#and wields a rather familiar sword

[druidonity2]

Combining "What if Anduin embraced shadow and Shadowreaper became canon in WoW" and "What if Anduin ran away to become a pirate under the name Jerek".

[rodolfoparras]

Say something stupid (like I love you)

Pairing: Male character x Top Male reader

Cw: 18+, non human yandere character, human yandere reader, stalking, obsessing, possessiveness, masturbation, bondage, blood play, spit play, non consensual voyeurism, dubious consent, dom male reader, sub male character

Synopis: After spending so many years looking for the right one for him, he finally finds you or you find him…

When he first met you he hadn’t intended to fall in love, matter of fact he’d long given up on the concept solely because his partners rarely viewed love and relationships in the same way that he did.

Sure they’ve gotten jealous over him but never did they get possessive like he did.

Sure they’ve loved him but never did they get obsessed like he did.

Sure he’d been in committed relationships but never did they allow him to claim them properly.

And because of that he always broke up with them.

It’s love, he tried to explain, the all consuming type that has you tapping into your deepest darkest desires.

His previous lovers didn’t understand it, no one seemed to do, until he met you.

He had observed you through the shadows at first, not wanting to scare you away before he’d even gotten the chance to say hello.

He’d watch you practice in the garden. You were rather skilled with the sword but there were still weak spots in your swordsmanship, windows of opportunity where someone could come and harm you.

From then on he decided that he’d do everything in his power to prevent you from getting hurt, even if that meant secretly watching you from bushes and trees while you practiced with your sword.

He’d sometimes watch you take short walks to town. You didn’t seem to care whether it was day or night, seemingly determined as ever to finish whatever errand you had in mind. But he cared because sure while you knew how to wield a sword, the world you lived in was very unpredictable. You shouldn’t roam around alone so of course he followed wherever you decided to go.

He’d even watch you sleep until dusk turned into dawn through the window you always forget to close. Sometimes you couldn’t fall asleep for whatever reason, so you’d lay in bed, body bare and on full display lazily stroking your dick, grunts and groans tumbling past your lips, as you steadily worked yourself towards your release.

He tried not to look, it would be rather improper of him. He’d instead trail his gaze around your surroundings to make sure no one was watching, no one else but him.

You never noticed him or maybe you did because sometimes you’d throw a look over your shoulder while practicing with your sword as if you could feel someone watching you.

And sometimes you’d take one too many unnecessary trips to town, each time taking a new and unfamiliar path as if wanting to keep him on his toes somehow.

And sometimes while pleasuring yourself, you’d gaze into the open window, right in the spot where he usually hides himself, eyes searching the dark as if you were looking for something or rather someone, as if you were looking for him.

However the most notable thing was that you never seemed to fear him, at least not from what he could see.

There were no goosebumps rising upon your skin whenever you thought someone was watching you at practice, no pulse wildly beating under your skin when he was following you closely, no shaking limbs except for when you inched closer to your release.

He was intrigued.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and soon enough he decided to make himself known.

When he’d stepped out of the shadows and into the light he’d been intrigued with how much more beautiful you were up close but he’d been more intrigued with how familiar you seemed to be with him.

You didn’t lunge him down to the ground, didn’t bring your sword to his throat, didn’t even try to walk away when he came up to you.

Instead you said his name with a soft smile on your face, pronouncing the string of letters as if you were rather familiar with them, as if you were familiar with him. How you’d found that out, he had no idea.

He was used to an air of caution surrounding his conquests, the other party needing some time before they warmed up to him, maybe two or three dates before they allowed him to steal a kiss but there was no need for that with you.

There was no need for it when you were the one to pull him in for a kiss, a yelp of surprise turning into whimpers and whines, steadily licking into his mouth as if trying to erase any trace of previous conquests, sucking on his tongue and biting on his lips as if trying to devour him, before breaking apart, a string of blood and spit connecting you to him

At that point his conquests usually try to run away. They see the wild look in his eyes, the blood smeared around his mouth and run for the hills.

Instead it seems like you’re trying to prevent him from running away, one hand keeping a vice like grip on his throat, thumb pressing down on his Adam apples til his ears ring and world blurs while the other hand blindly fumbles for the cleft of his ass, fingers brushing over his clothed entrance.

He’d never managed to go as far as to get his conquests into bed yet here you were tying his limbs to the bed posters, using a bit of pre to stretch the tight ring of muscles before sinking into his warm wet heat like you owed it, uncaring of the way he winces and hisses as you set a steady pace with your hips, solely focusing on your pleasure.

You keep your gaze glued to his, like he’d done with you for so many weeks, eyes wide and frantic as if someone would steal him away from you, taking in the tears trickling down his cheeks, the way spit is dribbling down his chin, the way his cock is uselessly slaps against his abdomen while you frantically thrust into him.

And when he thought it was time to leave, feeling absolutely spent and wrung dry, nothing but pathetic spurts of cum spilling from his cock,you had stopped him before he could even get up.

This time you lunged at him, still naked as ever, your hard cock pressing against his thigh while pushing the sharp blade of a knife up against his jugglar.

Right then and there he knew that he loved you

and he knew that you loved him too.

[faeryarchives]

heartslabyul with a furina-like female reader! the "regina of all waters, kindreds, peoples and laws" is deeply loved by all. under her flamboyant and imprudent facade, lies a girl holding an unbearable weight and guilt on her shoulders to save her people. note: contains major spoilers about fontaine story quests (you have been warned) !! furina - like female reader series: savanaclaw recent fics: you feel like home & octavinelle with a fischl like female reader! & i'm not jealous !! (savanaclaw x gn!reader)

-‘๑’- riddle rosehearts

"who are you people? and why are you all dressed suspiciously? no, don't come near me, i am warning you!" "calm dow- where did these water familiars came from?!" "stay back i said!"

riddle was taken aback by your sudden behavior and your ability to wield a sword as well as commanding your familiar like it's your second nature! but weapons are still not allowed on school grounds 🤬

after the incident, riddle thought he wouldn't interact with you again when somehow manage your way to the dorm and stepped in when he was about to collar his dorm mates

"i don't think it's appropriate for you to chain your subjects like prisoners, mr. riddle. that is not a proper way of to rule." "don't stand in my way, what do you know about ruling?!" "... you have no idea."

and you proved him so wrong after overhearing your conversation with your heartslabyul friends. it's not like he intended to eavesdrop but it just happened that he was passing by

"after 500 years of acting on stage - i am finally free to live as a normal human again without the need to act as a strong and more god-like version of myself. but the problem is, i don't know where to start."

riddle made it his mission to always make you feel welcomed in the heartslabyul dorm and gradually became close friends with you

who knew that the two of you are similar to each other? from ruling over a community to having tea parties and your love for sweets

"riddle, you can enjoy sweets as much as you want. you dont need to follow such suffocating rules." "...what a pleasant surprise, truly an extra slice of joy."

believe it when i say he is very fond of your salon members and even went out his way to always give them a proper greeting and send them invitations for the unbirthday parties.

it was like he is healing his inner child along with you + very comfortable to the point that he doesn't even hesitate to ask you for advice 🫡 rather than an older sister you were like his twin

-‘๑’- trey clover

it is bad to have favoritism but trey clover took the cake immediately after watching him bake the most delicious cake you ever tasted

sorry to all fontaine patissier or fontaine in general but maybe you might as well stay in this world ... kidding 🧍🏻‍♀️

out of everyone you met, trey's firs impression was the second best (kalim being first for obvious reasons) he was like your dear friend who adores tea time but more laid back verion of them

"what a rich aroma and delicate texture... i didn't expect you to be such an accomplished cook... with refined taste, as well!" "a compliment from the regina herself is such a worthy praise for someone like me." "nonsense, trey! you are the best one out there!"

with curiosity getting the best of you, you always try to help out during the unbirthday parties and learn how to cook and bake from the vice dorm leader

... after all having pasta everyday is not very healthy 😭

listens to your rambles about the novels you've read befora and suggests you some that he have on hand! at this point he might as well be your guardian angel

despite being smaller than most of the student at nrc - you shocked the whole heartslabyul group after fighting off the known bully group of seniors trying to scare some freshmen

"now go along and never show your faces to me again. capiche?" "woah, i thought you said you are not used to battling!" "mmm, i did. but it's different from my abilities, no?"

you were the opposite of trey, rather than being embarrassed, you know your strengths and weaknesses and use it to your advantage

"trey, don't tell me you are just an ordinary person, you liar. you can't fool me with your downplaying talk!"

he can't fool you with that but trey pulls some harmless pranks on you by tricking you in putting a different recipe in the pie orsomething

he learned his lesson after you really followed his instructions and became the first victim to his own prank

you always seem to pride yourself as a strong and capable woman and how despite everything you are going through you always go for it headstrong

"now look at you, getting sick. i told you not to overwork yourself right?" "mmm, sorry big brother..."

did you just say 🥺 older 🥺 brother? after that he wears that title like a cape everyday and even brags it to cater 😭

-‘๑’- cater diamond

oh cater absolutely adores you the moment he saw your outfit because it is so well made?! 🫨 not only that - you were like giving the total celebrity vibes

"you have an eye for discerning people! yes, i am once the most beloved star of my country... but that time already came to an end."

sometimes while he tags along whenever you, grim and the adeuce duo hangs out - he always had this feeling that you are staring deep into his soul 👁️👁️

as much as he puts up his usual cheerful facade to fool you, it was like arguing up to a wall and you finally pointed it out one day during your tea parties

"you know, you don't have to force yourself to eat sweets. i cooked some habanero pepper cream pasta earlier with

you might as well become his favorite underclassman 🥺

no wonder you were able to read him so well because you revealed that some how seeing him act in such way reminds him of yourself in the past

"sometimes acting for so long can make you wonder if people can really see through you or was it all fake." "but that is how it is right? how can other people know us when we don't even know ourselves?"

anyways! every now and then, cater would appear right on your doorsteps with small clothes and hats in shopping bags to give it to the salon members

it was funny to see your salon members have a new member and they treat him like their own son 😭🤍

as much as he want to tease you sometimes - he try not to over do it after seeing you let the salon trio chase after ace and grim all over the maze with threatening looks in their eyes.

"wow, mademoiselle crabaletta looks so energetic when she got to hit ace at the back of his head." "well, ace did pissed her off by playing rock paper scissors with her." "... did she win?" "i don't know, you tell me big brother cater."

... he will never let it down after owning his title as your big brother 😭 get ready to receive random gifts every now and then because this big brother cater is ready to spoil you to rotten

-‘๑’- ace trappola

having to get sprayed and hit by multiple bubbles in the face was certainly not on ace's list 😭 remind him to never play rock paper scissors with mademoiselle crabaletta ever again

he really like to be your friend genuinely 🙏 not that you mind though because ace is fun to talk too + you were able to adapt and learn about this world thanks to him, deuce and grim

but sometimes, he can be a little too reckless in roping you in trouble

"woah! (name) put mr seahorse down and let's talk about this!" "oh so you prefer my sword instead?" "it was just a harmless prank!" "then why is there an anemone on grim's head, again?!"

after you were comfortable enough to tell your story - ace thought he was actually dreaming because how did you stay sane after that 500 years?!

will ask you to help him with his studies and practicing magic + probably thought you were clueless but after years of searching every nook and nanny in your nation's library, you were like a walking dictionary

"how come you get a higher score than me in animal languages?!" "i was wondering how on teyvat did you get a lower score than me?"

omg you traitor 👩🏻‍⚖️

your number one buddy with midnight snacks + everytime he would sneak out of the dorm he always bring some sweets as a bribe to let him stay

there are times that you always fool ace by acting especially in front ofriddle when he accidentally dropped your cake in accident

despite the shenanigans between you two, he always trusts you to have his back

"(nickname) cover for me!" "alright! let the world come alive, hehe!"

whenever the salon members feel silly, they will go and chase after him and you just let them be - even they shower him with love in unexpected ways.

"recently, i've been wondering if Iife been a little too hard on myself in the past. i never got the chance to enjoy my life." "then let's go grab cater-senpai and go shopping!"

he will not let you experience such loneliness again! not when he is one of your first friend here in wonderland.

-‘๑’- deuce spade

opposite to ace, he is mademoiselle crabaletta's favorite for some reason or even the whole salon members are fond of him !

while he is more on the less troublesome side - he still make some troubles but you can see how much he was trying to not get you involve in it 😭

"deuce, you could've just told me earlier about this..." "i'm sorry, i don't want you to get involve again." "you are really a jester. we are friends! how can i not help you when you are facing problems?"

just as you listen to his problems, you were surprised that deuce is a great listener 😮 its not sarcasm !!

it first came to you during the octavinelle incident when deuce found you crying behind the ramshackle down, hugging your knees and being surrounded by your salon members, trying to calm you down

"i still couldn't do it... i do not belong in this world now i don't even have a place to stay..." "(name)..." "d-don't look at me like this! just give me a second." "no it's okay, let it out. i am so sorry for putting the pressure on you."

the sweetest guy??? ever??? he will try to include you in discussions about this world itself and wouldn't let you feel out of place

you even found him taking down notes whenever you get the chance to talk about your nation and people

"you have a dragon as a friend?!" "yea, don't let the dragon title fool you though. he is very kind but all he eats and drink is water every break time."

while ace had your back, deuce got your sides covered + knows fully how capable of being the front liner

"how dare you!?" "ah, (nickname) don't go to far!" "... remind me to never mess with her again."

remember the phantom back in the mines? you encountered one again and after it made one of your salon members disappear - the trio watch you literally annihilate the monster

seeing you all impatient and having a childlike temper made him laugh because you weren't so different from them after all

but please do not rush in battle so suddenly, you might as well give him a heart attack 😵

don't tell the others but deuce really looks up to you as an admirable person + not only you were able to endure everything for a long time, you still have the heart to forgive everyone who doubted you.

