#but then again. mytho Had that sword out and about when he lost his heart wherein he also presumably did not have access to Magic Abilities

[chernabogs]

‘  where  has  choosing  goodheartedness  and  having  golden  hair  ever  gotten  you  ? 

hiii um this prompt with a prince silver au maybe? maybe him being kept in the dark about the war and living a perfect life, but then finding out about what the silver owls are doing / planning to do to the fae?

I took this in sort of a subtle approach, if that's ok! I was writing this and suddenly I was like hmmm what if someone nudged him to begin looking into things himself... and voila. Bean-nighe was the first thing I thought of. I did also tweak the line a little!

RED RIVER

Inc: Silver, his nanny, a Bean-nighe/Washerwoman, Leah & Knight of Dawn mention Warnings: Blood (I mean... washerwoman do that), implications of oppression (fae). AU-verse of Silver being raised by Leah and KoD. C7 spoilers, somewhat. Little bit of Scottish mythos in here too. WC: 2.4k Summary: After his nanny goes missing, Silver finds himself lost in the forests, where he comes across a woman washing strange clothing in a stream.

He only begins to clue in that something is amiss when his nanny is absent one morning. She’s a fae, with long hay-coloured hair and slate eyes that still hold a twinkle when she smiles at him. She only really smiles at him—her little sun—but otherwise wears a blank expression. Her eyes always fix to the floor whenever his uncle is with him and she shrinks into the shadows, his quiet nanny, only to emerge from her shell when they’re alone again. 

One time he told her that she felt more like a mother to him than his real one. It isn’t Leah’s fault that she’s absent for portions of his life—that goes part and parcel with being a royal, after all—but absence does not make his heart grow any fonder. His nanny had looked terrified when he said this. She had pressed a finger to her lips and begged him not to say that again, not to say that to anyone. 

When she vanishes, he looks for her. It’s what any child would do.  

He straps his wooden sword to his hip and embarks out of the white manor that is his home into the gnarled woods beyond. Where most children would shy away from the shadows, he strides forward, as brave as his father when it comes to facing the unknown. 

Or at least, as brave as he assumes his father to be. They so rarely interact, despite his name being ‘Silver’ after the armour that the man adorns. Silver, like blades that cut through the night. Silver, like the moon's rays that will touch on new land. The absence of him does not make Silver’s heart grow any fonder either. 

“Nanny?” He calls, his small voice lost to the vast space around him as his neat shoes become muddied from the earth. Assistants had dressed him this morning in fine garbs befitting his position as a young prince. Silver didn’t know why they bothered to begin with. By the end of the day, his knees were always dirty, and his palms scratched up from playing in the woods. Nanny would scold him as she washed the cuts clean and kissed them better, making the wounds vanish into smooth skin. 

When no one replies to his call, he pouts a little as his hand rests on his wooden sword. He isn’t allowed a real one quite yet. He’s still too young, according to his trainer, and needs to perfect working with a wooden sword before receiving iron. A wooden sword is sorely inefficient when it comes to creatures in these woods. Dire Beasts, Stygian Boars, Dryads and Elves—Silver has heard of them all through nanny’s stories at night. 

The Dire Beasts aren’t bad. He can probably climb a tree and wait them out if needed. Stygian Boars often just rooted around the dirt and could be easily bypassed so long as you didn’t spook them. Dryads and Elves, though, are more complicated. Dryads can use nature to their advantage and Elves can use their sharp tongues. Silver knows better than to cross paths with either of them. 

But he needs to find his nanny, and quickly. He wonders if perhaps she’s gone into the woods again to collect flowers and strayed off the path. He used to wake up every morning with a new bouquet by his bedside of flowers he’s never seen before—dark purple and tempting. By the evening, the flowers are gone, but the joy of waking up with them lingers in his memory. 

The space grows darker as he continues to navigate over roots of trees older than even his parents. His small hand grasps the wood to leverage himself as the air grows heavy and a new scent begins to invade him. It smells ancient as well and makes his nose curl as he wanders down an embankment. 

His path is soon interrupted by the sight of someone kneeling by the river that runs below, her back hunched as she appears to be washing something in the stream. He can hear her humming a soft, mournful sounding song as her hands work in a rhythmic manner, dipping the cloth beneath the stream before raising it up and submerging it again. It’s a mesmerizing motion that draws him closer to where she kneels. However, when his foot lands on a twig, making it snap under the weight of his body, the woman ceases her motions and turns her head to look his way. 

She’s an older woman, with the beginnings of wrinkles lining her face and a headscarf concealing her hair. Her dark brown eyes seem to peer right through him as her lips tilt down into a frown and she straightens up. “Boy. Why do you watch me from the shadows?” 

Silver feels the flush of embarrassment burn his cheeks as he rises, walking forward until he draws to a stop a few feet away from the woman. The wooden sword hits against his thigh as he moves, and the woman's gaze watches it with interest. When he’s close—but not too close—he wrings his hands together with a down-turned gaze. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you,” he begins, studying the rocks by his feet as he speaks. “Can you help me?” 

“Help?” The woman’s hoarse tone pitches in amusement as he hears water sloshing again. He looks up to see that she’s resumed her washing. At a closer distance, he can also see the wicker basket by her side, the edge of another cloth peeking out from beneath the lid. “What a peculiar request. Most don’t want my help.” 

Silver thinks this a rather odd thing to say, but he rationalizes that perhaps others are just more cautious, and likely don’t have a missing nanny to worry about. The woman washes quietly for a moment before speaking again as she sets her cloth on a nearby rock to dry. It’s a white linen shirt, in a style that Silver had seen a few of his father’s fellow soldier’s wear. “What is a child like you doing wandering these woods alone?” 

“My nanny is missing. She likes to come into these woods to pick flowers, and I think she may have become lost.” Silver inches forward to squat near the woman by the stream. His small hand reaches out to splash in the water as the woman opens her wicker basket. “I was wondering if—”

His words cut off when he sees what the woman pulls out. It’s another linen skirt, like what his nanny would wear, but this one is not just white. A violent, scarlet stain mars the front of it, accompanied by the pungent smell of copper that makes his breath stutter as he falls back on his rear. His wooden sword clacks against the stones he lands on. The washerwoman seems unaffected by his reaction as she submerges the shirt into the stream and begins to scrub it. 

“Wondering if I have seen her?” The washerwoman then prompts as she scrubs away. Silver gawks at the sight. The only time he’d seen blood before is when he’s fallen and scraped up his hands on the cobbles in the palace’s courtyard. Even then, this was just a little blood. The skirt that the washerwoman is cleaning has far more than a little. Mutely, he nods. 

The washerwoman turns the fabric over before looking at him again. Her dark eyes seem far more lifeless and ancient now that he was closer to her side. “What is your nanny’s name?” 

The question makes him blink. He didn’t know his nanny’s name. She had only been ‘nanny’ to him, or ‘servant’ to the other nobles in the court. His hands reach down to nervously wring the bottom of his shirt. “I… I don’t know. But she’s a fae! With gold hair, grey eyes, and a kindest heart. I miss her. I want her to come home.”

His description makes the woman pause as her hands remain in the creek. Her face reveals none of what she’s thinking. “What is your name?” 

“Silver?” His answer comes out as a question as he frowns. He isn’t too sure why who he is has importance here. He’s looking for his nanny—shouldn’t she be the focus of the washerwoman’s questions? 

Still, the woman hums as she resumes her washing. “Your father is a knight, yes? What is it that you think he does?” 

“He helps people, of course. Lots of people like my father. But... I need to find my nanny, and he’s too busy to help me. Have you seen her?” Silver tries to turn the conversation back to his nanny again. He’s beginning to feel worried about how he still hasn’t found her, and soon it will be mid-afternoon. He’s been walking for a while in these woods now. 

“You must think of him as a noble man. What of your mother?”

“She’s a princess. She helps people too.” He can feel his worry growing as the washerwoman keeps cleaning. The creek ran red for a moment before clearing up again. When the washerwoman sets the skirt on the rock and reaches in her basket again, Silver winces and looks away. 

“You must think of her as a noble woman. Do they spend much time with you, or is it just your nanny?” 

“It’s… mostly just my nanny. She’s always with me, which is why I need to find her. Something isn’t right.” He looks back when he hears her hands submerge in the water again. The creek runs red once more as she twists and turns the fabric. “Please, have you seen her?” 

“Does your nanny let you out beyond the palace walls? Let you accompany your family?” The washerwoman’s lips turn to a frown—another brief expression of emotion. “Does she let you know how noble your family truly is?”

Silver feels himself shrinking back as the washerwoman’s voice drops. Slowly, he shakes his head. “No. I don’t see my mother and father often. They’re always busy, and nanny doesn’t like me to find them until they’ve been back for a few days.”  

The washerwoman nods as if this all makes perfect sense to her. She sits back on her ankles again before looking at him. Water drips off her forearms and a strand of dull brown hair has fallen free from beneath her headscarf. The washerwoman wrings out the clothing item she’s holding before tossing it aside with a carelessness that startles Silver. 

“Your nanny will not be returning to you. Your family is not as noble as you think. Go home, and do not let your court placate you any further. I detest having to wash the clothing of a child.” Her voice is dull and monotone as she grabs her wicker basket, now almost empty save for one more article of clothing. She pulls it out and Silver notes that this garb seems more expensive looking than the rest. It’s a silk shirt, and for a moment he thinks it looks like the one his father wore the last time he saw it. This, too, is marred by a brutal red stain across the front. 

“What do you mean she won’t be returning? Please, I need to find her!” His disregards caution as he inches forward, his small hand grabbing for the washerwoman’s arm. When he touches her skin, it’s as though his entire body is plunged into ice water, like it’s him that the woman is holding beneath the stream. She jerks her arm free with a gasp and it’s with this motion that he sees the sharp teeth she’s been hiding. She is not human—she’s fae, precisely like his nanny. 

“You may be young, but I do not believe in blinding the youth. Ask your father what your uncle truly does—ask why your uncle was the last to request your nanny’s presence. Do not go further into these woods. Your golden hair and good heartedness will not provide you the kindness and security that your towering palace walls do.” The washerwoman wrings out the shirt before tossing it into her wicker basket. She grabs the other items from the rock—somehow already dry despite just being set down—and tosses them into the basket as well. “Your nanny was a fae. It would be wise, young prince, to begin asking why so many of the fae that once served you are now absent.” 

Silver stares at the washerwoman in mute shock as she rises, tucking the wicker basket under her arm with a blank expression once more. Now that she was standing he could see other aspects of her indicative of her heritage. Her nails are clawed, her skin unnaturally pallid, and the hem of her skirt is stained like the clothing she cleans. She looks like death incarnate—and despite his child's mind, Silver begins to realize that something is deeply amiss. 

“I don’t…” he begins, wanting to know more, wanting to ask the woman what she knows about his nanny. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes as he scrambles to his feet. The wooden sword attached to his hip now feels even more worthless than before. 

The washerwoman hesitates. Her kind is not apt to console, or express kindness—she washes the clothing of those about to meet their end in a dispassionate manner. But the look of loss on Silver’s face and the harrowing future she sees before him causes her hand to reach out and tenderly brush back a few strands of his golden hair. It’s a brief comfort that she offers before drawing back. “Go home. It will soon be time for you to grow up, and you must not allow yourself to be blinded by those around you.” 

These are the last words she speaks before Silver blinks and she’s gone. The only traces of her are the wet stains on the rocks and the faint, lingering scent of copper. He can feel hot tears running down his cheeks, which he wipes away with a sniffle before grabbing his wooden sword again. 

His nanny is gone, and his family knows where she went. The sting of betrayal lingers in Silver’s chest as he turns heel and begins to run back down the path he came from. Even though he’s still a child, he knows now that something is amiss—and he’s going to find the truth, no matter what may stand in his way.

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

God of War (PS4) Review: Kratos’ Postal Grief Beard Versus Norse Mythology

Once upon a time, a man was born by the name of Cory Barlog and thus a coin was flipped. Would he become a videogame developer or would he take up guarding the Mines of Moria by pulling wizards into a precipice? Those really are the only two options with a name like Barlog. Anyway, apparently the Mines of Moria were a bit of a commute, so the world gained a talented Auteur developer with a unique vision for a game series about going postal in ancient Greece. Fast-foward a number of years specifically calculated to make you feel old and ancient Greece is a distant memory. Norse mythology is where all the cool kids hang out nowadays, and that’s where we’re going in today’s review.

