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wesimpforxiao · 3 years

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Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 8.1

Author’s Note: As for the next few or possibly several chapters, give me some time to write them. I want to write the Lantern Rite chapter perfectly and in order to do that I need 1. for us all to experience the in-game event so I can capture it accurately and 2. to catch up on my schoolwork because my college goes by the 10-week quarter system and we are smack in the middle of it. Apologies for the inconvenience, but I refuse to give a sub-par Lantern Rite chapter as I believe it will be the most important in this story!! The next one or two chapters should be released by the end of next week.

......

Only on the eve of the Lantern Rite, several days before the celebration, did Xiao come to appreciate the hours of hard work you were putting into practicing music.

He had slaughtered a band of mitachurls, hilichurls, and lawachurls near Lihua Pool when he fell into darkness. He collapsed to his knees, struggling for breath, spots filling his vision beneath the mask. While he had dealt with karmic debt for two thousand years, this time had to be one of the worst falters. He knelt beneath the somber moon that bore witness to his shortcoming.

The waves of pain drove him mad and the voices drowned out the singing of the crickets and frogs. Xiao clutched at his chest in an effort to rid himself of the agony as he wondered if it was finally his time to die and join the fallen yakshas. His mask disintegrated as he fell to all fours. It's fine, just breathe, he reminded himself.

It was then when he heard the tune.

"B-Barbatos?" The yaksha groaned despairingly as he forced himself to raise his head toward the sound. He was being saved by the wind god for a second time--No. That's her, he realized when he recognized the all-too familiar tune. But the way you were playing this time...had he only heard a fraction of your practice sessions? You carried the notes so well compared to last time--

Xiao rolled over so he lie on his back, eyes meeting the glints of the stars that shone down upon him. It was like the pain had knocked the wind out of him. No matter. At least he would die listening to you. The idea was peaceful to think about.

...miss...love you...

Your faint prayers that accompanied the moonsong somehow broke through the crowded shouting of the damned and eased the heavy knot in his stomach while he gasped for air. The tune continued to build until Xiao could only compare your talent to that of the wind archon. It was beautiful, soft, and it fit you perfectly despite your stubborn personality that was accentuated by the harbinger's shenanigans.

The image brought a faint smile to his lips, the expression slowly widening as you played on. Your selfless nature; the need to protect a yaksha from harm's way...Your daring eyes when you butt heads with Childe...The honey-sweet grin you reserved only for Xiao and Xiao alone. It was the way you carried yourself in battle, the way you interacted with strangers. How and when you prayed to him. Your light humming accompanied your music.

Archons, you were remarkably stunning in every way imaginable. The yaksha failed to notice how big his smile was as a few of his tears slid down the sides of his face. It was his own longing for you that manifested and whirled around in his chest. Beautiful, he thought as the music continued. So, so beautiful. It was as if the music described yourself. For how could he give up and die now, after falling for you? Maybe...just maybe...Xiao allowed himself to sit in the fluffy cloud of human 'compassion' as he listened to you play. He wouldn't dare call the emotion for what it truly was. Not now. Not yet. You had to understand something before he could allow himself to love you. Er, to care for you. Y-yes. That's it. Xiao refocused his attention on your music to avoid thinking any deeper on the subject.

Yet though his mind listened to your moonsong, his heart entertained the possibility of finally admitting his lo--er, compassion for you.

He didn't notice that the pain had long faded, that the spots in his vision had cleared and that the voices of the vanquished silenced themselves. He drifted to sleep right there in the middle of the dirt road as you played into the night, and for the first time in a long time, he slept with mind and body in peace.

................................

"Morning, Mezzetin," Childe greeted you with two mugs of hot chocolate in his hands. He gave one to you before indulging in his while he leaned against your door. "Sleep well?"

"I did, surprisingly. The pain was pretty bad until I started practicing." You rubbed your bleary eyes and let out a long yawn. "Why do you ask?"

"You didn't call for him."

"Hm?"

"You've yelled for the yaksha every night you've been here. You were quiet last night."

"How would you know that? Are you just constantly sitting outside my room like a creep?" Your quip brought a smile to Childe's lips as he sipped at his mug.

"Well then, since you're feeling well enough to banter with me, I guess I have no need to reward you for your cooperation..."

"Huh? What do you mean, 'reward?'" You perked up when he faked reaching for the door handle. "Tartaglia?" In your effort to get him to explain, you jumped out of bed and subsequently spilled your drink all over the sheets. A jarring pain shot through your bones, but you ignored it.

"The Tsaritsa has requested I return to my post in Liyue Harbor to...discipline a few underperforming officers during the Lantern Rite. Since I am in charge of you, I requested that you accompany me. Her Majesty agreed."

"W-what?!" Your sudden shout made him jump slightly. "You...she...you're letting me return?"

"Temporarily, yes, and it is for business reasons. We figured it would aid in your...dilemma."

"I..." Your gaze fell to the half-empty mug in your hands.

"You don't want to go?" The harbinger raised a brow in surprise. "Why, I thought you'd jump at this opportunity."

"It's not that..." you trailed, your finger absently circling the rim of your cup. "Would I...be able to roam around by myself?"

"Depends on where you want to go." His eyes narrowed slightly and he set his cup atop your bedside table. "You won't be able to visit Qingce Village, nor the Wanshu Inn." He watched your shoulders drop in disappointment before continuing. "But I will allow you to enjoy the festival."

"...Am I allowed to talk to them? My adventure team?"

Childe let out a small sigh before nodding. "I think it would be good for your health to see them."

"Why are you allowing me?" It was your turn to narrow your eyes in suspicion against the harbinger. "Wouldn't this be, you know, a risk for you guys to let me see them? Aren't you worried about that?"

"There will be several Fatui agents in Liyue during the festival; even if you're 'alone,' one of us will always be nearby. I don't take you as a complete idiot," he admonished. "Besides, Mr. Zhongli knows more about adeptal blood than we do at this point. If you manage to gather more information, that would be a plus."

"I'm not gathering information for the likes of you," you retorted, crossing your arms much like Xiao does.

"I'm not asking you as your superior, nor your captor. I'm suggesting it as your comrade in arms."

"Ha!" You couldn't help but let out a full laugh at the set of statements. "You really expect me to believe that? All you guys do is manipulate and deceive. I don't trust a word that comes out of your mouth!"

"Even if you learn something and keep it to yourself, do it for yourself, Mezzetin. I've realized something after you joined us."

"Oh? What could you have possibly realized?" You rolled your eyes and returned your gaze to the window, not particularly caring about his side of the conversation and instead wishing he would just leave already.

"I realized some of my actions were not for your wellbeing, but for mine."

........................................

It was sprinkling when Childe, the Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, finally tracked your rescue team down in Fontaine. It really didn't take much of an effort, which was highly disappointing considering the harbinger loved to play cat-and-mouse with his foes. Oh well. At least Mr. Zhongli was here; the plan wouldn't work if he hadn't accompanied Aether and the yaksha.

The harbinger stood in the shadow of a nearby tree and scouted the sheltered camp. Besides Aether, Zhongli, and an apparently-unconscious yaksha, there were two more opponents. Childe recognized one of them to be the wine master Diluc, but couldn't name the other one. Maybe he was one of Mondstat's knights, judging by the way he carried himself? Then again, he seemed to be drinking pretty heavily...

Childe glanced back a ways where a few Fatui agents were waiting for his return. This wouldn't take long; he knew two of the adventurer's tricks, and the knight didn't look like he'd pose much of a challenge. All he needed was to speak with Zhongli.

"I have to admit I'm disappointed for finding you so quickly," the harbinger made his presence known and stepped out of the shadows. A chill ran down everyone's spines.

"I still can't believe you were naïve enough to get involved with the Fatui," Diluc sent an admonishing look Aether's way before summoning his broadsword. "And hid it from me, no less."

"We're sorry!" Paimon squeaked with her hands in the air. "We didn't trust him completely!"

"It was my fault for allowing this to continue without your knowledge, Aether." Zhongli rose from his seat and manifested his polearm. "Allow me to make amends."

"I assume you're the one we're after?" Kaeya unsheathed his sword and stood side-by-side with Diluc, much to his bro's dismay. Despite all the wine he had consumed, he remained unusually composed.

"I've come to speak with Mr. Zhongli," Childe answered, both hands raised semi-defensively while the expression on his face was no less than that of a sly fox. "And to retrieve the yaksha."

"We don't think so!" Aether charged first and swung his blade through the air. It collided against the well-known hydro blades of the harbinger before parrying off.

Next was Diluc, whose flaming weapon created steam as it sliced through Childe's blades. His attacks were slower than Aether's, but the amount of power coming from them nearly made the harbinger flinch both in hesitation and in excitement. It was then that Xiao's eyes had opened slightly before he lost consciousness again. Kaeya lunged forth and used his skill to send a burst of ice at the harbinger in an effort to freeze him in place.

Childe barely dodged, one blade freezing over. "Tch." The last thing he needed was to deal with a cryo user in this weather. He was already at a disadvantage by wielding a hydro vision in normal circumstances. His hydro burst threw everyone backwards, and he switched to his delusion.

Electricity surged through the camp as everyone got to their feet and readied themselves for an onslaught of electro attacks. None came; instead, the harbinger stared straight at Zhongli, who remained reserved and unbothered as he pointed the tip of his lance at him. "This is your only warning, Childe," the archon spoke in an especially deep voice. "Return her to us, or suffer the consequences."

"I only came to speak with you, Mr. Zhongli," Childe's eyes narrowed beneath his mask. "As much as I'd love to indulge in a fight, I came here with a proposition. Would you hear me out?"

Everyone's eyes turned expectantly to the archon, and he returned their gazes before allowing his polearm to disintegrate. "Lower your weapons," he ordered much to everyone's dismay.

"But Zhongli! He could trick you!" Paimon reappeared before the consultant. "You can't--"

"Relax, Paimon," Zhongli quietly assured. "I may not have a gnosis, but a harbinger is still by no-means what I perceive to be troublesome in battle." He followed Childe a few meters away so the group was unable to hear them.

Childe shifted his mask to its resting place on the side of his head. "There may be a way to retrieve her," he started in a quiet voice. "But it would only be possible if you declare war against the Tsaritsa."

"Tell me, Childe, why should I trust you after you breached our trust?"

"You can't, but I trust that we all have our comrade's best interests in mind, no? If you're able to rally the people of Teyvat, the Tsaritsa may yield. Her Majesty has no interest in declaring war against the mortals as you are already aware."

It was a fitting task for the God of War; declare a world war against the Tsaritsa, and she'd yield without calling his bluff. Even so, the former archon was not convinced. Childe would need to up his charming façade. He was only lying for your own safety after all; he'd back you into joining the harbingers, and you'd be free of the Fatui's grasp in the outside world. You wouldn't be hunted for the rest of your life; you could live freely in your captors' backyard. The suffering you were being thrown into now would last a lifetime if you continued to resist.

Some part of the harbinger knew it was a twisted form of compassion--dare he call it love--for you. He needed you to free yourself both of the Fatui's and Xiao's grasps. The only way to do that would be to recruit you, but you weren't so easy to convince. You wouldn't be in danger of getting hurt by his subordinates his way. You wouldn't hurt yourself by chasing after Xiao if Childe stepped in either. He didn't care that it was selfish of him to step between your struggling romance.

What better way to keep you safe, mentally and physically, than to break you into submission?

The two opposing forces continued their hushed discussion for twenty more minutes before Zhongli broke away from Childe. He was about to fill the group in on the details when Childe attacked him from behind.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact #xiao x reader #xiao #xiao fanfiction #xiao genshin impact #genshin impact xiao

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mai-sau · 3 years

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Prompt "give me attention" for kidnap family?

"haha, im gonna take it easy with prompts this time around, only a few hundred words -" cue spongebob title card "2.3k words later"

seriously tho thank you for the prompt!! (and sorry about the wait!) i had fun working on this one bc well i love any chance to write about this lil family of murderers and tiny bois :') hope u enjoy!!

Prompt: "Give me attention."

“Nelyo.”

“Ne-”

Thump. Maedhros slammed his book shut. A puff of dust wheezed out from the crusty pages; Maglor could make out the swirl of particles flying about in the dim shafts of sunlight peeking into his brother’s study from windows that he was sure were clean at some point in their existence.

Said brother tossed a glare over to Maglor from the other side of his desk.

“You’re allowed to be here. Quietly.” Maedhros threw a pointed look towards the abandoned scroll in Maglor’s hands.

“But I’m so very lonely, Nelyo,” Maglor pouted, and dropped the scroll on the desk. The parchment rolled out towards Maedhros, whose face was fast approaching the same shade as his hair. “Besides, I’ve already taken care of all my correspondence for the day. Nothing much else to do, really, but seek out the company of my darling brother.”

“I’m older than you,” Maedhros grit out, rubbing his temple in terse little circles. Which one of them he was reminding Maglor couldn’t say.

“Only by a few years,” Maglor teased. He let the corners of his lip curl up - he was well aware this made him look like “a cat about to feast on the fattest saucer of milk it’s ever conned” according to his brother, and that was why he did it.

On top of that dusty old book, Maedhros’ fingers twitched. Got you.

“Come on, Nelyo,” he whined. “Give me attentiooon.”

Maedhros threw him a positively hateful look, but Maglor knew he wouldn’t throw him out just yet. By this point, Maglor liked to think he knew his brother well enough.

There were some things he didn’t, of course, and this was fine. When his brother would wake and traipse out to the courtyard in the dead of night, staring at the moon hungrily for hours and hours as if he would never glimpse its light amidst the pitch dark again; when one of the many elves around Amon Ereb would do something wrong - not when one of their craftsmen made the same excited little exclamation as Curvo used to, or hunters fletched their arrows just how Tyelko did, Maglor understood these, at least - but a request phrased too sweetly, an abrupt movement, a smile too wide, and Maedhros’ throat would tighten, his words clipped, before excusing himself to go lock himself in his room for an hour, or two, or three: these parts of his brother Maglor may never know.

But he knew much, or at least enough. A few months after they’d taken in the twins, Maglor had just finished mopping an explosion of jam on the dining floor and sweeping up the shards of what was once the hefty jar that contained it. He’d first gently let Elros know that if they wanted food, they need only ask; he’d then let him know that no, of course they wouldn’t cast him out for breaking the jam jar, with no small amount of tears or internal panic on either end of that conversation.

By the time Maglor slunk into Maedhros’ study that evening to go over reports from around the fortress, he was maybe a bit tired. When Maedhros told him to wait for just a few minutes while he wrapped something or other up, Maglor might’ve let slip a touch of petulance and no small amount of theatrics into his voice when he asked when his dear Nelyo could spare just a moment for his poor baby brother, simply wilting away from the neglect.

Maglor had frozen, fearful of what his second-most severe brother would have to say in response to - well, whining. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d let himself do so. Oh, he’d been quite the brat in Valinor, and used to be quite proud of that fact, thank you. Each and every one of his brothers’ last nerves practically had his name on it. But it seemed ever since they arrived here, it was as if they simply couldn’t afford the waste of time. Ribbing was a favored pastime of his in Aman, but Beleriand offered no such frivolities.

But living with the twins, putting on playful words and coaxing laughter from two young faces that Maglor couldn’t bear to see two seconds from breaking anymore, had apparently loosened his discipline.

He’d thought Maedhros would treat him to one of his signature frowns, barking at him that neither of them had time to make things any harder for each other, but instead he’d… laughed. Just the slightest huff of air, yes, but a laugh nonetheless. Maglor hadn’t heard his brother laugh since…

Well, if anything, he was honoring his cousin’s memory.

So Maglor experimented over the years, let a few more teases and whines slip into his day-to-day interactions with Maedhros. His brother had since mustered a valiant effort to act annoyed, but Maglor could still catch a muffled chuckle or smothered grin here and there.

So. All in all, he’s sure he knows his brother pretty well at this point, and Maedhros was not troubled (bad), just bothered (good).

Which, of course, meant they could continue to play; Maglor would show no mercy.

“Please? Please, please? Just a smidgen of tender love and care from my dearly beloved big brother?” Maglor asked, eyes wide and pleading, hands clasped in front of him as he leaned over the desk. His hair, inky black, spilled all over his scroll.

Maedhros’ nose twitched. His right ear flicked. Oh yes. He was close to a chuckle now, he could tell. His dearly beloved big brother stood no fucking chance.

“Oh dear Eru, let my brother pay attention to - MANWË’S TITS!” Maglor shrieked, springing up from his seat after spotting a dark shadow peeking through the window.

His brother whirled around. Quick as a viper, his hand darted out to grasp the hilt of his sword. Despite this, Maglor could hear a choked noise he was more than halfway certain was the chuckle he had so desperately hunted. Oh well.

A chubby face stared right back at them, eyes round as saucers. Wait, make that two faces.

Both Maglor and Maedhros sagged with relief.

“Elros, can you please come in?” Maglor croaked, feeling five feet to the left of his physical body. “You too, Elrond.”

The two of them nodded bashfully, heads bobbing as they fumbled over to the glass. And they were… flapping. Each twin sported small brown wings on their back, looking much like the falcons Tyelko used to play with as a child. Maglor supposed, thinking of a great bird soaring away over the sea with light itself clutched tight in its talons, maybe they should have expected this one in particular.

Elros pushed once, twice at the windows, tiny arms straining against the pane and looking more panicked by the second. Behind him, Elrond simply pointed to the - oh, the window latch. Yes.

Maedhros stood up and flicked it open. Elros came tumbling through, nearly bashing his skull on the desk before Maedhros caught him midair.

Elrond flew in smoothly and landed on Maglor’s empty chair, wings neatly folding in. Maedhros dumped Elros on his own chair. His wing smacked Maedhros’ arm by mistake.

“We talked about this. No new shapeshifting without me or Maglor there,” Maedhros said, fixing each of them with a stern look.

Both the twins looked down at this. Elrond wrung his little wrists.

“We’re sorry!” Elros burst out, tears welling up in his eyes. “We won’t do it again, promise!”

“That’s what you said last time, sweetheart,” Maglor told him.

“And the time before that,” Maedhros grumbled.

“What we’re saying, dear, is that we understand that you’re sorry. But keeping your word has to take first priority,” Maglor explained softly.

Maedhros coughed.

“Or, er, not doing it again,” Maglor corrected. “That’s what counts.”

“We understand,” Elros sniffled. “It’s just, we wanted to hear, but you weren’t there to check with, because well, you were here, and, well, um, yes -”

“Bringing us to the next point of order,” Maedhros rumbled. He raised a brow at both of them. “Eavesdropping. We have also been over this.”

Oh dear. Elros looked like he was about to drown in a puddle of tears. Maglor rubbed a hand between his shoulder blades soothingly, careful of the new feathery appendages.

Thankfully, Elrond stepped in. “We remember, it’s not nice because we like to be in private sometimes and it’s not fair for us to not let other people be too,” he recited shyly. “Um, we just… we know you both meet up a lot like this, and we know it's important… but… um…” His lip trembled; his voice cracked. “Do you... talk about us? Do you not want us to hear because it’s bad? Because we can do better!” He promised quickly, eyes wide and wet. “Elros is getting really good at his music lessons, he’s practicing a lot! And I’m working on my writing lessons every day!”

Something in Maglor’s chest twisted. “Oh, honey, no -”

But his brother beat him to the punch. Striding out from behind the desk, he knelt down in front of Elrond. “Can I hug you?” he asked very quietly.

Elrond bit his lip and nodded. Without another word, Maedhros wrapped him up in his arms.

They stayed like that for a moment, Maedhros’ hulking frame wrapped around Elrond’s body, like a drape of russet locks, leather and rich furs. When his brother finally pulled away, he gave a heavy look to both children.

“We will never give you away because you’re not good enough. Alright? You will always be good enough. Both of you,” he told them. He reached out and covered Elrond’s tiny hand with his own, fingers curling around and intertwining. “And not because you’re caught up on your lessons, or do what we say.”