"do you know that you are really a respectable friend?" "...? oh my god, did you eat mushrooms for breakfast again?" "i'm serious!" "oh is that so? well i am proud of you. don't you know you improved a lot too?"

it's 7 am in the morning are you trying to make him cry? 🥹

having you with him during his high school life is an unexpected but wonderful experience - learning other things together + being interested in the same things? he had never felt such comfort before

deuce just hope that even though he and ace are seen as troublemakers, you won't hesitate to let your walls come down when times get rough 🫂

[annwrites]

one in the same. part three.

— pairing: otto hightower x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: otto follows you to a private spot of yours, you have a heated interaction in the royal gardens after, and then are sent an invitation to join him for dinner that evening.

— tw: eating

— word count: 3,173

— a/n: the food i have them eat (minus the duck) is in the a feast of ice & fire cookbook as dishes served in the south/kl.

You had left a trail of evidence behind you the day previous when you had finally entered the Red Keep after being absent all afternoon.

Otto had watched far afar as you traipsed through the hall with a soft smile on your face, your skirts soaked at the bottom, droplets of water following you upstairs and to your chambers. Even your curls had been wind-blown and wild, your skin flushed from the sun of the day.

He had been rather disappointed in you, then.

He'd wanted to believe it, simply so you would be one less thing set upon his metaphorical plate: that you could be trusted when left to your own devices. He'd lessened the volume of those he had watching you over the years as you grew older. It seemed that womanhood suited you—maturity came to you easily; responsibility. He'd thought you to be trusted.

Now, he considers, perhaps those beliefs had been misguided.

And so, today, he had followed you—from a distance—out of the Keep, through the gardens, and down a rocky embankment to where you finally slipped off your shoes and waded into the warm, clear water, turning your face upward, towards the sun, as your eyes fluttering closed.

He had leaned against a nearby tree, watching you, waiting, hand resting upon the pommel of his sword—ready to be wielded at a moment's notice.

But, as the minutes passed, you began to walk through the wet sand, bending down, grabbing a shell, studying it, then dropping it before repeating the action again, eventually showing interest in a nearby fish swimming beneath the calm current.

And then he wonders for how long you have been repeating this routine of daily escape. Wonders how no one else has ever noticed you slipping away at the height of day all on your lonesome with not a soul to protect or guard you.

How he is the only one to have taken note of it.

Finally, he clears his throat. "What, precisely, is it, which you are doing?"

You jump in surprise, swiftly turning round to the familiar voice behind you.

You cross your arms, displeased that your new hiding spot has been discovered. "What does it look like?"

"It looks like you are ruining your gown."

You shrug. "I have others."

He steps closer to the shoreline. "You are making a spectacle of yourself."

You glance around, then back to him. "To the seagulls?"

He rolls his eyes. "I thought that perhaps you were meeting someone here. Someone...untoward."

You frown. "So you came to spy on me." You sigh. "I come here to be alone. And not be cooped up inside all day."

"The gardens are perfectly suitable for—"

You reach down, splashing water in his direction and he steps back. "Young lady—"

"Old man," you quickly reply, your lip twitching.

"You will stop this behavior at once."

You raise a brow. "Is that a command?"

He folds his arms behind his back. "An order, yes."

You shrug. "I don't take orders from you."

He holds out his hand. "Come, so I may escort you back inside. It's not safe for you here, all alone."

You pick up a shell from under the water. "I have you here now, don't I?"

You glance to his sword, then to him. "You do know how to use it, yes?"

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. "You are being quite mischievous today, which my tolerance is running low for."

You turn back around. "Then leave me to my own devices. As I stated, I come here to enjoy my own company," you state flatly.

You grow quiet then, picking up another shell, unnerved by the feeling of him just standing there, watching you.

You speak again then, quietly. "How could you suspect such things of me? After all these years, you should know me better than most. I would surmise as much, at least."

He sighs. "Forgive me, My Lady." He watches as the soft, sheer fabric of your light-blue gown sways in the water around your feet.

"Why does it matter so to you what I do, where I go, who I hold company with?" You turn around.

He chews the inside of his cheek. "As Hand of the King, it is my duty to—"

You roll your eyes, uninterested in hearing polished excuses.

You are both silent, only the sound of birds and lapping water and waves breaking the stillness of the day, until he steps closer once again. "Someone must look after you, Y/N."

"I am doing quite well on my own. Thank you."

He most-certainly knows otherwise; simply by the daily sight of your previously slim frame growing thinner day-by-day. At times, dark circles underneath your tired eyes from lack of rest.

He is then briefly tempted to tell you just how far he's gone for your safety and well-being before, but refrains. Such as the story of your nightguard from a handful of years ago.

It had been the comments he had made, which had been overheard by a passing maid, which had stoked Otto's ire. He had 'jested' about how he wished one night you would finally ask to hold audience with him in the dark of your chambers.

Otto had had his tongue ripped out with hot pincers, and then he had been summarily executed the next morn for the inexcusable offense.

He had explained to your father that it had been due to his no longer being able to be entrusted with not just your safety, but also your virtue, which was, of course, true. But it had been more than that.

It had filled him, personally, with cold contempt, to be made aware of such vulgar utterances being made toward you. He could not let such a crime go with only a simple warning.

He had then appointed one of his own personal guards to stand watch outside your door from the next night forward, able to sleep easy then, knowing you were being well looked-after.

He steps closer, wading into the water himself—thankful his boots keep the substance out as he reaches for you. His fingers slip beneath your sleeve, which has slid from your shoulder, easing it back into place, before his hand comes to rest once more at his side.

You stare up at him, mind now utterly vacant.

He offers you his arm. "Shall we?"

The two of you walk slowly through the royal gardens—the feel of your arms wrapped around his own—the soft fabric of his tunic beneath your fingers quite...unusual.

Before the day of Queen Aemma's funeral, the two of you had never touched before. Had stopped so much as looking in one another's general direction as the years went on, and your disdain for each other grew to unimaginable levels.

Now...you are unsure how you think or feel about him. At least slight annoyance toward the continual spying. Then there was also the fact that he had always kept a firm hand in your life throughout the years, with your father's consent, of course... All because of the circumstances of your birth, which had been totally out of your control.

You think, occasionally, he would've been far more pleased had you been stillborn, or never conceived at all.

Then again, sometimes you feel the same in return. At the very least, wishing he'd return to Oldtown.

You look up to him, watching as his long strands of brown hair flit carelessly in the wind, considering.

"Why the sudden change?"

He raises a brow, glancing down to you, then back ahead. "You will need to elaborate, Y/N."

"Your sudden interest in me. Rather, our frequent interactions as of late, initiated by you."

He guides you over to a marble bench, and he leans back against it.

You rest your hands in your lap.

He stares ahead, at a bush of yellow roses. "I did not initiate the interaction in the library," he states, looking at you.

You cross your ankles. "The Sept."

He's quiet for awhile, observing the people which pass the two of you, their eyes filled with mild curiosity at the sight of such an enigmatic man out and about in the gardens for a day. "You were not eating."

Your brows furrow. "What?"

"I was informed of as much by your maid. Practically starving yourself out of grief. Not sleeping, crying at all hours. And yet you did not speak to anyone of your...suffering. Nor do you ever."

He folds his hands. "And then during the Queen's service, you stood off to the side. All alone. I...feared, perhaps, that I had created such circumstances for you. Alienated you from so many. It grieved me to think of myself as being the one responsible for your pain. I suppose lending an ear for an hour was my way of trying to remedy the situation."

You turn away, also facing forward, frowning. "You think spending an hour with me is enough to mend the damage you have done over a period of years?"

"Hardly."

"So, it was not about me at all, then. It was about your guilt. I'm astonished you feel such an emotion to begin with."

He opens his mouth to reply, but you cut him short.

"You wish to right past wrongs?" You turn toward him once again. "Leave me be. Stop having me spied on and followed—by you or anyone else. I have more than proved myself to be...good-natured and...and well-behaved. And yet you—it's almost as if you want me to make a mistake, so that you might mete out my punishment."

You stand then, suddenly enraged, no longer caring about his 'good intentions', if that is what he indeed thinks of them as.

"All I have ever desired is to be left alone. By everyone. Most of all you. So, if you are agreeable in granting me this, then, I will, in return, afford you my forgiveness—not that I think you truly care whether you have it either way. But, if that is what it takes for me to finally be rid of you, then you are welcome to it."

Your hands are balled into small fists at your sides now, your body leaned in toward his, shoulders rapidly rising and falling as you scowl at him.

Meanwhile, he stares up at you, seemingly at-ease—at least from the outside—which only serves to anger you further.

He stands then as well, towering over you, and you know he is doing it on purpose—trying to demean you; make you feel small and powerless. The way he has always made you feel.

He rests his arms behind his back, looking down his nose at you—smug prick. "I bid you good day, My Lady."

He steps away then, leaving you fuming.

You pace around your room, still seething, with half-a-mind to break something. But, you're sure if you were to do as much, whatever servant that cleans it up will report the destroyed item back to him, and he will then fill with satisfaction at having gotten such a reaction out of you, due to the very lack of his own.

So, you instead walk over to your bed, grab a pillow, then bury your face in it and scream.

Controlling arsehole. You wonder how Alicent can stand it: having him for a father. How did his wife ever tolerate him? Spending just an afternoon in his company has already driven you to the brink of madness—and with him having said so little, at that.

He is rather adept at it: knowing just how to get under your skin, isn't he?

You flop back on your mattress, staring up at the canopy. Even at a distance, he is still always with you. Buried inside your head.

You eventually groan in frustration, closing your eyes.

"My Lady?"

Your brows furrow and you shove your face into your pillow, moaning in response to being woken.

"My Lady, you have a letter."

You peek one eye open slowly, then sit up, yawning. "Hm?"

You stare at your handmaid in confusion and gently take the piece of stationary from the silver tray resting upon her hand. "Thank you, Lya."

She nods, smiling softly before exiting your chambers.

You roll your eyes in irritation when you see the wax seal stamped upon the correspondence: the Hightower heraldry. You sigh, breaking it open, and are greeted with one line, only a handful of words: We shall speak further over dinner tonight. —Otto

You roll your eyes, crumpling the piece of parchment into a ball, and toss it across the room while falling back onto your featherbed. The nerve. Not to even ask, but, rather, tell you where you will be dining this evening.

You resolve to stay in your chambers. After all, what can he really do if you refuse to join him? Send guards to drag you out and to his room instead, all while you scream and thrash like a shadowcat in their grip?

You roll your head to the side, looking out the open doors which lead onto your room's balcony and sigh at the sight of the setting sun.

You won't.

You aren't going.

Absolutely not.

There is a knock at Otto's door—an expected one—to which he replies simply, "come".

His guard announces a predicted presence, to which he consents to having join him.

It's once the doors have shut that you speak.

"What do you want?" You spit, staring at him from across the room, quickly taking in your surroundings.

You've never seen his chambers before. You had imagined them being far tidier, in fact. Instead, the settee to your left has cloaks and trousers throw haphazardly over the back of it, various tools set upon the mantle over the hearth. His bed, to your right, is unmade, the sheets a mess, and next to it is his disaster of a work desk.

Similar to your room, there is a twin set of doors that he stands near—currently closed—which open onto a balcony; one curtain drawn back, the other hanging loosely.

He rolls his eyes. "Not a very polite greeting."

"It is in response to a not-so-polite demand for my presence."

He looks up from the book in his grip. "It was not a demand, it was a request."

You take a step forward. "It was not worded as such, which I'm sure you are well-aware of. However, if it was only a request, then, perhaps, I shall take my leave."

You go to turn, but pause when you hear his reading material slam shut.

"Are we truly going to spend all evening arguing?"

You turn slightly back to him. "As I said, I can leave."

He comes to you, looking down, while you bend your neck to look up, meeting his green gaze. "Must you always be so difficult?"

You fold your arms behind you, mimicking his posture. "What was it you said the other day? Something about us being one-in-the-same, in regards to our lack of faith. I think, now, perhaps, we are similar in our difficult dispositions as well."

You narrow your eyes. "You grate on my nerves, Ser."

He steps away from you, seating himself at his dining table. "Likewise."

Arrogant—

"Are you going to join me, then, or simply stand there and watch?"

You sigh in exasperation, seating yourself heavily across from him.

He begins to serve you first, roast duck and a bowl of leek soup, with corn fritters and black bread, and then himself.

You're not entirely surprised that he doesn't have his servants doing everything for him—he has always been a rather private man. If he did, however, you're sure his room would be in far better standing.

You slice through the tender meat before you, taking a bite, and it's only after your third one that you notice he's watching you—observing—not having taken a single bite of his own meal.

You swallow. "What?"

He picks up his cutlery, not replying—simply content to see you eating once again.

You dab at your lips with your napkin. "What are we meant to be speaking further about, again?"

He pours you a small glass of wine, then sets the decanter down before looking to you, over the candle settled in the middle of the table.

"You have a misconception that it is your forgiveness which I desire."

You grip your knife more tightly, which he takes note of, but does not let unsettle him. He could have you pinned to the table at a moment's notice if you tried it. He may be old, but not weak.

"No?" You ask, staring him down.

He leans back, taking a sip from his goblet. "Perhaps it is merely your company."

Your grip loosens, expression now blank. You blink at him.

He takes a bite from his bread then, picking up a scroll from the small table set next to him, reading it over.

You look down to your plate, pushing your food around. "Why?" You ask quietly.

He doesn't look to you when he replies. "I fail to see how it can be any cause of harm if the two of us try to come to an...understanding."

Your eyes meet his then.