As you might have guessed, I’ve just finished playing God of War (PS4), which is fun to say because it rhymes. It’s a very good game that should be a very bad game. When considering modern media artefacts, I’m often prompted to ask the question ‘what went so wrong?’, but this may be the first time I’ve had to ask the question ‘what went so right?’.

Let me explain: God of War 4 (I don’t care that they don’t put the number on the box art, that’s what it fucking is) makes a single, monumentally stupid creative decision that should ruin the entire enterprise, but doesn’t. And that creative decision was- wait for it- a stab at maturity.

The last time we saw Kratos- the world’s angriest mythical being- he was finishing his battle with the Greek gods in God of War 3. There was a moment in that game which, to me, typified what was so great about the series. If I recall the sequence of events correctly, you kill your way through an ocean of expendable goons and critters who are just trying to defend their home on Mount Olympus, dripping with blood and screaming furiously, then wander into the bedroom of one of ancient Greece’s sauciest goddesses and play a sex minigame that you win by fucking her so well that her handmaids orgasm too. Then you toddle outside again and, head cleared, solve an incredibly complex and cerebral puzzle involving non-Euclidean geometry and perspective manipulation that takes bloody ages. That, in a nutshell, was the core identity of the original God of War: a gleefully unrestrained and immature approach to sex and violence coupled with a grouchy willingness to make unsuspecting players feel like fucking idiots for no reason whatsoever. It was awesome. In contrast, God of War 4 picks up many, many years later with Kratos hiding out in Midgard of the Norse mythos and, for once, he hasn’t got a nark on and he’s not trying to stick his cock in someone with cartoonishly huge knockers. He’s just sad because his missus has passed away, leaving him and their young, impressionable son alone in a big, scary world full of trolls and ginger psychopaths. ‘Sad’ isn’t a completely new emotion for Kratos, but, up until this point, he was usually sad in a way that resulted in five hundred people getting their spines broken in a very colourful manner. Now he just wants to cremate the remains of the woman he loved and carry her ashes to the tallest peak in the nine realms so he can scatter her in accordance with her final wishes. And that’s what he does, with son- Atreus- in tow. It’s a twenty-plus hour game in which the objective is very simply to honour someone’s preferred funeral rites- nothing more, nothing less. It’s very modest by Kratos usual standards. Remember that his stated goal in the previous game was to punch freakin’ Zeus so hard that his face would go all concave and then repeatedly stamp on his corpse.

We never actually find out much about what Kratos was up to between games or how he met his wife. However, he’s a bit thiccer than in previous instalments and seems to have lost the use of the ‘jump’ button outside of context-sensitive environments. On that evidence, I choose to believe he’s been running a small but successful family restaurant called ‘Kratos’ Potatoes’ and enjoying it all a bit much. And why not? He beat up Zeus- if he just wants to create and sample homely yet exotic Greco-Norse fusion cuisine while growing a ridiculous straggly dad-beard, I say let him crack on. Actually, is it a ‘dad beard’ or is it a ‘grief beard’? I think they send them to videogame characters in the post whenever a loved one dies so they can signal to the world how sad they are through the medium of angsty facial hair. But where was? Oh yeah: cracking on with it.

Y’see this is where the plot comes in: the Norse gods won’t let Kratos crack on. They’re determined to make him bow before Odin- especially Baldur, who is way too invested in having a fight with Kratos for reasons that won’t become apparent until very late in the game. They just keep turning up and trying to break Kratos and his increasingly like-him-but-not-as-good-at-it son Atreus. This time around, our heroes commit heinous acts of violence to defend themselves, not enact revenge, as they travel, inexorably, to the top of a lonely mountain through landscapes of stunning natural beauty and many, many hostile creatures.

Of course, Kratos taking his son on a hiking holiday with added troll-murder and the occasional slap-fight with Norse mythology’s biggest killjoys doesn’t sound as interesting as the original games. After all, those were basically a production of Kill Bill in which the part of Bill was played by a guy with the power to summon lightning bolts and access to a seemingly unstoppable army of monsters and demigods. The ‘fun factor’ even seems to have taken another downgrade, in that Kratos no longer operates with the entertainingly demented passion of the insane: he has been tempered by time and love and managed to turn himself into a paragon of serious self control. So why is God of War 4 so bloody good? Partly, I suspect, the answer lies in the constantly evolving relationship between Kratos and Atreus, which gives the story an unbelievable amount of heart and always manages to feel very organic. Kratos never learned how to be a parent, and we essentially watch him do it in real time, forming a bond with his son that seems impossible at the start of the game and inevitable by the end. Partly, the games greatness lies in the characters you meet along the way, who range from bickering dwarves to talking, decapitated heads who prattle on like laid-back tour-guides. Partly, it’s in the beautiful, epic landscapes that make the journey across the Realms to the highest peak feel epic and significant, even while it is small and personal.

But a videogame is nothing without gameplay, and it is here that God of War 4 really shines. I loved the original God of War trilogy (especially the third instalment), but I rarely felt like I was playing as, y’know, a god of war. Kratos might not be an uncontrollable whirlwind of fury any more, but he feels truly powerful for the first time in the ongoing series. In fights, every punch feels like it could crack stone; every axe-throw like it could rend the sky; every chain-whip like it could legitimately start a forest-fire. Out of combat, Kratos moves around the environment with the stolid grace of a man who knows his movements are inevitable; irresistible; an imposition on the environment that can’t be denied. You climb and complete elaborate, complex traversals knowing that the satisfaction you feel isn’t just the satisfaction of finding the correct route or solving an obstacle, but the satisfaction of a being forcing his way through a landscape that resists him at every turn but cannot stop him. The puzzles- of which there are many- strike the perfect balance between conceptual trickiness and ease of execution to remind you that Kratos is smart as well as determined; that his mind is as indomitable as his body. Then there are the little touches involving heaving huge stone pillars and similar unnecessarily over-the-top efforts. In short, the gameplay is interwoven with who Kratos is- with what he is in way that seems completely unprecedented. Even the RPG elements feel  appropriate: they reflect the protagonist’s growing confidence in a skillet he hasn’t used in a long, long time.

Do I miss the uniquely juvenile, over the top identity of the old games? Absolutely: I’m a great fan of gratuitous gore and scantily clad women with big fuck-off swords. Usually, I find the desire for maturity in games to be a silly, pretentious trend that foolishly eschews anything obviously ‘fun’ for no reason other than courting the respect of people whose respect isn’t worth having. But I don’t think that’s what’s going on here- at least, not entirely. The developers of the God of War games are clearly artisans and craftsmen of extreme talent: their attention to detail is superb and their ability to weave a good tale from a simple premise is actually a little daunting for someone who considers himself a bloody good story-teller. It’s worth remembering that the de facto head of the studio, Barlog, became a father himself before commencing work on this game about a father learning to bond with his son. It feels personal and meant because it is. Other games might reach for superficially mature themes like family and redemption for altogether cynical reasons. God of War 4 does it because such thoughts are clearly much on the developer’s mind. I asked already ‘Do I miss the identity of the old games?’ and the answer is still yes. But that question deserves a follow-up: am I willing to embrace the identity of this new, quieter God of War anyway? And yes, yes I am.

But if we could have a few more women with enormous knockers and Kratos going properly batshit just once or twice in the next sequel, that would also be welcome. I mean, let’s try to strike a balance here, people, for pity’s sake.

[poormeowmeowcollector]

A Wild Game Of Survival

Pairing: Dark Loki x Female Reader, Loki/Sigyn

Warnings: Major Character Death, Violence, Language, Dark, Loki (he is a warning). Each chapter will have individual warnings.

Summary: In a world where everyone is immortal until they meet their soulmates, I expect to have a nice life with them and I was so wrong.

Notes: yes, it has first person narration. It's an old one.

Chapter 6: The Story Behind The Beast

Warnings: Christians, violence, cursing, death, plague, grief.

Summary: and this is how the walls break

Notes: this is not the darkest chapter, but is the saddest. Please grab your water, blanket and tissues before reading it.

First chapter Previous chapter AO3 next chapter

He agreed on getting some breakfast before he left. And that was the last goodbye.

When I woke up, not many hours after, Loki was awake and still staring. Did he even move? Probably not.

"Were you up all night?" I hid a yawn as I asked. Loki nodded a yes, still not moving. I sighed and got up, my stomach asking for muffins.

