He wanted to build his legacy as much as he wanted that crown and you saw his high hopes in his eyes when that bitch he brought from Kattegat was discovered pregnant.

You wanted to tell him it wasn't the truth. You wanted to tell him you saw her going to the docks, entering that fisherman's boat. But you had no courage to break his heart and you had no proof she was doing anything with that man, so you prayed the gods would bring the truth up or push away from your king all sort of serpent that could bite his hand.

The bitch was killed in battle. And you thought it was a sign from the gods she was the serpent you thought she was. But since then, your king wasn't the same anymore.

You served his table in York - he took you with him when he tried to take the kingdom from Ivar the Boneless and rule over the lands he didn't conquer. You were the one taking care of his wounds after that terrible loss Ubbe has caused him against the Christians. You saw his eyes glowing towards Gunnhild, his anger when Björn passed in front of him and gained her heart.

Your king was always rejected. Except by your forgotten heart.

He never knew about your love; you couldn't blame him. Or maybe you could blame his blindness for it was stamped on your face since the first day and he never saw.

But again... He was a king. The king of all Norway now.

Who were you to think you could be a queen by his side?

You never wanted that crown. You wouldn't mind having another to sit in his throne...

But you wanted his heart. You wanted him.

You wanted Harald's love and you couldn't hold yourself from speaking against that madness he was tracing upon his palm.

"Galdrastafir?" you spoke, causing him to miss a trace, looking at you with anger in his eyes.

"What?" he asked.

And you could feel the smell of mead... He wasn't sober.

It wasn't his self again.

"Galdrastafir! A spell, magic! Yes... I'm doing this. I reached the bottom. I'm tired of waiting..." he insisted. "I'm cursed, Y/N! I'm a cursed man, fated to be forever alone by the curse of the gods upon me! I begged. I promised them. I fulfilled my promise!" he said, messing with the now short braid you remembered crying a whole night when he allowed Astrid to cut for him. "But they cursed me... And I'm tired..."

What right did you have?

Who do you think you were?

A servant. A nobody.

A woman in love. For your whole life.

"Or maybe you're blind!"

Your heart spoke before your mouth and your lips followed it before listening to your brain's screams to keep yourself silent. And they kept speaking, even thou your thoughts were yelling you would end up arrested. Or even dead for that audacity.

"Maybe you just can't see the love you search for so long is around you, near you, walking towards you without your knowledge. Maybe this love was always here, waiting for a glare, a word, a chance! And you never saw it! Because it was so small... Too small for a king!"

Your brain finally took the reins once again and you covered your mouth, shutting it silent. Your eyes trembled on his: he was looking straight into them and you couldn't handle his heavy glare.

But when his face twisted in surprise and you could see the math being done in his thoughts, you couldn't handle.

"Excuse me," you begged before running away from his presence without waiting for his approval or his calculation to find its obvious end.

You were in love with him.

You were always in love with him.

You crossed seas to serve his table. You cried his losses and prayed for his return. You were always there to receive him even thou he wasn't coming back for you.

You...

The face he could remember always smiling at his most stupid asks; always solicitous to his smallest needs; always by his side, to listen, to serve, to hold his tears, his drunk self you so many times carried in your shoulders back to his room where he would wake up clean, dressed and sided by a cup of fresh water and herbs he could chew for his headache.

And it wasn't because he saved your life. Harald could remember you were solicitous to his needs since before he saved you from that bunch of raiders that tried to hurt you on the road. He could remember, if he thought enough, that you were there because of him! You went to the next town that day, just to find him some treated leather for the sheath of his new sword you made for him and that was needing to be fixed...

Hours of walking, risking yourself, just to get him a new sheath.

Harald's eyes landed on the unfinished Galdrastafir in his hand. Why was he doing such a thing?

Did he really need a princess so badly?

When did he become so blind?

Slowly, he washed his hand from the unfinished symbols in his palm, cleaning the blood on one of the clean towels you would always bring to his room every morning.

His eyes looking around... You were everywhere to be seen!

His fresh fruits always replaced by your hands; the fresh water in his amphoras; at the clean sheets of his bed or the sweet herbal bags that would spread that delicious and comfortable scent that would always make him feel home. Your dress was always smelling like those herbs. You always smelled like home for him.

How come that he could never see?

How a man so devoted to the gods was unable to see them screaming right on his face how wrong he was?

He wasn't cursed. Harald was never cursed.

King Harald was a blessed and dumb man. Dumb like the donkeys in his stable, blind like the old goat in his barn.

"I would let her cut my hair when I could find her."

His laugh echoed through his room as he was looking at the mirror, seeing his stupidity for the first time in years: you...

You were always the only servant he trusted to help him to trim his hair. To keep it strong and beautiful. You always trimmed his beard, helped him with the braid he allowed Astrid to cut.

But you had trimmed first.

Harald laughed again.

Even his promise was used by the gods to show him the obvious thing in front of his eyes now. And he was too blind to see.

And he was too dumb to understand.

His fingers got the little metallic box he had prepared for that princess. A beautiful box, sculpted by his smith with lots of blessing runes around a velvet interior that was holding a beautiful pair of alliances he settled to propose an alliance and marriage to her.

Harald's heart knew what he had to do now. And instead of the heavy weight that Galdrastafir was bringing to his chest, to look at those alliances and think what he was thinking brought him peace...

You were his peace.

You were always the one he would find when he wanted to soothe the pain in his heart.

It was time to soothe the loneliness into it.

Once and for all.

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#history vikings #imagine vikings #harald #harald finehair #harald x reader #harald imagine #king harald #sister wives #shot

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