“Though those are certainly nice,” Maglor added. He flashed them a teasing grin before taking care to soften his expression once more, and laid a gentle hand on Elros’ shoulder. “You will always have our love. And nothing, not even the worst jam spill, or missed harp lesson - don’t think I didn’t notice that last week, dearest - can ever reach in and steal it. It is your’s by blood and birthright.”

“Love you,” Elros sniffled. Elrond echoed him, voice no less wobbly.

Maedhros gifted them with a small smile. “Love you both, starlights.”

“And -” Elros started, hiccuped, and continued. “And same for me too. Nothing can change that! I’ll always love you two.”

Maglor felt a pang of sickly guilt invade his chest and looked away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maedhros stiffen.

“Me too,” Elrond said, voice suddenly clear. Maglor glanced at him and met a gaze that seemed years ahead of its time; he froze, rooted to the spot. “We’ll always love you no matter what you do.”

“Well -” Maglor started. “That’s…”

“No need to worry about us,” Maedhros recovered quickly, waving his hand. “Now then, it’s nearing bedtime, hm?”

“But wait!” Elros cried. “What were you two talking about then?”

“Yes! We saw Atya going like this,” Elrond clasped his pudgy hands together and shook them. “And his voice sounded all funny, and then he prayed to Eru about Atar paying more attention to Manwe’s t-”

“ALRIGHT!” Maglor yelped, clapping his hands. His face must’ve been steaming, his cheeks were burning, oh stars - “Bedtime!”

“But we want to know why you were saying all those funny things,” Elros complained loudly. His voice slipped into a high pitched whine, dripping with petulance. “Nelyo, Nelyo, give me attentioooon -”

“I do not sound like that!” Maglor gasped, scooping up a giggling Elrond to be carried to bed.

“I do not sound like that!”

Maglor turned around, gaping. That was not Elros’ voice.

Maedhros stared back. His eyes glinted with mirth and the most shit-eating grin curled his lips. In his arms was a starstruck Elros, who looked no less shocked than if the clouds themselves had just burst into song and danced a lively jig. And quite frankly, Maglor would be less surprised.

Maedhros dealt him one last smirk before twirling on his heel and walking out of the room to go deposit one elfling in his bed. Maglor still had the other, who poked his cheek.

“Atya? Are you okay?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Maglor felt a smile grow across his face. His eyes stung with tears. He quickly wiped them with his sleeve before they could fatten and spill over his cheeks and probably make Elrond worry even more.

“Wonderful, dear.” He frowned for a second, considering. “Although I think there is a dreadful amount of mockery in my future.”

He looked down at Elrond. His son merely tilted his round head, offering a blank look. Maglor sighed happily. “But that’s okay.”

XXX

In time, it became clear that there was no need to worry about the looming threat of brotherly teasing paid back in full; Maedhros may have been looser with his laughter, but even this was a rare occasion still. Maglor did not mind, for any time he saw his brother’s eyes alight with anything other than fatal passion was a gift.

The true threat that lurked within Amon Ereb made itself known eventually.

Two weeks later, Maglor was scurrying to meet up with one of the smiths to discuss pending repairs but stopped short in front of a small figure in the courtyard blocking his path.

“Not now, sweetheart, Atya’s very busy,” Maglor told Elrond, harried, ready to flag down someone on the way to attend to whatever his son needed.

And then it happened. Elrond’s face crumpled just so. His eyes widened: big, round, and wet. His lip wobbled. When he opened his mouth, his voice took on a tone so absolutely, horribly pitiful that Maglor half-suspected the echo of Lúthien herself lived in his words.

“Please, Atya,” he begged, every word a death sentence. “Give me attentiooon.”

Oh Eru, Maglor despaired, even as he opened his arms for an evil little elfling to leap into, repairs forgotten. I’ve made a monster.

#this was also my first go at writing more humor #but the hurt/comfort managed to sneak in #kidnap dads #kidnap fam #maedhros #maglor #elrond #elros #my writing #writing prompts #fic #jaz-the-bard

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nyan-koii · 3 years

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Hashira ft. Sabito as genshin impact players

aunotes : Bad grammar ahead! I didnt proofread it so be aware of brain damage. plus i initially wrote it at the 1.6 update

PART 1 : T.Muichiro, R.Kyojuro, K.Shinobu, S.Sanemi, U.Tengen

Muichiro : he probably would be uninterested at first. He's more to first person shooting game or anything other than this concept of farming or investing. So that's why when he saw yuichirou banging his fist on his desk, trying to get his fav character, he would simply just watch

"Fck this game, i've had enough,"

"But you havent finish your wishing things yet,"

Stares. "How about you give it a try mui. You might get the character i want,"

"You sure about that? You might get angry at me," "better than nothing. Now go go, get em you donkey,"

His first ten pulls on the game brings out a light we all want to see

"Eh is tha-" "AAAA A FUCKING 5 STAR FCK FCKFCK,"

Apparently, it was one of the luckiest wish yuichiro had ever seen so far

"OHMYFUCK, you GOT A GODDAMN KLEE, QIQI AND SUCROSE WTFF???"

"I think i get your fav character?"

"Yeahh!! More than that to be honest. I want klee but you brought me two more person," sniffles and cries "you're really lucky mui. You should try and play the game,"

"It's probably the system. I doubt im that lucky tho,"

Nah, he really is lucky. Apparently he wished for his friends and got what they all really wanted for so long

"Thank you for getting me the aquila favonia, muichiro,"

"It's nothing really. I just simply press the button. It might be the system that's giving you the thing you want when i wish,"

"But still, even if i were to wish, i can get really scared and paranoid over it,"

"That's bad. You shouldnt invest yourself that much in the game tanjiro. It's just a game,"

"Ehehehe, i guess so. But you're really good at it muichiro! If you download it, we can play together :D!"

!!!!

It took the word "play together" to get muichiro down on his knee for that game. Usually the idea of playing with your friends is not that interesting. So when tanjiro said that, you bet he's going to play it

Type of player

Extremely lucky it's not even real. He got a five star on the beginner's banner

Fast farming. He probably will complete all the quest and become an endgame player within one month

"I just wanted to play with tanjiro..." bashfully

He's really good with whatever he's doing. Attack combo, dodging, elemental reaction and all sorts of stuff. If he invest more of his time on artifacts, he would probably even one shot it!!

He's very lucky. Very

Kyojuro : he wouldnt even know the existence of this game. Well, he took a glimpse of it one day and boom, heart stolen. Maybe it was the fiery burning passion in bennett that made him play the game.

'oh wow!! What a determined young boy! Even though he has a very bad luck he still keep pushing forward! Amazing!!'

'I want to be like him'

Kyojuro's the type of player to read and pay attention to every single lore of his fav character. Bennett, oh my how he wish he could've had bennett in his team. Every wishes he made would make him a c6 bennett main if only barbara wont stop coming home

"I really like you barbara but i dont want you!! Thank you for the c6 though!! I promise to use you in the future but just-" he prepares to wish

"not NOW!!" Clicks

The highest con of bennett he had ever gotten is probably c1. One day the paimon's bargain shop offered bennett as their monthly character. Kyojuro had never been so excited over a game before. He usually perks up over academics and not this kind of thing. But it's bennett, the character he admires the most.

Unfortunately he couldnt get it due to low currency. He had never feel so sad in his life.

"I shall not give up. Dont worry, i will be a c6 bennett main!!!"

He will be a c6 bennett haver!!

Type of player :

Carefully reads every stories and listens to their lines attentively. He finds it amazing how the company spent their everything on this game. It amazes him. From the stories, lores and lines, he truly appreciates it.

Balance his team pretty well. He mains bennett so he doesnt need that much of a healer in his team.

Enjoys bennett's hangout very much!! He tried to not get him killed by the dungeon's trap but ended up having to sacrifice him which ultimately ends the route. He had never felt so down and guilty before.

Not much of a damage dealer. He prefers to play it in normal mode and doesnt care that much about one shotting monster.

He feeds his character three meals a day!! If only there's a sleep option, he would be sending bennett to sleep first before the rest.

Everyone loves his teapot

Shinobu : found the game while she's scrolling through the app store out of boredom. Initially she played it on her phone but due to the fps and a really bad ping, so bad that douma wouldnt find her interesting anymore, she finally downloaded the game on her pc where things has starting to get real

"Ara, shinobu chan, it's lunch time already. Come downstairs please,"

"Sis give me five more minutes, JUST FIVE PLEASE I NEED TO KICK CHILDE's ASS,"

"he's not going anywhere sweetie,"

"yEAHH BUT MY BP IS,"

'Bp?'

"DIE DIE DIE!!" Aggresive clicking intensifies

"Shinobu chan dont hurt the keyboard that much!!"

She got lucky on the beginner's banner too and pulled a 5 star along with bennett and noelle. Who's the 5 star? Diluc Ragnvindr in all of his glory. Shinobu benched him sadly. She prefers sword over any other weapon

"I mean he's cool i guess but i just really dont get that 'WOAHHH COOL' vibe from him you know?"

"then give your diluc to me! I really want him so bad shinobu chan!"

Deep sighs "yeah sure. You can have my c2 diluc mitsuri..."

Loses 50/50 to diluc everytime everyone would think she either is lucky or cursed by the amount of that man greeting him on the screen. She still bench him though, sadly

"Im begging you, give me jEANN THE GRANDMASTER I NEED HEALER iN MY PARTY TO DO ABYSS

Type of player :

Suffers a lot in the abyss because she just want the primos which is a valid reason to do because that's the only thing that keeps her going

She's a sword character main. She'll properly build every character as either support or dps. The support would be kaeya and bennett, and her main dps ayaka

Ayaka main btw

Honestly at some point she wanted to quit the game because of how tiring it is but then inazuma came out

Fragile resin = 0

Resin = 160/160 happens once in a blue moon

"i should probably control myself with the amount of resin i've used,"

"But i cant,"

Hates domain but always can be seen playing in there

Only coops if mitsuri is there

"So that someone can calm me down,"

"That's not a really good reason shinobu chan,"

Sanemi : dude probably know the game through obanai. He watched the latter play and finds it interesting on how high the numbers he dealt. He loves challenges so a game like genshin impact would probably satisfy his need.

"Obanai, are you hearing this shit?"

"What is it sanemi, im busy doing this event,"

"That loser giyuu is also playing the game,"

"Oh yeah i know,"

"YOU KNOW? WHY YOU DIDNT TELL ME??"

"i just know right after you told me,"

"...."

Sanemi's a meta but a mediocre one. He's meta but he doesnt show it that much. Probably buys welkin once in every three months or when he really needs it same goes with battle pass too. Honestly, he really just use his money when he really needs something

"Donno if my allowance can buy me a welkin so i'll probably skip,"

"But the next banner is zhongli's,"

"....."

"Ah fuck it," buys

My man cant dodge after he got zhongli. Its very painful because he used to studies the enemies movement in the early game so that he can utilizes it on the team but zhongli's shield is so tank he forgot that dodging exists

"Im gonna kill you and you and you hhahaahhaah just you wait im gonna shred all of yo- oh shit zhongli's shield. puT IT BACK PUT IT BACK ON,"

That one event where zhongli's shield plays an important role in the domain? Yeah, he felt like a god at that time. Even got his c2 on his rerun. Sanemi just really like zhongli because it kinda reminds him of himejima. Calm and wise and strong too. He looks up on that kind of person

"Zhongli sama, im in debt for all of your hard work protecting my team," bows and wipes tears

Type of player :

Spends a little money on the game to get what he wants

Zhongli main

Is that one player that has hoards of food but doesnt even use it

"Why need healer when you have zhongli's shield,"

Compare to kyojuro, he doesnt even touch the teapot because he finds it ridiculous and bothersome to create and design everything in it

Loves one shotting bosses and compares it to giyuu. He ask for advices from obanai regarding team build supports and stuffs

Doesnt do character's story quest. The key is full every single time. He unlocks it but leaves the quest like that.

"Ah shit, i accidentally activate the quest,"

His friend list only has obanai in it. Whenever people sent him friend request, he wouldnt hesitate, more like wouldnt care to accept it

They either have to coop in obanai's world or his world and after that, unfriend immediately

Says thank you after coop because he has manners and then completely disappears

"Zhongli main forever,"

Tengen : played since 1.0 this madlad has been staying loyal to the game ever since. Quite huge amount of money he spend on this game to be honest but he never gets broke by it. You can see his regular donation to the game by purchasing welkin and battle pass and some genesis crystal too. He's loaded with money, he didnt know what to do with it.

Uzui also plays honkai impact and guns girl Z so when he saw the unknown god at the intro , he was not surprised.

"Oh we have to pick between the siblings? Cool cool co- oh hi kiana,"

"Thats so herrscher of void hahahahah,"

Although he is a loyal fan to MihoYo games, he lost his composure when he saw the 1st genshin anniversary reward because what was that. Imagine getting billions of money and they give us this? Tengen cant believe this shit

"Oh god wtf was that reward, i have to draw to get a welkin and some primos?? aND I ALSO HAVE TO BE LUCKY? WHAT-"

"WHERE'S MY FREE MONA,"

In need of mona. He needs mona so bad he literally spent his money on standard banner to get mona but always ends up with qiqi. Not that he's complaining but he just wants the astrologist to complete the support team

"GOD QIQI YOU AGAIN? WTF WFF WTF-" converts genesis crystal to primigems

"Tengen, you should control yourself!"

"SHUT UP KYOJURO, IM GONNA WASTE MY MONEY TILL I GET HER,"

"yeah but my f2p ass is hurting with how many bennett cons you got," droops

Tengen sees potential in every character. Everyone has their weakness and strength so when kokomi comes out, he diss her at first but then realize maybe its a new way for a character. Adds the uniqueness if he may say so.

"Meh i dont care honestly. You guys should pull whoever you find nice or beautiful. Like me ;)"

"Who do you main uzui?"

"Beidou,"

Type of player

Spoils the storylines, lores, leaks A LOT THE REST HAVE TO BLOCK HIM ON SOCIAL MEDIA

Speed runs the game and has become an endgame player ever since but he still does his daily commission and helps people with domains and stuffs

R5 every battle pass weapon

Fights azhdaha for fun and to test out his characters rather than ruin guards and stuff

Mona wanter

Puts traveller as the pfp and doesnt display any showcase of his characters and namecards. You can only see his achievements and spiral abyss ( 12-3 ). Says its for fun and mystery

Throws a lot of pickup lines and roleplays a lot. Spams your chatbox messages with stickers and censored stuffs

Probably steals your ores and exotic things like violetgrass, qingxin and silk flowers

Screams in the chatbox whenever he saw Mona until Kyojuro had to calm him down

Changes signature every single time and sometimes put spoilers in it

In every survey he would complain "MihoYo where the fuck is my Mona,"

Doesnt heals his characters

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer hashira #kny hashira #tokitō muichirō #shinazugawa sanemi #shinobu kochou #uzui tengen #rengoku kyojuro #kamado tanjiro #kochou kanae #iguro obanai #demon slayer headcanons #kimetsu no yaiba headcanons #hashira headcanons

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writeblrfantasy · 3 years

Text

excerpt from a council of golden swords: tattooed cairic king

planned this scene weeks ago, forgot about it, enjoyed writing it immensely. poor kayani, they're so in love

anyway i hope you love this as much as i loved writing it, acogs has been kicking my ass this week and this was a nice battle won

Asma crosses her arms. “Take off your shirt.”

Kayani chokes on their own saliva. “What?”

“I’m going to paint you. Take off your shirt.”

Kayani stares at her, open mouthed, a thousand indignities resting on their lips. Asma taps her foot, paintbrush held between two fingers, frowning impatiently. No excuse, no argument, no plea will ever sway her. She is unmovable.

Kayani stares at the floor and loosens the laces of their shirt before whipping it off. They ball it up and stand there holding it until she snatches it from them and tosses it on the sofa. “Sit on the stool,” she says, “and for Cai’s sake, stop looking so stiff. Actually look like you want to be here. You don’t even have to smile. Just look a little less queasy.”

Queasy for a different reason, Kayani thinks, but obediently sits on the wooden stool in the center of the red, blue, and gold room. The yearly trip west, spent in close quarters with almost all of the Cairic army, has driven the modesty out of them, but everything is different with Asma.

She sits on the ottoman and drags her easel closer to her, a tray of paint pools sitting beside her on the sofa. The easel legs scraping against the floor makes Kayani startle. “Relax,” she orders in a tone that’s anything but relaxing.

Kayani folds their hands and tries not to slouch. The hairs that itch when they fall into their eyes will be the least of their worries over the next few hours. Why else would Asma paint them shirtless if not just to torment them?

Once Asma has everything apparently set up to her standard, she looks up and rakes her eyes over Kayani’s torso. Her breath hitches. “You have so many tattoos. I forgot you would.” Her voice disturbs the quiet of the room, breaking a sacred peace, or however peaceful the two of them alone can get.

“Isn’t that why you wanted to paint me shirtless?” Kayani asks. “Why else would you?”

She hides her face behind the canvas and doesn’t bother with an answer. Kayani prepares for a long set of hours filled with waiting, an aching back, and keeping their walls firmly up.

After ten minutes of silence, Asma working quietly, she asks, “What does that one on your chest mean?”

Kayani resists the urge to look down and earn themself their first don’t move, idiot. They could trace the lines of the * in the darkness, in their sleep. “The death of my mother.”

She gasps. “You got tattooed when you were just a child?”

They shrug. “I’ve known some babies who got tattooed after birth because of a difficult or scary pregnancy, complications that should’ve killed them. Parents, too. We use our tattoos to cope with many things, many emotions, but prominently grief. For many people, the experience itself of sitting there for ten hours while a needle pokes into your skin—it helps.”

“By enduring pain?” Asma asks.

Kayani shrugs. “Some people find solace in pain. It’s something real they can grip onto.”

“That’s the funny thing,” Asma says, peering out from over the canvas. “It isn’t.”

Kayani’s eyes drift to the tattoo on her forearm, she follows their gaze and pulls her sleeve down. Kayani remembers it all too painfully well—her poorly stifled tears and cries while getting it, their own desire to comfort her squashed by the hatred in her eyes. It’s their fault she has it.

“What about that one?” she asks, gesturing to the wings covering their shoulders.

“Are you asking because you’re genuinely curious,” Kayani asks, “or just trying to fill the air?” They want to poke further into her reasoning, but they don’t want her to change her mind and throw them out. Alone time with Asma is bliss as much as it’s torture, and they’ll take every last bit of it.

“I got the wings one year after becoming king,” Kayani says. “To celebrate not being assassinated.”

She snorts. “Get better guards.”

“I am my own best guard besides Ajar and Samad. I didn’t want to trust anyone else. The palace guards on rotation can only do so much against an assassin hired by someone who was angry I became king and not my sister.”

Asma rolls her eyes, the soft strokes of her brush soothing to listen to against the faint chatter of birds. “And the one on your back?”

“You’re not painting that one. You can’t even see it right now.”

“Answer the question, dimwit.”

Kayani grins. As much as they love to nag Nikolai about being attracted to the ones who seemingly want nothing to do with you, they’re no less guilty. “I got the first part done after I survived the Trials.” After healing up upon their return, they went straight to the royal tattoo artist. They knew exactly what they wanted: Ajar and Samad standing side by side, blue eyes pointed to the moon.

The two of them are right outside—if Kayani’s quiet, they can hear them scratching at the door—but an ache for them runs through their chest regardless. Sometimes they’re convinced the three of them share a soul.

“I would’ve gotten the outlining done before I left for the Trials for good luck and gotten it filled in after I came back, but I didn’t want to deal with unnecessary pain. I got the second part added on after I came back from my first trip west with the army. That time, I did do it in two halves for good luck, like many of my soldiers.”

Going to get those outlines and later the full lines done with their soldiers had been one of the most rewarding experiences of their life. Sitting beside ten others in a salon, all laughing or grimacing or telling stories to work through the pain reminded them that they could still mix with normal people. Winning the Trials didn’t make them special in the soldiers’ eyes, and Kayani liked it that way.

Their second back tattoo consisted of a light brown stag leaping across the center of their back, over the dogs. “Each trip after was another add on.” They’ve since added a grassy field for the stag and the dogs to rest in, stars for the moon, flowers and sparkles in a mix of reds and browns.