"I'm gonna get some breakfast, do you want something?" I looked at him as I put on my boots and checked at the cash I had. I had to get some money later today, but they were enough for breakfast. He made a tutting sound of no. I hummed an ok and left, deciding to let him on his thoughts.

~~~

"What is that?"

He got out of his bubble when I threw a paper bag of muffins in his stomach.

"Muffins. It only had raisins," I shrugged. He took out one and sniffed it before putting it back and leaving the bag beside him.

"What?" I eyed him. I guess that he's a killer but everyone likes muffins, even if they are with raisins.

"Lactose intolerant, can't eat them," I made an oh sound on this information. He didn't consider this as a poisoning attempt, did he?

"Anyway," I swallowed a bite and left my bag aside. It was kind of a dick move to eat in front of him. "What were you thinking about?" I asked, my eyes pinned on him.

"The answer," He said plainly. I swallowed thickly. Would he attack after he had it?

"Did you… did you get closer?" I tried to hide my anxiety.

"I think I have it," He sat back. Relaxed. He was probably about to murder me and he was relaxed. I felt my heart beating faster.

"And… What is it?" I basically stuttered, panic creeping out.

"It's a big answer," He tried to avoid it. It was about my safety, my life. I deserved to know if he would kill me.

"I have all day," I crossed my hands, holding myself from panicking.

"So… I was not always like that. Once, I was just a farmer's boy in a small village in Norway. And it was a simple life. Some farming, more hunting, even more raiding… Nice and simple and I liked it, even if it was hard and boring.

"And, my seiðr helped. I was well respected since I was a baby, I was considered a gift from the Gods. But, I had a big brother and he stopped all this from making me a narcissistic dick." I scoffed a bit.

"Got some bad news for you,"

"Shut up," He spat and cleared his throat.

"So… I was in a raid, basically a massacre. A man had me on the ground, too weak to fight back and with a sword about to slit my throat. And he got sliced in half by an axe. And behind him was a woman. She looked like you, you are almost a clone of her. She was with her armour and bloody and dirty, I didn't look better, but she was just stunning in my eyes. We fought together for the rest of the raid, and claimed each other on the boat home. She was from the village next to mine, a friendly one." His eyes got dreamy just by talking about that woman. I guessed she was the first soulmate.

"Her name?"

"Sigyn. Like in the mythos. We found out we were soulmates, we married and we had twins, Narfi and Vali. Good boys, but impossible to keep them out of trouble. But we were a happy family." His nostalgic look didn't change when he talked about the boys. I smiled at him, it was good to know he knew love.

"But, the Christians came. They thought of us as barbarians and Pagans for believing in the Tradition. I saw some men and women I knew getting burnt in the stake for believing in the Gods. It was frightening, but we were the wildlings." His nostalgic smile faded and got replaced with disgust. I completely understood it.

"They came to me and made me an offer. I had to abandon my belief in the Tradition and get baptized and me and my family would live. The boys were still babies and Sigyn was weak from the birth, I couldn't risk moving away or denying. And I agreed. I stopped the raids, became a hunter and they named me Luke. Hel, I was even going to the church every Sunday… But I still raised my boys as my father raised me, I didn't want them to change into this, just because I had to pretend to be a changed man." His disgust grew bigger. I nodded and waited for him to finish.

"I had to hide my magic to protect myself and my family, practising my belief and my power in secret. I hated hiding, especially since I was used to being proud of who I am. But I had no choice.

"Some more Christians came and brought this terrible disease, smallpox. I got sick, very sick. The best doctors, Norse and Christians, told me the same thing. "Pray for a fast death," I told Sigyn to take the kids, they were six, and go to her mother's house. I didn't want them to get sick or see me dying so terribly. And, when they left me alone and I gathered all the strength I had left, I healed me, with magic. They called it a miracle. And my family returned."

"Someone spoke of magic. Of a green light coming out of the hut as I healed. They suspected Sigyn and she was arrested for witchcraft. She didn't tell them I was the witch, and she died in the stake, along with my kids. I had to watch it. They forced me to watch my family burn…" His voice broke and tears fell from his eyes. I moved closer and grabbed his shoulder, making him turn to face me and wipe them away. Then, something odd lit up in his eyes.

"I was mad with anger after this. Since they came, I did everything I could to protect them. Everything. And they murdered them. I took Sigyn's axe and slayed the old bitch who accused her. Then, I fueled my magic with rage and burnt down the village. I didn't care if it was Christians or my own people, they were all traitors, all killers. They took my life away from me, and I did the same. The villages around saw the green flames. They said it was the wrath of a powerful God. Some knew I was a witch. So, they created the God Loki. I didn't give a shit about being a God, but I didn't say anything." His eyes glowed for a moment as he spoke, his whole body tight with the memory. The lamp near us broke, I didn't need to wonder why. He breathed down and managed to collect himself before he went on.

"After this, I was easy on losing control because of my anger. I even killed my next soulmate because of this, in an accident. I don't even remember what happened, I only remember the anger. People grew scared of me, I was a monster. I couldn't live there anymore. I started wandering around Europe, and soon, around the Earth. It took me a lot of time to take control again, but I did. And, my soulmates were different. They didn't look like her, or they reminded me of her. They were bringing back the pain, the anger, the sentiment. Once, I was sharing a bed with one and I remembered the smell of my family. I ran to the bathroom and cried so hard I vomited. I couldn't live with soulmates anymore, so I was getting rid of them, of the sentiment. And the killing began." He was still whimpering, fighting back his tears. I cupped his head and moved my hand along his hair, hoping he would be soothed down.

"It had become a habit. And easy. I needed ten minutes to get done with the next one and then I was free again. And I was easy on finding them. They reminded me of that smell. But, you were different. You had your magic, like me, and you fought back. I used to hate you for that, but now I admire you. And, everyone had small traits of Sigyn, enough to bring back the memories, the smell. You have traits of all three of them, but you don't bring back the smell. Just the feeling of family… I hated you for that too, it was foreign to me. But you made it familiar, with your kindness last night…" He held himself longer, but I started tearing up. He moved his cold hand and wiped them away, a soft smile on his face.

"And, I started thinking. I didn't sleep, because of the thoughts. Killing will never bring my family back, it will only make them disappointed. And you made me realize that, with your questions. I gain nothing from murdering, I only lose them. And I have to go back to them, I don't belong in this era. I belong with the dead, with my family. I was turned into a corpse that made more corpses just to prove itself that it's still alive. So, I won't hunt you down again. I will leave. I will let you live your life, with someone you deserve to. I will go back home and wait until I can go with my family again. I will let the Norns guide me to them," His voice was breaking, he was barely holding himself together now.

"This is it? Good-bye?" I cried out, unable to stop my tears. He nodded a yes, then he hugged me.

"I just want you to know that I thank you. I thank you so much for bringing light to my way, for helping me out. I owe you so much, my dear. So much… I will see them again because of you, I am alive again because of you." He let himself cry, his hands tangled around me and his face hiding in my shoulder. I weeped too, holding him tight.

I lost track of how long we stayed like this. But he let go, let me wipe away his tears and smiled at me before he blew a kiss on my forehead.

"Promise me to keep contact," I smiled. He grinned and nodded.

"Thank you, my love," He whispered. I cried again and he wiped it away, shushing the pain away.

[ashleyswrittenwords]

Whumptober No.5

Where Do You Think You’re Going? (On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue)

Series Summary: After Calamity Ganon awakens, Zelda is left alone and heartbroken. Now something horrible has happened to Link and no more is she merely tasked with fighting the Calamity - but also what is left of her knight.

Growing up, everyone was taught about the inevitable prophecy.

Esme knew as much as anyone did that 10,000 years ago a fabled princess and her hero fought against a dreaded evil, ultimately bringing peace to Hyrule. It was a tale told in primary school alongside the common alphabet. As a young girl, she nearly obsessed over the prophecy – reading legends and mythos to find similar themes that all led back to a girl with the blood of Hylia and a boy blessed with Her sword.

So, when it was decreed by the historians that the ancient evil would soon break from its seal Esme was not afraid. She knew their crown princess was the goddess’s descendent just as the many princesses before her. Esme had grown from a girl and into a young woman and with that, she found love and bore a family. Still, with so much at stake now, she wasn’t afraid because by the time her daughter was born, they had found the boy who will wield the sword that seals the darkness.

It seemed that everything was falling into place.

Her hometown, just west of Castle Town, was evacuated in preparation for Calamity Ganon. Her husband refused to leave as this was his father’s home and so she left with her children to the outstretches of Hyrule.

Naturally, the Calamity resurfaced and with it was destruction.

News traveled relatively fast. The events that were meant to happen fell out of place. The princess did awaken her power; however, it was too late. Her knight had died at Fort Hateno while they were fleeing from Calamity Ganon. As she was meant to, Princess Zelda was able to fight back against the Calamity’s adversaries even though the time in between had collapsed their current monarchy and resulted in a stand still.

With no hero, who was going to slay the darkness?

It had been nearly a full year since the Calamity overshadowed them. Hyrule was experiencing one of its coldest winters on record and Esme hadn’t seen her husband in months. The only acknowledgement of his whereabouts came from the men who visited their wives or the housewives that have returned to their settlement. It was grueling to be away from him, but she knew he was alive and her two young children were safer away from where Calamity Ganon was the strongest.

Esme also knew her husband wanted to protect their little farmhouse for as long as possible, but it was unforeseeable how long that demon would hold reign over Hyrule. And, of course, she missed him. Their family was alive and well. Without him it only felt incomplete and if she had to drag that man from that house, then so be it.

Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest to leave in the dead of winter. The thought occurred to her as she began trekking east. Her children were safe with her parents and in-laws, so she knew they would be well-cared for. Hylia had blessed them with being so close to Rito Village and the inhabitants were more than generous with supplying them foodstuffs and winter gear. Because of this, Esme told herself she would endure.

Hylians weren’t the only ones that hated the cold, according to her many tomes on Hylian legends, the monsters were adverse to these conditions. So, yes, should she not run into anything particularly difficult – Esme would endure.

She took her old horse east without a hitch. It was true that there was an influx in monsters. They tended to watch her from far away, not willing to chase after one woman. If anything, they were disinterested in her and if she weren’t as smart as she was, Esme would’ve been slightly offended.

Families didn’t stay in her little village, especially in the months following the Calamity. Those that stuck with her stubborn husband were other men and the elder families whose children were already grown.

When she arrived, Esme didn’t see one person on the roads. The sun was setting over the horizon and beyond the windmill of their village was Hyrule Castle in the distance. When prior she had felt blessed to have such a view, it now felt like an awful reminder of what they lost. Their village was modest, but it had never been so quiet.

Winter or not, one of the major roads passed through here and there was always something happening. Mr. Hutchinson would have his world-famous bread baking every morning, his wife just as busy with winter treats. The children here were always so active in the snow. They never tired of their games and would dress up every year to sneak ale from the midwinter festival. (They never succeeded when Esme was around, but sometimes she would overlook the older teens because she was young enough to remember how it feels to yearn for adulthood.)

Mrs. Hutchinson opened her door the moment Esme rode into town. Her wrinkles had deepened and the stress had worn her features. They embraced briefly.

“I saw your old man just the other day,” she had said. “There aren’t many that have stayed, but he’s been beyond helpful.”

Esme scowled at that, “He should be with his family. Just like you and your husband.”

The baker’s wife sighed, “With the raids happening all around this place… you’re right, we should. The timing just hasn’t been the best.”

In response, Esme should have asked what she meant. She didn’t. Instead, she was all too eager to see her partner. Not a moment longer she had bid Mrs. Hutchinson goodbye and promised she’d stop by after wrangling her own husband into leaving.

At the end of the road was her home. It was still standing in one piece with the stable beside it empty. With a gentle voice, she left her horse in the open field in front of her home. She’d properly feed and stable him once she saw her husband.

The door creaked open under her fingertips and she shivered from the sudden shelter from the wind. The fireplace was out, however the embers were glowing and the house looked properly lived in. The lock to the door clattered shut. She unwound the Rito scarf from her shoulders and set it on the coat rack, shedding her first layer of clothes with it. The living space had a set of dishes atop a table, a hearth on the far wall, and a small kitchenette that Esme had always adored.

He wasn’t home, evident from the empty space on the coat rack, but she popped in front of their mirror anyway. Her hands went to smooth down her hair, combing down her pale locks after two days of riding. Her eyes held extra lines she hadn’t noticed before now.