"I understand your apprehension to trust me by any measure. After all you have endured by my hand."

He sighs, leaning forward, folding his hands atop the table. "But I see you, withering away. More-so now than ever before, after Aemma's passing. As Hand of the King—as I tried to tell you earlier today, before I was interrupted—it is part of my duty to look after the welfare of not just the Realm, but the royal line. And that includes you. I fear you one day slipping away. And I mean that literally, as well as in a metaphorical sense."

You grab your glass, simply so you have something to occupy your hands. "I would never harm myself."

"Have you not already, simply by refusing to eat?"

Your head jerks up. That...that was why he had invited you to dinner? You could not be trusted to sup on your own. This way he would be in control of it, too.

You swallow down the lump in your throat. He doesn't care. No. Not truly.

It isn't about you, per se, but, rather, the King's daughter. If you 'slipped away', as he so delicately put it, it would leave the crown one less piece of cattle to sell off and breed when the time comes for such things to occur.

"What do you want from me, Otto?"

"Merely your company, until I can trust you in being solely in your own once again."

You slowly twirl your glass, which you hold over your lap. "And how long will that take?"

He shrugs, picking up his knife and fork again. "That is entirely up to you."

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Fate and Mercy and Dead Girls

Summary: Sometimes, when things go very wrong, the Chosen One gets a wish. That’s where Danielle comes in. (Tagged with Blood, violence, child death)

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

Danielle is cursed.

This battlefield is nice. It’s early afternoon and the breeze that comes from the forest to the east is sweet. The fighting has only just begun and the scent of blood is still hovering at the edge of her senses. It hasn’t erased the taste of the dead girl’s last meal – bread sweetened with honey – yet. She’s used to storm clouds the size of mountains roiling overhead, the electric sting of lightning against her skin, the crash of blades against armor and arrows against shields. The sun is warm and honey-sweet against her cheek and there’s no fighting going on right now. There’s only the low murmur of voices from all around and some muffled sobbing.

If she weren’t waking up in the body of a dead girl, she’d call it picnic weather.

Time to pay attention.

“—Chosen One is dead,” a man says. His voice matches the weather more than the situation. Calm. Even. Gentle. A wave lapping at the shore before the tsunami. She can feel his aura undulating through the ground, dark and demanding. Demon King? Mad Emperor? Dark Lord? One of those types. He projects his words over the renewed sobbing. “Do you see your folly now, honorable knights? The wasted months of defiance? You were never going to defeat my army even with years and seven fabled soldiers at your mercy rather than the one. Here, the day of your final rebellion, your Hero lies dead after only one volley.”

Hero. Danielle is cursed, she shouldn’t be feeling pity for anyone but herself. But there it is, the familiar bile in the back of her throat, the prickling of her eyes, the tightening in her chest. This dead girl was their Hero. They made her their Chosen One. From the feel of it, they didn’t school in her magic or train her in swordsmanship. Her muscles are burning from death, yes, but also from overexertion.

What do you want? Danielle asks. All of the right systems are under her control now. The ground is cold against her back, the girl’s tiny curls a tickle against her face. The air is sweet underneath the scent of a dying blow and she can hear the conversations around her clearly. The Dark Lord is still gloating, giving the knights their time to mourn and his own forces time to ready the next attack. Sweetheart, what do you want?

The girl’s soul shudders. I-I’m not dead?

The arrow pierced your heart. You’re dead.

A dizzying swirl of emotions cloud the girl’s next words. Grief-sorrow-panic-relief-fury-horror. Danielle has to reinforce her barrier between her soul and the girl’s to avoid being swept away by it all. All of the dead girls Danielle is called to are strong, and this one is no different. Danielle can’t hear her clearly over the roar of her emotions, but this one is talking very quickly.

…live…wanted to…please…save…

Danielle peeks out from under her eyelashes. It’s bright for a battlefield, but there’s a familiar red staining the ground as far as she can see. The armored feet of both sides’ soldiers are about thirty feet away, a hazy barrier of magic holding them apart.

“Let down this barrier!” Knight David screams. The girl’s knowledge flows into Danielle’s mind like a spring. He’s the head of the kingdom’s number one knight squad, a former S-rank adventurer, and a mentor to the Hero. He bangs the hilt his sword against the Dark Lord’s barrier. It crackles under the assault and doesn’t break. Knight David swears. “You’ll die for what you did! She was just a little girl!”

Another memory: Knight David didn’t think of her as a little girl. He gave her a woman’s sword that took her a month to learn how to lift, much less wield. He told her he had faith in her. He told her she could do it. When she asked how, he pushed a curl behind her ear and told her victory was fated.

The Dark Lord laughs, the sound like the tide retreating into the sea. “Is the kingdom so hard-pressed for soldiers they bring children to the battlefield?”

“She was Chosen,” Knight David says. There are genuine tears in his voice. “Nobody wanted that for her. Nobody.”

“She was nobody,” the Dark Lord says. The magic barrier trembles and he smirks. “Just as you’re about to be.”

Knight David’s magic sets his sword ablaze. “You’ll pay for this.”

The demons chitter behind the Dark Lord, straining against his commands. They want blood. They want to attack. They saw the Hero fall and they’re emboldened by her death. They’ll tear the humans apart.

In contrast, Knight David’s forces aren’t so sure. Knight David’s teeth gnash and he swears at the Dark Lord, but his men look from her body to each other. It was so quick. So fast. Did they demons hold greater power than they were told to kill a Chosen One so quickly?

“Prepare yourselves,” the Dark Lord says. The barrier fades.

“To the death,” Knight David swears.

Danielle presses again. They’re running out of time. What do you want?

Save them.

The words roar through Danielle’s temporary body. Save them. Her magic ignites like coal in a furnace and she gasps, steam escaping from her lips as a dead girl’s heart restarts.

“W-what?” someone whispers.

Danielle opens her eyes.

It’s not a very big war. There are maybe thirty combatants on the side of the Kingdom. She assumed from the girl’s memories that they’d all be knights, but there are adventurers mixed in among them as well as the occasional wizard. They’re all kitted out in the colors of the Kingdom though. Armor painted with the Royal family’s crest, bandanas with the fallen star motif embroidered on, red tassels on their weapons. Maybe they don’t have the Kingdom’s army behind them, but they have the King’s favor.

The Dark Lord is the only one who’s managed to keep his mouth shut after her sudden resurrection. His side is comprised of dark wizards in tattered robes and nearly a hundred demons. Danielle can see wolves the size of horses, goblins with wooden clubs, and vampires hiding in the tree line.  It looks impressive, but the girl’s memories tell Danielle a different story.

This is the last stand for both sides.

“The Hero lives,” Knight David says through bloodless lips. He’s younger than Danielle thought, his beard only just touched with silver. His eyes shine wetly and he raises his sword over his head. “THE HERO LIVES!”

Knights, adventurers, and wizards lean back and scream their jubilation to the sky. Some of them weep openly, staggering as close to her as the Dark Lord’s barrier allows with their hands spread wide as if to embrace her.

The Dark Lord is silent as the kingdom’s forces rejoice. He looks like a human though he’s gone to great lengths to hide that fact. His long, black hair is twisted around his horns, emphasizing them. His clothes are as tattered as his forces’ and there’s dried blood staining the hem of his cape. His nails are long and painted an unending black that makes them look like talons.

If it weren’t for the depth and darkness of his magic, he wouldn’t register to Danielle as a Dark Lord at all.

“Hero,” the Dark Lord murmurs. His red eyes gleam a beat before his pupils swell, turning them black. He doesn’t raise his voice above the noise, but magic makes it so Danielle can hear him easily. “Killing you quickly was the last mercy I had for you.”

“Mercy,” Danielle says. The word echoes from her involuntarily. She pulls the arrow from the dead girl’s chest. The wet and meaty sound of it finally silences Knight David and his allies. She coughs and tastes blood.

“The fates have seen the justness of our cause and protected the Hero,” Knight David says into the silence.

“Fate,” Danielle echoes and coughs blood again.

Knight David doesn’t hear her. His chest swells. A talented orator, he knows just what to say to erase the horror of her death and reinvigorate his squad. “Dark Lord -no! – Demon, you’ve lost.” He points his sword directly at the Dark Lord. “You just don’t know it yet.” The knights cheer.

Oh, Danielle thinks, he knows it.

The Dark Lord stares down the length of Knight David’s blade impassively. His lip curls into a sneer that must look truly demonic to the knights of the kingdom. But from her vantage point, Danielle can see the way his clenched fists tremble. The barrier wavers imperceptibly and then holds. The Dark Lord can’t sustain it for much longer, not if he wants to have enough magic to fight.

As soon as it falls, the kingdom will strike. And, with the Hero on their side, they’ll have the conviction (and the magic) to take on a thousand demons. The Dark Lord only has a hundred.

Danielle staggers to her feet. This body is on the weaker side of the ones she has inhabited, but it’s not the worst she’s had to work with. Her legs hold her weight and the heart beats strongly once she uses her magic to patch it.

Knight David grins at her, the fever of battle bright in his eyes. “Hero!” He holds out his hand. “How glad I am to see you alive! Cast your strengthening spell.”

A memory: They taught her to strengthen her allies and nothing else. Training sessions ran late into the night as they pushed her to expand her range, power them up more, amplify magic higher and higher. This girl knows exhaustion more intimately than the affection of another.

Knight David slashes the barrier. He doesn’t wait to see if she’ll obey. Of course she will. This dead girl has never defied him before. She owes him and his kingdom too much. Who else would elevate an orphan to the heights of a Hero? He strikes again and this time his blow leaves a crack in the Dark Lord’s magic that splinters out like a spiderweb. He grins meanly. “Come, soldiers! Reclaim our land! Defend our home! Defeat evil!”

The knights smash their weapons against their shields and bare their teeth. “For our homes! For our families! For good!”

“Kill,” the Dark Lord hisses as his barrier fails piece by piece. He leans towards Knight David like a snake about to strike. A sword as black as night materializes in his hand. “Kill them all.”

“Hey,” Danielle says, “don’t you think you’re moving on a little fast?”

Nobody hears her. Nobody asks her if she’s alright. Nobody cares.

It’s Danielle’s curse to care.

The Dark Lord’s barrier crumbles. The air fractures and fragments tumble from the top and towards the combatants on either side like sparks. It’s ten feet in the air, eight feet, seven feet--

Her magic billows from her like smoke, scorching the grass as it balloons forward. Blood burns and vaporizes under the heat. The wolves are the first to notice it. They whine and back away from her wave of power, cowering behind their lord. Danielle hisses through her teeth and her power surges a little faster, touching the Dark Lord’s magic before the demons can alert their master. She’s powerful enough to do this even with him fighting her, but that would be…messy. She wrests control of the barrier from the Dark Lord. She builds it back up to twenty feet tall and adds new walls. The King’s forces used to be the only ones trapped. Now the Dark Lord turns and blinks at the misty cage that’s formed around him and his army.

The sudden silence hurts her ears as hundreds of eyes follow the scorch marks from the barrier to her.

Knight David’s sword wavers. “Hero…?”

“Your Hero isn’t here anymore,” Danielle says. Experience tells her to rip this bandage off quickly. She gestures to the dead girl’s clouded eyes. “Did you really think she survived an arrow to her heart?”

She can see from their faces that they did. Knight David opens his mouth and then closes it. He swallows hard. He says, “You’re not—” His face hardens. “Who are you?”

The Dark Lord watches her with black eyes, but he’s not still. His power tests her control of his barrier. He doesn’t find a crack.

“You called it fate,” Danielle says. She limps towards them. There’s an arrow in the girl’s thigh she didn’t notice before. She pulls it out without breaking stride and throws it to the side. The furnace that’s consumed the dead girl’s heart churns with rage. “You lot always believe in fate. Makes everything you do look prettier, doesn’t it? More palatable.”

“It is fate. The Oracles of Trilbia spoke of a girl with untold power who would be our savior. We needed—”

“LOOK AT HER!” Danielle roars. She slams a hand against her chest and then holds her palm high overhead. Red shines wetly on her palm. “She was a child! Fifteen summers and you stand there and call her a savior?”

“I ask again,” Knight David says. His eyes flash. “Who are you?” He draws his sword point slowly, purposefully, away from the Dark Lord. He points it directly at her. “What have you done to the Hero?”

Danielle won’t answer stupid questions. “You’re cruel. What you did to her – nothing can justify it. Especially not something as fickle as fate.”

“The Oracles—”

“Should die,” Danielle interrupts. She bares her teeth. “Or at least be honest. If they wanted a child sacrifice, they should have killed her on an altar with their own hands.”

Knight David hits her barrier. It throws him back and he shakes with rage. “Who. Are. You?”

“And you,” Danielle says, turning her attention to the Dark Lord. She holds her bloodied palm out to him. “You speak of mercy. You think giving her a quick death mercy?”

To his credit, he doesn’t deny it or flinch away. He nods shallowly, eyes never leaving hers.

“There was mercy, I’ll give you that,” Danielle says. She staggers towards him and stops just short of the barrier. They’re barely two feet apart when she says, “It was her mercy that she died quickly. Not yours.”

The Dark Lord’s nostrils flare. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” Danielle promises. Her heart aches. This isn’t the time for that. She stokes the fires of her magic until steam escapes from her lips again. Only then does she twist towards Knight David again. “You killed this girl. You threw her into battle untrained. They may have shot her, but it was you who brought her here. This is your fault.”

“You’re some malevolent spirit,” Knight David says. He sweeps one arm out as if to banish her. Behind him, his forces tremble. “A vile devil come to sow seeds of doubt. Our conviction is firm. Oh, monstrous devil! Release our friend, release the Hero and your end may be swift yet.”