“Your entire body will be covered by the time you die,” Asma says.

“That’s the goal.”

As the hours go by, Asma asks, and this? What about this? That one? What are the ones I can’t see? Kayani answers her every question, shares every story, every memory. They don’t tell her about the one on the back of their ankle, small enough to miss. A golden paintbrush.

Finally, when the sun is halfway to setting and Kayani’s lower half has gone numb, Asma announces she’s done. Kayani wobbles to their feet toward the canvas, but she picks it up before they can see it. They sigh quietly but don’t question it—until she turns around.

She’s painted them in a background more heavily red than the wallpaper behind them. It brings out the red in Kayani’s tattoos, which are obviously the star of her painting. The edges of Kayani’s muscles are blurred, but the lines of the tattoos are as clear and sharp as they are on their skin. Their eyes are halfway open, tired, and Asma captured their faint smile at something she said, maybe some memory that took them away.

The sun from the glass wall behind them drips golden light onto light brown skin, a glowing backdrop for the tattoos. Kayani sat with their left forearm up, right hand holding that wrist, but Asma painted the opposite to hide the tattoo there.

Kayani has never had the eye for beautiful artwork, nor the time to study why people devote their lives to it, but this makes them reconsider. Not because it’s them, of course, they’re not that vain. Because it’s Asma.

“I will call it ‘Tattooed Cairic King’,” Asma says. Kayani can’t take their eyes off her nonchalant expression, the casual way her fingers grip the canvas. She completed this in a day and she acts like she’s holding a piece of cheap furniture. Doesn’t she know all of her artwork will be studied meticulously after her death merely because she’s a queen?

Not just because she’s a queen, Kayani thinks. Because she’s an incredible artist. They wish they had the courage to say so, but knowing Asma, she’d make some crack about their narcissism.

“Where are you going to hang that one?” they ask. “Which guest room or dining hall or office will get the pleasure of seeing my tattoos?

She fixes them with a look. “My suite wall.”

The floor seems to swim under them.

“I thought you hated me,” they manage. “As you pointed out, last time we were together you told me to never come into your sight again.” They gesture to the canvas. “I think that violates your rule.”

For once, Asma’s silence seems to be because of her loss of words, not dramatic pause or the bother of answering a question. “It’s some of my finest work,” she settles on. “I’d like to admire it often. Let people admire it when I’m dead.” She closes her eyes and runs her finger along the top of the canvas. “Also, I’d like to do your back sometime."

“What?” Kayani sputters.

“Oh, come on. If you can survive a needle pricking your skin for ten hours, you can survive sitting still for another six.”

That’s not the problem, Kayani thinks, but only nods. Cai have mercy.

kayani being shook by asma's ability to Art is me @ all the talented artists here yall rock

also if you noticed the tsoa inspiration for "and this?" then props to u

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses

#writing #writeblr #excerpt from my wip #my wip #my writing #fantasy #fantasy writing #fantasy romance #lgbt romance writing #lgbt writing #lila's wips: acogs #bean's excerpts

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launchsteinward · 4 years

Text

This is for the MB week challenge by @somebodyalreadytookthis2

Monday:

Bewitched

Once upon a time...

There where two brothers. Twins of royal blood. One, outgoing: a rather reckless but powerful optimist, a hand to hand combatant and sword wielding fighter.

The other, quiet and reserved : a realist who would rather spend all day reading books than socializing, a powerful spellcaster and a rather good strategist.

Perhaps if they both worked together, the kingdom would reach an even higher state of greatness and development.

Nevertheless, both princes grew up together and supported each other- even with their contrasting personalities.

The first prince: held in high regard by many and looked up to due to his friendly but fierce nature. The second Prince: not so much. Due to his lack of appearance in many social events: he was basically a myth to many citizens. Almost nonexistent. Not that he minded. The second prince preferred not to draw attention to himself. It allowed him to see areas and attitudes the kingdom showed that no royalty could ever hope to see. It gave him a better understanding of people and he loved it.

One day, the second prince had snuck out of the castle: years if experience guiding him. Today he decided to visit the outer ring of the castle: where all the farmers lived. As he made it there, he saw the farmers arguing: apparently over a few black flowers that had bloomed in one of their farms. As they were arguing over who would uproot them, the undercover prince took it upon himself to volunteer to do it.

Ignoring how the farmers looked at him like he was out of his mind, he made his way over to the mentioned farm and instantly saw the flowers.

They where beautiful. The flowers appeared to be roses. Roses the prince had only seen drawings of in books. Black roses. A starking contrast with the yellow stacks of wheat and golden buttercups dotted here and there. In a way, it reminded him of himself and his brother. Shaking off the thought, he wondered why anyone would want to uproot such rare and beautiful black roses.

Sighing to himself, he supposed the farmers may have been the superstitious type and believed they were moon blossoms: mythical flowers said to be cursed. 'Not like those actually exist'

He started plucking the flowers- one at a time. It didn't take long, only a few minutes in fact before he had a handful of the gorgeous flowers. The farmers thanked the prince greatly before asking for the uprooted flowers to burn. Hesitantly, the prince gave up the flowers he had: secretly keeping one for himself. 'It would be such a waste if flowers as beautiful as these were just burned.'

___________________________________________

After returning back to the castle and acting like he never actually went out, the prince placed the flower in a small cup of water on his bedside table. He watched the sun set over the horizon as his eye lights started to get foggy and his eyes drooped.

His eyelights flickered to the flower one last time before he fell into a deep sleep.

___________________________________________

"Hey Brother! What could have brought an introvert such as you here: to the training Hall of all places?" The first prince's voice popped up, startling the second prince back to reality.

'Where am I- what-' the second prince seemed to panic causing the first prince to bring him to a hug. After calming down the first prince gently repeated his question from before in hopes of distracting his twin from whatever cause his earlier distress.

The younger twin leaned into his brothers embrace for comfort as he stuttered out quietly "I-I cant remember-". This cause confusion in the first prince before he had to calm down his twin yet again from another panic attack. "How about we go inside and we can talk about this with mom and dad?" The usually confident twin asked with a sweet but gentle tone. Nodding ever so slightly, the first prince picked up his brother like a child (causing the second prince to pout in embarrassment) and made his way over back into the main area of the castle.

The memory loss incidents had become more and more frequent, so much so that the young prince had gotten used to it. His parents sent for the kingdoms best doctors and medical practitioners when they heard of what happened. They all had related these memory loss incidents with his weak state during childhood. Not being able to do anything about it, the workers in the palace was informed of the second princes condition and told to tell him where he was and what time it was if he ever seemed confused. The second prince found this very helpful and made sure to thank any and every worker who had helped him.

Word had come about that there was a new Demon King with a newly built demon castle nearby. The king and queen worried about this but decided to pay it no mind and avoid it. As long as the demons stayed away from them, they would stay away from the demons.

___________________________________________

The Demon king smirked. It was finally time to put his plan into action. There he stood, infront of the first prince's bed, a malicious smirk on his face. Silently he casted a sleep spell, ensuring the prince wouldn't wake up through this.

Carrying the first prince like a child (and earning a small sleep grumble from the prince himself) he entered a glowing cyan portal.

___________________________________________

EXTRA:

"Um... I dont mean to be rude Cross but do you even know where the Demon Kings castle is?"

Blue dead panned. He had started to realize that the so called hero wasn't all he was portrayed to be.

"Isn't it outside the kingdom?"

Cross asked cheerfully as he continues to make his way through the market.

"Well yes- but its actually to the north. Where going south right no-"

"Excuse me, but do any of you have a numchuck by any chance?"

Blue was cut off by the voice of a young girl. 'A numchuck? Why would any of us have a-'

"Actually I do. What do you need it for miss?"

Blue almost chocked on air. "WHY THE HELL DO YOU HAVE A NUMCHUCK"

Cross sighed over dramatically.

"Oh Blue. Silly young naive Blue. It's common courtesy for anyone- especially demon hunters or knights to have numchucks."

'NO IT ISN'T-' Blue yelled inside his mind, mental tears being shed.

"Actually, I need those to beat the idiot who ate all my- well, the details are insignificant. May I have them or not?"

'That sounds oddly suspicious. Theres no way he'd give them to a citizen' Blue reassured himself.

"Eh- sure why not" Cross shrugs

'He gave them to her anyway- ' Blue mentally facepalmed.

"Oh thankyou. I'm Core by the way. Where might you be going if you dont mind me asking?" Core asked curiously, putting the numbchucks in her inventory.

"The Demon Castle- though I dont know where it is"

"-Like I said. It's in the opposite direct-"

Blue was cut off once again, his patience starting to run out

"Oh, I know exactly where that is. I even know a short cut actually." Core popped up drawing both of our attention. "You see that door there, yeah- the one to the left. Just go through that door right there and you'll be on your way"

Blue didnt even bother coming up with a retort. He decided to just sit back and see where this went.

"Like ok kid, opening a pantry door will totally take me to the Demon Kings castle"

Cross mocked as he opened the door.

"Holy shi-"

Cross fell through the door.

Blue sighed following after him. Blue opened his eyes and gasped in shock. Infront of him, surrounded by a field of black roses, stood a castle made entirely of vantablack stone. The sun had started to set on the horizon, causing orange and gold light to be reflected off the dark glossy windows. It was truly magnificent.

Blues gaze went back to Cross who had landed on his face and was cursing up a storm. He smiled in amusement. 'At least things are about to get a little more interesting

_______________________________

Before

#Monday: Bewitched #undertale au #god this took along time #and its the one with the least amount of events ;-;#MB week challenge #moon blossom au challenge #moon blossom au #@Somebodyalreadytookthis2

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shreddedleopard · 3 years

Text

Suns, Moons and Songs.

My favourite. The soundtrack is littered with songs that allude to Historia and Levi’s part in the plot. I’ll just bring up some of the major ones.

Okay, first biggie - Zero Eclipse.

This song is purposefully vague in a lot of places, in that a lot of the lyrics could fit to Ymir, and I believe the sentiment is genuine. Ymir was a huge part of Historia’s life before she left. However, there are a lot of similarities between her and Levi, which is handy for Yams. Same for the bond Erwin and Levi shared. Clever, clever.

The first verses could work for either on the whole, but the lines about jealousy and blades doubling and the use of kid absolutely reminds me of Ymir when she joins the survey corps with Historia.

When we get to the bridge, the first lines about never hearing the person sigh of ecstasy likely suggests that Ymir wanted to get to that point with Historia but they never did. And of course the chorus very much reflects Ymir’s speech to Historia about living a life she can be proud of, and not doing silly suicidal things to be the hero, like she did with Daz.

Okay our next verse is where it gets very interesting!

Every single line fits Levi perfectly. Seeing the fallen? It’s that image at Shiganshina of Erwin surrounded by their fallen comrades. Still we have that question, what will Levi do with those sacrifices? A recurring theme, but now we should have a pretty good idea of the answer.

Next we have a direct reference to the Beast Titan - which conveniently also links perfectly to Historia’s childhood bullies - both threw stones to ‘make us go away.’

‘It was only the face of anger, and kindness, it lit my way’ - well this has soo many connotations. So firstly, Historia and the bullies. Because Frieda taught her to be a good, kind girl, Historia understands that the bullies were only acting out of anger, and kindness is the answer here. Hmm ... who else right about now in the story could do with realising anger and revenge won’t solve anything - but working together might, even if you’ve been pelted by stones at the hands of this person? It’s Levi and Zeke. And Historia’s influence on Levi - the idea of kindness lighting his way - will mean he makes the right decision. It’s also worth noting very briefly here, because I will explore this more later, that in the manga, we have that removed scene of Levi behaving aggressively towards Historia, although she later puts this aside. Originally, Isayama also wanted to parallel Levi with Historia’s childhood bullies, but he changed his mind for the anime. We’ll look at this more when we check out an interesting interview by Yams.

‘Ain’t no picnic to be abandoned’ - again, such a simple line, so many meanings. Historia and Levi’s childhood parallels are uncanny, and both were abandoned by parental figures in their youth which we see in Uprising had lasting impacts on them. So much so, they work together to open an orphanage, saving children from within the walls and even the underground.

‘It led us here, we had to share the pain.’ I mean, I’ve said this so many times, but how could they not end up bonding over all this!? But wait, there’s more. Shiganshina happens, and Levi looses Erwin. Historia has not so long ago lost Ymir, and we see how upset she is when she receives her letter. Remember that scene though where Levi arrives and she wipes away her tears? Yep. They were both abandoned again in a sense, and so, it only serves to push them closer together. They mourn for what have been pretty much their other halves since the start of the series, and they do it together. Yams is screaming at us to read between the lines for these two, while he drops just enough surface hints to keep the trail warm, so to speak.

Okay the next lyrics ‘Now you are a part of me, I will defend and honour thee’ ... what do they remind you of? I get knight protecting Queen vibes. And this literally used to be the role of the Ackermans according to Kenny's grandpa - the sword and shield to the crown. Levi is virtually back in that role for Historia, and we come full circle after the years of persecution.

NEXT. ‘Did you think that you could die a hero?’ Kenny tells Levi everyone is drunk on a dream in order to keep moving forwards. He asks Levi, what are you? A hero? Everyone expects Levi to go out fighting, taking out Zeke and finally fulfilling his vow to Erwin. But that's not the message of this story. We need to break the cycle of revenge and hate, remember? Kruger said so himself - love someone within the walls, it's the only way to stop this cursed history. Levi won’t choose revenge. He’ll give up on his dream to go out like a hero, because now he has something to return home to.

‘Our awakening means less than zero.’ And just in case you were wondering, it’s not because of any Acker-bond crap. It’s the real deal; just like Zeke told Eren in chapter 130. Being an Ackerman has nothing to do with either Levi or Mikasa’s feelings towards their respective loves.

Let’s look at that chorus again, while I start to blush in the corner. ‘You’re trembling, we share a kiss, our worlds eclipse.’ Heck, I never knew SNK could be so ... ahem, yeah. It gets raunchier further on, by the way. But besides the obvious suggestion of passion here, we have the symbolism from the song’s title - the eclipse. What happens during an eclipse? Well, depends what sort to be fair heh, but for a solar eclipse, we have the moon moving in front of the sun, blocking it’s light. And we see the Dark Side of the Moon. Wait!? Isn’t that literally the title of Levi's character song ...? Oh, shit. We’ll check out those lyrics later. Historia is often associated with dawn light, which of course means the sun. The eclipse here is her pregnancy. The two solar bodies appear to become one. Not to mention the literal shape of her stomach! We had those lyrics about ‘letting our worlds collide’ earlier too. Not just referring to the pregnancy, but their supposedly different ideologies around violence/revenge and love/kindness/forgiveness.

Now for the best bits.

‘Black sugar, keep it, up til the dawn.’ Told you it gets better. Black sugar is apparently something very addictive. So Levi and Historia are engaged in something very addictive here, keeping them up until the dawn ...? Ah. Yes. Makes sense, considering her current condition.

And then my very favourite line, that hit me right in the gut when I first listened to this. Because the words sounded very familiar, but not for Historia.

‘Make a promise that I cannot regret.’ Levi’s whole theme is not regretting the choices that you make. It’s repeated over and over. He makes a promise to Erwin in his vow, but he comes to terms with the fact that fulfilling this is no longer what he really wants - we’ve just seen that realisation in 136 when he talks about how he’s never bungled one of Erwin’s orders, but yet his last one ... He knows attempting to keep that promise will mean he likely won’t ‘get back out alive,’ so instead, he will make Historia a promise that he can’t regret, because he just can’t ‘learn how to let you go.’ I’M NOT CRYING - YOU ARE. Do you remember the two letters - from Petra and Ymir - about marriage? I think we know what Levi is going to dedicate his heart to in the end. Note also the, ‘as long as I can see you, but in secret.’ That just gives us that final confirmation that the relationship alluded to here in Zero Eclipse is one that has been hidden from us - this fits neither Historia/Ymir or Levi/Erwin, although there are elements of both of these in the song.

Okay, here's the lyrics to Levi’s song. I’m not going to rip it apart like I did with Zero Eclipse, because a) I think a lot of it is self explanatory, and b) the next chapter comes out soon and like, I’d love to have got through everything I want to say before then. So some quick (ish, knowing me) notes:

Okay so this second set of lyrics is the one I want to draw attention to - cleverly nestled in the middle of the song. We’re going to ‘someday’ see the dark side of the moon ‘revealed’. Yeah, when there is an eclipse. This is the only time you see the dark side of the moon. Literally. So we’ll see Levi’s other side when he finds Historia, and they create this eclipse - this child. His true nature will be revealed, and he will not choose violence or revenge.

‘Persuasion by memories of pain an essential lesson.’ Okay, I can’t really go hugely into this without the Akatsuki no Requiem video, which we’ll look at in a bit. Because then things will mind-bogglingly make sense. If you’ve already seen it and know the theory behind it, then you’ll get what I mean. But essentially, our ending for Levi is going to be bittersweet, because while he ends up with a family of his own finally, he is also plagued with regret and sorrow for what came to pass before, and the huge role he played in it.

‘Just being without regrets, is my own decision.’ Such a simple line, so many powerful meanings. Levi will make the ultimate choice with no regrets in his promise to Historia, and their child. He cannot regret either of them. But he has to make that decision, and we know it will be difficult, because it will mean failing to execute Erwin’s last order. It will probably look likely that he will make the wrong choice up until the very last moment. This again too links in with the ackertalk between Zeke and Eren. Levi is confirming that his decision to be with Historia does not stem from duty or something in his genes. It’s the real deal.

More Fun Song Facts.

Here's the lyrics for Before Lights Out:

Freedom! Freedom! Forgive Me! Retake Maria! Victorious, triumphant! All of my kingdom For your return I will let it burn! I will let it burn! Dear departed I’ll cry for you in a dream Now I must rise to be queen Be worthy Be worthy

The song that is a different version of APETITAN - the soundtrack to Zeke’s Beast’s first appearance. Before Lights Out plays when Erwin leads the suicide charge towards Zeke, after Levi makes his vow to ‘take down the beast titan.’ He watches Erwin and the scouts charge to their deaths and whispers, ‘I’m sorry.’

Because he’s never going to fulfil that vow, is he? And we know why when we read the lyrics of the song.

HOLY MOTHER OF FORESHADOWING I have chills.

Ahhhhh I need to talk about Akatsuki no Requiem I guess. This one definitely needs it’s own post.

You still with me? I have drunk a lot of coffee at this point.

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lesetoilesfous · 4 years

Note

DADWC! 24 or 29 from the dialogue prompts for fenders? 🥺💖

Ahhhhhh I love both of these so much I’m gonna have to do one each :D Here’s the first one! thank you!!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Anders/Fenris

Characters: Anders, Fenris

Tags: vaguely da2 adjacent wounded coast shenanigans, pre-relationship, graphic depictions of violence, canon typical violence

Rating: Mature

“Mage, leave.” Fenris bites the words through gritted teeth, blood running down his chin and staining the dull blue-white glow of the lyrium on his chin.

Anders’ hands tighten around his staff, and he moves to stand a little more firmly in front of the elf, who is himself half-kneeling in the sand, clutching at a wound in his stomach. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Venhedis.” Fenris spits, coughing around the wound in his side as his blood drips onto the dirt. “They will kill you. Do you not understand?”

Over their heads, uncaring for their plight, the sky flushes pink and violet with the gentle touch of evening. Seagulls wheel through the salty air, and the ocean roars against the cliffs. Anders stands staring at the narrow entrance to the cove in which they find themselves trapped. Desperately, he pulls at his empty mana reserves, clawing at the scarred reaches of his tattered soul and ignoring the bone deep ache it drags up from the base of his spine when he does so. At the back of his skull, Justice is sluggish and quiet.

“Yeah, no, I understand that just fine.” Carefully, ears ringing with the memory of Brosca’s rough voice, Anders lowers his centre of gravity as a rough group of slavers re-enters the half-hidden cavern they’re standing in. A few feet away, the sea laps quietly against the shore.

Fenris stares at him, arm shaking where he’s braced himself in the sand, sword discarded and black with dried blood on the ground beside him. “You cannot seriously mean to fight them unaided.”