A thought snuck into her head and she cursed herself for her vanity.

“Ben?” she called out, turning slightly to glance at the stairs that disappeared to the upper floor. There wasn’t an answer, so she turned back with a crease in her brow. The emptiness bothered her more than she’d ever admit to him.

He’d tease her about missing him. She’d bully him into confessing that he missed her too.

Esme turned fully away from the mirror and bounded up the steps, calling out again, “Benji?”

It was darker upstairs. She passed the kids’ room and peered into her own. The sheets on their bed were mussed, the workmanship of a man whose heart was only half into the task. That, too, was empty.

She resigned to looking out their bedroom window over the snow-covered cabbage field. They didn’t make much money by farming. Her husband had once done reservation work in the Royal Guard before leaving prior to the Calamity. Even if she believed it was all going to work out, she didn’t want him in danger. Esme knew how guilty he felt, but they weren’t as young as they used to be – only living for each other. They had two more little lives to support, and she wasn’t sure she could do it without him.

Dusk had fallen over the town when she heard a loud bang coming from the village. The picture frames on the walls shook before ebbing back into place. Esme’s heart stuttered in her chest and she pressed her cheek flush to glass to find the source of the loud sound. Her hands launched herself from the windowsill and she bounded down the stairs. Her scarf tangled with the coat rack so she left it a flurry of motions to open the door.

From the entrance of her house were a varied array of screams emanating from the center of town. Smoke rose steadily into the air, illuminated ominously by fire. Esme tried to hold down her horse, but he was already spooked and shirked away from her touch.

Esme did the second best thing, she began running. The air was colder than before and it pinched her cheeks as she reached the road. On her way out, a stocky man she recognized was running her way.

“Esme, gods, what are you doing here?” he huffed out a breath, his hands placed tactfully on his knees. He was the butcher’s apprentice, no doubt staying to safeguard the butcher shop.

“I came for Ben,” she glanced at the direction he came from with concern. “What’s happening?! Are we being robbed?”

“Monsters. A lot of monsters. They’ve been going around raiding villages for food instead of finding it on their own,” he frowned. “You should flee. Come on.”

He went for her arm, but she tore it away. “What about the Hutchinsons? Are you just leaving them?”

He glared at the accusations, “It’s too late!”

She held in her disbelief, again starting down the road.

“Esme, stop! It isn’t just the monsters!”

It didn’t matter. It was beyond awful to leave an elderly couple to fend for themselves. Hopefully he was the only one to abandon them.

The fires roared over the town square and were already spreading towards the bakery. It looked like they started at the general store. Esme reached the bakery entrance, pulling at the door and pounded for them to open up. The porch to the general store creaked to a slump before falling completely into charred smoke. She hacked on a throatful of it and stumbling from the bakery front.

Her name found her ears and she saw a crouched form slumped against the building. Esme’s sight adjusted and she stumbled over.

“Margaret! Are you- Hylia above,” Esme choked on her words and held her hands in front of her month.

Mrs. Hutchinson looked up at her mournfully, tears in her eyes, then looked back down at her husband. He was limp in her arms and stared with unseeing eyes. Sweet Mr. Hutchinson was dead and surrounded by a puddle of his own blood.

Mrs. Hutchinson sniffed and spoke through watery words, “You should leave, Esme. Those monsters…”

She heard them. A bokoblin snort coming from the other side of the wall, then a crash. They were rummaging for food.

“Come on,” Esme began, ignoring the bile forming in her throat to help Margaret to a stand. The women was hesitant at first.

“But…” she motioned to her husband.

Esme found her eyes, “He’d want you to live. Let’s go.”

Her hands shook with uncertainty, but she willed it not to appear on her face. If she could get this woman to her horse then they could start west. The search for her own husband would have to wait, even if the thought of his fate made her heart ache horribly.

Another crash was heard and across the square was a shout of anger.

“Burn it all, damn it!”

It was so loud that Esme stopped in her tracks. Across the square passed the town well was a man in front of the mayor’s broken-in door. She had half a mind to call out for help until his mannerisms sunk in. A blue moblin knelt before him… groveling at his feet. The man brought a swift kick to its head, glaring down at the thing.

“Animals. The lot of you. I want it to the ground. Do you hear me?! You’re not here to scavenge!”

Esme expected the moblin to rear up and attack the idiot, but he only made a noise of pain and slunk backward. She began to think that this idiot wasn’t an idiot after all.

Anger welled in her chest, but she wasn’t reckless. She wouldn’t be. The man turned to them, bright yellow eyes against the darkness. His motions stuttered for a few seconds, enough time to tell Margaret that her horse was waiting at the farmhouse.

He began walking towards them. A nondescript expression forming on his face.

“What about you? I’ll ride this way,” Mrs. Hutchinson whispered harshly, already backing away at the sight.

“No,” Esme said immediately. “No, you leave first thing. I’ll find another way.”

The woman ran off, leaving Esme to glower in the man’s direction. She shouted, hoping to seem indignant instead of startled. If she distracted him then maybe he wouldn’t care to go after her friend.

“What are you doing to my town?”

He was still fairly far away, but she could see the unnaturalness in his movements. His sword in his hand… Esme stumbled back. Blood, red and recent dripped from the tip.

She took a step back and he tilted his head, watching her curiously. “Your town?”

Esme held in a gasp. She knew that face. “I-I thought… I thought it wasn’t true…” she breathed out.

Even with the fire illuminating from behind him, it was unmistakable. She had taken her family to Castle Town to see one of the many military parades and festivities the king threw to keep public morale high. The Champions were a staple, famous. Esme could spot the Hylian Champion easily in a crowd.

But she made a mistake – her voice wavered. His steps grew faster and she staggered back before falling into a run. The fire had spread further, wicking up from the rooves. Rich laughter followed her, echoing off the walls as she ran past the bakery.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

A yelp escaped her as she tripped over Mr. Hutchinson’s dead body. Her leg twisted awkwardly, but she scrambled up anyway. The short alleyway led to a brick way where the bakery furnaces were along with a storage area for the general store. Esme bypassed these too, cursing herself for not taking another avenue.

With the town cut out of the hills, the back alleys were sloped and craggy where infrastructure wasn’t held as a priority. It was often that snow was left undug. Her ankle pulsed red and gave out under her weight once the snow grew too high.

Esme cursed bitterly, scraping by her hands and knees until even that was pointless.

The princess’s knight had loud boots. They were thick and distinctly of military garb. The rest of it wasn’t. He wore a common coat, but peaking out was a Hylian royal blue. In his grip was a broadsword, drawn and ready.

“Please!” she began, her voice taunt. “I-I have children waiting for me.”

In a blink, things were slightly different. He blinked down at her with a blankness and when he kneeled before her, she winced and pulled away as far as she possibly could. When she opened her eyes, she saw normalcy in his. A cobalt, brilliant and beautiful.

The knight brought a hand to her bangs and smoothed them back. It was a gentle gesture. Her hair threaded through his fingers.

“Your hair is the wrong shade,” he said absently, as if disappointed. “And your eyes are the wrong color.”

Esme went to speak but as soon as she did a piercing sound flew through the air and an arrow burrowed into the knight’s shoulder. The force propelled him backward and he made a sharp sound. It happened quick. He rolled into a stance, but then her view of him was obstructed by another.

The woman turned to meet her eyes and gave a minute signal to leave. Her blonde hair was braided back tightly and in her hands was a bow with an arrow readied on the string. The quiver strapped to her back jostled when she faced the knight once more.

“I was wondering when you would show up,” he grunted, Esme heard the snap of wood.

“What do you have to gain by doing this?” she sneered. She stood readily; her thick clothes clear that she was expecting a fight.

Esme shuffled in the snow to get off the ground, but with her injury her getaway was slow.

“You never come out to see me,” he said, a grin was audible. “What else was I to do? Oh… are you going to kill me?”

The knight was referencing the woman’s bow. Esme held in a gasp as the arrowhead shown with bright light. The fingerless gloves she wore readjusted on the bow.

That must be…

From Esme’s position, she could see the broadsword loosen in his grip then falling to the dirty snow altogether.

“Was my sword not enough for you? We both know you can wield it now, but – no –  you choose another weapon. I should be insulted,” his humor was palpable. “How poetic would it be to be struck down by something so dear to me?”

“Shut up,” Princess Zelda said through gritted teeth. “Pick up your sword.”

He sighed heavily, falling to his knees in a grandiose slump. “I suppose my charge will do.”

“Link.”

“Death is only good when it’s swift.”

“Link!”

Esme watched as he just barely made eye contact with her. Back was that cat-eye yellow. She opened her mouth to yell out a warning but Zelda had already loosened the tenseness of her string.

In one motion, Link gathered the hilt of his sword in one hand and sprung towards the princess. Her reflexes acted quickly, attempting to parry with the bow’s neck. She braced herself, becoming easily overpowered by the man’s weight and twisted away from him quickly. She drew the sword at her hip in time for his follow through. Steel clashed against steel.

A hand on Esme’s shoulder startled her. She met the amber-red eyes of a Sheikah who tried her best to express that she wasn’t in danger.

“Please, come with me.”

Esme wanted to argue in favor of helping the princess.

“We can only leave him to her. Quickly now.”

At that, she acquiesced and took the woman’s hand. Ducking through a series of alleyways, the Sheikah seemed to know this town better than Esme did. Finally at the town square, she led her to a pair wearing traditional garb. Their faces were covered, but when they saw the woman leading her, they stood.

“Let us go inside,” the smaller of the two said, she took her hand gingerly and Esme turned to thank the one that found her, she was gone.

“Always in a hurry,” she tsked. Her hair was cut to her shoulders and despite her stature, she had no problem carrying Esme inside the house. The fire of before seemed dampened now.

“They must have found him,” the man exasperated, following them inside. “Did you even scout the area? What about those bokolins?”

She gasped at the accusation, wriggling her mask down to glare with full effect. “Um, yes, Robbie. I did. I sent those little soldier boys over.”

Robbie scoffed.

“My name is Purah,” she said with a smile a little too bright and motioned for her to sit. They were in a hallway where a skinny bench sat. Immediately, she saw a dampened Mrs. Hutchinson sitting on the same bench.

“Margaret!” Esme smiled. “You’re safe.”

Purah raised a brow, “Oh good you know one another. The ankle, is it?”

In response, she nodded.

“Are you well, dear?” Mrs. Hutchinson said, enveloping Esme’s hand in hers.

She sobered up, remembering sharply that this woman’s husband was dead. “I am. Thank you. I believe the princess saved me.”

The woman blinked, “Princess Zelda? I found her and her group on the way to your farm.”

“How miraculous,” Esme winced as Purah rotated her ankle.

“Pardon,” she said under thick glasses. “I may be a doctor but my medicine for alive things is a bit rough.”

As Purah examined her ankle, the Sheikah woman of before returned with the princess beside her. Through the small window, Esme watched as they were chattering together and only stopping when a group of men returned with reports. There were at least a dozen men and women, all carrying some sort of weaponry, scurrying through the village either looking through debris or taking the remaining monsters.

The princess’s clothes were slightly more disheveled , but before she could examine further Esme’s thoughts were cut off.

Purah sniffed, “Sprained – probably. According to my calculations, I’m pretty sure.”

“Not that confident, it seems.”

“Robbie, shush!”

Attempting to put weight on it, Esme stood and braced the wall. It wasn’t as bad as she expected.

Robbie opened the door for her and when she hobbled down the steps, she caught Zelda’s attention.

“Your Highness-”

At that, she shot up from the conversation she was in.

“Just Zelda,” she remediated, softening the hurry in her speech. “Please. Did he hurt you?”

Esme bit the inside of her lip. “No, I fell… though I was convinced he would. Thank you.”

“He most likely would have,” the Sheikah woman beside the princess muttered.

Zelda politely acknowledged her before smiling graciously at Esme. “Of course.”

There was a sharp tear through one of Zelda’s sleeves with the faint trace of red. She didn’t seem bothered by it. Purah went about looking at it with a gruff series of mumbling.

“You really should be evacuated,” Zelda spoke up again. “This area is only miles from Castle Town. The creatures here are stronger.”

“Forgive me but… I didn’t know it was true. The hero,” Esme swallowed her nerves. “He’s….”

Purah’s chattering stopped and even the soldiers’ side conversation settled to silence. The group came to a standstill. The only sound came from several men working on outing the fires.

Zelda worried her lip between her teeth. “It happened during the Calamity. We think that somehow Calamity Ganon infected his body with Malice. I’m unsure what it amounts to…”

The Sheikah woman put a hand on her shoulder when she trailed off. Her voice was cool, prepared, “He is the Calamity Ganon’s adversary now. We’re in the midst of stopping him.”

So, the tales were true. And like that, the Sheikah commenced once more into delivering orders to the men and women putting out the fire. Zelda met her eyes with a subdued smile, “Again, I implore you to take as many people to the evacuation zones. They’re the same as planned prior to Calamity Ganon. Do you need a guide?”

“No, actually, I’ve come from the settlement near Rito Village. I’m looking for my husband.” Hope flooded Esme’s breast. “His name is Benji Feidelm.”