Devil? Danielle loses hold of her rage for a moment. Yes, yes she supposes she is. There are forces at play here that she might call devilish. But being called a devil by him?

Ridiculous.

“Maybe you should pray,” Danielle suggests. She nods slowly, warming to the suggestion. “Yes, that’s what you should do. You should pray the big, bad devil away.” She approaches his side of the barrier and the grass withers under her feet. “Pray, Knight David.”

“Hold fast,” Knight David says to his knights. He raises his sword to her and braces himself. “Do not be swayed by—”

“No, don’t pray,” Danielle says. She laughs without humor, chest shuddering with the effort. “Prophecize. Summon a hero to defeat me. Go on. Do it.”

“You will pay for the horrors you’ve committed today. Wearing the skin of the Chosen One damns you to the furthest—”

“Oh, fine, I’ll do it for you. There will be a knight,” Danielle says. She lurches forward and presses her hands against her barrier. Knight David stumbles back when it moves with her, allowing her closer and closer. She laughs again. “A Knight with red splashed across his breast and his shining sword melded to his hand.”

Knight David chokes on a scream as her words become truth. His sword melts under a sudden wave of heat, the silver-plating dripping through his fingers. He falls to his knees and grabs his wrist, trying to shake his hand free of the molten metal. It cools as rapidly as it melted, and he stares in horror as the silver binds his fingers to the hilt forevermore.

Danielle comes closer and the kingdom’s forces flex away from her like a school of fish in the face of a predator. “And this knight,” she says, “will be a Hero to his people. He will rise through his pain and destroy the devil that wore the skin of the little girl he sent to slaughter.” She spreads her arms wide above him, the sun beating down on her crown, and waits. After a beat she says, “Go on. Make the prophecy come true. Stab me. I’m waiting.”

Knight David keens through clenched teeth. “Y-you monster. You w-won’t—” He breathes in deeply and glares up at her. His feeble attempts to raise his arm don’t move his sword more than an inch. “You won’t break me.”

“I don’t have to,” Danielle says. Her arms fall to her sides, and she looms over the fallen knight. The air isn’t sweet now. The smell of burning flesh is more familiar than blood. “She didn’t ask me to break you.”

“Didn’t ask?”

Danielle turns. Unlike the knights, the Dark Lord isn’t backing away from her. He’s as close as he can get, pressed right up against the barrier. He’s rearranged his forces while she wasn’t looking so that the hardier demons are shielding the smaller.

“Didn’t ask,” Danielle agrees. She taps her temple. “Right before she died, I asked her what she wanted. See, nobody here gave a fuck what she wanted before she died. Fate is fake, but belief isn’t. They believed hard enough that the universe heard their pathetic little prayers for a savior. And, at the end, it took pity, but not on them. No one cared so it sent me. I asked what she wanted. She answered. Now we’re here.”

Knight David shudders at her feet.

“Are you a spirit of vengeance then?” the Dark Lord asks very casually. His shoulders are tense, undermining his nonchalance. He speaks a touch too loudly and very carefully doesn’t look back at his army. “Is that it?”

“I’m what she asked for,” Danielle says. She eyes Knight David’s comrades. There’s a wizard somewhere in there valiantly trying to heal Knight David’s wounds from afar. It’s slow going so she ignores it. “Though, between you and me, I think some vengeance is owed here, don’t you?”

The Dark Lord’s jaw flexes. “It is.” He raises his chin. “And you shall have it. I only ask that you let my people go. They are blameless in all this and only had the bad fortune to follow a misguided lord—”

Howls and screams of protest drown out his words. The demons lunge against his orders, mouths frothing and eyes wide in fear. They don’t want their lord to die, they deny his words, they can’t bear to lose him.

The Dark Lord’s power snaps over them and they quiet all at once, voices stolen by his power.

“Let it only be me. Please,” the Dark Lord finishes quietly.

Danielle watches him with interest. “You would die for them?”

“I return the loyalty I’ve been given.” He bows his head. “I will beg if you’d like.”

“What makes you believe I want your death?”

“I know my part in the Hero’s fate,” the Dark Lord says. His lips thin and he stares down at Knight David with more hatred than she thought possible. “Humans brought her here to slaughter, but I gave the order. I called it mercy to kill a child quickly so she need not suffer. We both know I lied. I killed her to keep her from strengthening the kingdom. No matter how I did it, it wasn’t mercy. It was evil and it was…not necessary. It wasn’t necessary but it was easier than the alternatives and so I killed her. I resigned myself to carrying that sin before I ever stepped foot onto the battlefield.”

Oh. Danielle has to blink very quickly as heat rises behind her eyes. The Dark Lord isn’t lying. He isn’t hiding from the truth of his actions nor is he justifying his hand in the Hero’s death. There is sorrow in his voice and his hands are loose at his sides even though his eyes are watchful, waiting for her to strike. He’d let me strike him down. He will stand there and do nothing while I slit his throat.

“It was wrong,” Danielle says. Her throat aches. “It was wrong to kill her.”

The Dark Lord’s head sinks lower. “Yes. It was.”

“She was a child.”

“She was.”

“She didn’t have a choice.”

“I know.”

“She deserved better.”

“Yes.”

Danielle’s chin trembles. This— after all the dead girls, this is a first. “You did it to save your domain.”

“I did.”

“It was evil.”

“Yes. The most evil thing I’ve done.”

“She didn’t ask me to kill you.”

“Ye—what?” The Dark Lord blinks, finally looking back up at her. His eyes are red again, pupils dilated. “She didn’t?”

“No.” Danielle lets the barrier slip out of her control. She can see the Dark Lord more clearly without the wall of smoke and his eyes are more than just red. They’re red-rimmed. Danielle reaches up with her bloodied palm and cups the Dark Lord’s cheek. He shudders at the chill of her touch but doesn’t pull away. “You had no mercy today, but she did. She knew her power would mean the end of your people. She knew she would not be able to resist the order to cast her spell when they gave it. So when the first volley came, she didn’t run. She didn’t raise her shield.”

“Mercy,” the Dark Lord breathes in revelation. His face crumples. “Oh.”

“She died quickly,” Danielle says. The girl’s memories are so hot that Danielle feels burned. All the dead girls are strong. This one is not an exception. “She knew an evil thing would be done today. She chose. She chose.”

The Dark Lord’s voice is thick with tears. “She shouldn’t have had to. She—No!”

Danielle doesn’t know what’s happened at first. The Dark Lord is staring at her in mute horror. His cheek is stained red but her hand is no longer on his cheek. Then she processes that she’s been hit quite hard in the back. She looks down.

A bloody sword is sticking out of her chest. It retracts with a sickly sound and Danielle finds herself on her knees, staring down at the river of blood gushing from her breast. She let down her barrier to speak to the Dark Lord, face to face. She didn’t think she’d be leaving her back open to the other side. Or, rather, she didn’t think Knight David would recover enough to kill her again.

“The devil speaks lies,” Knight David says. His words are thin with pain. He can no longer raise his blade to the sky. His arm is trembling from the effort of stabbing her but still he faces his forces and spurs them to action. “And lies have no place in our kingdom! Our friend, our Hero died for us! So we could win! So we could prosper! So we could—”

He killed her again.

Danielle surges to her feet. The dead girl’s heart is torn to pieces in her chest, but Danielle’s magic surges through her veins like blood. She rises up behind Knight David and shrieks, “Stop killing her!” She drives her hand through Knight David’s chest and rips out his heart.

It happens too fast for anyone to react. The Dark Lord holds his breath and the world goes still. Danielle lets the heart fall and the thud as it hits the grass is loud in the quiet.

Knight David sways once, twice, and then drops to the bloodied ground.

“You didn’t have to die,” Danielle says. She’s looking at the other knights and adventurers and idiots who believed in fate. She’s talking to Knight David. “Even after everything you put her through, she didn’t want you dead. She was good. She was great. And you killed her for it.”

“Mercy,” someone stutters. Then, another. “Mercy, please.”

“No,” Danielle says. Petulant. Like a child. “You didn’t stop him. Not a single one of you tried. She didn’t tell me to save you.”

They combust before they can run. A long time ago, her power wasn’t as controlled. Her fire didn’t get hot enough fast enough. They screamed back then. Screamed and wailed and cursed.

Her fire doesn’t give them a chance to curse her now.

When it is done and she’s satisfied that nothing but ashes remain, she turns to the Dark Lord. He doesn’t flinch from her though there’s fear in his eyes. Even now, he expects her to kill him. Even now he accepts it.

“Bury her,” Danielle says. The fire crackles behind her. “Clean her body and dress her in new clothes. Bury her somewhere where war hasn’t touched and say something kind over her grave.”

The Dark Lord swallows twice before he can speak. He doesn’t ask if this means she’s going to leave him alive. He understands what she means. He says, “I-I will.”

“She saved you,” Danielle says. She wants him to understand that. “She could have wished for anything. Revenge. Peace. A second chance. She didn’t. She wished to save you.”

“She will be honored,” the Dark Lord says. He breathes in deeply and gently reaches out to cup her cheek, an imitation of her earlier touch. His palm is warm against her cold skin. If he is repulsed by the feel of death, he doesn’t show it.  “I will see to it.”

Danielle closes her eyes. Though she doesn’t lean into his touch, she doesn’t pull away. It is the singularly most affectionate moment she’s experienced in decades, but it’s not for her. “Her name is Samira.”

The Dark Lord releases his breath. “Samira. Thank you for telling me her name.”

Danielle lets her curse sweep her to the next dead girl.

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

Thanks for reading! If you’d like to see stories like this or some more serialized stories, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)! Currently I’m working on the Cinderella retelling I have posted on here :)

See y’all next week!

[sgt-tombstone]

omg immortal soap

what if he's been around for a while and is proficient with swords

imagine him wielding a claymore

Anon you’re so incredibly right, that man was made to have a broadsword in his hands (bonus points for a full kilt ensemble too)

And, because I am a history major (and a research nerd to boot), here are a couple of quotes from Arthur Herman’s book, How the Scots Invented the Modern World:

“As Dr. Johnson observed, in the Highlands ‘every man was a soldier.’ The clansman was trained to fight from boyhood. Armed with his double-edged broadsword, which measured a yard long and two inches wide; his dagger or dirk; and his shield or targe, and screaming his clan’s motto as he rushed headlong at his opponent, he was a formidable sight. But he was no Iron Age throwback, the ‘bare-arsed banditti’ of English legend. He could be as familiar with handling a musket, and fighting in formation, as any British grenadier. For generations the principal export of the Highlands had been its surplus males, as soldiers and mercenaries for the armies of Europe. In the Middle Ages, Irish chieftains had hired them: nicknamed galloglasses or redshanks because of their exposed knees below their kilts, Scottish mercenaries had kept the Gaelic parts of Ireland safe from the English for four hundred years… ‘They are formidable fellows… They are all gentlemen, will take no affront from any man, and insolent to the last degree.’” (pgs 128-129).

“Once again, British cavalry and infantry flew into a panic as the Highlanders attacked… ‘Men accustomed only to exchange bullets at a distance… are discouraged and amazed when they find themselves encountered hand to hand, and catch the gleam of steel flashing in their faces’” (pg 149).

That’s the immortal Johnny I picture, especially if he and Simon meet on the battlefield, Scottish mercenary against English soldier. Simon has never given much thought to the Highlanders beyond the usual English disdain, but when he meets Johnny on the battlefield, all righteous anger and blazing passion, a broadsword in his face and a rattling war cry echoing in his ears, he knows that he’d gladly let Johnny kill him if only to have the honor of dying at his hand

Isn’t it fortuitous, then, that Johnny is waiting by his side when he wakes up hours later, a decent meal and an explanation waiting for him, because Johnny’s been around for at least three hundred years and he’s really fucking tired of going it alone (if the universe decides to dump some self-righteous Manc on him… well, he’s done more with less, and he’s sure he can crack that hard shell sooner rather than later)

As a side note, I highly recommend the book that those quotes come from, it’s a fascinating look into the origins of Scotland, its culture, and its people. It touches a lot on Scotland’s historical ties to England and the rest of the world from the 1500s on. The author is a distinguished historian (so he knows what he’s talking about) and it’s truly an enlightening read (and has taught me a lot about our favorite sudsy sergeant 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿)

[eliaah]

confessions !

characters: yami sukehiro, fuegoleon vermillion, nozel silva, & jack.

tags: fluff , multi characters × fem reader!

a/n: making this while you guys wait for the part 2 of the fuegoleon fic. i haven't wrote it yet since my mood doesn't fit the scene and yes, i'm crazy for that. i'm also not very skilled in writing fluffs so it's either you'll find this cringe or whatever you think.

🍁 YAMI SUKEHIRO

The battlefield was chaos. Screams and the clash of steel filled the air, and the stench of blood was thick around you. But you barely noticed any of it, your focus solely on the enemy before you. A massive, hulking beast of a man wielding a blade twice the size of your own was charging toward you, and you knew this would be a fight to the death.

You squared your shoulders, bracing for the impact, when suddenly the air around you shifted. A familiar pressure washed over you, and you knew exactly who it was without even turning around.

"Oi, dumbass!" Yami, the Captain's gruff voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "What do you think you’re doing, going up against that guy alone?"

You barely had time to react before the beast swung its sword with brutal force. Just as you prepared to block, Captain was there, his katana intercepting the blow with a force that sent a shockwave through the ground.

"Captain—" you started, but his sharp glare cut you off.

"Stay back!" he barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I’ve got this."

But you couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. The Captain is strong, stronger than anyone you knew, but even he had limits. You called on your magic, determined to help, but before you could act, Yami was beside you, grabbing your wrist with a grip that was firm, almost bruising.

"I said, stay back!" he growled, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "You’re gonna get yourself killed if you keep charging in like an idiot!"