Anders scowls, “Do you really think if I had any mana left I wouldn’t have healed you already?”

Fenris is quiet, at that, and Anders has a moment to process the dull horror of the realisation that apparently Fenris does think that before his attention is drawn by one of the slavers pulling a whip from the belt at his hip.

Anders swallows against the rough lump in his throat, and dismisses the worried rumble of Justice in his head, trying to ignore the way the slavers’ eyes drag down his body as they get closer. The wind lashes around his head, dragging with it tattered comments about fucking knife-ears and pretty markings. Behind him, in the sand, Fenris flinches. Anders’ hands tighten so hard around his staff that his knuckles ache.

There’s a skidding hiss of sand as one of the slavers steps forward, and then the crack of a whip slicing through the air towards him. Fortunately, Anders has fought men with whips before. He flings his staff up, catching the leather and letting it wrap tightly around the wood before he yanks back, hard, pulling the whip out of the slaver’s grip. The man shouts, and at his side a woman draws a rusting cutlass and charges, arm swinging wide.

Anders takes half a heartbeat to consider her before he punches sideways with his staff, cracking at the join of her elbow and disabling her arm. The cutlass falls into the sand in a shower of dust, and Anders follows up the blow with a sweeping crack at her head. He doesn’t wait to watch as she topples into the dirt. Instead he steps backward, feeling the beach shift beneath his feet as another slaver rushes forward and manages to sink a knife into his thigh. Anders bites back a scream, buckling and lashing out with his staff. As his attacker falls and he stumbles backwards, he catches the blue glow of a lyrium potion swinging at the gang leader’s hip.

He glances back. Fenris’ skin is grey with blood loss, the lyrium eerily bright as the rest of him fades. His head is hanging low, and blood drips thickly from his lips into the sand beneath him. He’s dying.

Anders takes a deep breath, and feels the old, biting ache of the scar in his chest, and the corresponding pull of the long slice in his back. Then he lifts his head, and charges.

The gang leader punches out blindly, not apparently expecting blind desperation. One of his knives swings wide, but the other carves a deep line across Anders’ collarbone, glancing across his chest and catching in his skin with the tooth of the serrated blade. Anders grunts and ignores it, reaching down for the potion at the man’s belt. Misreading his intent, the man pulls backward, and the weight of the movement is enough to snap the thin rope securing the potion.

Triumphantly, Anders uncorks the bottle, breathing in the acrid sting of lyrium. Over the lip of the bottle, he meets the slaver’s eyes. The man’s face twists, suddenly, in horrified realisation, and when he speaks he does so in a thick Tevene accent. “Oh, shit.”

Anders downs the potion, and feels the sudden rush of power in his veins as if he’d been set alight. Justice roars to waking in his mind, lending him his strength through their shared connection to the Fade. The few slavers left back off as Anders straightens to his full height and gives them his best, brightest, shit-eating grin.

“Suck on a fireball.”

Anders doesn’t wait to see what happens to their corpses. He turns and runs back through the sand, feet sinking too slowly into the soft ground. Fenris has collapsed, and is lying unconscious on the sand, half curled around his stomach, fingers crooked and stained with blood. With his eyes shut and his expression eased in unconsciousness, he looks almost like a child.

The screams of the slavers are a distant accompaniment in another country as Anders falls to his knees, gently pushing Fenris onto his back and blindly pouring raw energy into the wound in his stomach. Fenris’ skin is cold, and Anders tries not to let that frighten him as he searches wildly for any hint of a spark inside of him that can be nursed back to life.

As he works, he feels the rushing roar of Justice’s power running down through his veins, burning in his arms and prickling through his veins and tingling in his fingertips. Anders shuts his eyes. Thank you, old friend.

Justice says nothing, focused on the task at hand. But it’s Anders who finds what’s left of Fenris’ lifeforce, nestled behind a cluster of lyrium in his breastbone. Nearly sobbing in relief, Anders curls forward, cupping his hands around the spot on Fenris’ chest whilst his magic pools in a small lake of light over Fenris’ stomach wound. With tears dripping down his cheeks, Anders breathes magic over the last part of Fenris left alive, cradling it in his hands to stop it being snatched by the wind.

The magic sinks into the dark, battered leather of Fenris’ armour, and spreads leaping across his brown skin. Nothing happens. Above them, the sky is indigo, and from behind Anders the wind brings with it the scent of charred flesh and hot metal. Anders squeezes his eyes shut, and ignores the way they’re burning, and breathes more magic over Fenris’ chest, feeling it tingle between his lips, glowing in the dark like mist at sunrise.

“Come on. Come on, you stupid elf, you can’t die now. Not here. Not yet. I haven’t even -”

“Haven’t what?” Fenris’ voice is rough, and low, and deep as the sea. Anders’ breath catches, and he flinches back, staring down at him. Fenris’ skin is still grey with blood loss, but it’s flushing slowly warmer, and his hair pulls across his forehead as he attempts to sit up. Gently, Anders pushes him back.

“You really shouldn’t move.”

Anders thinks it says something of exactly how hurt Fenris is that he doesn’t argue the point, only falls back into the sand with a thump and a gentle hiss of dust. For a long moment, Fenris stares up at the distant sky, dark and beginning to prickle with faint stars, breathing uneasily whilst Anders’ magic swirls in a slow spiral around the wound that all but killed him.

Then he turns his head, and frowns up at Anders instead. “Are you hurt?”

Anders shakes his head, shrugging, and tries to subtly rubs the tears from his cheeks. “I overexerted myself. That’s all.”

“You’re crying.” Fenris’ voice is soft, and nearly snatched by the sea. Anders laughs, and looks down at the bright light of his own magic, pouring a little more of his life force into it.

“Yeah, well, I’m an emotional idiot. If they could have the Circle would have beaten it out of me. Trust me, they tried.”

For a long moment, Fenris is quiet. Anders is grateful for it as the adrenaline fades from his veins, and he feels the cold of the coming night setting in. His insides feel hollow and shaken. He’s not sure he has the strength to debate the reality of his suffering with Fenris tonight.

Slowly, agonisingly, Fenris’ wound begins to knit itself together. The sea sways gently against the shore as the moon rises above their heads.

When Fenris speaks again, he does so as quietly as he had before. “Thank you.”

Anders startles, distracted for a moment from his spell, looking down to meet Fenris’ eyes. “For what?”

Fenris looks away, jaw working for a moment before he speaks. “You stayed.”

Anders smiles, and speaks with a little more honesty than he means to when he replies. “I couldn’t not.”

Above them, the wind rushing through the reeds on the dunes is as sweet and soft as the gentle sigh of the sea.

#dadwc #simper-fi #fenders #fenris #anders #da2 #my fic

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dancedelion · 3 years

Text

Sleep of the Dead (part 1 / 2)

Genre: some humour, angst with a happy ending Summary: Jaskier thinks he hit rock bottom when Geralt flushed twenty years of friendship down the drain, but then he finds himself suddenly translucent and rudely walked through by a traveller. Apparently he's dead - that's certainly a new low. He needs to find out what happened, and who better to help him than the man who's made more than clear he wants nothing to do with him. ao3: Sleep of the Dead

Jaskier is reasonably certain that he is dead. The evidence is staggering: He’s got a killer headache, like from the worst kind of hangover. He’s tired and sleep of the dead sounds very appealing right now. And on top of that, a man just walked through him. So that can’t be good. And he is cold the way people get when nothing is touching them except for freezing air.

(He thought it would feel like relief. He had expected it to be a gorgeous, final, end-of-the-road sort of ending. But it’s only more – more pain, more emptiness, heavier limbs. Relief is further than a daydream away.)

How did this happen? All he remembers is going to sleep and then waking up in the forest. Only he didn’t wake up the way humans do. He blinked and then he was here, on his feet, amidst the tall-standing trees of the forest. He – appeared. Like by teleport. He would suspect it was some prank by a mage who (probably rightfully) has it out for him if it weren’t for being half translucent.

“Fucking great,” Jaskier roars at the vast forest, trying to make his voice big enough to fill the space so it can reach whatever deity is listening. “Yes, thank you! What more could we do to Jaskier after we fucked up his life and turned everything to horseshit? Oh, yes, I have the idea. Why don’t we just take it from him? He can’t have a bad life if he doesn’t have a life at all, is that what you were thinking? Hire another solution-maker, you bastards!”

So. So. So, so, so. All he needs to do is keep his cool, which should be easy, considering he’s bloody freezing. Step one after dying: Figure out your where-abouts. Should be useful to know whether he’s about to be ripped to shreds by hellhounds or worse (like running into that nincompoop from court who thought he could actually play the hurdy-gurdy better than Jaskier and died from slipping in the stables a month later).

Taking stock: Trees. Lots and lots of trees. How to categorize those? Trees more a sign of a friendly atmosphere or eternal damnation? Or are these the naughty trees, sent to be punished in the afterlife? (Can a tree commit a sin? Splurged on sunlight, now off to hell with the greedy thing?) He’ll mark it off as a maybe. What else? He’s standing on a path, which is where that rude wanderer just walked straight through him without even so much as an apology. Next to the path, a horse – woohoo, a clear score for eternal damnation. (What do you think is holding them upright? Their frail spindly legs? No! It’s undeniably the power of Satan.) And – might that lump by the road be a person? Jaskier steps a little closer, leaning over the lump.

Ah. Who else could it be but Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken and Jaskier’s fragile heart himself? There was never any question he would be in Jaskier’s afterlife. But which is it? Exquisite hell or torturous paradise? Right now, Geralt is sleeping, so it could be either option.

(Do you wish your last words to me had been different?)

Jaskier steps around Geralt and focuses on the horse.

“Roach!” he coos. “Oh, I’ve missed you. Sorry for what I just thought about horses. I meant it as a compliment, I swear! My mischievous lady.”

He lifts his hand to pet her head, but his hand glides right through her.

(You are careful with your wishes now.)

And she meekly turns her head, takes no note of him, as if he weren’t here at all. And he isn’t, is he? Maybe this is no illusion, no magic, no unknown adventure. Maybe this is the real Roach and the real Geralt and Jaskier is where he is not wanted once more. Forced to spend forever running after Geralt while he’s invisible to the Witcher. Ha! And Jaskier had thought the afterlife was supposed to be different.

(Those rare moments when you let me touch you, when I could find an adequate excuse.)

He stumbles and leans against the tree next to Geralt’s sleeping body, but he falls right through it. The ground can still hold him, but nothing else. He lets his heavy eyelids drop. Legs stuck in a tree. It’s all just a bad dream.

(Does a song still taste so sweet without the lute and with no ears but his own to hear it?)

Nothing has a presence. You can always tell when it’s close by. Years ago, Jaskier was stupid and starry-eyed. He thought he owned the world, he thought he had the future to fall for. At some point, all that hope and optimism had to make room for… nothing. When he starts to listen and stops believing, his chest hollows out.

(This is just the final step, yes? This is where he was headed. No sense in regrets.)

This is what Geralt always thought of him and his songs, all talk and no substance. Har, har, Geralt, bad bloody joke. He is no substance now, only cold air. Once Geralt wakes up, it will hurt so much more. Jaskier lets out a laboured breath that brings no relief. He liked being alive, he thinks. Even when he hated it.

(Marmalade sandwiches. Gosh, he will miss marmalade sandwiches.)

He can’t feel the ground beneath his back, but panic still readily comes to him. The tears don’t. Dreadfully sorry, no tears available at the moment. Why don’t you ask again in an eternity?

Jaskier stands up again and paces the floor around Geralt. Oh, nobody, I’m sorry, did I step on your feet? No one, may I ask for this dance? Here, have a glass of nothing. This is terrible. Jaskier won’t have anyone to talk to. He doesn’t know any ghosts, he doesn’t know the most popular ghost-social-spots, he doesn’t know ghost-etiquette. Although he could always talk to Geralt. This time, there will be no complaints. And Geralt’s responses have always been a rare commodity.

But the terrifying truth is, Jaskier has only himself for company now. No one to sigh at his antics, no one to suppress a laugh at one of his jokes. And he wants – yes, despite the tiredness weighing him down, he still wants. If he is still here, in a world he doesn’t belong in anymore, if the desperate longing is somehow strong enough to keep him here, then he won’t get to rest.

What a sensible man would do: accept it’s over. Accept his chances are up. Put those silly wants and needs into a clean box – place them there like something precious. And then bury them as deep as he can.

Jaskier has not, by any stretch of the imagination, ever been a sensible man.

He lies down next to Geralt, like in a dream, one of the good ones, and thinks about words.

He doesn’t have matter, but no matter, he doesn’t matter.

He lies and thinks about words that have content. Even nothing has meaning. But not Jaskier. He is just – gone.

is dead air now. Literally dead. A spot of nothing.

thinks about spirits. Don’t lose your spirit. (Don’t be one.)

is as tangible as the songs carried over the lands.

A hole in the world.

When wants, wants everything. wants too much. Of course, turns up empty, the way the greedy do, with their slippery hands.

The leaves rustle, and say: You have lost your grip. We have seen many fall. You are no different, helpless, unbalanced, immobilized. A nestless child.

The wild wind whispers: You are alone.

Lying in a dreamish nightmare, watches as the moon moves across the cloudy sky.

But the tiredness doesn’t leave. It clings to like oil, hanging at every strand of hair, gathering in eye sockets. It does not wash off. Tiredness, paradoxically, does not get tired.

And is tired of wondering. And is tired of regret.

When sleep will not come and stays away, turns on side and watches Geralt. At least has this. There were times when thought would never see Geralt again. But here he is. Still the same way he looked all those years ago when first became intrigued by him. Beautiful white hair, beautiful features, but tense lines on his forehead, even in his sleep. He is not restful either.

Finally, finally, after hours or minutes he rouses. gets up, elated.

“Rise and shine, Geralt! Don’t sleep your life away. Take it from me,” says lightly, and only because knows Geralt can’t hear . But Geralt jerks and rolls away in an instant, making a grab for his sword.

“Wait, can you see me?” asks.

It’s impossible. The man on the road couldn’t. Surely a random peasant won’t be so unfazed by the appearance of a ghost that he just casually strolls through .

“I can,” Geralt says. “And you know what that means?”

“Maybe I’m not quite as dead as previously estimated?”

“It means I’ll know where to aim.” He presses the sword closer.

“Woah, woah,” Jaskier holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Calm down. I know we didn’t part on the best of terms, but surely this is not necessary.”

“You’re not Jaskier.”

“Wha- why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because Jaskier isn’t dead. He wouldn’t dare. He knows I wouldn’t let him touch Roach for weeks if he died on me. You’re a doppler. An imposter. Something.”

Jaskier’s teeth gnash together. He is dead, all out of the blue. He didn’t expect this. He didn’t plan for this. He certainly didn’t choose to show up next to Geralt’s sleeping body. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say he’s had a really bad fucking day.

“Go on then!” Jaskier is seething. “Put your sword through me. The only thing you’ll hurt is my feelings.”

Geralt hesitates. How courteous indeed, at least to hesitate before impaling his only friend with a sword. Or. Well. His “we’re not friends”. His “if life could give me one blessing”. His never-friend.

“So prove it,” Geralt says.

“What do you want me to say? What haven’t I put into a song that half the country has heard?”

He was proud of those songs once. Now they’re only painful reminders.

“What was the last thing I said to you?” “Really? That’s what you’re going with? Out of all things you could ask me?”

Geralt’s face twists again, in an agonizingly familiar way. He lowers his sword, but keeps it in his hand.

“Dammit, Jaskier.” “Oh, yes, that’s what you started with. You want me to give you the whole speech? Because, believe me, I have it memorized word for word.”

Geralt looks conflicted, confused, but also like he is trying desperately to hide everything away again. He takes one step toward Jaskier, and Jaskier twitches, not sure if he wants to step backwards or forwards, so he just stays.

“It’s not the sort of thing you forget.” Jaskier shrugs. “There are very, very few things that could have ever made me even look at you again,” he lies, and spreads out his arms. “It’s your lucky day.”

Geralt is still looking at him like he’s seeing a ghost – oops. Jaskier keeps forgetting.

“But you can’t be,” Geralt says, completely stiff. “That would mean that Jaskier –“

He reaches out to grab Jaskier’s wrist, but his hand glides right through it.

“No. No, you’re not him,” Geralt is nearly shouting now. He is clenching his jaw and has to turn around. He has so much presence in the world. He would leave craters, if he were ever gone. Whole cliffs.

Jaskier gives Geralt one more glance. It’s not like he really expected anything. He’s not Geralt’s problem anymore. Jaskier only really stayed because he thought Geralt would never know.

“How about the last words I said to you, then?” Jaskier says, because he knows when he is defeated. Even when it takes him twenty years to realize. “See you around, Geralt.”

He turns around and doesn’t know where to go and goes anyway. It’s colder now. There is no body to drag around, but Jaskier feels heavy. He is walking down a mountain. He can hear something shuffling in the bushes. He is alone and he can never learn from his mistakes because he is addicted to this one, even though it leaves him bleeding every time.

With every step, he feels himself fading a little more. It would take so little to just – “Wait!”

He should keep walking, but disaster smells so sweet.

Geralt is standing in the same spot, like he is frozen, but Jaskier comes back to him.

“What happened to you?” Geralt asks.

“Ah, I was just, you know, enjoying the afterlife and then I thought to myself, I’m gonna fucking haunt your ass.”

Geralt looks so unhappy and somehow, Jaskier regrets waiting for him to wake up even more now.

“I’ve known my share of vengeful spirits,” Geralt says warily.

“Melitele, Geralt, I was kidding. You’re so self-absorbed.” Kind words have grown tired, don’t find their way onto Jaskier’s lips any longer and sleep at the bottom of his stomach instead. “I know this is the last thing you want, but I need a favour.”

And he doesn’t mention that Geralt is possibly the only person who can see him and he doesn’t want to be alone.

Doesn’t mention he has dreamed of Geralt every night and thought of him every day.

Doesn’t mention he would do it all again, even with the heart ache. (He knew what he was signing up for from the start.)

“What do you want?” Geralt presses out.

Jaskier doesn’t want to be just another person who takes from Geralt, who doesn’t know how to stop giving. But he is not asking for protection or shelter or food. He is only a shadow now, in the corner of Geralt’s eye. And he doesn’t know what else to do.

“I want to know how I died. And why.”

Just let me keep you, he does not say. Just for a little bit.

Geralt sheathes his sword. “What do you remember?”

“I was headed home, I think. Maybe.” Jaskier watches Geralt’s face carefully, trying to analyse his expressions, but not quite daring to come to a definitive conclusion, seeing how badly he misread the room – or, well, the open mountain plane - the last time.

He decides to skip the reaction.

“So? Come on. Avenge me or something.”

“Really?” “It’s the least you could do. After what you said to me.”

Geralt grumbles, but he starts to pick up his bags, which Jaskier takes to assume they’re going. Which is good. Geralt will know what to do. Once they know more - (Once Geralt doesn’t feel guilty any longer -)

Roach neighs softly, and even though she might not be able to see him, Jaskier walks toward her, intending to say something.

“Get away from Roach,” Geralt calls immediately, although Jaskier was reasonably sure he hadn’t even been looking in their direction.

Jaskier starts pouting.

“You know what you did,” Geralt says.

“Can’t touch her anyway.”

Jaskier lifts his hands and backs away.

They start walking then, the Witcher and Viscount de Can’t-take-a-hint. Side by side. And it’s almost like it used to be. And it’s almost perfect – if he had a lute, if Geralt weren’t so unnaturally tense next to him, if it weren’t for the overwhelming tiredness seated deep in his bones. But all anyone would see is a lone Witcher wandering by himself. (And it’s true - Jaskier has long since been written out of that story.)

(When a humble bard

graced a ride along with

Geralt of Rivia)

Geralt can’t look. Looking makes real. The sound is bad enough, but can be written off as a memory, an earworm, a voice in a deranged head. (Impossible to touch what he so often flinched away from.) (Impossible to hold what has always flown and flickered.)

(All those sweet, tender things Geralt never wanted.)