Slight confusion screwed the princess’s lips together until her face slacked slightly, she turned to Robbie and asked a soft question. He nodded and walked away towards the smoking buildings.

“He’s been a fantastic help,” she smiled again.

Only moments later, cheeks marred with soot, she saw him. His hair was that same mussy brown that she’d grown to love so much. Ben’s eyes met hers, widened, then ran up to wrap his arms around her. Her feet left the ground while in his embrace and she couldn’t help but laugh as tears escaped her eyes.

When he put her down, she punched him squarely in the shoulder.

The princess watched kindly but left soon after.

  Eventually, the commotion died down to make camp in the village square. Benji and Esme insisted that their farmhouse be used, but the group who followed the princess refused in place for the tents they packed. They hadn’t been soldiers’ after all, well, not all of them. As Benji had explained, they were people who were willing to thwart Ganon in any way they could – no matter how menial.

Zelda placed a hand on her arm, partially steering her away from the campfire songs.

“I’m sorry,” she lowered her voice and glanced behind her at Impa, who was caught in an argument between Purah and Robbie. “But was Link telling you something? Before I intervened?”

Esme searched her, taking in the slight glimmer in her green eyes. She was a beautiful girl, but it wouldn’t be so surprising. She was the Princess of Hyrule. As she waited, there was intelligence within her, guiding her.

“I wish I knew what he meant. He said that my hair and eyes were the wrong colors,” she frowned at the short-sighted answer. Esme was smart. She’d fallen in love with the legends of heroes and princesses. They were a staple story in her family, so she had an inkling of an answer. “I believe he was looking for you.”

Briefly, Zelda’s face softened. Her brows knitted together and her eyes grew. Esme reached for her, as any woman would to comfort another, but she had already regrouped. Her jaw set and she added a plastic smile.

“I see, thank you.”

Esme watched her leave the square altogether.

[secret-engima]

Somewhere, out in the multiverse, someone tried to make Ardyn chancellor... Which the Ardyn in question would find entertaining, in theory- except he'd be chancellor. Ardyn has had more than enough of politics, thank you, and that's part of what had originally sent his life to hell. And he may or may not have already lived through this mess once, twice would be boring. So, sorry, dear. But if you want him as chancellor, you'll have to catch him first.

I love this idea. I love it SO MUCH IMMA RAMBLE/MINI-FIC ON IT-.

-Just- Ardyn probably taking one look at this Mad Scientist (not that he knows that pop culture term) and deciding that whatever the man has planned is Not Good and Ardyn may be a walking mess and may not Understand Technology At All but he’s not going to just sit around being used a second time in his life and so he...

-Bolts. Uses his newfound daemon powers to escape into the wildness and then realizes he doesn’t really ... know where to go? At all?

-Decides to travel everywhere and see how the world has changed because what else is he going to do? He isn’t Ifrit-crazy in this AU and so has no real desire to go hunt down the LCs for revenge (no desire to see them at all actually but eh).

-While Bersithia and the rest of Niflheim proceed to lose their minds (YOU LOST THE ADAGIUM??? FROM THE MOST SECURE FACILITY IN NIFLHEIM??????) Ardyn ambles all over the place and finds really interesting people and learns how to use his daemon powers to Not Get Hurt and also how to ignore the screaming in his head at having Daemon Powers. Visits all sorts of cool places, wanders into Altissia looking for a boat to Lucis, briefly meets Weskham who is just getting Maagho of the ground and teaches the nice young man some ancient recipes for the lols before shambling off to Lucis.

-Immediately, instantly, catastrophically starts rumors left and right. Niflheim has great censorship (this is the evil dictatorship that convinced its people they were “vanishing” and not “turning into daemons” after all) so rumors of a “human-shaped daemon” never get off the ground there but in Lucis? In Lucis the rumors SOAR.

-Ardyn’s whole anonymity thing would be way more effective if he didn’t have insomnia (the medical kind not the city) and no REAL need to eat or sleep and so often spends both days AND nights ambling around looking at the sights, drinking in the fresh air, listening to the mad cackle of daemons as they chase some poor hapless Hunter-.

-Wait.

-Poor Hapless Hunter in question has NO IDEA what to make of Ardyn ‘Healer King’ Lucis Caelum (not that he knows Ardyn’s name) sweeping in and driving off the daemons with powers unnatural. He is not reaaallllly the king of daemons because the Scourge doesn’t have a set hierarchy like that but the strongest daemon in the area CAN boss the others around and Ardyn is the strongest daemon literally everywhere he goes. So when he saunters in, face weeping Starscourge, skin pale as ash, and growls at them to kindly leave, all the lesser daemons scramble off in a panic.

-Poor Hapless Hunter stares in Terror™ at this man-shaped daemon eyeballing him for injuries like a meal. Is ... very confused when the man-shaped daemon sighs like the Hunter is a Problem Child and herds/leads/scares him off to the nearest Haven, lecturing him blandly the whole way about not getting caught out at night “you’re fragile and easily killed and smell like a royal meal to any daemon in the area, honestly you should know better than this, did your parents teach you nothing?”

-Poor Hapless Hunter is not believed in his wild tale until it happens again. And again. And again but to a lost civilian family whose car had broken down at dusk and were about to be killed by Iron Giants. And honestly by the time the Chocobros 1.0 hear about it, the Hunters have accepted the existence of a fae-like, semi-benevolent King of Daemons (he bitterly tells one Hunter that he is called Adagium, but that his name is his own, and after the initial panic attack of talking to the Literal Boogie Man, all the Hunters agree to never call him Adagium. It might anger him.) and are leaving him gifts of food and clothes and tacky hats (he seems to enjoy tacky hats, there’s a betting pool on which one he will wear next time he appears) in hopes of winning his favor and protection. Some of the bolder ones will even hold conversations with him when he appears, and the most rural of Lucians are telling their children that if they ever get lost out at night, they are to hide and whisper a certain phrase that is said to summon the king of daemons (King of Night please hear my plea, I need your aid with all due speed). Ardyn keeps stumbling across those kids/people who say that phrase by accident and it only reinforces the mythos springing up about him.

-Cor searches in vain for someone who can actually confirm the existence of this Daemon King they all claim exists (and Cor tries not to think too hard on the fact that Angelgard was broken into two years or so ago, that there were signs that something had been dragged out of the sealed prison Adagium was said to lie in). Eventually decides that if this “King of Daemons” only appears to lost travelers in the dead of night, he’s just going to have to go get himself lost in the dead of night. Because Cor Leonis.

-Runs into Ardyn while fighting off the host of daemons that are coming for Cor. Is ... unnerved when a soft word from the figure in the shadows sends them scurrying. Ardyn’s face comes into view in the light of Cor’s flashlight and Cor flinches at the scourge weeping down his face. Ardyn just blinks at him, used to that reaction to him when he’s not hiding the Scourge in his veins (he hides it in the day so people don’t realize their “King of Night” is actually able to move around in the daylight, if under way too many layers of tacky clothing), “You are not a Hunter or a civilian,” Ardyn points out mildly.

-”What are you?” Cor snaps with white-knuckles on his sword hilt.

-”More polite than you.” Ardyn answers without batting an eyelash, “I save you from a horde of daemons and you don’t even say thank you? Rude. You must be from the lovely capital.” Because the rural folk have all seemed to have taken a wary liking to him in this form, and its hilarious to him in a heartbreaking way that people are more willing to shyly leave gifts on the edge of their property and children stick their heads out their bedroom windows and talk to him when he looks like a daemon in man’s skin than when he’s just a human drifter trying to figure out what in the world a phone is.

-Cor blinks, not expecting that at all, then keeps pushing the issue, “If you are the so called Daemon King, then why don’t you just call them off permanently?”

-”I’m a king,” Ardyn retorts blandly, “not an god. The daemons are wild, insatiable creatures. They only listen when I am near. So I suggest you make your way to a Haven before I leave and they return.” Ardyn turns and ambles away into the shadows, expecting to have to stalk this man to a Haven without the man’s knowing to make sure he survived the night.

-Does not expect to sense light at his back, look over his shoulder and find Cor following him.

-”This,” drawls Ardyn, “is not the way to a Haven.”

-”I’m not looking for a Haven,” Cor grunts, hand still on his sword hilt but ... willing to talk to this strange human-daemon for now (daemons can’t be captured for testing, so his best option is to ... talk ... with a daemon. how is this his life now.), “I’m looking for you.”

-”Well you found me, now go away. Go back to the stones of safety your Oracles pray over. Go back to your precious Walled off city of kings.” the last sentence is biting and bitter and Ardyn knows it, can feel it in the way the Scourge deepens his voice and makes it sound like the hissing of a thousand monsters right at the end.

-The man does not go away to a Haven or Insomnia. He keeps following Ardyn with a dogged persistence that would be amusing if it wasn’t so frustrating and baffling.

-Ardyn ends up being forced to take shelter in a cave come morning because he’s not revealing that he can hide his Scourge and walk among men to this armed, persistent stranger thank you.

-Cor follows him for like three days and nights straight, harassing him with rude questions and thinly veiled accusations before Ardyn’s temper snaps and he pins Cor to the wall, the Scourge welling up tellingly from his hands like black smoke, ready to Infect at a moment’s notice, “If you want to know my secrets so badly, maybe I should just make you like me.” He snarls and the Scourge snarls with him, cackles in his head at the thought of finally feeding in the way he’s refused to let it since realizing he could infect people with the Scourge.

-There’s a flash of terror in Cor’s eyes, pinned and helpless for the first time since he found Gilgamesh, and as suddenly as Ardyn’s temper rose, it wanes.

-Ardyn drops Cor, shaken but unharmed, turns away with a sigh, “Please. Just leave me be.”

-Cor scrambles up, heart in his throat, and because he is Cor and Stubborn but also so very, very smart, he blurts the realization that’s just hit home, “You were human once.”

-Ardyn stills, but doesn’t turn back toward Cor, “Yes.”

-The single word hurts Cor more than Ardyn’s hands around his throat just seconds ago, “Who were you? You can’t really be the Adagium that was broken out of Angelgard. It was sealed by the Founder King himself.”

-Ardyn sighs like the world is too heavy, and the last thing Cor hears before Ardyn knocks him out is as low, “I was called Ardyn, and I will not be going back in that prison.”

-Cor wakes up on a Haven with a headache and a name and a wild report.

-He tells Regis everything, and he and Regis spend feverish months researching, looking, puzzling and finding inconsistencies in the historical record that have gone unnoticed and unquestioned for 2k years. Regis contacts the Oracles and asks for access to their library and it is there, with a nervous Queen Sylva hoping she has not made a great mistake letting an LC into the Oracle’s libraries, that Regis finally finds- not an answer. But a piece of it.

-Ardyn has almost forgotten about Cor Leonis, the annoying young swordsman who trailed him around for several days and nights, has put the incident behind him and resumed wandering around as King of Night by the moonlight and a simple drifter admiring the sights beneath his many layers of clothing by day.

-Then he stumbles across a group fighting off daemons in the middle of the night and shoos the daemons away before he can register-.

-He stiffens and backs away, reaching for the shadows desperately because he will not be caged and stabbed and betrayed again. He will not be able to control the Scourge screaming in his veins if he is attacked by this again and he doesn’t want to hurt anyone so just go away-.

-”Wait!” Cor Leonis half sprints into the shadows, fearless despite having already been on the near-receiving end of Ardyn’s wrath once, “Wait!”

-Ardyn keeps retreating, heart hammering and afraid.

-“Ardyn Lucis Caelum!”

-Ardyn stills. Doesn’t dare breathe.

-Cor stops and looks over his shoulder at the man who yelled Ardyn’s name. The man with Somnus’s blue eyes and black hair but not his features, who limps hurriedly to Cor’s side, unafraid of the dark and desperately searching the shadows for Ardyn’s shape while their third companion fidgets nervously two steps behind. The man with Somnus’s blue eyes (Somnus’s magic, Ardyn’s magic and it hurts to be so close to it again) swallows hard and calls, “Your name- is Ardyn Lucis Caelum, isn’t it? You were- you are-.” He seems at a loss for words and Ardyn braces for the rest. For Monster and Accursed and Traitor and Adagium.

-”You’re my uncle, are you not? Just- a great many times removed?”

-Ardyn shifts, turns back toward them without meaning to, startles himself by asking hoarsely, “You would call a daemon and the Adagium kin?”

-The man swallows again, but there is something earnest and open in his eyes, something that makes Ardyn think this is not a trap, “Rescuing lost travelers at night is hardly the work of a daemon,” he whispers into the dark, “and I don’t think you- I think there is more to history than I have ever known before. Please,” he begs, begs, a King of Lucis and child of Somnus’s blood drops to his knees in front of Ardyn and begs, “I would ... I would know you. If you let me. I would know the truth.”

-“...The truth?”

-“There is something wrong with the historical records of the Founder’s time, gaps where there shouldn’t be, things that don’t make sense. The Oracles have records of an older brother, of you, but none will say what happened. No one will explain why you... are the way you are.”

-The man takes a deep breath and pleads, “Something is wrong and my son- my son is going to be the one to pay for it unless I find another way. Please-, I know you owe me nothing, and probably do not even want to see another Lucis Caelum after all that has happened, but ... please. Will you tell me your story?”