His words stung, but what caught you off guard was the raw emotion in his voice. Yami was always brash, always confident, but right now, he sounded almost… desperate. His grip on your wrist tightened, and for the first time, you saw something close to fear in his eyes.

"I’m not losing you." he muttered under his breath, almost like he was saying it to himself rather than to you.

Your breath hitched, your mind struggling to process his words. Was that… concern? The Captain is worried about you? No, it's more than that. There was something in the way he was holding onto you, something in the roughness of his voice, that made your heart pound in your chest.

"Captain…" you whispered, barely able to find your voice.

He didn’t look at you, his gaze still locked on the enemy, but there was a brief flicker of something in his eyes—a softness you rarely saw. "You mean so much more to me than you think, Y/n." he said, his voice low and gruff. "So don’t go doin’ something stupid, got it?"

For a moment, you just stood there, the weight of his words sinking in. Was that… a confession? Did Yami just admit that he cared about you—really cared about you? Your heart started to race, the battlefield around you fading as your thoughts spiraled.

Before you could fully process it, Yami let go of your wrist and turned back to the battle, his katana already sparking with dark energy. "Stay put, and let me handle this!" he ordered, his voice rough and commanding as he charged back at the monster, a whirlwind of raw power and stubborn determination.

You were left standing there, your wrist still tingling where he’d grabbed you, your mind reeling from what just happened. Yami’s words echoed in your head, each beat of your heart pounding louder in your ears.

Did the Captain just confess?

The realization hit you like a lightning bolt, sending a rush of warmth and adrenaline through your body. Your heart was racing now, not from the danger of the battle, but from the knowledge that Captain—brash, stubborn, and infuriatingly reckless Captain—cared about you in a way you hadn’t dared to hope.

And as you watched him fight, every swing of his katana full of raw power and determination, you couldn’t help but feel the same. Yami meant more to you than you’d realized, and now, standing on the battlefield with the world falling apart around you, it felt like everything had just changed in an instant.

🍁 FUEGOLEON VERMILLION

The sun was setting over the Vermillion estate, bathing the garden in a warm, golden hue. Fuegoleon had invited you, his childhood friend and longtime maid, for a rare moment of relaxation away from the usual hustle of the castle.

As you walked alongside Fuegoleon through the garden’s winding paths, the fragrance of blooming flowers filled the air. He led you to a small table where tea and pastries were laid out, a simple yet elegant setting that was a departure from his typical commanding presence.

You took a seat, admiring the tranquility of the garden. Fuegoleon, usually so composed and stern, looked almost out of place in this serene setting. He poured the tea with a practiced hand, his movements deliberate yet gentle.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had a moment like this.” you said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Remember when we used to play in this garden as kids?”

Fuegoleon smiled, a rare and genuine expression that softened his usually stern features. “Of course, I remember. You were always trying to catch the butterflies, and I was always trying to keep you from getting tangled in the bushes.”

You laughed softly. “And you always ended up covered in mud while trying to rescue me. We had some pretty wild adventures.”

“It’s funny.” you said, your voice softening as you looked around the garden. “I never thought we’d end up in such different places. You as the captain of the Crimson Lions and me here, still at the estate, but it feels like nothing has changed between us.”

Fuegoleon’s gaze lingered on you, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve missed these moments. It’s rare for me to have a chance to just sit and talk like this, without the weight of responsibilities pressing down.”

There was a pause as he set down his teacup, taking a deep breath as if gathering his thoughts. He looked at you with a mix of nostalgia and something more intense, a vulnerability that you hadn’t seen in him before.

“You know, Y/n,” Fuegoleon began, his voice carrying a sincerity that matched the peaceful setting, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how our lives have changed, and how much I’ve come to value these rare moments with you.”

He reached out as if to take your hand, his gaze steady and earnest. “I’ve realized that my feelings for you have grown deeper than I ever imagined. I’ve been holding back, but I can’t ignore it any longer.”

Just as he was about to grasp your hand, a lion from the estate’s stables, curious and playful, bounded into the garden. It darted towards you, its exuberance catching you off guard. In a moment of chaotic energy, the lion accidentally collided with you, sending you tumbling into the nearby bushes.

Fuegoleon’s hand was still reaching out to you, and as the lion’s sudden movement pulled you into the bush, it yanked him along too. Both of you fell into the soft, green bushes, landing in a heap.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the distant roar of the lion, who seemed more curious than menacing. Then, laughter bubbled up from both of you, the absurdity of the situation breaking the tension.

Fuegoleon looked at you, his face flushed with a mix of laughter and embarrassment. “Well, it looks like some things never change.” he said, grinning as he gently disentangled himself from the bushes.

You smiled, brushing leaves from your hair. “I suppose some traditions are meant to be upheld.”

As you both stood up, dusting yourselves off, the moment of levity brought you even closer.

Fuegoleon’s earlier confession was still hanging in the air, and as you met his gaze again, the sincerity of his words felt even more poignant against the backdrop of shared laughter and familiar comfort.

You took his hand, the connection between you feeling more real and immediate than ever. “I think I’m glad we ended up here, despite the lion.” you said softly. “Your confession means a lot to me.”

Fuegoleon’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting both relief and happiness. “I’m glad to hear that, Y/n.”

With the sun setting behind you and the garden’s tranquility restored, you both settled back onto the grassy area, the earlier conversation picking up where it left off. The bond between you felt renewed, strengthened by both the laughter and the heartfelt confession that had brought you closer together.

🍁 NOZEL SILVA

Nozel and you were set up in an arranged marriage that initially felt loveless and obligatory. The first years were filled with formality and distance, with both of you merely fulfilling your roles. But as time passed, the boundaries of your arranged marriage began to blur. Through countless conversations and shared experiences, you both started to see each other in a new light, growing closer in a way neither of you had anticipated.

One evening, Nozel invited you to a secluded, elevated spot fat from the estate, known for its stunning view of the night sky. The place was a peaceful hill, far from the castle’s lights and noise, where the stars shone brightly, creating a serene and intimate atmosphere.

As you arrived, Nozel had prepared a cozy setup with a blanket and some snacks. The cool night air and the distant sounds of nature added to the calming ambiance. You both settled onto the blanket, the stars providing a beautiful backdrop for your conversation.

The night began with light and casual topics. Nozel, usually so composed, seemed more relaxed than usual. “You know, Y/n,” he began, looking up at the stars, “I used to think I knew everything about the world, but I never really took the time to look up and appreciate the sky like this.”

You smiled, glancing around at the view. “I feel the same way. It’s amazing how different everything looks when you take a moment to really observe it.”

The conversation naturally flowed, touching on favorite hobbies and shared experiences. “So,” you asked with a curious smile, “what’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do but never had the chance to?”

Nozel thought for a moment before answering, “I’ve always wanted to learn more about the stars. They’ve fascinated me since I was a child, but I never had the time to study them properly. It’s funny how we get so caught up in our duties that we forget to enjoy the simple things.”

You nodded in agreement. “I’ve always found stargazing calming. It’s like a reminder of how vast the world is and how small our daily worries can seem.”

As the night wore on, the conversation deepened, touching on more personal reflections. Nozel spoke about his responsibilities and how they had shaped him, while you shared your thoughts on the changes you’d seen in your own life over the years.

Eventually, the conversation took a more introspective turn. Nozel, his gaze still fixed on the stars, seemed to be gathering his thoughts. “Y/n, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say,” he began, his voice carrying a hint of hesitation. “When we first married, it was all about duty and obligation. We barely knew each other, and our relationship felt like just another formality.”

You looked at him, sensing the gravity in his tone. “Yes, I remember. It was a difficult adjustment, and I think we both struggled with it.”

Nozel continued, his voice growing softer. “But over time, as we’ve spent more time together and talked about so many things, I’ve come to see you in a different light. You’re not just a duty to me, you’re someone I genuinely care about and admire.”

He turned to face you, his expression earnest and vulnerable. “Tonight, I want to ask you something important. Will you marry me again, but this time not out of obligation or force, but because we’ve truly come to care for each other? I want our marriage to be based on something real, on mutual affection and understanding.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt a rush of emotions. The sincerity in his voice and the intimate setting made the moment feel profoundly special.

You looked at Nozel, a genuine smile spreading across your face. “I never imagined we’d come to this point, but I’m so glad that we have. I’ve come to care for you deeply as well. I’d be honored to marry you again, not out of duty, but because I want to be with you.”

Nozel’s face lit up with relief and happiness. He reached out, taking your hand gently. As Nozel finished his heartfelt confession, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, elegant box. He opened it to reveal a delicate ring, glistening under the starlight. With a gentle smile, he took your hand and carefully slid the ring onto your finger.

“This is a symbol of my promise,” he said softly, his eyes fixed on yours. “A promise that this time, our marriage will be based on something real, something deep.”

He then raised your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the ring. The gesture was filled with sincerity and affection, sealing the new chapter of your relationship with a touch of romance and commitment.

As the stars twinkled above, Nozel leaned closer, his gaze locked on yours. Slowly, he cupped your face with both hands, his touch warm and tender. Without breaking eye contact, he gently kissed you. The kiss was soft and filled with the unspoken promises of a future together, sealing the new beginning you had both longed for.

The night was filled with the warmth of your shared connection, and as you pulled away, you both felt an overwhelming sense of peace and joy. The stars above seemed to celebrate your renewed bond, making the moment even more unforgettable.

🍁 JACK

After weeks of a grueling mission in the forest, Jack had found you, injured and frail. Despite his usual indifference, he took you in, treating your wounds and caring for you. Over the past few weeks, you had traveled together, with Jack handling the heavy lifting while you rested and recovered.

One night, under the canopy of the forest, Jack set up a small campfire and began cooking a meal with the skill of someone who’s surprisingly adept in the kitchen. The warmth of the fire contrasted with the cool night air, creating a cozy environment. You sat nearby, wrapped in a blanket, watching Jack with a mix of gratitude and curiosity.

As Jack cooked, he tossed ingredients into the pot with practiced ease. “You know,” he said, his tone gruff but with a hint of satisfaction, “I’ve had to learn a thing or two about cooking. Can’t rely on others to feed me all the time.”

You smiled, taking in the delicious aroma. “I’m impressed. I didn’t expect you to be so good at it.”

Jack smirked as he stirred the pot. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. I only cook when I have to. And right now, I’d rather not eat whatever’s in those trail rations again.”

As the two of you shared the meal, the conversation flowed naturally. You talked about the oddities of the forest, the challenges of the mission, and your own experiences.

At one point, you asked, “So, Jack, what’s the most memorable mission you’ve had?”

Jack’s eyes lit up with a hint of mischief. “Most memorable? Well, there was this one time I had to track a rogue mage through a storm. Not only did I have to fight off a bunch of monsters, but I also had to navigate through a blizzard. Made for one hell of a story.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Sounds intense. I’m glad you made it through.”

Jack shrugged. “Eh, it’s all part of the job. But enough about me. What about you? Ever done anything wild?”

Before you could answer, a bear emerged from the shadows, attacking without warning. Jack’s instincts kicked in immediately. He pushed you aside to protect you, engaging the bear in a fierce struggle. Despite his best efforts, the bear’s claws left deep scratches on Jack.

Once the bear was defeated, you rushed to Jack's side, leading him back to the cave you had been using as temporary shelter. As you tended to his wounds, Jack watched you with a mix of pain and something softer, though he tried to keep his usual gruff demeanor.

“You don’t have to go all out for me, you know,” Jack said, wincing slightly. “I’m used to roughing it.”

You looked up from his wounds, shaking your head. “It’s not about having to. It’s about wanting to. You’ve been looking out for me this whole time.”

Jack shifted uncomfortably, his voice dropping to a softer, almost embarrassed tone. “Yeah, well… It’s not like I’ve been doing it because I’m all noble or anything. I just—”

He hesitated, his usual bravado faltering. “I guess… I guess I’ve kind of grown used to having you around. And, uh, it’s not just because you needed help. I care about you, Y/n. More than I thought I could care about anyone.”

He looked away, trying to mask his embarrassment. “So, yeah. Don’t think I’m some weak shit or anything. I just wanted to say that… if you’re up for it, I’d like to keep you around. Not just for missions or whatever, but because I actually like having you by my side.”

You were taken aback by his confession, a smile spreading across your face as you looked at him. “Jack, I didn’t think you were the type to—”

“Hey! don’t make a big deal out of it,” Jack interrupted, though his voice was gentle. “Just… let’s stick together, alright?”

Before you could respond, Jack pulled you into a hug, his rough exterior softened by the warmth of the moment. You felt his heartbeat steady against yours, and as the night grew quieter around you, the bond between you felt deeper and more genuine.

[bimb0fy]

test your worth; part two of perfect girlfriend

parings; monkey d luffy x reader, sanji & reader (platonic)

warnings; violence, blood, swords, kinda suggestive in the beginning.

summary; the crew, even after meeting you, had still refused to believe luffy's claims, that you were a fanastic cook and sword fighter, yet they had to be proven wrong now, don't they?

Requested by: @royaltysuite @avitute @ashers-bakery

ᵐᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡⁱˢᵗ!! | ⁿᵃᵛⁱᵍᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ!!

— You woke up to Luffy, snuggling you close after the exciting night you had, you stirred to the side, picking up Luffy's shirt that was lazily discarded onto the germ infested floors, grabbing your shorts from the other side as you took your bandana. You tied your hair before walking out to the kitchen.

It was a habit of yours to cook breakfast every morning, a routine you were not to break so easily. It kept you alert and in the repetition of the mornings, it gave you comfort. Waking up everyday to do the thing you enjoyed. You hummed to the song playing on the radio as you walked into the kitchen to find a black-eyed Sanji. You giggled causing him to turn around.