Jaskier is safe. Jaskier is somewhere. Jaskier has a pulse and a breath and a fluttering heartbeat.

It’s just him and Roach and a faint hallucination to keep him company. Anything else. Any other option. There are no other options.

(So much to miss when you almost have it.)

(Such a distantly warm feeling in his chest where he was once happy.)

(His worst mistake cuts deeper now.)

Jaskier is at the coast. He is playing in taverns. He is safe from Geralt. Safe.

Geralt is doing what he does. He gets scowled at in the streets. He takes a room.

Lies in a lonely bed.

Safe. Warm. Breathing.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to sleep again. It’s simply rude at this point. After all, it’s not like I can join you.” Closes his eyes, all by himself.

“Have you never heard of ‘no rest for the wicked’?”

Safe. Warm. Breathing.

“So how is the mourning going? Maybe you should start wearing black. Oh, wait.”

Sleep makes it go away, for a little bit. Guilt he doesn’t know how not to feel. Regret, his most cherished companion. His… (safe.)

(He must be.)

Waking to a nightmare. Geralt does what he does. He sharpens his sword.

“Am I just supposed to sit here and watch you make the same hand motion over and over? Not gonna lie, I’m a little starved for entertainment here in ghost-land.”

Geralt lays a book open on the table, for no particular reason at all. At random times, he turns the page.

(Still whole.)

(He must be.)

A monster to hunt, that’s what he does.

“Oh my, finally I can see one of your hunts from the premium seat.”

Geralt talks to himself sometimes.

“It’s a hunt, not a performance.”

“You really haven’t seen yourself, have you?”

A group of rotfiends. Looking dead, rotten flesh hanging off their bodies. Necrophage oil coats Geralt’s sword.

“Geralt! Watch out!”

He twirls around, takes off the head of one that was about to lurch at him. Geralt keeps moving, slicing his way through more, but they get up again, stubbornly hard to kill.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

A shriek, the rotfiend is about to miss him, but right behind him is… Geralt twists his body, ensures the rotfiend doesn’t miss. It manages to scratch his chest before he kills it too.

“Why, by the Gods, did you do that?”

Only one left now. He kills that one too. Does what he does.

“How is your furniture doing? Because I suspect very strongly that you have got more than one screw loose.”

He wipes the blood and oil off his sword and sheathes it.

“Are you a squirrel? No? Then how come you are behaving like such a nutter?”

Geralt starts walking, grits his teeth. He’ll have to tend to the wounds back at the tavern.

“I’m dead! I’m literally dead, gone, pushing daisies, bit the dust. It’s a little late for the sacrifice game, understood?”

He arrives alone, with a rotfiend head for proof. Gets disgusted looks in the tavern.

“What were you even thinking? Melitele forbid Jaskier gets stumbled through by a rotfiend? How will I ever live with myself knowing I let a rotfiend unknowingly touch the same air as my deceased friend? What is wrong with you?”

“I’ve done what you asked,” Geralt says.

The man who hired Geralt slides over a bag of coin. Geralt doesn’t count.

Safe. Warm. Breathing. Somewhere far away from monsters and witchers and a life not suited to humans who are far too fragile, who have lives far too short…

(He has never known a vengeful spirit like…)

On his own, he goes to his room. There is no one to tend to his wounds but himself.

#the witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher #geraskier #the witcher fic #geraskier fic

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babbushka · 4 years

Text

Everything

Medieval!Kylo x Reader (Set in the All My Stars universe)

2.5k, mentions of pregnancy

-------------

He watches you from the doorway, late one afternoon.

The birds are chirping quite heavily, a symphony of sounds outside the castle walls. The monks in the monastery chant their hymns as they wander their halls, the tenor of their voices drifting through the wind, diluted to a warm wash of music in the distance.

You hum along, though you care little for the meaning of the words, more enraptured with the melody, the tune, as you fold your kirtles which have come back fresh and clean from the wash. Kylo’s eyes are fond as he watches you, he is relaxed, leaning against the door frame, quiet so as to not disturb you.

You are in nothing but a white smock today, your long hair let down. It is Monday, and you are bound to no obligations, nowhere to be, no one to see. In fact, Kylo isn’t so sure you didn’t just wake up, his own Kingly duties taking him from your enormous canopy bed far too early.

You are somehow even more beautiful like this, rumpled and warm from sleep. Outlined by the light you are, backlit from the window in front of which you stand, folding and refolding your dresses just so, careful to not crease the wool and silks. Your white smock is practically see through, and he cannot hold himself back any longer.

“A Queen does not do her own laundry.” He says, but you are unsurprised to hear him, to see him.

“Oh? And pray tell why not?” You ask as you look over your shoulder, features so dazzling that he nearly forgets how to speak.

He removes himself from the doorway, walks into the royal bedchambers and steps up behind you, slides his arms around your middle.

“Because her King will do it for her.” He says easily, as he takes the kirtle from your hands and kisses your neck, many small kisses pressed and peppered along the exposed skin of your throat.

You grin with all of your pretty teeth as his expert hands put this dress in the pile, as they do so quickly so that they may slide over your stomach. He is not wearing his gloves now, not wearing any of his armor. Instead he is simply in his black trousers and surcoat, fabric breathable and light.

“You’re starting to show.” He says softly, and you beam up at him, your mouth stretched into a smile as you demand his lips.

“I know! Our little prince or princess is growing big and strong, just like their father.” You wind your arms around his neck, press your foreheads together.

Kylo revels in this, this closeness. He takes a deep anxious breath, one that releases in a shaky manner, as his hands bunch up your smock, at the waist, wanting to see you.

“May I?” He asks, heart thrumming when you give him permission to lift the gauzy fabric over your head, pull your arms through it.

He scarcely cannot believe you are real, from the way the line of your shoulders slopes, to the heavy hang of your breasts. But what he cannot believe most of all, is the way your abdomen is beginning to jut out, proof of his heir before his very eyes.

He sinks to the floor so he might be level with the bump, and as his hands caress your warm hips, he rests his ear against your flesh, hoping to ear or feel the baby. It has been twenty weeks, and watching your body shift and change has been both a terrifying and an incredible journey. The midwives say that the heir apparent should be kicking soon, and Kylo prays that he will be there to witness it when it happens.

For the moment however, he cannot hear anything but the birds or the monks, so instead he places a single kiss to your stomach, to your hips, hands smoothing around to playfully squeeze at your ass.

“Come, lie with me.” You chuckle, and he rises from the floor, lets you lead him to the bed as you lay down atop it. He climbs up after you, settles himself next to you on his side, head propped up by his hand as his elbow digs into one of the many soft pillows he has ordered to be made for you. “I see stirrings in your mind, what swims behind those eyes of yours?”

He sighs, both glad that you know him so well and anxious, because the thoughts which have been plaguing him offer nothing but worry.

“When I came to challenge my claim to the throne, never did I imagine to be graced by such a blessing as your beauty.” He says, not able to look you in the eye as he traces patterns on the open palm of your hand where it rests near your face, “I dread the day you part from me.”

“I do not jest when I ask this, what makes you believe such a thing?” You frown, stretch your neck to kiss him softly, “I wish to understand the root of your doubt of my love. Have I not been faithful in every way known to man?”

The pain in your eyes kills him, for this is not what he intended, not what he meant at all. That you should feel you have committed an error has acid burning in the back of his throat.

He shakes his head and kisses you, trying to find the words. You have none of it, and you push him down so he is laying flat on his back, so that your naked body may straddle his hips, your hands guiding his own to your chest so that he may calm himself by touching you the way he always wants to.

“It is not born from anything you have done, please, believe me. The doubt is mine own doing.” He says, mesmerized by your beauty, nearly angry with himself for being so inadequate in comparison. “I am undeserving of you, don’t you see? The moment you realize this is the moment my heart shall tear into two, for when you leave, you will take it with you.”

“I cannot think of anyone more deserving than you.” You frown, and Kylo sighs.

“(Y/N) – ”

“No Kylo, I speak true.” You interrupt him, “Look at this, look at us. I would not have pursued you so, would not have let you take me, keep me, marry me, if I did not believe that you are the most perfectly imperfect man I had ever met.”

Kylo looks at you, and you look back at him, trace your finger down the scar which splits his face. You kiss your finger and trace it once more, sealing the already healed wound with your love in a way that you sometimes did, whenever Kylo was feeling self-conscious.

“I have no delusions about your character, about your temper, about your manner. I love them all, wholeheartedly. I love you, wholeheartedly.” You reassure him, tuck his hair behind those big ears of his which you so adored.

“You must forgive me, it is difficult to rationalize sometimes, what mine mind projects so loudly.” Kylo whispers, and you only nod solemnly. He is forever thankful for your understanding, even if he does not know where it comes from, or why you choose to give it to him.

“Allow me to drown out those words.” You say, and he finds that things are altogether too serious for the moment, so he does his best to keep a straight face when he nods up at you.

“You are quite loud.” He replies, playful, teasingly.

And it is successful, for you are rolling your eyes and biting away a smirk from your lips, a light blush across your cheeks. Kylo sits up then, cannot bare to be away from you even though you are astride his hips, you are still too far away.

“Oh heavens, my lips are so cold.” You hum when he sits upright, when he props his back up with the many goose feather pillows that adorn your shared bed. “If only there were a King worthy enough to bestow a proper smooch upon them.”

Kylo kisses you headily, hands splayed across your body, mapping it out. It is so hot under his hands, like you had been laying in the sun all day, soaking up the sunbeams there, the very ones which he has poured into the ring that graces your finger.

Your noses rub and nudge one another as you exchange thick slides of your tongues, your hands in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. You moan softly into his embrace, your nipples brushing against the soft fabric of his surcoat, and he is hard in his trousers with you being so intoxicatingly lovely.

His hand roams over your stomach once more.

“I worry, so much about you.” Kylo whispers, figuring that since it is sharing hour, he might as well get everything off of his chest, “About our baby.”

“It will be fine, you must believe that it will be fine.” You shake those anxieties away, give them no mind at all, for if you dwell on such things, you fear they will come true. “We have the best midwives in the whole of Alderaan.”

“If you die – ” Kylo begins, for he cannot stop thinking about it, cannot stop thinking about the way his grandmother, Queen Amidala perished in such a fashion, cannot stop thinking about the way so many women perish from giving birth.

“I won’t.” You say, so it so firmly as if you are telling God herself, telling the universe that this is not something to even toy with. “The baby has been easy so far. I know it is still early, but I have not been sick once. This will be a calm endeavor, I am sure of it, and then Alderaan will have her first true crown prince in many years.”

Kylo is in awe of your strength, of your confidence. He wishes he could wield such a powerful weapon himself, but you have enough for the both of them, you always have.

“You are so radiant, in all ways. Heaven herself has made you, she must have.” Kylo is convinced, absolutely convinced that you were made to make this world a better place, make him a better person.

“If the stars have made me, then the sun has made you, and this child will be the Earth in all its glory.” You smile, glad he has given up on that train of thought for the moment as you kiss him, growing more and more playful as your hand drifts to the ties of his trousers, “And our next one shall be the moon, and the next shall be the sea, and the next shall be the sky…”

“You wish to have so many?” Kylo chuckles against your throat where he laves his tongue across your pulse.

“I wish to have as many as this body can handle, the castle is so devoid of royal children it pains me. Can you not just imagine hearing their bright laughter as they prance through the grounds? Small boys and girls sword fighting with sticks, smelling the flowers in the fields.” You ask, and Kylo hums thoughtfully.

“I cannot. I never dared to.” He replies truthfully, and your smile grows sad. “Never dared to dream I might one day have so much to be thankful for. I have never had anything in all my life, and to suddenly have so much is overwhelming in the least.”

“You have suffered through so much, so much that it pains me. But you need not suffer any longer, for as long as I am here I will tell you how deserving you are of all the love this kingdom has to give you – how much I have to give you.” You reassure him, and he nods, satisfied for now.

“Only if you allow me to give you everything in return.” Kylo replies, because must always swear fealty to you, must always let you know this.

“Oh my darling,” You say, as the birds chirp outside and the monks chant and the baby kicks against Kylo’s hands for the very first time, as you both gasp at one another in elation, as you kiss him kiss him kiss him, you say, “You already have.”

----------------

Tagging some medieval loving friends! <33 @adamsnackdriver @dreamboatdriver @kyloxfem @autumnlovesadam @solotriplets @driverficarchive @kylo-renne @formerly-anonhamster @thepilotanon @joannapenguin @whiskey-bumblebee @passengereve @venusianmaiden @callmehopeless @sarcasticallyhateful @ilikebritsandbands @tinyplanet-explorers @kittyofalltrades @princessofpow @softcrybabykid @inkstaineddaughter @wonderneverland562 @magikevalynn @ellie-emb

#reader insert #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo/reader #medieval au #knight kylo ren #my writing

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onthesandsofdreams · 4 years

Text

A kidnapping in three viewpoints

Pairing: Ned/Rhaegar, Elia/Rhaegar Rating: T Summary: Rhaegar kidnaps Ned. Brandon teases, Elia faceplams and JonCon rages. Words: 1831 Notes: Prompt fill for the ValarMoreKinks Community. You can find the prompt in Round 16 Page 32. It was supposed to be humorous, but alas, it fell on the slightly serious side.

Read @ AO3

Brandon is pacing furiously in his chamber, he knows that he should calm himself, but can’t. His wedding is in a few days and, so far, Ned has yet to arrive at Riverrun. Which is very, very much unlike Ned.

So that’s what tips Brandon over that something is wrong. Ned would never fail in his duty, he’s the dutiful son and brother, the one you relied on and knew that he would never disappoint. Until today, it seems. For there’s less than a week to go before he is wed, and Ned has not even had the grace to send a messenger from Harrenhal.

Ned had remained behind with Lyanna, promising that they would meet Brandon at Riverrun in time for his wedding, and he knew what Ned had meant: Making sure Lyanna didn’t went somewhere she shouldn’t.

But now? Brandon can’t quite help the worry that he feels, it’s there in the pit of his stomach. His whole being is screaming at him ‘something’s wrong’, but all that he can do is wait. He can’t leave Riverrun or it will be interpreted as running away from his marriage.

Brandon is still pacing when the knock on the door comes, he walks towards the door and opens it. Catelyn. “Yes, Catelyn?”

Catelyn hesitates and Brandon’s worry worsens. “Ah. Forgive me Brandon, but a messenger has come from Harrenhal and the Lady Lyanna has arrived.”

Part of Brandon’s worry lifts. At least his sister is safe, but his instincts are just as sharp as the direwolf of his sigil. “What of Ned, Catelyn?”

Catelyn bites her lips. “The messenger is about Ned, Brandon. You must come, he waits for you at my father’s solar.”

Brandon squares his shoulders and follows Catelyn. Torn between mindless worry and relief, at least now he’ll have an answer. If anything, Lyanna will speak. When they arrive at Lord Tully’s solar, Lyanna is not there and there’s an anxious looking man standing. “My lords,” Brandon says. “Ser. Tell me, what news you bring me? And what of my sister?”

Lord Hoster speaks first, “Your lady sister went to change, she was weary of travel and hungry, Lysa is seeing to her now. Rest easy.”

Brandon nods. “My thanks goodfather.” He turns to the man. “Go on then, whatever it is, it’s better to hear it now.”

The man looks everywhere but him. “Ah. There was an incident in Harrenhal. Shortly before Lord Eddard and Lady Lyanna were meant to come, Lord Eddard went riding with a man of Lord Whent. And… well…”

“Spit it out already!”

“Prince Rhaegar took Lord Eddard with him,” the man rushes. “And by that is, he took him at sword point.”

Brandon’s could swear that his brain has frozen. His eyes were wide, his heart beating so loud. Then, it happened, the absurdity of it all came crashing down and he did the only thing he could. He laughed.

Brandon laughed so hard, there were tears falling down his cheeks. He couldn’t help it, all the anger and worry vanished, replaced by a deep sense of irony and humor. Leave it to Ned to catch the Prince’s eye. Oh this was a true gift from the Gods. This was perfect teasing material.

Elia sighed, she was tired and still sore. Aegon’s birth had worn her down in a way Rhaenys’ birth had not. And she knew that this would be her last child, the maester had spoken to her and Rhaegar after Aegon’s birth, one more child and she risk dying in the birthing bed and taking the child with her. Rhaegar had accepted calmly, he’d even soothed her and promising that Rhaenys and Aegon were enough. She wished she could believe him, and a part of her felt like a failure.

But her children were precious. Elia knew that Aegon already favored his father in looks – at least no one would speak against him, like Aerys had done with Rhaenys – and was a healthy child. Little Rhaenys was a playful and happy girl, she knew that it was enough for her.

But now Rhaegar was gone. Elia frowned, she had no idea where the man was, he’d said nothing save going to somewhere in the Riverlands. He was not a bad husband, she supposed, he treated her kindly and with respect, he didn’t have paramours (though that could change at any moment), he loved Rhaenys and didn’t complain of her being a girl. But he was always distant.

Truth be told, there was a part of Rhaegar that she couldn’t reach. Elia knew that Rhaegar was nearly impossible to know, there was a deep sense of grief and doom that he didn’t share with her. Whatever thoughts or emotions that he might have, he didn’t spoke with her about them. But she knew that none save Arthur truly knew Rhaegar. It was a strange comfort.

Elia was drawn from her thoughts by a knock on her door, “Come,” she called. Ashara walked in, a nervous look to her face, putting Elia immediately on edge. “Has something happened?”

Ashara walked towards the bed, sat gently on one side and took Elia’s hand in hers. “Yes. But, it’s both slightly worrisome and not.”

Elia tilted her head, trying to guess what could have prompted such words. “Tell me.” Whatever it was, it was best to face it head on.

Ashara took a deep breath. “Rhaegar has taken someone for a lover.”

Elia froze. All those worries about being replaced bubbled up, her eyes widened in fear (not for her, but her children), her hands began to shake and her stomach clenched. “Who?” Her voice sounded shaky even to her ears.

“Eddard Stark.”

“What?!”

Ashara sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “Apparently, that husband of yours went and kidnapped Lord Eddard Stark from Harrenhal, there was a witness.”

Bad as this was, Elia couldn’t help but to feel a wave of relief wash over her. A man. That she could deal with, had it been another woman, that would have been dangerous waters, for that woman could give Rhaegar children. But an ambitious man could also have her replaced with kin, but Oberyn had spoken well enough of Lord Eddard when they had met at Harrenhal. “What happened?”

“Apparently, Lord Stark was riding around Harrenhal when Rhaegar, Arthur and Oswell came upon him, and he was asked at sword point to come with them. The poor squire that accompanied Lord Stark relied the news to Lord Whent, who sent the news.”

Elia took a deep breath, released the air and then took another. Trying to calm the emotions she felt. A strange mix of relief, anger and amusement. In the end, she bowed her head, placed her face between her hands and groaned. “Rhaegar, you bloody idiot.”

Ashara laughed.

Jon Connington loves Prince Rhaegar.

He doesn’t know when it happened, only that it did. Jon knows that it should be better if he were to forget the Prince, but a selfish and hopeful side of him clings to the desperate hope that one day, Prince Rhaegar would love him. The Prince was the finest man in the realm, a man that was easy to love.

Jon knows, however, that he can’t speak his love openly. Not unless the Prince does first, how could he? Prince Rhaegar is wed (to a woman who doesn’t deserve him) and a father besides. A man who is devoted to his marriage and thus far, no other woman (much less a man) has turned his head and make him stray from his vows. Ever the dutiful man.

Jon has spent many times in company of the Prince, he’s one of the lucky few who have. But he still feels like an outsider, like he’s looking at some far away object he can’t quite reach.

Jon, in one of his more romantic musings, has called the Prince his moon. Bright and beautiful and impossible to touch. So, he consoles himself with time spent in Prince Rhaegar’s company. Jealous of the closeness between Ser Arthur Dayne and the Prince. He wants that. It’s greedy and almost childish, but he doesn’t care, he wants and craves with an almost desperate need.

But he knows that it won’t be. At least not yet. So, Jon loves and longs for in silence. Ever hopeful.