-And Ardyn ... Ardyn turns back very slowly, steps into the light with hesitant steps and looks down at the young king (young father? Young father of the new Chosen King?). The Scourge in his veins says to kill him, torment him and corrupt him as Ardyn was tormented. The bitter, purely human part of him says to walk away, because he owes this man nothing. Somnus has dug this grave and all his descendants deserve to lie in it.

-The part of him that is Big Brother and Healer and now the Wanderer of the Night that Aids ... slowly crouches down in front of this young king-father, watches pale skin turn paler at the sight of his Scourge yet not flinch away or draw his blade, and Ardyn ... well.

-Ardyn always was too kind for his own good, “What is your name? And the name of your son?”

-”I am Regis, and ... my son is Noctis.”

-Ardyn sighs and sits down on the cold ground, lets his magic, red as blood and rubies, flicker off his fingers in greeting to a relative, “Sit down then, Regis, father of Noctis, for this story was long when I was a child and it has only grown longer now.”

-And Ardyn tells them. Of Draconian blessings and plagues, of healing and dying and being trapped in his own skin as his blood ran black and he kept healing still. Of thrones and betrayals and agony in the endless black until strange soldiers broke him free and he discovered his healing had turned to plague-giving. Of Prophecy and Lies and Truths and the true cost of Crowns.

-Ardyn speaks and Regis listens, and as the sun rises Ardyn does nothing more than tug his hat lower on his head and shift to sit in the dark shade (he does not hide the Scourge, not yet, he does not trust them to know he can look purely human, even if they gape at his staying alive in the daylight), and when Ardyn is done singlehandedly unraveling the foundation of all history Regis has ever known, Ardyn fidgets with his sleeves, acknowledges he will regret this, and offers to ... help. If Regis can uncover a way to end the Scourge without tormenting Ardyn further, Ardyn will in turn help uncover a way to save his son, who is destined to bear the full brunt of Somnus’s sins and the plague of the world.

-Ardyn the Wanderer and Regis the Father-King speak together in the middle of the wilderness with only the Shield and the Sword to overhear, and together all of destiny unravels around them.

[beautiesandheadcanons]

I've been planning this post for a while, but just haven't had a chance to sit down and compose it until now, so here we go! Also, my spell-checker absolutely hates me now, so you’re welcome.

This week, I wanted to talk about one of the most intriguing and unique races of Dragon Age. Other games, of course, have Elves and Dwarves a plenty, but the Qunari stand out as being a creation all of their own. While they may bear passing resemblances to other fantasy races (and even those are few and far between, from my person experience) between their looks, their language, and their culture, it makes for a complete experience separate from any other mythos.

The word "Qunari" is an interesting word in and of itself, because while most use it in general to refer to the race of grey-skinned, horned giants, it's only translated to mean "People of the Qun", and as a result there are those who are Qunari in race but don't follow the Qun's philosophy, and there are others who are not of the race but who convert to the Qun (they are typically referred to as Viddathari). Those of the race who are born outside the Qun's influence are known as Vashoth ("grey ones"), while those who rebel are known as Tal-Vashoth ("true grey ones"). Vashoth and Tal-Vashoth are terms that, in game, are used pretty interchangeably, but in experience there is a difference. Tal-Vashoth are rebels, usually fighting directly against the Qunari, while Vashoth simply exist outside of it.

The Qunari as a race descended from an unknown race of people known as Kossith, which predate the Qun philosophy. There was a settlement of them in the Korcari Wilds in southern Thedas, but they were overrun by darkspawn during the First Blight (and it's assumed the darkspawn's contact with them is what lead to the creation of ogres). While there is no records of what they looked like in relation to modern Qunari, it is said that they are different, not just in society. Why there was a split from Kossith to Qunari isn't completely clear (and possibly is shrouded in secrets for the purpose of propaganda, though that's just my personal opinion). What is known is that a Kossith philosopher, Ashkaari Koslun, developed a school of thought that became the basis of the Qun, the laws and guide that set down the rules of society for the Qunari, which is wildly different than any other in Thedas. Qunari do not marry or have families, but are bred and the children are raised and brought up in groups by Tamassrans. These Tamassrans also educate them and help to designate their roles in the society, which they are expected to fulfill to the letter. However, they don't see themselves as limited in their roles, they believe that from birth they are given a purpose in their nature and their lives are spent fulfilling that nature. To rebel against their nature is to rebel against order, is to become Tal-Vashoth, is to fall to chaos. Whenever they have led campaigns into Thedas for the purpose of conquering, they see themselves as liberators bringing the Qun to free them from their torment.

Their naming practices are the most unique in the game, because strictly speaking, Qunari don't have names in the traditional sense. They are assigned a series of numbers at birth - similar to a social security number of sorts - and their "name" is simply their profession. And, since their profession can change over time, with promotions and such (especially in, say, the military) then their "names" change as well (more on that later, as there is an interesting specific example).

Magic is seen as dangerous, and they treat mages far more severely than even the Chantry in southern Thedas (which, considering how abusive some Circles were, should tell you how seriously they treat it). Qunari mages are named Saarebas ("dangerous thing"), and their lips are sewn shut, their horns cut off, they are collared and shackled, and they are kept under strict control by a special soldier named Arvaarad ("holds back evil"). If at any point a Saarebas is separated from their Arvaarad, they are executed upon return because the danger that they have been possessed in the meantime is too great to them to risk. In Dragon Age 2, when Hawke escorts a lone Saarebas, if they fight for them then they are referred to as Basvaarad, a non-Qunari who controls a Saarebas (since "bas" is the Qunlat word for non-Qunari).

Physically, they are known as giants for a reason, since they stand taller than any other race in Thedas. While they commonly have grey skin and are usually called as such, their actual skin tone can vary, but is usually darker, like variations of gold or bronze (or even other colours, potentially, as we see in Inquisition). Most Qunari seem predisposed to having white hair, but that's by no means across the board. Their ears are pointed, but smaller than an Elf's ear typically is, and obviously their most prominent feature is their horns, which vary from Qunari to Qunari. Said horns have no nerves, so if they're damaged or even removed, that causes no problems. The horns are said to get irritated in some way (possibly itchy due to growth, at least that's my headcanon) and so they've developed a balm for themselves (otherwise I like to imagine a large, hulking Qunari rubbing their horns against a tree like a deer to relieve the sensation). However, not all born Qunari develop horns, and it seems the chances of that happening are akin to red hair occurring naturally in humans for us. Instead of being shunned or shamed, however, those without horns are revered as special and usually given high-ranking, prestigious roles in their society. For a race that is large and imposing and who typically sport horns, for them, not having horns is seen as scary or dangerous. This is the reason that Saarebas have their horns removed, as an indication of the danger they possess. In fact, the first Qunari we get to meet in the game is hornless, and if recruited, can become quite the powerhouse companion for the Warden.

In the first Dragon Age game, Origins, the first Qunari we get to encounter is Sten (which, again, is his title more than his name). He can be found locked in a cage in Lothering, imprisoned for slaughtering a family after waking up post-battle to find his sword missing (a shameful crime for a Qunari warrior, the consequence for which is execution). The Warden can free him or leave him to die, but there is no reason to leave a perfectly capable powerhouse warrior behind. He is very blunt, to the point, and obviously military born and bred from childhood. He is even puzzled by female-identifying fighters amoungst the group, as for Qunari society, warriors are male only (female Qunari who are adept at fighting are known as Aqun-Athlok, and enter the warrior caste as males and identify as such, since gender is a secondary trait that is considered less important than their duty to the Qun; again, Sten is obviously a fighter and not a philosopher and isn't as flexible in his thinking). Sten's personal quest involves retrieving his sword, which means after the Blight is over and he leaves the Warden's side, he can return to Qunari society without shame. If the Warden has a high enough approval, he'll even refer to them as "Kadan", a term normally associated in later games with a romantic connotation, but which simply means "where the heart lies" and can technically refer to close friends as well as a romance partner.

In Dragon Age 2, there are no Qunari companions, but there is a group of Qunari stranded in Kirkwall that is interacted with several times. They are headed by the Arishok, the general military leader for the Qunari people. At first, their staying there is chalked up to them waiting for a ship to come for them, however it's later revealed that the real reason they haven't left is because they have lost the Tome of Koslun and cannot return without it (which, surprise surprise, Hawke's pirate companion is involved in its theft). The Arishok, like Sten, is stoic and rigid and uncaring for the plight of Kirkwall itself. After spending a few years there, however, the chaos becomes too much for Arishok to handle and he leads his Qunari on a campaign through the city, executing the Viscount in front of the nobles and confronting Hawke, the protagonist of DA2. Hawke has a couple of ways of dealing with him, which include giving back the Tome of Koslun (which means giving up Isabella, the companion involved in its theft), they can fight Arishok and his company, or if Hawke has done enough to earn his favour as "basalit-an" (an outsider worthy of respect) or if Fenris is in the group, the Arishok can be encouraged to settle the matter in a duel one-on-one with Hawke. The duel itself is difficult, especially for squishier characters like mages, but from personal experience, a little strategy and patience can net a win over the Arishok, killing him and ending the Qunari hold on the city. Even if Arishok is given the tome and Isabella and leaves peacefully, however, Isabella later escapes with the Tome again and when he returns to the Qunari homeland of Par Vollen, he faces a court martial and is removed from his role as Arishok.

The interesting bit is, however Arishok is removed from his position, Sten from the previous game is given the role of Arishok, thus changing his name from Sten to Arishok. This can create a little confusion sometimes in referring to the characters, because Sten is no longer Sten at all and to Qunari he is Arishok only. As a result, in talking about him, the fandom has varied ways of referring to him. Some stick to more lore-friendly names - as in the Arishok post 9:34 (the year he was made Arishok), New Arishok, the Hornless Arishok - and others either make an amalgamation of the names such as Aristen or Stenishok, and others will just give him a nickname of their own to personally refer to him. We even get to see him as Arishok in the lovely comic “Dragon Age: Those Who Speak”, and I gotta say, he looks much better with the facial hair. 

In Inquisition, we get the first chance to not only romance a Qunari companion, but also play as a Qunari! If one chooses to play as the Qunari race, they are technically Qunari who were born outside the Qun are Vashoth (though the game keeps referring to them as Tal-Vashoth, as if they rebelled and rejected the Qun). Their default last name is Adaar, which means "weapon", which our lovely Qunari companion comments on appreciatively. As a Qunari, the class options are the same as most races, and the player can be a warrior, a mage, or a rogue, though Solas and Cullen are excluded from their romance options (Cullen is locked for female humans and Elves only, Solas is the most restrictive with female Elves only). There are also unique dialogue options that can both be selected and that can be heard both in direct conversation and in passing … and not all of it is friendly and accepting. I currently have two Qunari Inquisitors that I play with, one a female rogue assassin named Katari (in Qunlat, "one who brings death"), and the other a male mage necromancer named Talan (in Qunlat, "truth").

The Iron Bull, I admit, is the whole reason I bought Inquisition first, because I wanted to romance him. When the player meets him, he is heading a mercenary band called The Bull's Chargers. While he appears to initially be Vashoth or Tal-Vashoth, in truth he works as a spy for the Ben-Hassrath, an arm of Qunari society that act as enforces and protectors of their law and also disseminates information and even sends assassins. The Iron Bull is not his "name" under the Qun (he's known as Hissrad to them, "keeper of illusions" or, colloquially, "liar") and is simply a name he took for himself when sent to spy in southern Thedas. To his credit, he is upfront with the Inquisitor about this, and passes on information from the Qunari along with sending information back to them. As mentioned, he can be romanced, and race and gender does not matter to him. If the Inquisitor doesn't romance him or Dorian, however, and their party banter reaches a certain point, the game will put The Bull and Dorian in a romance of their own (known to fans as "Adoribull"). His personal quest involves a mission given by the Qunari to stop a shipment of red lyrium. At a critical point, the Inquisitor will have to make a decision to either sacrifice The Chargers and forge an alliance with the Qunari, or to save The Chargers and forgo the alliance. This has a large impact on his character, as if his company is saved, he is branded as Tal-Vashoth and he is expelled from the Qun and everything he knows, but if his company is sacrificed, he becomes even more loyal to the Qun. In game, only a few dialogue and cutscenes are different, but in the DLC Trespasser, if The Bull is Qun-loyal or if his quest wasn't done at all, then he will turn on the Inquisitor and the player will have no choice but to kill him, even if they are in a romance.