"Why hello there, I must say, its nice having company this early in the morning." Sanji smiled as he prepped the ingredients, flour, eggs, sugar, butter. He's making pancakes.

"Pancakes huh?" You smiled at the boy who laughed. You walked towards the island, grabbing a bowl as you cracked the eggs into them, beating them as you added the other ingredients.

"A cooker huh, guess Luffy was right." Sanji nodded as he stared at your methods, it wasn't at a beginners level, in fact, rather professional, he smiled as he found a new partner in crime, someone to assist in his duties. It was comforting knowing he didn't have to wake up everyday at 5 AM alone to cook for his crew.

"Yeah, I used to help cook for my dad's crew." You answered as he smiled, dealing with the dry ingredients. The two of you spent the next two hours, sharing stories and laughs as you occasionally threw flour at him as you baked the goods. As he looked away, you added your secret, ingredients to the batch. Cocoa powder and maple syrup, it always took the pancakes to another level. You turned to the clock, it was 8 AM. "Oh shit, I gotta go get my stuff!"

"I'll save some for you!" Sanji yelled as you smiled at him as you walked down the ramp in Luffy's shirt. You could see some of the dirty looks a few new villagers gave you. A devil fruit eater, what a waste. That's what they all thought, but Luffy was different and you knew it.

You walked into your house, walking into your bedroom as you collected your belongings in two travel bags. One for your outfits and another for your special belongings and gifts from Luffy you hold onto. You grabbed a photo of you and Luffy as children with your father in the back. I miss you dad. For a while, you regretted not joining him on his last voyage, but also felt some sort of relief. It was always dangerous, you were 8 and knew how to wield a sword like the great Mihawk.

It wasn't the life you'd expect as a child, it never was with your father, you smiled at the picture, placing it carefully into the bag before closing it. It was time, you were going back to your old life.

Just this time with new people.

— Luffy yawned as he turned around to find the other side of the bed cold. She must have gone to get her stuff. He sighed as he walked to find the shirt he had worn yesterday, only to find it gone. He smiled before walking to his drawer, he always let an empty drawer in hopes of this day, he grabbed his flower shirt as he walked to the kitchen where both Nami and Ussop stood. Zoro soon emerged after Luffy staring at the pancakes that were made.

"I had a little help from a new friend." Sanji smiled as Luffy smile grew wider, he quickly sat down, taking a few from to his plate as he took a bite, the familiarity exploring his mouth. Her secret recipe.

"Whoa, what did you add?" Nami asked the boy who seemed confused. "I guess she added it didn't she."

"It's Y/N's secret recipe, I recognise the taste." Luffy nodded as Nami and Ussop looked at eachother. "I told you, she was a better cook than Sanji."

"I actually believe that now." Sanji smiled as you walked in, your bags left on the floor as Luffy stood up, he placed a kiss on youe cheek before smiling at you. He carried your bag as you sat down, taking one of your pancakes.

"I'm sorry I changed your recipe." You apologized to the boy who shook his head, he smiled at you as he took another bite, the flavourful pancake made him explode, he was sl curious. "I could teach it to you."

"That'll ruin the surprise." Sanji winked as you as you rolled your eyes, Luffy joined you as he sat down beside you, a smile evading his face as he kissed your cheek, placing his arm around you as he fed you your meal.

"I'm gonna go practice." Zoro announced as he stood up, grabbing his swords as he walked out, only to be stopped by Luffy.

"Well, Y/n could help you out!" Luffy smiled as you shrugged. He looked you up and down before nodding. You stood up, grabbing your sword as you walked with him towards the deck.

You noticed the crew watching the two of you to see if Luffys tales were a reality. You sighed as you got into position, closing your eyes. You often found yourself using sound to your advantage. You heard Zoros scoff as he yielded his sword, waiting for you to attack.

You ducked down, going behind him before kicking him, successfully taking him aback as you attacked, he raised his sword, it colliding with yours before you back flipped and slid across, kicking his legs down as you continue to collid swords.

He stood up, sliding to the other side as he tried to attack you with the back of his sword, only for you to touch the blade with your hand before kicking him in the stomach. Luffy quickly jumped down, examining the small cut on your hand.

"Shit, you okay?" Zoro asked you as you nodded.

"I held the blade, it's my fault anyways, you're not to bad tho." You smiled at the boy who nodded. Winking at you as in a 'your not bad yourself' manner before walking off to get the medkit as Luffy held onto the small cut.

"That was stupid." Luffy scolded you as you rolled your eyes, bandaging the wound before walking to the figure head with Luffy, placing your head on his as you stared at the ocean. "I'm happy you're here."

"I'm happy I'm here too."

[bokettochild]

What is your favorite obscure piece of legend lore?

There is so much freaking lore about Legend in the mangas! and the old games! I know the mangas aren't cannon and stuff, but I think non-cannon is the peak of obscure, so I'll just go off!

The violet eyes thing is very precious to me, but that's a headcannon, so let's just... yeah

I think it would be his connection to Fi. There are very few heroes who actually hear the voice of the Master Sword, and many never do. In most of the stories we actually see the hero striving to be worthy of the blade! Sky fights so hard to be enough, to prove himself, if not to Fi than most certainly to Impa and himself. Warriors' journey features his own struggles with the blade, his hubris and folly. While I haven't played the game, the Twilight Princess manga does show Twilight undergoing a similar struggle of achieving the worthiness of holding the Master Sword, even finding it too heavy to lift at times when his heart is not in the right place or his pride is getting in the way.

But Legend never faces that. Granted, his stories are all so much simpler than that of the others, at least, as far as game play is concerned, and the manga creators didn't really go too nuts with his personal journey like they did with Twilight, but still! Legend finds the Master Sword in decay and ruin, and she speaks to him. She's not strong, she's not harsh, she's nothing like she is in any other game ever (except TOTK sort of) and she looks at this little kid who wanders across her and says "yes, that one".

The kid who has nothing to gain from saving the world. The kid who's already lost everything there is to lose. The kid who is repeatedly giving of himself and what little he has to help others in his journey, even though in the long run it means nothing. She looks at him and when he draws her blade she welcomes him

Legend is one of the only heroes to not only have Fi's full approval before he ever wields her, but is also the hero who just....has so much connection with Fi. Their fates have been intertwined for nearly as long as he's lived. She's the only comfort he's consistently had at his side.

I love that he never had to fight to be enough. Legend has so many struggles; being a good enough hero, especially when he never set out to be one, isn't something he needed to face. Legend is a pure-hearted person (which is even pointed out by others and displayed many times in the manga) and was already worthy. His rabbit soul tells us he's probably fighting his own fears and worries, anxieties and terrors, all through his adventure. To have Fi's security and strength to lean on, to compliment his own, rather than cold indifference, disapproval or expectation, was something he needed.

I also love the fact that Legend went out of his way to ask Farore to go and get Fi for him when he went out on his other adventures. he didn't know he needed her, but when he did, he asked for her so he could be at his best. Legend is most complete with the Master Sword beside him. He's not fully himself without a sword (hence why every adventure after ALTTP almost always features him searching out a blade first thing) especially without HIS sword.

Fi is Sky's sword. The Sword that he completed. First forged her, but left her unfinished. Sky perfected her. But Legend took her at her weakest and strengthened her again. Sky may be her Master, but I like to think Legend is her boy. They've been together for so long. He's been without people for so much of his adventures, and knowing she can speak, that she has a soul, I image he speaks to her when he's lonely. We see him speak to her in LU, fondly calling her "old girl" with a sort of familiarity that's singular to him. He probably shared everything with her; his fears, his hopes, his insecurities. She's Sky's sword, but she's Legend's friend.

I've joked about it before, once even put it in a fic, but Fi is the only being Legend has consistently had in his life. The only one whose never left him, no matter what happens or where he goes. She's his guide, his help, his strength and assurance and the one thing he knows will never fail him.

Honestly, if you haven't noticed that Legend smiles more at the sword than at any one of the heroes, you're missing out. And it's such a beautiful smile too!

There's warmth, familiarity, recognition- so much in that smile.

Fi is important to Legend, and I like to think he's important to her too.

Anyways, this is all to say that I love how Legend is one of the only ones to hear the blade speak, and how it implies that he and she are connected in a way that Wild, that Flora, that so many heroes and princesses before and after have striven to be, and I think it's beautiful that it comes naturally to him. Legend deserves to have had at least one thing easy!

[reineydraws]

For the mishanks body swap au, how would luffy/zoro/perona react? How would other people they know react?

hi! this got long so i'll put it under a cut, and there aren't really any drawings since that's a bit more effort and time i don't have rn 😅 but i wanted to answer this!

the people i cover are:

benn & yasopp

perona

zoro

luffy (and rayleigh, kinda)

kid luffy

buggy & croc

kid uta

thanks for the ask!!! :)

this is how i had some of shanks's crew react:

i think yasopp and benn, who have likely known him the longest and best and who have probably seen the most of mishanks together, would recognize mihawk's body language, even when it's on shanks. i also think ppl who spend a lot of time together and/or love each other a lot pick up each others' mannerisms, so benn and yasopp have probably already seen their captain exhibit little tells here and there that clearly come from mihawk. when mihawk himself somehow ends up in their captain's body, it's weirdly familiar for them, and they realize it's 'cuz they're not just seeing echoes of the swordsman in shanks, but the real thing.

for perona, i imagine shanks would roll up to kuraigana thinking like, "i should try to be like mihawk so as not to alarm them, esp 'cuz hawky probably would rather they not know" but when he steps off hitsugibune, he waves to perona and greets, "perona," and she's immediately like, "who are you!" she noticed that shanks buttoned the shirt he picked out of mihawk's coffin-crate wrong, and mihawk would never wear that shirt with those pants like that! and she thought maybe mihawk was having an off day until "mihawk" waved in greeting and called her by name. at this point, shanks is sweating lol.

zoro, i think he'd probably notice something is Off right away (shanks continues the charade bc he explains the situation to perona and perona thinks it's hilarious and wants to see how long zoro goes without noticing) but wouldn't really care until "mihawk" draws yoru for some training. zoro would scowl, annoyed but not alarmed bc perona's not alarmed, and he'd be like, "okay, that's it. mihawk would never hold yoru like that, he keeps at least another hand's-width distance in his grip for better support, what the hell," and shanks is just like, of course i got the sword thing wrong. of course his sword student would notice. 🤦🏻‍♀️ mihawk would only train interesting and competent people, and that's luffy's swordsman! c'mon shanks.

(i am a firm believer that shanks is the only other person that's ever been allowed to handle yoru in the time she's been mihawk's sword, and as an extension of that, i think it'd be cute if he held her in a slightly different grip bc shanks's style when using yoru is a little more hilt-heavy and defensive. he hasn't done this since losing his arm though, so it's actually nostalgic to be able to wield her with both hands.)

(i say this but i suppose, like with all body swap au's, there might also be an element of muscle memory involved. in that case, zoro probably confronts shanks when shanks reaches for beer instead of wine at dinner. but i like the sword thing better haha.)

luffy? luffy and mishanks aren't interacting in canon rn so i can't imagine where he'd meet up with them body-swapped, unless one of them goes to rayleigh at sabaody for help. (i say "one of them" but while shanks would be alone, poor mihawk would definitely have the red-hair pirates as a peanut gallery following along lol.) in this case, i think luffy (and rayleigh) would just laugh. like, a lot. so much.

if it was mihawk (looking like shanks), luffy would probably ask him a lot of questions regarding zoro and proclaiming his time is almost up as wgs, and then hang out with the rhp to catch up, show off his improved abilities a little, and tell yasopp about how usopp's been doing. with shanks, i think they'd catch up and then end up horsing around, and it would be extra funny bc from the outside it looks like dracule mihawk is having an eating contest with strawhat luffy. rayleigh will take photos for posterity.

if it's kid luffy and this happens before luffy's a pirate, i think luffy would probably ask mihawk-as-shanks what being a pirate is like, and also stories about being the wgs. and mihawk would tell him about fighting marines and his coffin boat and luffy would get a little starry-eyed but also maybe want to fight him lol.

other people they know... i can't help but imagine what kind of fuckery shanks would come up with if he rolled up to karai barai looking like mihawk. 😂 buggy and croc would be so unnerved.

i think shanks would take the opportunity to fuck with buggy a little by bringing up inciting incidents between them from when they were kids, like their really stupid arguments, and buggy would be caught between arguing back heatedly, creeped out that mihawk knows and is smiling all i-know-something-you-don't-know at him *shudders*, and wondering if the weird amount of knowledge on buggy's childhood mihawk has means that mihawk and shanks are fucking or something. (they are, but buggy doesn't know that. mihawk is a little annoyed at shanks for getting this revealed 'cuz he was holding onto their relationship for a more dramatic reveal if it ever presented itself, and he wanted the source of the blackmail he had on buggy to be a little more enigmatic. now, he can't creep buggy out bc he'll just assume all his blackmail material is from shanks. ugh.)

croc would be a little baffled that "mihawk" has suddenly started interacting with the clown way more than he used to, before realizing there's something deeply wrong with "mihawk". he seems too personable, too trusting, too... smile-y. it's weird. he doesn't like it. he is forced to go to buggy about this when his own henchmen don't seem to know what else to do about it, and they end up relictantly working together to find out what caused this personality change. when it eventually gets figured out that "mihawk" is actually shanks, buggy is livid and crocodile's already thinking about what this might mean for the cross guild, if the red force is going to come to karai barai, if that will cause problems for what he's trying to do, and of course, how he can use this situation to blackmail mihawk in the future. it's annoying but he can admit it's also kinda funny.

totally self-indulgent addition, but kid uta would take the oportunity to play dress-up with her dads since they've now effectively switched fashion senses. both let her, bc they are both charmed by how happy this makes her.