It’s one month after the birth of Prince Aegon, that Jon decides to go to King’s Landing. He knows that Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia must present the boy to the King, so he makes his way to court in the hope of seeing his silver prince.

And finds the whole court in a tizzy. Why? Because apparently, Prince Rhaegar has taken a paramour. And not just anyone, but none other than Lord Eddard Stark. According to the witness, the Prince and Sers Dayne and Whent kidnapped Lord Stark at sword point and now, have been missing for two weeks.

Jon wants to laugh, to laugh until he can’t laugh any more and deny this. This is absolute nonsense, the Prince would never. And there is his heart, that’s also breaking. The Prince, it seems, has chosen and it wasn’t him.

It’s only in the privacy of his chamber that Jon screams his rage. That destroys the small table and chair, that tosses a pitcher of wine against the wall and watches as it shatters into tiny pieces. His anger is bubbling, hot and demands satisfaction. So he makes his way to the training yard, beats others with a ruthlessness that surprises even him.

Jon can taste the vile in his mouth, the anger, no, the rage. He wants to cut Eddard Stark open, to make him pay, to make him suffer the same way he’s suffering now. To hurt him, for daring to touch his silver prince.

But there is nothing he can do. And Eddard Stark is untouchable for him, his friendship with Robert Baratheon would spell disaster for him, he’s a paramount’s son and foster and well loved to another. And now, the lover of Prince Rhaegar. And there’s nothing he can do.

Brandon smirks when he spots the bruise, “Nice bruise you have there, little brother.” His voice is full of laughter, how can he not? This is all terribly amusing. Ned and Prince Rhaegar were missing for two moon turns and now, they have decided to reappear.

“Not a bruise, a mosquito bite.” Ned says tersely.

“Is that how we’re calling Rhaegar now?”

The scowl that Ned gives is a memorable one, but he doesn’t say anything. So, throwing caution to the wind, Brandon sing songs, “Ned and Rhaegar, sitting on a tree…”

“If you finish that rhyme, you’ll explain to Lady Catelyn why you’re an eunuch.”

“Say brother mine, are you getting a title out of this? Or at least a position in court? Will you be a companion to Princess Elia?”

“Brandon?”

“Yes, brother mine?”

“Piss off.”

Brandon’s laughter echoes in the room.

#ned x rhaegar #rhaegar x ned #Ned Stark #Rhaegar Targaryen #brandon stark #brandon & ned #pre asoiaf fic #au: canon divergence

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rhetorical-ink · 4 years

Text

Rhetorical Ink Reviews - “Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba” Season 1 - Episodes 21 to 26

** STEAMING SPOILERS BELOW **

Okay, so my brother and I finished Season One of Demon Slayer last night and holy cow...okay, so I get the hype now. I do. I can see why people love this show and it’s quickly become one of my favorite new anime series to come out recently. Let’s finish up this review of Season One with:

My Top Ten Thoughts on Demon Slayer: KNY, Episodes 21 - 26:

10. Rui’s backstory is truly a tragic one, especially when he talks about hindsight and not realizing his parents’ true intentions and the actual bond they had. Which makes it all the more beautiful to see him reunite with them, and the revelation that no matter where they go, heaven or hell, they’re going to stay with their child. They did care for him, which was all he ever wanted. It’s a very touching scene to end Rui’s backstory.

9. Tanjiro continues to be “Best Boi” and a literal saint when it comes to trying to help demons transition after death into a peaceful afterlife. It’s an amazing contrast to how he handles Shinazugawa later on, where he literally asks to headbutt him two more times to make up for how many times the jerk stabs his sister.

Which, let’s talk about Shinazugawa, because I’ve not been that anxiety-ridden watching an anime in a while. Spiders? Gross. Muzan randomly killing and turning people into demons? Neat. This white haired cheese grater showing up and stabbing our precious Nezuko, trying to taunt her into attacking him? Thank goodness Tanjiro gave him the vibe check he deserved.

8. I also want to point out the cool “blurring” that’s being established between human and demon. Tanjiro’s plea to Giyu, saying, “Just like me, they were human, too” is probably one of the most powerful and telling lines of the show. Tanjiro knows what he’s done to seek retribution and a cure for his sister’s condition, and he knows what it’s cost him.

Not only that, but we see how the Hashira, the very top of the Demon Corps can act as cold and harshly as demons. Even appearances start to blur, as we’ve had demons like Tamayo and Yushiro who look and act like humans, and we’ve had characters like Shinazugawa and the “Master” of the Demon Corps who act, and look, like demons be on the side of humanity. It’s interesting to say the least, and I feel it’s only going to get expanded upon moving forward.

7. Shinobu was a character that definitely intrigued me in the last few episodes, and I was skeptical of her character. But this last mini arc really made me appreciate her. Oh, she’s devious, to be sure. But she has a very clear sense about her in terms of what she deems morale and what she finds problematic like Shinazugawa’s attitude, which good. I appreciate that she actually does a lot to literally save Tanjiro in these last few episodes and help him move forward.

It’s also interesting to discover that she is emulating her deceased older sister, when we see it’s all a persona, specifically in the flashback moments of her being younger. Plus, girl is manipulative as all get out, tricking Inosuke and Zenitsu into training like that.

Oh, and does she secretly like Giyu? Is that a ship that will happen down the road?

6. The Hashira give me such Bleach Captain vibes, it’s probably the coats and the swords, but I appreciate that they’re actually not quite the same set up and structure. I really like all of their distinct personalities, but Muchiro might be my favorite so far...there’s just...something about his aloof personality that reminds me of Zenitsu, and it probably means he’s secretly a badass and I’m all ready for it. Close second would be the Love Hashira, because she just looks fun and I’m intrigued to know what her abilities are.

It is surprising that there are so few of them left, and I’m curious if the “Master” position is something you’re born into? They all revere him...but...why?

5. Also, speaking of questions, HOW does the Master know Tamayo? He reveals that to Tanjiro for a reason...but what? Clearly, the Hashira do not know about Tamayo, because based on how freaked out they were by Nezuko, there’s no telling how they’d react to a several hundred year old demon that apparently is working potentially alongside demon slayers...curiouser and curiouser...

4. While I love that Inosuke has calmed down a little bit, and maybe been humbled by this last battle...Zenitsu...my dude...can we all just admit it:

Zenitsu’s VA is having the time of his life.

SERIOUSLY, Episode 23 had me in tears, laughing, because of how just ridiculous his chattering was. I don’t know how the Voice Actor for Zenitsu did it, but some of those noises and ramblings in that episode were NOT human and were beyond hilarious. I’m so glad our boys are going with Tanjiro and have at least caught up in the total concentration breathing.

3. I wasn’t sure if there’d be any shipping in this show for real, but we definitely got a taste of it with the proper introduction of Kanao.

Her backstory is so tragic and cruel, but it kind of fits that she’s an emotional foil to Tanjiro. She’s been through so much trauma as a child, she’s conditioned herself to not feel anything, to the point where she doesn’t truly think for herself or with her heart.

And yet, Tanjiro is so polar opposite, where he’s grown up with a loving family and home life, and is so emotionally connected with those around him...I’m just saying, they make an odd, but very fitting pair together. And you all saw those sparkles when he told her the “trick” for getting her to listen to hear heart with the coin?

I really hope she gets involved in the story later and meets back up with Tanjiro; she can definitely hold her own so there’s no worries, there!

2. Okay, by and LARGE, the best part of these last few episodes was the encounter in Muzan’s “Lair.” From Muzan being straight up drop dead gorgeous as a geisha (Muzan really said trans rights, didn’t he?), to being absolutely INTIMIDATING and again, proving he’s a threat as a villain (he’s basically the Alucard of this series at this point), that whole opening in the final episode was jaw-dropping. The animation, the eerie atmosphere, everything...gorgeous and effective.

My only concern was with him essentially “dismantling” the lower six moons, five if you don’t count Rui, it seemed like the author was essentially cutting a large part of storytelling out of the picture. Going into this series and hearing of the Twelve Moons, I thought, “Okay, we have twelve bosses to get through...” but now, no. We really only have Muzan, his SIX main Moons, and then of course, the one lower Moon that lived and got to “Get him some Sip” before vanishing to reappear at the episode’s closing. I’m fine with it; it was a very cool, unexpected plot development and will definitely make the story more concise, but it also felt like the author “trimming away” at some of the potential story. I won’t complain, though, if it means we get a tighter, more dynamic narrative; rather than a bloated, too-stretched one.

1. And finally, we have the magical train! I love that of COURSE Inosuke thinks it’s a giant beast, and while at first you think Tanjiro is using some psychological trick to convince Inosuke it’s a “guardian deity,” it’s also apparent that poor Tanjiro doesn’t entirely get the technology, either.

As Zenitsu points out, “Country bumpkins,” indeed.

It’s also a nice way to close the season; having them off on a mission onto a train that’s been hassled by a demon, with a Hashira that Tanjiro conveniently needs to talk to aboard, and one of Muzan’s newly amped-up lieutenants aboard too...after Tanjiro, of course. It’s a fated meeting that is being set up to be the plot of the movie coming out this fall, and I. CANNOT. WAIT.

If you all haven’t watched this series, DO IT. It’s one of the best new anime to come out in a long while and I am eagerly anticipating the movie this fall and Season Two.

Review of Episodes 1 - 5

Review of Episodes 6 - 8

Review of Episodes 9 - 14

Review of Episodes 15 - 20

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red-butler · 4 years

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Kuroshitsuji Ladies Week - Paula

Day one of Kuro Ladies week and Paula gets a chance to be in the spotlight for once! :D

Paula has been with her mistress for many years now, watching her grow from a sweet loving child into a beautiful strong young woman. She's been there for all her joys and sorrows. Only...far too many of her sorrows seem to be centred around Earl Phantomhive. Paula can't help but hate the young boy who keeps breaking her mistress' heart.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24370816

The Phantomhives were dead and Paula almost found herself resenting them for it. Which was awful really, and she bowed her head, thankful no one could hear her thoughts as she stood in the windswept cemetery, barely able to hear the vicar’s voice as he read the eulogy. It wasn’t their fault they were dead, she should feel sorry for them all, murdered in such a horrific manner, especially the twins, so young and innocent. And she did feel bad, she really did, she wished with all her heart it hadn’t happened.

But she couldn’t deny that she didn’t wish that for their sake as much for the sake of little Lizzy, who was standing beside her mother, eyes wide and blank with grief. Whenever Paula saw that empty lost expression on Lizzy’s face, Lizzy who was so full of life and joy and happiness, she wanted to do absolutely anything necessary to make her young charge smile again. Lizzy deserved to be happy and Paula almost hated Ciel and his family for dying and making Lizzy so inconsolably full of grief.

Paula had been with Lizzy for almost five years now and had come to love her dearly. She was kind and generous and sweet but also strong and proud and so skilled when she fought! Paula had been horrified when she had been informed that her charge, barely five years old, would be taking fencing classes, hardly suitable for a young English lady! But it would take a far braver maid than Paula to stand up against Lady Frances and so Paula had been there to dress and prepare Lizzy for her practise and listen to her chat eagerly about her progress and really, when it became apparent how skilled Lizzy was Paula’s fear had dissolved. Lizzy was safe and happy and that was all Paula wanted.

But now Lizzy was unhappy in a way that Paula couldn’t fix with cakes and a story, or a ride out into the country, or even a trip into town to buy something pretty and charming. Lizzy was grieving the loss of her fiance and Paula was grieving the loss of Lizzy’s innocence and delight in life.

___

Ciel had returned and Paula had been prepared to greet this news with undivided joy. Lizzy certainly had been over the moon when the letter had come from Ciel, addressed to the Marquis of course, but inviting the whole family to the manor for dinner. A necessary politeness. Paula of course hadn’t been invited but she had spent the evening eagerly gossiping with the other servants about how Ciel had survived the fire that had killed his family and where he had been for the last month. When Lizzy had returned Paula had hurried to help her prepare for bed, expecting to hear the full story form a delighted Lizzy who would have her love of life and happiness restored to her.

Instead Lizzy confessed almost tearfully that Ciel had told them almost nothing about what had happened to him, and that he was acting completely differently, almost like a stranger.

“I know he’s been through something bad...and I don’t want to make him feel bad…” Lizzy had told Paula, staring at her hands as the maid brushed her hair for her. “But I just want to help him! I’d do anything to make him smile again, like he used to.”

Paula’s heart had shattered anew for how kind her young mistress was. Lizzy was hurting so badly and all she wanted to do was help someone else. She really was the sweetest young lady Paula had ever served.

As the days, weeks and months went by and Paula watched as Lizzy tried and tried again and again to cheer Ciel up, to make him smile or relax even slightly and each attempt failed, Paula half wanted to shake Ciel by the shoulders and shout at him that Lizzy was doing so much for him, that she was tearing herself to pieces in a desperate plea to make him feel even the tiniest bit better, and if he were truly a gentleman, or if he loved her in the slightest, he would respond in some way. Lizzy was desperate to help him and Ciel was pushing her away and each time Lizzy returned home with the sad longing expression and damp eyes Paula felt more angry than she had any right to be. Couldn’t Ciel see how much he was hurting Lizzy?

___

Lizzy stared wistfully at the beautiful heeled shoes and then shook her head almost violently, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes as she refused them. Paula put them away. They had been a gift from Lizzy’s father, a reward for winning a fencing tournament and Lizzy clearly wanted them badly but was refusing them. Paula knew why, knew just how much Ciel had hurt Lizzy...how Lizzy was desperately trying to force herself into a mould that she had long since outgrown in a doomed attempt to please a boy who seemed to take absolutely no interest.

After Lizzy was dressed and had cleaned her face ready for lunch with her family Paula carefully packed the paper back around the shoes and put them away. Maybe there would come a day soon when Lizzy would feel able to wear heeled shoes and enjoy grown up things, a time when she wouldn’t be desperately hiding her skill with a sword because she was scared that Ciel wouldn’t react badly to it. As far as Paula was concerned that day couldn’t come soon enough.

Paula had often dreamed of having children of her own, of finding a wonderful husband and building a family with him. She had cherished each child she had cared for in her career, but she had been with Lizzy longer than any other child and couldn’t imagine loving a child more than she loved her bright smiling girl. Elizabeth Midford was the closest thing Paula had to a daughter and it tore her up inside to see her hurting herself over a boy who, quite frankly, didn’t deserve her if he wasn’t going to appreciate the gift he had been given!

Later that evening she spoke with Helena, one of the upstairs maids about her worries.

“I almost find myself wishing Ciel had never come back...her grief was heartbreaking but it was natural and she would have got over it in time…”

“Aye...it’s the common lot of men isn’t it? To string a lovesick woman behind them. Phantomhive’s just starting young that’s all.”

“But that’s horrible! Lizzy deserves so much better!”

“She don’t want better though does she? She just wants her childhood friend back.”

That brought Paula up short a little. Maybe it wasn’t Ciel Lizzy was desperately trying to bring back, as it was those happy days before any tragedy had affected her. Perhaps Lizzy believed that if she just tried hard enough, everything would go back to the way it had been? It was a troubling thought and Paula found herself musing on it a lot.

___

Time went by and the problem didn’t seem to be getting any better at all. Paula watched with a heavy heart as Lizzy became more and more desperate and extreme in her attempts to cheer Ciel up. Nothing was working and in fact, in Paula’s opinion, Ciel was getting more and more distant and angry with Lizzy. Couldn’t he see that she just wanted an acknowledgement from him, just wanted him to reassure her that everything would be all right. Honestly, if Ciel could simply tell Lizzy that she was so much as just a good friend, it would mean the world to Paula’s mistress!

But it wasn’t her place to say so of course and so she waited, quiet and obedient and with her heart shattering every time Lizzy tried to reach out to the Phantomhive boy only to get rebuffed again and again and again.

Finally Lizzy tried to throw a party, sneaking off from home to do so and spending the entire day at Ciel’s house. She was beginning to get into trouble from her parents for behaviour like this but Lizzy wasn’t about to let her parent’s disapproval stop her from doing what she knew was right! In all honesty, Paula admired that about her young mistress, her tenacity and willingness to do the right thing even under more difficult circumstances. But she was beginning to feel that the energy expended on Ciel was a wasted effort as she anxiously awaited her young charge’s return.

When Lizzy did finally come back home, and once she had finished being scolded by both her parents and being hugged by her older brother who, being usually away at school and unaware of Lizzy’s frequent trips over to the Phantomhive manor, had been frantic with worry over his beloved younger sister; Paula had a chance to talk with Lizzy herself and see how she was feeling.

Lizzy seemed quieter and more thoughtful than she usually was after a visit to Ciel. Usually she was either close to tears over a lack of progress in making him smile or bubbling with joy over a change so slight Paula was half convinced it wasn’t a change at all.

“Is there something on your mind miss Lizzy?”

“Hmm? Oh, I have been a little quiet I suppose Paula.”

“Just a little!” Paula agreed with a laugh, “Did everything go well at the Phantomhives?”

“Oh yes! Well...sort of…”

“Oh?”

“We had a really wonderful party! Ciel looked so cute in the clothes I chose for him and everything was so prettily decorated!”

“That sounds absolutely lovely!”

“It really was! But…” Lizzy trailed off, fidgeting with the hem of her dress and looking away from her maid. “But I think I…”

“Miss Lizzy?”

“Paula? Am I a bad person?”

“What? Of course not! Who told you that, I’ll give them a piece of my mind-”

“Oh no Paula, please. No one said that! It’s simply that Ciel and I had...well a bit of an argument. And I broke something that was very important to him.” She bit her lip, looking down at the ground now as though she were too ashamed to meet Paula’s concerned eyes. “I knew it was important, I knew how much it meant to him, but I just got so frustrated that nothing I was doing was working, that he was still so miserable I just lashed out and I broke it.”

Paula knelt down, taking Lizzy’s hands in hers. Lizzy may have done a bad thing, breaking whatever it was of Ciel’s that he treasured so much, but she couldn’t bring herself to add a further scolding onto the young girl, not when she was looking so genuinely sad and upset.

“I know you’re trying to help him Lizzy,” She said carefully, hoping that nothing she said was out of place for a ladies maid. “But sometimes people need to work through things on their own.”

“But it’s been years.” Lizzy whispered, still not meeting her gaze. “I just want things to go back to normal.”

“Oh Lizzy…”

The two of them sat like that for a long time, Lizzy grieving a past that would never return and Paula grieving the loss of the childlike innocence that had so filled Lizzy in the past. Almost irrationally she wanted to blame Ciel for this too, for being the cause of Lizzy growing up out of her naivety about the world and beginning to understand that sometimes things just couldn’t be fixed. If he’d just been more patient with her then Lizzy could have held onto that wonder for a little longer.

___

After the party Paula noticed that Lizzy was making a real effort to be calmer and give Ciel his space. It seemed that Lizzy had taken the lesson to heart, that sometimes Ciel just needed to work through things himself. She continued however, to hide her swordplay and dress and act much more childishly than Paula suspected she secretly wanted to.

So when Lizzy returned home after asking Ciel if he would be able to come on the journey abroad with the Midford’s, she didn’t throw a tantrum or cry over her disappointment. Paula did notice her subduedness over the next few days however, and made note of how carefully Lizzy packed her writing utensils herself.

They would be gone for six months at least, and judging from the gossip Paula was privy to, if Lord Midford became too engaged in his business over in America then it might be well over a year before the family returned. It sounded exciting really, Paula had never been abroad in her life before, and it all sounded very glamourous and interesting. But she was aware that Lizzy was worried that Ciel would forget her while she was gone, or worse, would decide he much preferred not having her around at all and would break off their engagement.

Paula wasn’t certain that Ciel would do that, he seemed torn between resignation and actual appreciation for his engagement, but she could understand why Lizzy worried. The Earl of Phantomhive wasn’t exactly skilled at showing his emotions or reassuring those around him. So she helped Lizzy pack away enough note paper and pens to supply an army and reassured her that they would certainly be able to buy more supplies in America, and that she could write as often as she wanted of course, but she must remember that it would take a while for Ciel to receive her letters and reply so she mustn't be discouraged.