With Dragon Age 4 being hinted to take place in/near/around Tevinter (who is in a constant slap-fight of a war against the Qunari) it's my hope that we get more of a peek into both of these cultures that we don't get much of a glimpse of in game. While their society and how they work and function is far from perfect, I find it's an interesting juxtaposition from the other cultures present in Thedas, and thus a refreshing change of pace from a lore perspective. I also hope that the Qunari remains a playable race, as while I prefer playing as an Elf, being a tall, imposing Qunari is a lot of fun, too.

[lunasolar2070]

Fakiru Week Day 1 - Bright

Fakir didn't know what he was doing there, he didn't even remember how he ended up there.

He closed his eyes, as if that gesture would lessen the chatter around him, and concentrated. Why was he there?

Oh yes, it all started because of his best friend, Mytho.

— Oh, come on, Fakir! You can’t spent all your day inside a dusty library only drinking black coffee! Let’s go outside and have some fun! — Mytho said, stealing the pen from Fakir’s hand.

The black haired man sighed and pressed his tempers. He wasn’t like his friend, actually, he was the opposite. While Mytho loved the bright sunlight and fresh air, Fakir would always prefer a good silent café were he could write peacefully, especially under the moonlight. They were like the opposite faces of the same coin.

His friend would always respect his tastes and enjoyed some of them, but in that specific day, he was annoyingly insistent.

— Mytho, I’m telling you, I have to finish this until the end of the next week, and I’m having a block here. Please, don’t make it harder. — he said, waiting with his hand in the air for the stolen pen

Mytho pouted and gave it it back.

— Hey, that’s why I’m trying to take out of your cave! Fakir, of course you’re having a block, you don’t see nature and people! How do you expect to write something. You need some light, man!

Fakir thought about it. Well it made sense, and apparently, Mytho wouldn’t give up.

He sighted, defeated and raised his emerald eyes to meet the golden ones.

— So, where are we going?

Mytho’s lips curved in a huge smile

— I knew it! I mean, hum, we’re going to a party tonight. The fire festival! So you better put on some traditional clothes get ready to have fun!

At that right moment, Fakir was already sorry that he agreed.

Now, there he was. Wearing, on his point of view of course, a ridiculous knight costume with a plastic sword atched on his waist.

Mytho was looking great. He already looked like a prince, but now... He wore a medieval prince costume in tones of white and blue, with a long white cape and a golden crown shining in the top of his white hair.

Fakir still didn’t understand why his friend dragged him there. Well, they had good music and food, but the atmosphere... there were a lot of people chatting loudly and dancing all over the place. A huge campfire was set in the middle of the festival and it was really bright. It was too much for him.

— Hey, Fakir! — he heard the white haired man calling for him.

He got closer and saw Mytho and his fiancé, Rue. She also was a friend of his, even if she was a little bossy, she was like a dear little sister for him.

— Hey, and hello, Rue.

She gave him a little smile and took a little look at him.

— You really look better in this than in the old overcoat you like to wear.

He grinned at her.

— And it looks like the bossy princess found the perfect outfit.

Rue really looked like a princess. Her red dress had white details and, just like Mytho, she had a shiny golden crown resting up on her dark and curly hair.

— Well, I guess it fits me, huh? — she said in reply, playfully.

He nodded and faced Mytho.

— So? What are we actually doing? I bet we’re not here to listen some gossip or have some medieval tea, right?

Mytho laughed lightly.

— Well, if you want to, go ahead! Their camomile tea is amazing!!

— Oh yeah, it’s delicious! — Rue confirmed in approbation

Fakir gave them a glare and they laughed.

— No, my friend, we are here to dance!

The dark haired woman giggled and touched his shoulder.

— Mytho and I thought it would be great for you to see people, interact and who knows.... — she whispered — maybe you end up finding a muse?

He rolled his eyes.

— I assure you’re mistaken. I don’t need a muse to work, but I appreciate the worry for me.

Mytho exchanged a glare with Rue and winked.

— Every artist has a muse. When you find yours, you’ll realize. — then, he looked around, looking confused — But wait a minute.... Now that we’re talking about art... Rue, where’s Ahiru?

It was Rue’s turn to look around.

— Oh my God don’t tell me she got lost again? She was here a minute ago!

Now Fakir was confused. What was happening?

— Who are you guys looking for?

Rue shook her head, sighting.

— Ahiru, my best friend. She said she would be coming to the party so I invited her to be with us, by where is she??

Mytho put his hand in her shoulder, smiling.

— Don’t worry, dear, she will show up eventually. But for now, may I have this dance, my princess?

She blushed and took his hand, letting him guide her close to the campfire, leaving Fakir with a mind full of confusion.

Muse? Why would he need one? It was just one more of those clichés that artists believed.

Mytho and Rue danced around, they’re eyes were filed with love and no word were needed to say.

Fakir watched them from afar, actually, he watched all the couples as he by himself, didn’t pick anyone to dance.

He though everything was oddly funny. He was a writer, used to give every and each character he created a happy ending with the partner of their dreams. But there he was, a man who only could write about love but never felt it himself.

His throat got dry, so he went to a booth were he could get something to drink.

As he finally laid his hands in the warm cup of dark coffee, he saw her.

A redhead woman was dancing with a little girl, spinning her and laughing.

Usually, Fakir would get annoyed by a woman’s laughter, high pitched and most of the times fake, but her laugher was different. It was light, clear and above all, sincere.

When he finally got to see her face, he felt a sudden bump of warmth in his chest.

She had adorable freckles in her cheeks, a petit nose, rosy and fluffy lips, a beautiful smile and her eyes... were magnetic. They were crystal blue, but they seemed to pull him to the depths of the ocean.

The light of the campfire was made her elegant white dress glow, making her look like a graceful swan princess, having a little crown in the side of her head. Her hair was down and it was so long and curly! Fakir wondered how it felt to touch those curls...

— That’s it, Uzura, you’re doing great! — she clapped for the little girl she was dancing with.

— Did you see, Ahiru? I danced-zura!

Ahiru, so that was Rue’s friend. Although her name meant duck in japanese, her beauty surely was one of a swan.

— Uzura, come here, my darling! — A woman called for the little girl, apparently the mother.

She leaned a little and kissed the redheaded’s forehead, with gratitude.

— Thank you for taking care of her for me, Ahiru! We’re going to head home now. Say goodby to Ahiru, my love.

Uzura hugged Ahiru’s leg, who kissed her cheek, waving a goodbye right after.

When the two where gone, she sighed, watching all the couples dancing around.

She really looked disappointed, and Fakir thought a face like hers never should hold such a melancholic expression.

She should be dancing around the campfire, showing everyone her brightness, but the sudden thought of somebody dancing with her gave his heart a little ache of jealousy. What was this, what on earth was happening to him?

“Maybe I should ask her for a dance?”

He almost laughed at the thought. What? How could he even think about it? She was literally glowing, a angel in earth and he thought he could ask her to dance?

Oh God, no way, simply no way.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even saw when she stood by his side in the booth.

— Excuse me, may I have a cup of camomile tea? — she gently ordered to a waiter.

— Right up, madam!

Now that she was close he could see her freckles better and so, her pretty face. She was smaller than him, even if she was in high heels.

When she decided to sit in a chair at the counter, her feet slipped in the bar of the dress. She was falling and then, Fakir held her by the wrist.

Startled, she widened her eyes. Fakir helped Ahiru to stand and sit in the chair

— Hey, are you ok? — he asked, clearly worried about her ankle.

— Ah, y-yes, I’m all right! Sorry about it, I’ve always been a klutz!

He gave her a little smile.

— Never mind about it.

Ahiru looked at him and his cup of coffe. Her face became confused.

— You seen to be a bit lonely in here. You didn’t came with anyone?

He sighed and crossed his arms

— Well, I came to this party partially forced and I even ended up being a third wheel! — he laughed lightly — For real, Mytho and Rue gonna pay me for this.

Ahiru’s eyes widened.

— Wait, you know them? Ah, so you are the friend who they would like me to meet! — she smiled and reached out her hand in front of her body — Nice too meet you, I’m Ahiru Arima!

He smiled back and squeezed her hand.

— Fakir Lohengrin, it’s a pleasure.

Again, she looked surprised.

— Wait, what? So you are THE Fakir Lohengrin? Oh My God, It’s a honor to meet you! I’ve been a fan of yours since “The Knight’s Sword”! It’s a history so full of emotion, romance and drama! I simply love all of your works and can’t wait for your next one!

He couldn’t help the blush to paint his cheeks. Could she be more adorable?

— Wow, thanks! Usually, people think my works are to happy, but I don’t like giving my characters a tragic finale. All of them deserve a happy ending.

She smiled so brightly that made his face feel hot.

— I think the same!

They spent a very long time chatting. She was a professional ballerina, but for now, she was dedicating her time to teach ballet to little kids. She really was a amazing person, a true inspiration.

While they were talking, the orchestra started playing a new song. Fakir knew the song. Of course he did, everybody there knew the pas de deux of The Swan Lake.

He heard Ahiru dreamy sigh when the music started to play.

— Oh my God, I haven’t thought the would play ballet songs in here! I love this Pas de Deux so much!!!

— Personally, I think this is one of the most beautiful pas de deux of all.

— So do I! It’s so touching!

He saw the way she was looking at the couples dancing. Well, why not? He was wanting that since he first saw her anyway.

— So — he started as he stood up — shall we dance?

She smiled and giggled, reaching for his hand.

— Let’s go!

They danced together and he couldn’t even describe the feeling. Not even one story he wrote before had a scene like the one was happening.

One of his hands on her waist and the other one holding her soft and petit hand. The touch of her hand in his neck while they danced all around the place was making his heart run wild in his chest. She smiled at him, never breaking the visual contact.

Fakir guided her through the place, spining around.

When the music (sadly) was over, they awkwardly departed and averted eyes, blushing.

— S-so, would you like to search for Rue and Mytho? — she suggested, tangling her fingers.

— Y-yeah, good idea.

They just agreed about it when they saw a black haired woman waving for them

— Hey, Fakir! — Rue called, waving at his direction — we were...

And then, she locked her eyes on Ahiru. She opened a smile and jumped to hug her.

— Ahiru!!! Oh my, you just disappeared, I couldn’t find you anywhere!

Ahiru hugged Rue tightly, smiling.

— Rue! I’m so glad to find you! I’ve been lost for a while in here, and then, I found miss Edel with Uzura.

The black haired woman stared at Fakir and grimaced.

— Hm... I see you’ve already meet Fakir, huh?

She nodded and smiled happily.

— Yes, I did! Why haven’t you told me he was my favorite writer?

Ok, this “Favorite writer” plus the sweet smile in her face was more than Fakir could handle. His face became red and he looked away.

Rue saw it and couldn’t hold her laugher back.

— Well, you are always talking about how amazing his books are, how you love his writing that I’ve decided to suprisse you!

Now Ahiru was blushing. She jumped in Rue, grabbing her shoulders nervously.

— Rue! Keep quiet, will you?

Rue laughed again and blinked to Fakir.

— And what about you? Did you find any muse while you’re here?

He just wanted to hide his face. Was it to obvious?

— I wouldn’t say I didn’t... — he replied, indifferent.

Rue nodded happily and turned her back, waving.

— So, I’ll tell Mytho I’ve found you guys. Let’s meet again at 22:00, ok?

They didn’t even have the time to agree and then, she was gone.

Ahiru coughed, attracting his attention.

— So, how’s your new book going?

Fakir sighed, defeated.

— Well, I thought it was going ok, but recently, I’m having a horrible block. That’s why they brought me to this party. Mytho said it would be good for me to find some inspiration.

Ahiru smiled again. God, why was she always smiling like this?! So pretty!

— Oh, so I guess now you’ll be able to write again! This festival gives all of us inspiration.

He smiled at her. If only she knew....

— So, would you like to take a look in how’s it going?

She blinked, surprised.

— Wait, you mean your book?!

He giggled, nodding. She just smiled and gave him a hug.

— Oh My God! Yes, I’d love to read your work!

He was completely startled and absolutely happy in this moment. Sadly, she pulled back to quick.

— S-so, do you like coffe??

Ahiru wondered a little and nodded.

— Hmm, yes, but I prefer a nice and sweet cappuccino.

— Oh, is that so? — so adorable, it suits her — I know a good café that has a delicious cappuccino, so, If you’d like, we can go there and discuss somethings. I think you would be a great help for me.

She smiled at his red face and giggled.

— Yeah, of course! I would love to help you! Let’s meet there tomorrow!

Looking at her face, Fakir realized.

The bright light of hers dispelled the fog inside his life. She was warmth that he needed.

@fyeahfakiruweek

[kylandara]

So someone asked a screenwriter (you know someone who is paid to write them) what they thought about the writing of season 8. To all those complaining about how the writing was terrible. Yes he is one screenwriter, but there are most like lots of writers like this who actually understood the story being told. I have my gripes with season 8 (namely Jon and his two lines he entire season)

I love his line “those writers will always know more about GoT that’s any audience will”

————-

I’m a big GoT fan and a working screenwriter, so I always watch the show from both sides of he table - fan and writer.

I envision where I would like the series to go, based on my favorite and least favorite characters. And I see where the story IS going from a storytelling perspective.

With that said, here’s my take.

The scripts for Season 8 were excellent. With a six-episode season, the writers kind of broke this into a six-act structure. In general story structure, there’s usually a false climax in the middle. Or the showcase of outside character desires… the want… and in this case, that outside desire/goal was to defeat the white walkers. But at this point, that battle was set up to be that false climax. Where we AND the characters think the story should end.