[ultimate-sword-showdown]

Round 4, Match 3: Holy Moonlight Sword vs. The Transistor

Holy Moonlight Sword

From: Bloodborne

Wielder: Ludwig

One of the recurring elements in FromSoftware games, all the way from King's Field to Elden Ring, the Holy Moonlight Sword is the Bloodborne iteration of the weapon. Implied to have been created by the Great Ones (eldritch god-like beings), it is discovered by Ludwig the Holy Blade in the labyrinths beneath Yharnam, and used to fight the scourge of beasts within the city. Eventually, Ludwig lost himself to beasthood, and found his way to the Hunter's Nightmare, along with this Holy Moonlight Sword. In Ludwig's boss fight, the sword would return Ludwig's sanity to him (perhaps due to its eldritch origins and his own familiarity with it), allowing him to fight like a man, rather than a beast. After Ludwig's defeat, it would either be gifted or taken by force by the Good Hunter to use on their own journey.

The Transistor

From: Transistor

Wielder: Red

The Transistor is a sword that acts as a tool to control and shape Cloudbank (city). The Transistor can shape reality around it, acting as a sort of Task Manager for the game’s world. The way that it does this is through the use of the Process, a legion of robots that directly shape and reconstruct the city. Normally the wielder–or User–of the Transistor would be able to control the Process, but due to Shenanigans at the beginning of the game, Red is unable to control the Process and instead must defeat these robots in combat. Additionally, the Transistor can also absorb the souls of others and use them to unlock combat abilities. Due to further Shenanigans, Red’s boyfriend, Unknown, also gets trapped within the sword, and communicates with Red throughout the game as she wields it.

[101-blueberry-101]

𝐊𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐨 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Kokushibo | Michikatsu Tsugukuni x afab reader

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: fluff, two-shot (maybe three parts?)

It was a cool autumn day, meanign winter should be right around the corner. y/n looked to the sky, watching as its beautiful colours slowly went from a soft blue to strong and powerful orange colours, indicating it was getting late. you should becareful, y'know. demons lurk around in the night, y/n could remember her elders saying that everytime she would return to the village late.

That didn't matter though, y/n had to stay out late if she had any chance of becoming a swordswoman one day. She raised her sword over her head and swung it down in a straight motion, she continued this until she saw a white dot land on her hands. Sheathing her sword she looked to the sky which was now dark, “the first snow of the season” y/n said, “how pretty. I should probably start to head home” She sighed and began her track down to her village.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

Kokushibo wasn't too fond of the hotter seasons, it reminded him too much of the sun, something he could never have or never be. A neutral expression on his face as he stopped and let snow fall around him, relishing in the cold climate.

He opened his eyes looking around as he heard an all too familiar sound, the sound of a sword. He walked on, seemingly trying to get closer to the sound as if trying to see who would be out this late, perhaps it was someone worthy of his time.

It was not..

It was a simple girl, she didn't appear to be a demon slayer, nor did she seem strong. "What a.. waste," he thought. Seeing women wield swords was strange to him. Being brought up in the Sengoku era he was taught that women were supposed to be simple housewives. he had seen plenty of demon slayers who were women and had fought many, however, it did not mean he respected the thought.

He had not received any orders from That man to kill anyone, and he was not one to fight unless necessary. yet he found himself staring at her for longer than he should have been.

She stopped, only just noticing the snow that had been falling around her. He watched as she sheathed her sword and stared at the sky. She whipped her head around seemingly looking for something. Kokushibo knew she could sense him watching her, yet he remained hidden, not wishing to interact with any humans at the moment.

y/n said nothing as she stared into the dark forest, something was there, she could sense its powerful presence, "A demon perhaps" she said quietly to herself. She kept her hand on her sword, thinking to herself. 'Running might not work if its faster than me, but I can't stay out here forever' She weighed her options seemingly choosing to speak.

But before she could Kokushibo had already revealed himself, standing in the far distance surrounded by the dark forest. Y/n couldn't help but stare at his six eyes, 'how pretty', she quickly shook the thought out of her head. This was a demon! a murderer, don't let your guard down.

Y/n's face was neutral, not showing any signs of emotion, Kokushibo honestly thought she looked rather tired and dead. "Who are you, what do you want" Her voice held power as she demanded to know who he was.

Kokushibo's eyes widened in anger, who did this pathetic woman think she was. "My name.. is of no concern to you," He said glaring at her.

She eyed him carefully as she took small steps away from him. She could sense the sheer force of his aura, y/n was no match to fight him.

"leaving.. already?" she halted. Kokushibo did not like his opponent running from a fight, he thought it was quite "pathetic".

"I can sense how strong you are, you could kill me in an instant, and I do not wish to die tonight. but, if that is how to gods have planned it then so be it." y/n held her composure, challenging his statement. Kokushibo was surprised at how she held no fear towards him, she had already accepted her death, whether it come today or in 20 years. "Are you going to kill me or are you gonna stare at me all night?"

Kokushibo scoffed at her statement, "Not tonight... perhaps later.. though" he said before he vanished.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

Over the next few weeks, y/n had continued to stay out late practicing her sword skills as she always would. Each night she could still sense him watching her, but each night she would say nothing. Some nights he was there some nights he wasn't. Y/n felt weird to say it but, him being there became part of her daily routine.

Kokushibo on the other hand didn't know why he continued to come back, but he did and he would silently watch her from afar. He never said anything after the night he first met you but he just stood there, for hours on end as he watched you refine your tallent.

"Why is it that you spared me that night?" Y/n spoke sheathing her sword, her back turned to Kokushibo. "Why is it you spare me now?" There was no answer to her question, instead Kokushibo had now stood directly behind her and looked up to the sky.

Y/n sighed, She sat down removing her sheathed sword from her side. "Please sit" She said but Kokushibo simply stared at her. "If you are going to continue to watch me I thought you'd perhaps like to sit and maybe talk, but I can tell you're not one for talking"

Kokushibo eyed her suspiciously, "If you are not going to sit then please leave, I have training to get back to". Kokushibo sat down beside her.

"That sword on your hip, " He looked at her, "do you know how to use it?" She questioned.

"yes.." That was all he said. It was quiet, too quiet. Y/n wasn't one to talk a lot but it was to quiet for her liking.

“Why is it.. that you are not… afraid of me?” Kokushibo questioned. Y/n wasn’t surprised by the question, she had assumed this demon was used to screams and people cowering in fear.

“I don’t know” y/n looked down, “I guess you could say I do not fear death”

“Why is that?” He pressed on. Kokushibo listened intently as this girl spoke to him about her life. One thing she repeated a lot was that a woman won’t ever make it as a sword man in this world.

“You must be very… passionate about the.. art of the sword”

“Yes, but it annoys me knowing that men will always be stronger than me” Kokushibo hummed, knowing that feeling of hatred and jealousy all to easy.

Perhaps talking to this girl wasn’t to bad. “I must go now… It was… interesting meeting you”

Y/n bowed to him “my name is y/n. I hope to see you again demon” she said yet when she brought her head back up he was gone.

“I hope we can talk again soon”

[cactusisconfused]

Guys- guys hear me out in this one.

Cod- loz au (legend of Zelda, mainly breath of the wild)

Soap takes Zelda’s place. He’s the prince of hyrule, with a far too over bearing father- the king. Not a moment can Soap rest or gods forbid he does something of his own, instead of trying to awaken his powers to stop the calamity.

Ghost takes Links spot- The quiet, reserved but brutal knight who wields the sword that will deal the darkness. That very sword, a curse and a blessing to ghost. Everyone is wary of Ghost of course, ever silent and hulking, sometimes showing back up to the castle still covered in blood.

Eventually, as Soap gets into a few too many close calls (something he swears he had control over) when he traversed outside of the castle grounds, the king demands that the best knight hyrule has to offer must be with and protect Soap at all costs.

Soap is absolutely livid at first. He himself is a young adult and knows damn well how to protect himself! Just because he’s royalty and the reincarnation of a goddess, doesn’t mean he’s not willing to get his hands dirty. No matter how many times Soap tell Ghost that it his father, the king never listens and Ghost never stays far, always following the King’s orders. Always the perfect knight he is. No matter how tired, no matter how injured. He has the sword so he must fight.

Eventually though, Soap and Ghost find solace in each other. It’s after Ghost almost gets himself killed to protect Soap that Soap realizes that, sure, Ghost is simply following orders, but he’s protecting Soap because he wants to as well. Because for some reason Ghost cares about Soap beyond his duty as the Prince.

They start talking to each other after that. Well Soap starts talking, happily filling the air with whatever is on his mind. Ghost doesn’t speak, Soap isn’t sure that he’s ever actually heard him speak and that definitely used to piss him off a first, but he eventually finds he doesn’t mind. Especially as Ghost always lends a listening ear.

Anywho, as the tensions of the calamity grow nearer, Soap and Ghost are inseparable. Ghost comforts Soap when he can’t activate his powers, always tries to distract him with his favorite flowers or a joke through sign language. The jokes are usually rather dark or a bit blunt, but it’s always enough to put at least a smile on Soap’s face and whenever that happens Ghost will smile too. Soft and small but there.

Soap would be lying if he said he hadn’t drawn that smile enough times to fill a whole sketchbook, despite being able to count the number of times Ghost did smile on one hand.

As the day of the calamity finally approaches, no one was prepared. The champions (who I’m definitely gonna be making other cod characters) have fallen along with their divine beasts, the robotic guardians- now possessed by calamity Ganon surge to slaughter all of hyrule. Ghost uses everything in his wake to protect Soap but he too eventually falls, and taken to the shrine of resurrection.

Soap, rage and melancholy fill his body and in that moment, Calamity Ganon’s eyes locking onto him, his powers are awoken.

Soap is able to trap Calamity Ganon within the castle, but he Soap must follow that same fate- keeping Ganon bound until Ghost can awake.

100 years pass, before Ghost’s eyes flutter open. His mind is confused as he looks about the room he’s in, all of it familiar but unknown. He knows nothing of himself, not a name or friends, but he does know that he can wield a sword. So when he hears a voice echoing in his head, a certain lilt with an accent, telling him that he needs to save hyrule, his limbs move before his brain can even catch up.

He doesn’t know the voices name, nor his face. But he knows he loved him, and Ghost will do his damndest to get him back.

-

I wanted to put them in a different scenario that I felt like they hadn’t been put in yet. So I started thinking of au’s and then I thought of Breath of the wild and I was like- holy shit that works. So here’s the idea, bit different from my usual.

Honestly if y’all are interested in this I might write more.

Anyway, bye :)

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Can i request Aemond walking in on hid wife swinging his sword around.

LOVE this!! Apologies it took me a while to finish, hope you enjoy anon x

You never quite understood the whole idea of sword fighting. Some considered it a skill, others considered it an art. For your husband, Aemond, born a prince, it was natural that he be taught from a very young age, trained to be a warrior. He did not completely see it as an art, more so as a necessity that played a major role between life and death, although he did have a profound respect for those who could wield a sword.

Being a woman, from a societal standpoint, there was no need for you to come near a sword, let alone be trained. The closest you'd come was watching Aemond from above the training yard, studying his movements closely, graceful yet lethal. The idea that he could protect you, that he would kill for you, made you feel something unusual, but good unusual.

He would always tease you, question your curiosity with the skill of sword fighting.

“Perhaps one day, I may teach you myself… Some 1 on 1.”

You knew Aemond would actually teach you the basics, if you had asked, although seemingly you felt shy. That was until the opportunity presented itself.

As you wondered into your shared bedroom, calling out for your husband, before realising the room was completely empty. As you scanned the vicinity, your eyes came to face Aemond’s sword, standing by the bedpost. You’d grown familiar with the details of the handle, it’s long, silver blade glancing at you.

Almost instinctively, you felt the need to make sure there was absolutely no one else around, before you walked over to the weapon. Picking it up slowly with both hands gripping the handle tightly, you hadn’t expected it to be as heavy as it was. Although it wasn’t long before your arms acclimated to it.

A chuckle escaped your lips, as you examined the blade, a finger carefully running down the flat surface.

Your mind began to race through the movements you’d picked up watching Aemond, swinging the sword swiftly through the air, even managing to twirl it within your fingers after a few attempts.

“This isn’t so bad.” You uttered to yourself.

“Then perhaps we can duel one fine day-”

The suddenness of his response, you hadn’t even heard the door open, as your husband stood their, arms crossed as he leaned against the door frame.

“Aemond, don’t scare me like that, especially when I have-” Swaying the sword in your hand, as to make it even more obvious, “this.”

“You actually aren’t so bad, better than some of the guards I’ve even trained with. Seems you have a knack of picking up things quickly.”

“Oh please, Aemond.”

You proclaim, as you return the sword down to where you’d found it untouched, before walking over towards Aemond, as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I think I’d much rather leave the dirty work for you, I’ll be the damsel in distress, I quite enjoy seeing you fight for me.”

He leans down, unable to hold himself, as his lips linger just above yours, barely touching.

“Hmm, is that so?”

[forkingandcountry-if]

I'm happy to present our 5 new ROs, please ask any questions you have about them after reading and do enjoy!

Without further ado meet Lorn, Kent, Arfryn, Dean and Francine (though she just goes by Fran)

From the day his family and house declared for the usurper-king, it was clear that Lorn Greenspan, the youngest of seven brothers each of whom was already able to wield a sword and do and die on behalf of their father, would be sent away as a ward.

Only eight years old, he had to play his part, leaving behind the familiar chill of his home—its cold peaks and harsh landscape fading from sight to give way to the fertile base of the mountain and the pleasant rolling hills of the Vale. He was a pawn in a conflict he could scarcely comprehend

His father had told him plainly that he must be strong—because until the day their house bent the knee, Lorn would remain a ward, and his father had no intention of surrendering.