Lizzy seemed to accept this and Paula was so proud of how mature and adjusted she was becoming. It hurt to lose the sweet simple child she had been, but the generous and kind young lady she was growing into was wonderful to see. She was still disappointed though, and Paula could see that her eyes were red in the mornings sometime, hinting at sleepless nights crying and worrying over losing the one person she loved above all others.

So when they were finally aboard the boat, watching the coast of England vanish behind them and Ciel appeared from further along the deck, sparking delight from Lizzy and her family, Paula felt a sinking sense of disappointment in the Earl, followed by a slow burning rage.

How dare Ciel lead her Lizzy on like that? How dare he decide it would be, what, funny? To make Lizzy believe he wasn’t coming and then just appear on the ship? Lizzy might be thrilled and smiling ear to ear but Paula could only remember the red rimmed eyes, the quiet disappointment, the sleepless nights and the unhappiness that Lizzy had had to deal with for the weeks of preparation for this trip.

She hid her feelings of course, it was not her place to question her superiors of course. She thought she was doing a good job of hiding her hurt and anger, Lizzy seemed oblivious to the displeasure she was concealing. Paula wouldn’t have been this upset if a man had let her down in this way, but to hurt Lizzy, who had never done anything to deserve being hurt like this in her entire life! Perhaps Ciel had intended it as a nice surprise but the hurt he had caused Lizzy would not be forgotten by Paula at least.

___

Paula didn’t think she had ever been this cold in her life. The large rescue ship had appeared at last, and being aboard felt far safer than bobbing out in the ocean on a lifeboat, but Paula was still scared.

She was surrounded by strangers, all cold, all terrified and all desperate for safety and warmth. The new ship was overwhelmed by all the passengers but was doing its best. Paula curled up in a corner with a donated blanket, staring at the noise and movement around her and hoping to see a glimpse of her family. Please let them all be safe, please let Lizzy be here somewhere she prayed desperately, as she had been doing throughout the longest coldest night of her life.

There! Paula stood upright, straining to see through the crowd of people, she could hear the familiar strident tones of the Lady Midford, haranguing people for snatching at the hot food being served up and not assisting those in greater need. Paula shoved her way impatiently towards Lady Frances, heart in mouth as she squeezed past the last group of people…

Relief crashed over her. Lord Midford was there, discussing something quietly with the captain, his wife overseeing the distribution of hot food and blankets with the assistance of Edward and the Queen’s butlers. Lizzy was standing off to the side, fingers pressed against her mouth as she scanned the crowd, looking for anyone familiar. Paula’s eyes filled with tears as she rushed forward. It was a breach of propriety, certainly, but she didn’t care as she called out to Lizzy, who spun around with a relieved smile, rushing towards her maid. Lizzy flung her arms around Paula in a hug that she gladly returned, just so grateful to see one another alive and well despite it all.

“Oh Lizzy, I’m so glad you’re safe!” Paula said, breaking away from the hug to check her over. “You’re not hurt are you?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine Paula, I really am. Ciel protected me, just like he said he would!” Lizzy smiled brightly, but then her smile dropped. “Have you seen Ciel, Paula? I haven’t seen him, and Eddie says he went back to deal with the walking corpses and I’m worried about him…”

“No...I haven’t seen him.” Paula admitted. So Ciel had saved Lizzy had he? That was good, that's what she would expect from him. To step up to his responsibilities and help her.

“He saw me fighting.” Lizzy blurted out quickly, as though she thought if she didn’t say it now then she would never say it. Paula’s eyes widened in astonished fear, she knew just how anxious Lizzy had been about Ciel finding out about her swordsmanship.

“What did he say?”

“He...he told me I shouldn’t hide it in the future, that he still wanted to marry me and that I saved his life.” Lizzy’s tone was filled with wonder. “He said I had been stupid to think that something like that would change his opinion of me.”

“He called you stupid?”

“No! He said it was stupid to think he would stop caring about me because I can swordfight!” Lizzy beamed again, holding tightly onto Paula’s hands. “He still cares about me! Even though I’m not cute and adorable all the time!”

“Oh that’s wonderful!”

“Yes...but now I can’t find him and I’m worried Paula, you don't think he got left behind do you? Maybe the captain will go and look again?”

Even as Lizzy said that, a shout went up that there was another boat in the water, and a very few minutes later Paula was watching a tearfilled but joyous reunion between Lizzy and Ciel. The Earl looked injured and exhausted, and so did his butler, but they were both clearly alive and functional.

Paula was relieved he was safe of course, Lizzy would have been devastated if he had perished out in the cold sea. But for the first time in a long time, she found that she wasn’t angry at Ciel, as she saw him carefully helping Lizzy up off the ground, paying attention to her and seeming to value her company and presence. It seemed Ciel had finally grown up enough to realise the gift he had been given with Lizzy’s feelings and was finally giving Lizzy the validation and affection she had so longed for over the past three years.

So she smiled at the pair of them, grateful that they had both had a chance to grow up together, Ciel to learn to appreciate Lizzy, and Lizzy to learn she could set aside her childishness and still keep her love. Paula was pleased with them both.

#my writing #black butler #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji ladies appreciation week #Ladies week #Paula #elizabeth midford #ciel phantomhive

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writing-frenzy · 4 years

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Alternate Perceptions- AHiT Idea

So, after accidently smashing head first into A Hat in Time Fandom and all their good shit, I got ideas some that refuse to be written, and one of them I thought I note out. (heavily inspired by doodledrawsthings, seriously, there stuff is so good.)

So, welcome to Alternate Perceptions! We can have multiple POVs here, so lets have fun with this.

First up, we have Prince Luke, who is taking a break from Law School for the summer to spend time with his fiance, Vanessa. Everything is just fine swell, normal carefree days, when the Prince and Princess starts to hear about rumors about a look-a-like. Sure, he’s heard some things while at the University, one person even said he looked so weird with a smile on his face ?? but Luke didn’t really question or think long on it... at least until someone, a noble in fact, asks if the Prince has a brother?

Luke blinked in surprise at the question, Vanessa even paused as she considered the man.

“I do not believe so...” Luke answered slowly, even as carefully took in the now sweating noble. Vanessa, do you really need to stare so hard?

“Ah, I see; sorry, just met an older chap and some girls, his daughter and her friend I believe, and he looked incredibly like your father.” the man excused, even as Luke tried his best not to twitch.

His father, the former and now retired King of another kingdom close to Subcon, while now known for his loyalty and incredible love for his wife... was formerly a rather... free young man in his youth.

‘Hopefully not another claiming they are the rightful heir to the thrown, there is a reason Uncle is in charge.’ Luke smiled, even as he felt Vanessa hold his hand in hers. It was a well known trouble that occasionally popped up here and there, people claiming to have raised a Royal’s bastard or claiming to be such even after the tests failed.

(At least his father had been careful, if not smart in his youth.)

“I’ll probably have to send a letter to Uncle later about this, I’m sure he’ll appreciate the warning of someone coming.”

The thing is, no one ever pops up. Oh, apparently this potential headache did go to his Uncle’s Kingdom, but never went to the castle at all. In fact, from what he heard, the man and two girls ended up saving a square full of people from some sort of explosion in a plaza, accepting thanks and food from the happy citizens, but actually refusing to go a step closer to the castle.

(There is much to say from the citizens, those who managed to take a peek of the man who managed to keep a heavy cloak on even in all the chaos, only for it to get knocked off in accident by a rescued child.

With those features, glowing golden eyes and a heavy scowl, one would almost think they were looking at the Former King in his youth.)

That was... suspicious. If the Prince wasn’t assured that the perpetrator of the explosion was caught, he might have thought the man was involved somehow. but as it goes, more and more stories come out, about this unusual trio going around, helping out here and there, even unearthing corrupted nobles and becoming one of the most talked about subjects since the Subcon Duchess’s scandals.

And yet, it seems besides occasionally seen entering in Subcon Forest, this trio hasn’t actually stepped foot in Subcon itself.

Not until one unusual event.

Prince Luke gasped, for a good minute thankful for the harsh taskmaster his sword instructor was, insisting that the rest of the body needed to be just as trained as his hands and feet. Otherwise, carrying his beloved to safety might have been just that bit harder, what with all the finery her station required her to wear, though it was still a relief when he could finally set her down. But watching how the manor warped and twisted around them, the floor seeming to turn into actual lava, even ice in some places, the young royal couldn’t help but feel his stomach drop, even as him and the remaining nobles in the room clung to their last piece of safety in the ballroom that, that monster just transformed.

For a good minute, Luke just felt himself breathe, trying to calm down and think of a solution, only to be shocked when two children, just little girls at that, ran past him. He made to reach out to them, to maybe stop them, just about to call out to them, when he heard-

“My Prince, what are you thinking? We just barely escaped with our lives!” Vanessa exclaimed, holding on tight to the arm at his side.

“But those girls-”

“The kiddos will be fine; might want to worry about yourself more foool.” was cut in, the voice harsh and grim, but ever so familar in a way?. Turning as one, the nobles and Royals took in a heavily cloaked figure, golden lights the only thing one could see in the darkness of their hood.

“Snatcher! Do you think you can reach that lever over there? We’ll need that if we want to beat this guy and seal the rift!” one of the girls called out, the bow wearing one in fact.

“On it.” and with that, the other was moving, up and away from them (almost like they were running away it seemed).

With the trio coming in, they stop the being, and even return the place back to normal, much to everyone’s gratefulness.

But in all the confusion and chaos, the one called Snatcher and once Dad by the hat wearing girl, gets his cloak blown off, revealing their face to all.

Its.. it’s like looking in a twisted mirror in a way, because he sees in him the features of his father easily, it’s the same Luke had inherited, but where Luke has his mother’s smile and soft brown eyes to soften his features, you can see none of that in this Snatcher’s harden, tired face and glowing amber golden eyes.

The Eyes only Royal’s in Luke’s family can inherit. Eyes that show the Magic in their line, making them able to inherit the throne...

Things just got that much more complicated.

(Meanwhile, a Queen to be looks at this impostor, seeing this similar being to her perfect prince and inwardly seethes... and yet... Shows her sides she has never seen of her dear sweet Prince... It is a conflict of emotions she feels; does she want this man gone and buried, for twisting her beloved Prince’s image... or would he be a nice addition to the dungeons, for her to appreciate when her longing grows?)

Meanwhile, the Other POV we can have!

So, normal day for Snatcher and the kids, just chilling in the pillow pile, getting ready for another exploration on the planet... when some idiot a world over plays around with time pieces, accidentally piercing through to them, the only other time that so many time pieces were gathered in their world and planet. This unfortunately drags the three over there, meeting the idiot and their plan to get revenge on the kingdoms around them any means necessary.

So, their is some good news, bad news, and just oh good moon why.

Good news! It will not ruin their time line, their past has long since set, and they have no worries about messing with things here too much.

Bad news! If they happen to get too involve here in this world (i.e. forming magical bonds, eating magical food, using to much or many magical items that were created in this world) they risk never being able to go back home!

Oh good Moon Why News: it is a near perfect replica of Subcon Past, with Crazy Vanessa and a whipped Prince Luke running around, still ‘happy’ as it were. And they have to fix all these rifts in this world, along with stopping the head idiot in order to fix everything and go back to their own, meaning they will have to explore everywhere around them, Subcon and it’s terrible memories included.

Alternatly, this could also be called~

Snatcher’s no good, terrible, horrible, truly abhorring, detestable time in an Alternate Universe of Subcon and the Kingdoms around it.

The Snatch is not a happy camper, especially since he is now stuck in a meat suit. Luckily, he can use minor, low, low powered version of his powers. (now, I don’t know if he got transformed before or during all this, because both would be juicy, so I won’t say.) otherwise, Snatcher would be very tempted to listen to that dark little voice inside that says screw everything and one.

He is not smiling, there are no smiles to be found, and everyone who meets him doesn’t mistake him for the prince. (because I find the thought funny on just how different a person can look with a whole different outlook and expression on their face.) Ironically, he gets the cloak because he doesn’t want to be mistaken for the prince or be accused of being a body snatcher or something, only for it not to even be needed for that in the end, though he doesn’t know this for a good, long while. (To not be mistaken as a illegitimate child or possible lost royal heir on the other hand... yeah.)

(The girls are doing their best to help how they can, providing distractions and just being themselves, getting a now rare smile out of the glowing eyed man before them.

It... it really helps)

Also, at one point, I want both Bow and Hat to just go yeet with Snatcher or vice versa, something all three trouble makers agreed to do if needed. Also, Snatcher Carrying one girl over his shoulder while the other under his arm as they run from something is a need as well.

(And maybe, in a moment of panic, of triggers and shaking, where Snatcher finds he can’t move, the two girls get protective, using a cheat or natural strength, they end up carrying their purple dad somewhere he can stress and panic in piece.)

Just, we can see the perceptions of everyone around us, with all these outside points of view, and we can really explore all the fun and tears to be had... welp, it’s at least fun to think about.

(also, interaction between Prince and Snatcher, with Snatcher having no worries of affecting the timeline... are fun to think on as well...)

#A Hat in Time #AHiT #Hat Kid #Snatcher ahit #Bow ahit #Prince ahit #Queen Vanessa #A Hat in Time AU #AHiT AU

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neonbluewaves · 5 years

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Innocent eyes

A little something I wrote while I draw and write everything about the Prieto family, just kinda teasing, u kno? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

So have a bit of Neon’s grandma, Rocio

Rocio is tired. Well, that’s an understatement. She’s completely exhausted, how can a little child have so much energy? Watching over her nephew was very easy. Jacob liked to read, he liked to follow his grandpa around, and Gonzalo didn’t mind because it meant the little boy wouldn’t set the kitchen on fire, or would touch all the magic artefacts they had around their house. He was easy to manage, but Neon? She was a riot, a ball of energy, running around, up and down the mansion, picking everything in her reach and asking with wonder in her eyes “What’s this? What’s it do? Can I have it?” already turning it in her hands, looking at it from every angle. That had to come from her dad, Luisa was never like this, nor Carmen or Narcisso. And she was getting old to add to it.

She hears a loud THUD from upstairs and sighs “oh no”. She walks upstairs resigned with the fact that one child will probably destroy her house when many powerful wizards couldn’t even find it.

-Yaya, yaya, what’s here? Open, open!- says the small kid on her toes grabbing the door knob. Rocio stands there, looking at the door, she hasn’t gone in it in years, since the incident happened...

She looks down to Neon, maybe to tell her she can’t go in, maybe to look for some confidence and finally face the room, she doesn’t really know, but it seems it’s the last, because she opens it and the smell of old parchment and a faint scent of her father’s cologne hits her. Hard.

Neon rushes in, of course she does, looking around. It’s quite a big studio, Rocio had almost forgotten everything in it. The big banner, the giant shelves full of books in different languages, the glass cabinets with miniature ships, maps, trinkets and other objects she never really knew what where used for. There’s a big window letting light in, the fireplace is dark, cold, unused. The desk sitting on one side with matching leather chairs has dust in it. Rocio has used a different room as her own studio, leaving this one untouched for so long. There’s still blood on the floor. Nobody bothered cleaning it. It was barely noticable on the dark carpet, but she knew exactly where it was, a darker tone than the rest of it. The whole room was made of dark browns and reds. The family color.

-Yaya look! Is this you?

Neon’s holding a framed picture. And she’s pointing at her, guess she hasn’t changed much through all these years.

-Yes, that’s me

-And who are all these people?- she turns the frame back towards her, looking at them all, again that innocent wonder in her eyes that reminds her of him.

-Those are my siblings, all younger than me- Neon looks up surprised, her mouth forming a perfect O, the child always so expressive

-You had a lot of brothers and sisters!

-I did

-Where are they? Why haven’t I met them?

40 years before

-Ay, where is she? Leoba, come out for Morgana’s sake! It’s a family picture, just choose any mantilla, they’re all nice! And where is Santi? Geez, he needs a haircut, there’s no way he’s getting in that picture with that hair!

-Relax Isa, you’re gonna have a stroke or something

-Rocio, we won’t get another picture in years, father wants it in his studio, where he meets with other pure blood families! And they’ll see five nice looking young wizards and a... a...

-Okay, breathe, I’ll go find him and chop his hair so he looks “presentable”

And with that, Rocio takes a hat from the wall hanger and heads out, the last thing she hears is her sister yelling at her “A hat? Really? You’ll mess your hair!”

The sun is bright and the almond trees of their land look a lovely pale pink, all on full bloom. Santi couldn’t have gone too far, he wouldn’t want to upset father by being late to the picture. Such a daddy’s boy. When he was little he could do no wrong, the fault was always for any of the older siblings, no matter what. But she couldn’t blame him, she also doted on him too much, she couldn’t help it, that innocence, that thirst to know and understand everything around him, the way his grey eyes shone whenever he saw something new, she was smitten, anything he asked of her he’d get. Her new horse? All his. The sword she just purchased but he had wanted too? It was in his room, on the wall kept like a treasure. She had just picked some figs but he was hungry? He could eat them all. She loved him so much she was sure she’d find a way to bring down the moon for him if he asked.

After fifteen minutes of walking between trees she found him along with their brother Marcelo both snoring under a fig tree

-Oi! Don’t fall asleep under the fig tree, you’ll both catch a cold! Didn’t you learn that when we were little?

They both grumbled as they sat up, their clothes a mess with sand

-It’s fine, we’ll drink pepperup potion- said Marcelo, running his hands trough his hair as if to comb it

-Well, what will you drink when Isabel rips your arms off for being late for the picture? I’m pretty sure the guy must have just arrived, and she wanted Santi to get a haircut

-Why? I’m letting it grow so you can all enjoy my wonderful light brown hair!

-She’ll chop it off- said Marcelo stretching

-C’mon, before a vein in her head explodes- she takes out her wand and with a flick of it all the dirt is gone from their clothes.- we don’t want to deal with that.

-Finally!- exclaims Isabel as she hurries to them, Leoba and Teodoro behind her.- oh, Rocio, you didn’t cut his hair! He looks like those muggle boys that work picking fruit.

-Excuse you, I look way more handsome than any of them

-You know what?- she says, voice resigned - whatever, there’s no time, this good man has to go take more pictures, so just brush it a little out of your face, yes, like this, okay, Sir! Sir, we’re ready!

- Alright, so, tall ones behind, the shorter ones in front.- instructs the camera man- in front of the family banner, correct?

-Yes, okay let’s... oh Rocio, really? The hat around the neck? Fine... And you Leoba, really? You can’t get your hair out of your face even for a picture

-Sis.- Teodoro puts a hand on her shoulder, comforting- relax, it’ll look good, this all just adds to show our personalities

-Oh please, we’re a noble and ancient pure blood house! We don’t need personality

-Said the one with the worst temperament...

-I heard you!- she turns to Leoba, eye twitching

-Please, take the picture - hurries Rocio, before another fight starts

-Okay, everyone look to the camera, alright, it’ll only take a few seconds... yes.... okay....- a bright flash blinds them all- aaaand done!

-Yeah, done with seeing, it was nice knowing what pretty girls look like before the world went white...- Says Santi, rubbing his eyes as hard as he can

-Thank you sir, we’ll await for the picture!

The man gathers everything he brought and leaves hurriedly to his next apointment, and right as the door closes Isabel turns to Leoba

-SO I HAVE A BAD TEMPERAMENT HUH?

-OH MY GOD, HOW CAN YOU ASK WHEN YOU’RE YELLING? YOU’RE PROVING A POINT

-I’LL PROVE YOU A POINT WHEN I TURN YOUR ARMS TO TREE BRANCHES

-OH YEAH, WELL I’LL LET THE DOGS IN TO PEE ON YOUR BED

And as another fight breaks Teodoro decides to apparate anywhere but near the house, Marcelo tries his best to get them to calm down and not take out their wands, and Rocio, with a weary sigh, tells Santi to leave before Isabel decides to actually chop his hair. With a smile he runs away as she goes help Marcelo deal with them. It’s her job as the oldest sister, she thinks, to take care of them all. She wonders who will take care of her once their father isn’t there.

She looks at the body in front of her. Laying on the ground face down, the bright flash of green having shocked and momentarily blinded her. She quickly falls to her knees, turning him face up.

Santi’s eyes are wide open, the innocence and wonder gone from them, now just two dull grey circles. His nose broken and bleeding from the fall he’s taken, and suddenly drops of water fall on his face, gently and slowly mixing with the blood. Rocio’s tears.

-santi, santi! SANTIAGO! PLEASE OH GOD PLEASE NO, DON’T, DON’T LEAVE LIKE THIS!

Watching everything is Isabel, as stunned as Rocio, she hadn’t known she was holding her breath until Rocio’s screeches had broken the silence, and she let’s out a shaky breath. Her wand gripped tightly in her trembling hand.

Rocio looks up and Isabel swears she’s never seen such rage in anyone’s eyes, ever, let alone her sister’s, and directed towards her. The red irises shine with tears of grief and anger, her face slowly turning that same color,she expects yelling, but all she hears is a quiet raspy voice

-What. Have. You. Done?

They both know what she’s done. She’s killed their little brother. She’s killed father’s favourite child, Rocio’s favourite sibling. She’s killed her own favourite sibling. She feels a sting in her eyes, realization sinking in. She didn’t mean to kill him. She wanted to kill Rocio. But he had jumped in the middle. He took the curse for the sister, who was willing to give him everything, because every time Rocio would hand him something of hers, Santi felt such pure love, he couldn’t bear to lose that. So he jumped and took the curse. And now, unknowingly, both him and Isabel had taken away the most precious thing in Rocio’s life. The innocent grey eyes of her little brother.

-I...I didn’t mean to- Isabel starts, but Rocio’s wand is up

-you didn’t mean to.... but you did. Run. Run away so I never have to see you again. RUN OR TWO PRIETOS WILL DIE TODAY!

There’s no time for Isabel to go, because the fireplace lights up in a green light, a different one, and their father is there.

He sees the scene. His oldest daughter cradling a body. His son’s body. She’s holding him tightly against her chest, his face hidden, but he knows it’s him because he’d recognize that shade of brown anywhere. He follows the direction of Rocio’s wand, pointed at Isabel. And he knows. He clenches his jaw.

-F-father...- whimpers Isabel, and she sees something in his eyes that finally makes her move. And she runs, she runs out of the house. Their father takes out his wand from his robes and a book. He leaves it on the ground, next to Rocio.

And just like that he marches after his daughter. Rocio doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, at the moment all she can do is hold Santiago in his arms and cradle him tightly, whispering against his hair that she loves him and apologizing a thousand times, tears still falling. Left alone in their father’s studio, with the smell of parchment paper and a trace of his cologne.

-Yaya? Yaya why are you crying?

Rocio comes out of her trance, she’s sitting in one of the chairs in front of the big desk, tears falling. In front of her Neon, who looks like she’s about to cry too

-I’m sorry- she says, the poor kid doesn’t know why her grandma is crying, so she thinks it must be her fault.

-Oh no, Macarena, it’s nothing you did, this room is very dusty and it’s making my eyes watery.

Of course she doesn’t know what grief is, she’s a little girl walking around a world full of wonders, all she knows is innocence and curiosity, like Santi did once. And as Rocio picks her up to hold her close like she did with her little brother, she prays that she never has to know what it’s like to mourn those we love most.

#not going on the main tags because idk #I'm shy #neon welkin #rocio prieto #Also I'm a little shit that likes to be sneaky so have a picture where everyone but Rocio is 'conveniently' hidden

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fieryfafarfanfics · 5 years

Text

Childish Devotion

Honestly, one would think she would be used to magic by now.

But alas, the sight of her lover in his young teen merely left the Hoshidan princess agape like a fool.

Pretty pink eyes blinked once, twice, thrice before she shook her head until dizziness spread. “I…” Words were a wheeze at a single breath. The moment blue smoke had disappeared from her line of vision, one shock came after another before she could register her feelings properly.

Marx – one who was now in the form of a 12-year old – stared confusingly at his surroundings. Confusion turned to caution. Caution turned to fear. “Where…” His voice – a voice that was the exact opposite of his usually deep tone – broke the heavy silence. One hand nervously ruffled the ends of his golden locks. The other started to subconsciously grasp the side of his tunic.

None answered his question. But a laugh did fill in the horrifying situation.

“Oops,” was all Henry could muster.

Finally Sakura gaze snapped towards the dark mage. “‘Oops’?” she repeated, tone heavy with bafflement. “‘Oops’?!” Another wheeze popped her plump lips. She gaped at Henry, then at the nervous child, then back at the still laughing dark mage. “Excuse me?!”

“Sorry, sorry!” His laughter didn’t sound sorry. “I just—ahaha!” Once again, cackles followed suit. Out of all the magical hijinks he had done before, this one certainly amused him the most.

Unfortunately, this did not amuse the princess at all.

“Henry!” Again she snapped, face flushed to the tips, though now out of sheer anger and shock instead of embarrassment. Quickly realizing that she had her staff gripped tightly in one hand, Sakura started to lift the weapon. Disregarding the full shock in the young Marx’s eyes, the Hoshidan princess was ready to whack at the wheezing dark mage.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Finally he stopped, mouth exhaling the last bits of his laughter. “I truly am, Princess Sakura.” Wiping a single tear from his left eye, Henry stood up straight. Both hands raised to his eye level in defence. Sharp teeth bit the insides of his mouth, holding back a wider smile in hopes that he wouldn’t offend her any further.

Once she felt that Henry had truly stopped enjoying himself, she lowered her staff down. “Now…” Face still filled with crimson kisses. “About—” Eyes glanced at the shivering child next to them. “I…Please change him back.”

“Can’t do.”

Gods, he is worse than Azama, Sakura thought as she raised her staff again.

“Wait—no! What I mean is—!” Immediately Henry raised his hands again out of defence. Sliding one foot backwards, he flashed a cheeky, apologetic grin. “I can’t do it now. I don’t have the right ingredients for it!” Hands waved left and right in frantic movements. As timid as the princess was, Henry soon realized that she was just as feisty as Olivia.

Ah, his dear, sweet Olivia.

Focus, Henry! Quickly reality fell upon him. “I can change him back, but it might take a while.” Another step taken backwards. Sakura seemed like she wasn’t lowering her staff anytime soon, and Henry had already conjured up his telepathy spell in his mind.

“…How a while?”

The little spell stopped in its tracks when he heard her question.

“How…a while?” Again she repeated. Staff once again lowered to her side, Sakura took a deep, long breath. She isn’t an angry person, per say. But she does get easily flustered when things catch her off guard.

And right now, this caught her way off guard.

“Mmm, maybe a few days? Weeks?”

Strawberry pink eyes were wide as they could be at his approximation. “Weeks?!” Gods, her voice had been raising more times than usual today. “I—are the ingredients that hard to find?!”

She was amazed to see the man laughing so joyfully at this. “It is a tricky spell, so it needs trickier ingredients.” Grey eyes peeked at the young prince who was now standing a few feet away from them. Apparently, they soon realized that due to their little banter, Marx had scooted far back out of fear.

Ah, he reminded him so much of his dear son now.

“But rest assured, Princess Sakura.” Resolution now planted in his mind, Henry huffed in confidence and pride. “I’ll get those ingredients and reverse the spell!” As fun as this was, he knew he would be scolded severely by Olivia and the Summoner.

Making the Summoner angry was bad enough. Making Olivia angry was…downright devastating.

He loved seeing the dancer’s cute angry face. He hated seeing her give him the cold shoulder afterwards.

“I promise you, princess!” That fear only thickened his resolve. One hand placed on his stomach, he gave a little bow. “I’ll start collecting them immediately!” A sneaky smile curled the corners of his lips. The sight only itched doubt in her heart. “In the meantime, I supposed you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on the young prince?”

Judging by the glint in Henry’s eye, Sakura knew she had no other choice.

“I…” Once again she gazed at the Nohrian prince – who was now hiding behind a pillar. The beat of her heart quickened. Her lungs felt heavy all of a sudden.

This was not going to be easy, she feared.

But alas, with a heavy breath slipping past her mouth, Sakura groaned, “Okay…”

---

Turns out, the moment news of their eldest brother being turned into a young boy got caught by the Nohrian siblings, they accepted it…surprisingly well.

Elise was over the moon at the thought of her big brother being younger than her. She brought him around the castle and played with him as if she had found a new best friend. As startled as Marx was when he got ‘pounced’ by the youngest Nohrian princess, he adapted quite well and slowly laughed and talked to her. Granted, Elise did most of the talking and laughing, but it was soon obvious to see Marx being comfortable to be around a ray of sunshine.

He had different feelings about the other Nohrian princess, however.

The second Camilla found out about Marx’s tiny little curse, she practically squealed—whether it was in shock or joy, none of them knew even to this day. The eldest Nohrian royal practically cooed over the child like an overbearing mother. She made sure Marx ate well, slept well. It amazed everyone when Camilla gave Marx a cape she had sewn all by herself in a matter of two days. The young prince was embarrassed at best, terrified at worst. But in time – maybe due to the fact that he felt a sense of security and love from her since he knew her the longest – even he got used to Camilla’s scarily loving personality.

He sometimes hid from her when he felt too much, though.

Kamui was just as loving, albeit a bit more bearable than the eldest sister. Absolutely filled with joy that she had another younger sibling, the dragon brought Marx around, whether it was in the Askrian town market or on top of the prettiest hill. At first, Marx literally coughed himself breathlessly to know that he had a sibling who could turn into a dragon. After a few minutes of reassuring him that Kamui wasn’t dangerous – and to make him get out of his own room – Marx slowly warmed up to his bubbly temporary big sister. Though afraid of talking to people, he was proven not of afraid of heights every time Kamui took him to the skies.

Leon was the most shocked, but also the most calm. While his sisters were fawning over the timid boy, the brother seemed indifferent, even chastised his siblings for making a fool out of the poor first prince.

Well, at first at least.

It only took him a day when the Summoner found Leon and Marx reading happily in the Askrian library. Marx sat closely to the now big brother, eyes gleaming like stars over every new information from Leon. Showers of praises and compliments smoothed easily out of Marx’s mouth, and only a fool could be blinded at the sight of Leon beaming in unfiltered joy.

Even the Hoshidan royals and Azura accepted Marx’s shocking news quite well. As days passed by like a breeze, Marx was treated like a dear little brother by everyone. Ryouma showed a few Hoshidan moves to the young prince in their harmless sparring sessions. Hinoka gave Marx a few tips on how to talk to strangers. Some of her advices worked. Some – like the one where she said to talk to the Grimas for better boost of confidence – left the poor prince crying back into his room.

Azura taught Marx how to swim, though ‘taught’ was the keyword which unfortunately ended in failure. Azura didn’t know whether to be concerned or impressed at Marx’s amazing failure at floating. After lecturing Henry for a full hour, Laslow brought Marx around to talk to people as his practice buddy. Pieri taught Marx how to cook, which then sometimes resulted with Laslow snatching Marx away before the poor prince could see the creepily bubbly knight slaughter an innocent animal for a feast.

Even Takumi pitched in on the bonding. Secretly revelling on the fact that he wasn’t the only one with anxiety issues, Takumi kept Marx company whenever the young boy felt anxious. Oh how could Takumi ever forget when Marx called him ‘The Bravest and Greatest Archer’ he had ever seen. Even when the Nohrian prince would be back to normal soon, Takumi knew those words were honest from his heart.

Lastly, Siegbert was the one to accept the reality as a whole. To know that the younger version of his father had gotten even younger? It took Shinonome and Soleil to make sure that the prince didn’t jump into a well as he thought this was just some silly dream.

Like Leon, he warmed up to his father fast, though.

“Father is so cute…” Siegbert cooed quietly as he watched Marx swing a wooden sword. “I can’t believe Father used to be like…that.” Upon realizing his own actions, shame knocked the future child on the head. He knew Sakura was a timid person, so it wouldn’t be a surprise that he inherited her shy personality. He knew Marx was once a secluded child as well. But ever since he saw his father as someone so bold and intimidating when he appeared into the past, Siegbert sometimes couldn’t believe the childhood Marx went through.

Needless to say, he now did.

“Prince Siegbert!”

The squeaky voice of his father’s dropped Siegbert back to reality. “Y-Yes?” Quickly he stood up, purple eyes blinked in stupor at the child waving enthusiastically.

Marx jogged towards him, his smile sheepish and excited. “Can you…um…” Swirls of red kissed each cheek. “Can you…t-train with me?” The tip of the wooden sword tapped gently to the ground. Gaze breaking away from the tall prince, Marx started to fumble with the grip of the weapon.

Siegbert could feel an arrow pierce right through his heart at the sight.

“Sure!” His face was red as well. “I’d love to, Fa—Prince Marx!” He knew he should feel awful for treating his father like a child.

Then again, he went through so much as a child, so he decided to conclude this as his little reward.

---

It had been nearly two weeks since the spell happened. Thankfully, after getting an update from Henry, Marx would soon be back to his usual self tomorrow. Only the Gods knew how relieved Sakura felt to know that everything would be back to normal.

That was to say, she wasn’t actually unhappy about the little curse.

Shock still enveloped her. But over the past few days, Sakura adapted to Marx’s young version quite well. Maybe it was the amusement of seeing him being more flustered than her. Maybe it was the pure joy she felt to see his and her siblings bonding over his young version. Her heart warmed at such innocence that bloomed inside the Nohrian prince. While Sakura had seen Marx at his softest when he was in his actual age, to see this shy, timid boy trying his best only made her heart burst anew.

Ah, she was truly amazed to see this many sides of him.

“Um, P-Princess Sakura…?”

Reality dawned upon her at the soft voice. Pink eyes blinked back to clear vision, seeing nothing but the young prince fumbling before her. “Oh!” Back straightened nicely, a beautiful smile graced her lips. “What’s the matter, Prince Marx?”

He didn’t reply immediately.

Knowing full well how he felt, Sakura tipped her head slightly. “Is everything alright, Prince Marx?” The angelic smile never gone from her face, Sakura leaned an inch closer. “You can always talk to me, you know.”

Gods, she found it so funny that their roles had been reversed.

She saw him take a deep breath. She bit back a chuckle.

“I…” He could do this, he could do this, he chanted inwardly. “I wanted to give you…” Hands trembling behind his back, Marx puffed out another fistful of air. “I—here.” Unable to bear it any longer, his right hand swerved by his side and towards her.

Her shoulders flinched at the hand positioned in front of her face. Pupils dilated at the sight of the item in his grasp. “Oh!” Both hands clasped her gaping mouth. Gaze fixed on the flower crown, then on him, then back on the crown, Sakura clasped her fingers together in silent question.

He could do this. He could do this!

“I—for you.” Bluntly he put it, face now burned as the sun above. “I uh… I want…” A gulp slid down a suddenly dry throat. “W-Want to thank…you…for all you’ve done so far.” His right and started to shake, so he opted to hold the crown with both hands.

Unfortunately, now his whole body shook.

Her reaction was still a gape and a gaze, and this wasn’t good for the child’s heart.

“I uh—!” Purple eyes forced themselves downwards. “I…m-made it…” Vision started to split into two. “For you…”

Silence still lingered, and tears started to fill in the poor boy’s eyes—

“I—love it!”

Tears blinked into shocked oblivion at the answer.

Quickly he directed his attention at her. It wasn’t a mistake; that was absolute joy in her sparkling eyes.

“Oh wow!” Left fingers tracing over her lower lip, Sakura emitted another gleeful giggle. “This is amazing, Marx!” Truly she was in awe. Though Marx had done some many things for her when he was in his actual age, not once had he stitched and gifted her a flower crown before.

She was absolutely grateful at everything he had done for her in the past, of course, but this took the cake.

To see such beauty radiating from her. To witness such bliss overflowing from the breath-taking princess, Marx couldn’t help the growing, shaking smile. “R-Really?”

A nod was given. “Really!” Laughter was melody in his ears. “I love it so much, Prince Marx!”

Ah, to feel his heart bursting from his chest.

“Then…” His nerves started to act up again at the thought of his next actions. “If it’s okay with you, can I…can I wear it on you?”

Even in this age, Marx truly knew how to take her breath away.

“Oh!” was all she mustered. “O-Oh!” was all she flustered before nodding again, this time quite quickly than usual.

The two now a blushing mess, Sakura leaned a bit down. Utterly ecstatic that this was truly happening, Marx held a breath before stepping one foot forward. He gingerly placed the flower crown atop her head. As swift as lightning he stepped back, breath then taken out of his lungs to see his gift on her.

God, she truly was an angel.

Mildly unaware of his admiration over her, Sakura traced her fingers towards the pink and purple petals. “It’s lovely…” Her voice softened, laced with love and delight at the darling gift. Unable to bring herself to look at him for a moment – Gods, she felt silly – Sakura cupped her warm cheek.

“Um, Princess Sakura…”

For a moment, she could hear his deep, warm voice.

Patting herself back to reality, she looked at the still fumbling prince. Gods, he’s adorable. No matter which version he was, he would always be adorable in her eyes.

Without waiting for her verbal response, Marx exhaled quickly through an open mouth. “I—the crown is more than a gift.”

Oh?

Confusion was obvious in her expression. Marx knew there was no turning back. So remembering every single advice from Hinoka, Laslow, and Takumi, the young prince braved himself and looked into the eyes of an angel.

“The…The crown is a promise!” he exclaimed nervously. “I—w-when I get older, I want to marry you, Princess Sakura!”

Well, no matter what age Marx was, he definitely knew how to knock the wind out of her lungs.

Shock was obvious now, and he didn’t stop. “Please wait for me! I’ll p-prove—” Damn it! “—to you that I will be the bravest, strongest prince for you!” Both hands curled to little fists. “I’m going to protect you and my brother and sisters! I want you to be my princess when that time comes! Just you watch!”

In all honesty, what would Sakura say in this situation? Would she laugh? Cry? Hide behind a pillar? Though their feelings were mutual and Marx technically had proposed in the past, to hear such innocent exuberance truly left her at wit’s end.

Minutes felt like hours, and before Marx could think about running away himself, he instead froze in place to see such a mesmerizing smile.

A laugh followed suit, and this made his heart race faster.

“Alright…” Pink lips pursed tightly. Face now as red as Hinoka’s hair. Trembling fingers cupped together on her lap. Adorable giggles bubbled like songs in the air. “I’ll wait then…”

To hear his vow being returned in kind, Marx felt like jumping in the air.

---

Now he felt like hiding in the earth.

The day after his little proposal, Henry finally finished the spell and turned him back to normal. Everyone was collectively relieved, just as they were collectively disappointed. The Nohrian siblings openly declared how they missed cooing over their ‘little’ brother. The Hoshidan siblings now used the little incident as either blackmail or a form of tease in order to see Marx fluster.

But nothing could make him agitate even more than his situation with Sakura.

Because the only side-effect of the spell, the second he transformed back into adult, was that he remembered everything.

It didn’t help that Sakura started wearing that flower crown whenever he saw her.

“Hello, dear!”

Her voice was soft, bubbly, always beaming with love she had for him. But for the moment, her voice was also the reason he couldn’t face her properly without dying in unbearable shame.

“H-Hello…” Purple eyes twitching at the need to glance at her, Marx instead just opted to slap his face shut with both hands. “Hello, my love…”

Sakura knew she was a bit mean to be doing this to him. She knew Marx should deserve a break, at least from her of all people.

But hey, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; it was never so often to see her beloved being completely embarrassed. It was cute.

Palms cupped together and placed on her trembling smile, she stood before him. “Is something wrong, my bravest and strongest prince?” She held back a giggle to hear a loud, stifled groan.

“Very funny, my queen…”

Giggles turned into laughter.

He was cute indeed.

END

#Sakura #Xander #Sakumarx #Fire Emblem Fates #Fire Emblem #Fire Emblem Heroes #heloo everyone!!!#2019 fic starter!!#and its a sakumarx fic woo!!!#I DID IT!! 3K FIC WOOHOOO #siegbert #henry #i only tag the ones w dialogues #also a bit of henlivia hehehhe #oneshot

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