Forced to adapt, Lorn became useful, talented, indispensable—not out of love for those his family would call captors, but out of necessity. Now, he stands as your closest advisor and a member of your house in all but name—cool, calculating, indifferent. Yet beneath that icy exterior burns a quiet resolve.

Though he never expects his father to yield, he is determined to see his homeland again, even if it means waging war to bring it to heel.

Name: Lorn of Greenspan

Age: 18

Height: 6'0

Appearance: Lorn has a thick head of dark chestnut hair, gently wavy, it is always styled fashionably with pomade and volume. He has a tawny complexion and almost amber, brown eyes that if you didn't know him you'd think were perpetually concerned and caring rather than probing and scanning. Though under his stylish clothes you couldn't tell it, his body is lean and athletic from harsh training. He has a lone small beauty spot on his right cheek.

(gender-locked m) solo-route

Tropes: advisor-turned-lover, secretly-in-love, black cat

—

The unbroken line of Galagar Kings may have fractured at Kirston Wall, but the proud Highland rulers never truly relinquished their claim. To them, Hendrick the Conqueror and his descendants are nothing more than traitors. Yet, they understand that a king's throne is grounded in the right of conquest, and so they bide their time, quietly assembling their forces, tempering their men, and honing their blades.

Preparing for the inevitable clash, they drill relentlessly through lashing rain and violent gales, each generation more convinced of their righteousness and the frailty of their enemies. The realm may slumber in uneasy peace, but in the Highlands, war is always on the horizon.

Kent Galagar, the young Lord of Kirston, was shaped by this belief from childhood. His father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather—all were kings in their own eyes, their thrones stolen by usurpers. To Kent, acknowledging this truth makes you an ally, a friend. To deny it brands you an enemy, destined to be crushed when the time comes.

For Kent, proud, arrogant, and stubborn as he may seem, the world is divided by a simple truth: those who support the Galagar claim, and those who will fall before it.

Name: Kent Galagar

Age: 18

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Kent possesses a mane of thick, raven-black hair, often left loose or tied back with a leather strap. His skin is scattered with freckling, with a pale complexion. He has piercing blue eyes and a gaze that can shift from arrogant levity to fiery determination in an instant. His powerful frame is unmistakable, with broad shoulders and a chest that strains against the fabric of his tunics. His physique is defined—broad-shouldered and muscular, but not overly so, with a build that suggests both agility and power. His movements carry the confidence of someone who knows his strength and is unafraid to use it.

(gender-locked m) solo-route

Tropes: Intense, enemies to lovers, jerk with a heart of gold, play-boy

—

The nobility are arrogant, cruel, greedy, scheming, and foolish—qualities Arfryn has learned all too well through her peripheral access to them. Her current place among them is no accident but the product of the sweat, blood and tears of her entire family.

Born to a guildman father and a common mother from the east continent, Arfryn witnessed firsthand how the shifting tides of national conflict mirrored the fortunes of her own family. Every struggle either bolstered their wealth or teetered them on the brink of ruin, a fate shared by the yeomanry at large.

Her father, Jasper Caldwell, is the first Premier elected from the Small Parliament, a yeoman elevated by the newly enfranchised class. He has—in no uncertain terms—made it clear that his own position hinges on the peace of the realm.

Arfryn, understanding these dynamics, sees through the superficial grandeur of the nobility. Though she finds them to be the very embodiment of arrogance and folly, she is determined to bend them to her will. For now, she plays the game—offering smiles, be gracious, and dance while they are watching.

Name: Arfryn Caldwell

Age: 20

Height: 5'11

Appearance: Arfryn has a striking presence with her rich, deep brown skin and loose, jet-black braids that cascade down her back ever so slightly curled at the ends. Her eyes are a penetrating dark brown, revealing a sharp intelligence behind a charming, amiable demeanor. She dresses in elegantly simple fabrics that highlight her natural grace—always muted and refined to suit her surroundings but always at the very forefront of courtly fashions. At 5'11 her movements are deliberate, blending seamlessly into the nobility’s world, designed to make her easy to like and hard to hold grudges against.

(gender-locked f) solo-route

Tropes: Steel Magnolia, Dark Feminine

—

In public Dean Champion is everything a Lady-Knight should be, prodigiously skilled with both galder and weapons, valiant, chivalrous and highly popular amongst all who have seen her in tourneys and otherwise.

She like many knights is also spoiled to a fault, her suits of armour gleaming and her squire-boys tasked with keeping them so, as they are expensive and extravagant. Indeed she wears them because all people like a performance and it's her job to give them one.

In private, Dean has dedicated herself entirely to her studies at Pyrenne University, determined to learn all there is about the study and practice of galder and perhaps indeed the deeper secrets that only the great masters know—all the better to become both loved and indispensable to the state.

As the younger sibling of a line with many children, she does not expect to ever inherit and nor does she ever want to, she is entirely content with her career as a tourney knight and the life she's lead in the King's Seat thus far. Indeed Dean has long been utterly convinced that she'd make an awful Lady Paramount, she is convinced utterly that all those like her that revel in the spectacle, the fervor of battle and tourney alike are utterly unsuitable for such positions.

Name: Dean Champion

Age: 19

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Champion has long deep auburn hair, typically braided for both practicalities sake and fashion, with strands often escaping to frame her face. Her skin is fair as if she'd somehow escaped the sun of both her home and the tourney. Her pale green eyes are bright and framed by dark eyelashes. Dean's build is athletic and commanding, showing off the results of rigorous training and combat practice, yet she carries herself with a grace that befits her status as a renowned Lady-Knight. Her entire demeanor projects a sort of graceful confidence, like that you'd expect of a Prince of ages past.

(gender-locked f) solo-route

Tropes: The Lady and Knight, Knight in Sour Armour

—

Fran has long understood that she commands little respect at court—indeed, as a bastard, she finds herself dismissed even within her own family. Yet there is one, a young Lord who is but a child, who legitimized her, who looks up to her, and has earned her unwavering loyalty. Her beloved little brother, her Lord Paramount.

It is for him that she accepted the king's invitation to the King's Seat, to train in the King's Army. She wants to be his eyes, his ears, and his sword.

True loyalty is a rare commodity among the highborn, for what do they owe anyone but themselves and their own appetites?

She is content to endure their scorn and wear the title "Loyal Hound" with pride. After all, what insult lies therein? A good hound is strong, lethal, obedient, loved, loyal, and free to roam so long as it always returns. And return to him she will.

Name: Fran Radwell-Cadderly

Age: 18

Height: 5'7

Appearance: Fran's dirty-blonde hair is cut short, falling just above her shoulders—a length chosen for practicality rather than fashion. Her complexion is fair, lightly sun-kissed from time spent outdoors, with a few sun-spots across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes are a dull blue-green, carrying an intensity that contrasts with her otherwise unassuming features. Her build is lean and wiry, reflecting a life of rigorous training, with a strength that belies her slender frame. Though she dresses simply, her presence is commanding, a blend of quiet confidence and restrained power and it makes her feel much bigger than the 5'7 she stands at.

(gender-locked f) solo-route

Tropes: Guard Dog, Loyal Companion, Golden Retriever

—

The other romance options also have updated bios so we've got a gender balanced cast.

Completely unrelated but Fran, Arfryn and Kent are one soldier, poet, king trio.

Walthe, Veronica and Edmund are another.

Dean, Lorn and the MC are another.

See what I did there, if I was an animator I'd animate that.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Finding home

This can be read as a part 2 to this ficlet and the fic for this poll

Flute song echoed through Ghost City, a delicate melody weaving through the hustle and bustle of the restless spirit dwelling. The song carried something soft with it, soft and aching, a longing in unspoken lyrics and languid notes, calling onto something lost before it had ever come to exist.

For little over a decade, the ghosts inhabiting the city had become used to the song carrying through the streets, calling onto them in a strange, melancholic way - and it was that pull, that gentle calling, that had even the master of the city, the feared Crimson Rain Sought Flower, wanting to find its source.

Thirteen years ago, Hua Cheng had found Wei Wuxian gazing into the dark, distant mountains as he played his flute atop an obsidian rock, the lights of the city casting soft shadows on his pale face. The song flowed out smoothly through the ghostly flute, betraying skill, and the half-lidded, distant gaze of its musician spoke of a longing that Hua Cheng had become too familiar of.

They hadn't talked that day, but Hua Cheng had Yin Yu find out who the mysterious new visitor to his city was - and so he learned of the tale of the Yiling Patriarch, of his death but most importantly, of his life.

Not too long after, Hua Cheng had also learned of what Wei Wuxian had left behind - or, rather, who, a man in mourning robes, red seeping from hastily tied bandages on his back and a question Hua Cheng hadn't been permitted to answer honestly.

But, despite the tragic manner that he had passed, Wei Wuxian had adjusted to life in the ghost realm easily - worryingly so. But he had told Hua Cheng, in a light, casual tone, that he had grown more comfortable being around the dead than the living, that he himself had been dead long before his soul separated from his body.

(It was rather uncanny how some people could drop such things casually in conversation - one would think Hua Cheng would grow used to it, as Xie Lian also used to do it, casually relaying the most shocking tidbits of information that had Hua Cheng's soul shiver with pain and revolt...

He had thought, as he heard Wei Wuxian's words, that he and Xie Lian would get along swimmingly - and they did, however Hua Cheng could not listen to their conversations sometimes, not as they were telling their life stories to each other in traumatic detail, sharing experiences over tea like it was the most natural thing).

Yet, Hua Cheng had found it peculiar how, despite Wei Wuxian's history, he carried no resentment or hate, his spirit calm and gentle as a summer's breeze. Whispers in Ghost City spoke of the man clad in red and black with a flute hanging to his waist, of how he played with the ghost children and sang them songs, how he haggled with vendors for items in the markets or how he calmed the restless with his song, played on an imitation of the one he used while he was living.

It had become a common sight to see Wei Wuxian carry little ghosts on his shoulders or teach riddles to the child spirits, telling them outlandish stories of his life and weaving them little dolls from straws - so much so that many called him Uncle Wei and followed him around, asking to be taught to play the flute, wield the sword or even control ghosts.

Sometimes he visited the Gambler's Den as well, but, though his luck was decent (not as bad as one would have expected considering the circumstances of his life), his victories came more often from annoying his opponents into making silly mistakes rather than his own skill. Surely, this could be argued as a skill in itself, and when he took the game more seriously (sometimes playing on behalf of those that were about to lose precious things), he was cunning and ruthless, to the point that many refused to play with him at all.

(Hua Cheng had wanted to, but Xie Lian had not let him, no matter how sweetly he had tried to talk him into it, and how much Wei Wuxian himself had asked. It would not have ended well, and so the two had to listen to his highness, though grumbling like children about it).

But when he was not playing uncle to ghost children, terrorizing the vendors in the markets or trying his luck in the Gambler's Den, Wei Wuxian was playing his mysterious song, perched atop the obsidian rock, eyes distant, searching for something he did not even know in the darkness of moonless nights.

It had been during one such evening that Xie Lian had joined him. It was often Hua Cheng that did, something in his ghostly nature pulling him towards the song - or, at least, that was what he said happened. (In truth, it was the message of it, the yearning etched in every note that reminded him of centuries of waiting, of praying, of searching for the one that he had loved beyond the laws of reincarnation.)

Xie Lian listened quietly, his hand idly reaching to play with the diamond ring hanging around his neck. Hua Cheng had told him - of the man dressed in white that came looking for Wei Wuxian, of Wei Wuxian's refusal to see him, of the devastated look on the other's face when Hua Cheng had to lie to him.

It seemed like there was much Wei Wuxian had not known when he was alive. Xie Lian could not judge him, as he had not known either, and his heart had gone through much unnecessary torment before he realized it. Still, he could not help but feel sorry for Wei Wuxian, for the way his fate had played out and even more so for the fact that his good heart remained intact in spite of everything that had happened.

They were a lot alike in that regard, if he thought about it.

Wei Wuxian's song neared its end, the notes slowly ebbing into silence as he withdrew the flute from his lips, breathing more by force of habit than need.

Ghosts do not breathe.

"What's the name of this song, Wei-xiong?" Xie Lian asked him, his voice soft, "You always play it."

Wei Wuxian stared at his hand as he idly twirled the flute around his fingers, the grey of his eyes storming with emotion. "...I do not know, Your Highness. It isn't my song. I don't even remember where I heard it..."

Xie Lian's gaze softened further, much like a father looking fondly at his young child discovering the novelties of the world.

"But then again..." Wei Wuxian sighed, a small, though slightly bitter, smile on his lips, "...I don't remember much these days anyway."

"Sometimes it's better that way." Xie Lian added, an attempt at comfort. Wei Wuxian did not reply, instead staring up at the sky.

Onto the pitch black canvas of midnight, there appeared a small, glittering red flame, slithering up towards the heavens, carried by gentle winds. Another followed it, and another, and another...

"I wonder how many lanterns Hua Chengzhu will light for you this year." Wei Wuxian spoke as the many golden lights raised to the sky by the hundreds. "What was it last year, five thousand?"

"Six." Xie Lian corrected, eyes lovingly gazing at the sky. "Before long, I think he will light me ten thousand. There will be more lanterns than stars in the sky..."

Wei Wuxian watched the sky awash with fire and devotion, and for a moment, there was a name on his lips, a figure before his eyes, somebody he would have liked to share the beautiful sight with.

But it disappeared as soon as it had taken shape, and Wei Wuxian felt compelled to play that song again.

--

Somewhere in the Cloud Recesses, a lantern was lit.