So when Episode 3 came, which was the battle with the white walkers, and almost every major characters survived unscathed, many fans were complaining that GoT had lost it’s edge. They pointed to the Red Wedding where the dearest of characters (Rob and his mother) were slaughtered as an example.

As a screenwriter (and fan), I was shaking my head at these complaints.

“You guys don’t realize what’s coming. It’s a false climax. It’s the middle of a six-part act. Shit is about to hit the fan. They’re just building the tension. The characters realize that their outside desire is false. Their inside desire, to win the game of thrones, is now at hand.”

The show was never Game of White Walkers. It was Game of Thrones.

And to skip ahead, the final two episodes were brilliantly written in my eyes. If you didn’t see the fall of Dany coming, you weren’t paying attention to her whole arc throughout the series, as well as her families past.

I knew Dany would go mad. I knew awhile back. The signs were there. I did think that she’d try to kill Jon (or have him killed) onscreen, but it was implied instead. Which works. If you didn’t think Dany was going to do that after watching her eyes when Jon told her the truth and she realized that she was no longer the heir to the throne, then again, you weren’t paying attention.

Update: (inspired by and taken from my reply to Sean Hood’s awesome perspective) Regarding the sudden twist of Dany slaughtering the innocent. I didn’t think it was so out of the blue. Didn’t they show her ruthlessness in prior seasons? Sure, it was often directed to the rich, slave owners, etc. But ruthless nonetheless. I saw madness in her. When she executed the Tarlys for refusing to bend the knee to her. They had already surrendered. To me, I watched her obsessed with power, obsessed with the throne, etc. I saw her slowly become unhinged season by season.

Even when she freed people it was clear that she didn’t know how to rule because keeping the peace was always an issue. And that’s where I wonder if THAT is why she slaughtered the people of King’s Landing. She was never able to keep the peace of the liberated cities.

So if she kills everyone, there’s no one to defy her. There are no numbers to uprise. That’s the LOGICAL part of her choice maybe. And the madness was that coin flip aspect of her family.

Skipping back now, Episode 2 is my favorite GoT episode of all time. When all of these characters we love are preparing for war. The quiet before the storm. A Lady being knighted. Etc. Brilliant. The best character moments of the series by far. The culmination of ALL of the character arcs as they come together.

And the battle with white walkers? To me, the darkness added to the suspense. That’s what it would have been like, no? But for my TV, it wasn’t that bad.

And the final episode? The last moment/visual of the table dealing with the average day-to-day rule of a kingdom… brilliant.

Here’s the thing. No great series ends well for all because nobody wants it to end. Sopranos, Lost, Battlestar Galactica, etc. No one was going to be satisfied and even if the writers did what the majority of fans wanted, they’d be strung up critically for being overly conventional or for taking no real chances by doing the obvious.

GoT and its writers did the series right by doing what THEY envisioned. It’s not writers’ story, not the fans. Love it or hate it or be indifferent. It’s their story to tell. The moment you cater to the crowd (which is impossible because everyone has their own subjective opinion, wants, desires) is the moment you sell out.

And the moment you observe what the fans want and just do the opposite to surprise them or prove their theories wrong (looking at you Rian Johnson and The Last Jedi), despite the mythos you or someone else has created before you, is the moment you are overly self-aware in your writing. It’s almost worse than catering the audiences.

If you didn’t like it, that’s perfectly fine. It’s a subjective medium.

But don’t call for a redo by putting out a petition. Don’t state that the writing was horrible either. Those writers know more about GoT than audiences ever will.

Jon didn’t want the throne. He felt best among the wildlings.

Arya was lost and alone since the day she watched her father die. She became a wanderer of life.

Sansa wanted to rule a kingdom.

The Hound wanted to defeat his brother.

Tyrion wanted to serve the people and do right by his otherwise tainted family name.

Brienne wanted people to see her as the honorable and loyal knight she was, beyond being a woman with a sword.

Jaime Lannister wanted to be with his true love, despite that love being forbidden and a hidden embarrassment.

ALL of these character arcs were served in this final season. Many thanks to the writers that delivered closure in a no-win situation after creating one of the greatest and most celebrated shows of all time.

Note: My single dislike of the last episode was the whole angle of Grey Worm and his Unsullied holding Tyrion and Jon as prisoners.

There should have been a moment between Jon and Grey Worm. An epic sword battle. With either both of them dying by the other’s sword or Grey Worm dying. Or Jon making his case during the fight, showing how Dany had gone mad with power, and then Grey Worm relenting, saying, “I loved her.” Meaning his love that was executed.

And THEN the leaders of the realm meet up and choose a new King.

But that’s just the writer and fan in me. It’s not my story. I’m just an audience member. We can’t expect writers to be at the beck and call of the fan base. It would hinder otherwise great writing.

And the writers of GoT never, never lost the heart and spirit of the show. George Lucas arguably lost what was so special about the original Star Wars trilogy when he made the prequels. The prequels didn’t honor that heart and spirit. Instead, the writing relied on slapstick humor, CG effects, and demystified mystery of the Jedi, etc (midichlorians, superhero abilities, etc.).

GoT NEVER jumped the shark in that respect. If the writers had come into Season 8 with a lot of odd slapstick moments, tone shifts, and overly self-aware writing (The Last Jedi for all three of those as well), then, yeah, there should be an uproar.

But that wasn’t the case here with GoT.

Well done, writers! From one writer (and fan) to another.

[littlepurinsesu]

A Happy Ending

Title: A Happy Ending Fandom: Princess Tutu Characters: Fakir, Ahiru Relationship: Fakir/Ahiru Rating: General Warnings: None

*Read on AO3*

Summary: ‘But what do you want? What is the story that you wish for? Stop thinking only about granting happy endings to others and start thinking about yourself for once. Spin your own story. Create your own world. Write your happy ending.’

Author’s Notes: My re-entry into the world of fanfiction after many, many years. And I'm only posting it now.

I'd stopped writing for pleasure during the final years of high school and somehow never came back to it again... until I finished watching Princess Tutu. This anime inspired me to pick up my pen again (more like place my fingers on the keyboard again) after so many years of neglecting one of my biggest hobbies. I wouldn't say I'm entirely happy with how this story turned out, but it's an important one to me as it marks my first piece of creative writing for myself after being drowned in academic writing for so long. Would I have written some parts differently or done things another way if I approached this now? Probably. But I have no intention of changing anything, and will just let this little piece rest here with my collection of new fanfics. As a record of how my writing was when I rediscovered my long-lost passion, if you may.

I'd thought this fic would never see the light of day, but here it is, in all its rusty glory. A reminder to myself that I came to read, but I stayed to write.

Once upon a time, there was a man who began writing a story.

The man granted happy ending upon happy ending, crafting a world in which all characters could live life as they desired. And when he immersed himself in his bouts of creative labour, she never strayed from his line of vision. The single feather standing upright atop her head and the tiny flutter of her wings were constants in his life that reminded him of why he wrote.

He wrote because of her. She was his muse.

The man had moved on from his inability to spin stories that were not about her, but he held dearly to the loving hope that had emitted from her tiny body the day he had written Drosselmeyer’s story out of its predestined tragic ending. Since that day, he had tucked the feeling of that warm light safely within the depths of his heart, and turned to it for guidance during those dark times when his quill would hover above his parchment, lost and doubtful. The man would have been content to write story after story about the gentle affection he felt whenever she smiled, or the burning desire in his chest whenever he looked into her eyes, but he had a duty to lead the townspeople to the happy endings they yearned for.

He never forgot the decision he made when he tore apart Drosselmeyer’s mechanism, the very device that gave birth to the tragedy that the twisted man so loved. Reducing the godly contraption to nothing but a cluttered pile of gears and wiring, he had vowed to take it upon himself to write the rest of the story by his own hand and give people the wings they needed to live as freely as they pleased.

But when he tried to write of prosperous villages and harmonious townsfolk, his hand would sometimes stray. And before he realised, the ink spilling from the tip of his quill would begin to engrave words evoking the images that would seep into his mind when he allowed it to wander. The playful flick of her hair, the subtle upward curve of her lips, and the bright sparkle that illuminated her eyes. The way her voice would crack a little when she became visibly excited, and the way she landed in a pile of jumbled limbs whenever she tried to move faster than her petite body could carry her. The soothing warmth of her chest pressed against his, the very first time he had written a story about her, called out her name, and caught her in his arms. And the tiny vibrations her body would make whenever she groomed her silky feathers, nestled comfortably in his lap, her tiny frame fitting so easily as if the place were made for her and her only.

These musings had no plot—there was no beginning, no middle, and no end. Only a stream of disconnected memories that he kept locked away in the deepest crevices of his mind. And when the fear of exposure dawned upon him, the man would tear the page out and shred it to pieces.

He was the writer, the spinner of stories, and the incoherent digressions of his heart were only a hindrance—no, a shame—to his duty.

Autor had often complained begrudgingly over the basket of stale bread and bottled milk he brought during his visits. The bespectacled Drosselmeyer enthusiast kept the man from forgetting to eat and sleep, perhaps taking this chance to indirectly exercise some authority over the gift he had missed out on. It was probably more out of a futile attempt at feigning importance in the grand scheme of things (‘Seriously, how would the world go on if I wasn’t here to keep you from starving yourself?’), but the man didn’t mind. Autor was not without his wisdom, and sometimes, he would share this with him in his usual condescending tone.

‘You’ve created a hopeful new world with your powers. You’ve created happy endings for countless people. You’ve created life, but life itself is draining out of your very own soul.’

The man hadn’t bothered to protest; Autor meant well, and was probably right. The prince he had sworn to protect had returned to his story with Rue, Princess Tutu’s mission had ended and she had ceased to appear again in this world. A knight who had long since cast away his sword in favour of his quill now pledged his service to the people of the town. There was no longer an epic crisis which required his hand to bring about salvation, so his duty now was to make sure that the people continued to freely live the happy endings they desired and deserved. And if writing happy endings could give people what they wished for, then the man was willing to devote himself to write for as long as he could.

‘But what do you want?’ Autor had blurted out in exasperation during one of his last visits. ‘What is the story that you wish for?’

‘A story… that I wish for?’

‘Yes. Stop thinking only about granting happy endings to others and start thinking about yourself for once. Spin your own story. Create your own world. Write your happy ending.’

He thought of a tiny bundle of velvety yellow feathers, warm under his touch and quivering with life. Of a clumsy figure bursting with vigour as she bounded from one place to the next, her candid laughter echoing in her wake. Of an elegant dancer, whose every movement spoke of grace, and whose every leap seemed to bring her closer to the glory of the heavens above.

Of her.

And so the man began to write. There would be a beginning when she would resume the guise of a human girl, a middle when they would find each other again, and an ending when…

His quill stopped mid-sentence, ink pooling and seeping into the extra pages beneath.

He tore the piece of parchment from the pile. It had nothing but a vague and disoriented sequence of events and empty descriptions of a world he could not have—futile attempts at allowing himself a happy ending, and they brought him embarrassment at his own selfishness. After all, what kind of closure could he possibly craft for the two of them, when he had thrown away that dream on the day he decided to forbid himself from writing the happy ending he secretly craved?

Perhaps Drosselmeyer’s ghost had heard his thoughts, or maybe some other godly figure of authority with a more skillful set of hands than he, as a gust of wind promptly snatched the page from his hand before he could destroy it. The man grabbed blindly at the air, feet tangling and eyes fixed ahead of him as he watched the parchment land on the surface of the tranquil lake. Water seeped through the parchment, the blurred contours of his senseless imagination mocking him. Air and then water met the soles of his shoe as he unwittingly stepped straight through the surface of the glassy mirror in his blind fumbling, landing with an unceremonious splash. He thought he caught a quick glimpse of blurred yellow and two orbs of crystalline blue turning in his direction before his vision was completely clouded.

The water was frigid, chilling him to the bone as he sank deeper into its shadowy depths. Funny, the lake had seemed almost shimmery and translucent from the safety of his little wooden platform, yet now all he could see were foggy distortions of light and shade. It was pointless to try and retrieve that piece of parchment now. The water had already claimed the ink as its own, and he was left with nothing but the fond visions and memories of her, flapping, changing, swimming…

He searched the haze above for two webbed feet, those that paddled beside him when he wrote by the lake, their soft swishing sound the most comforting music a writer could ask for. But there was mostly just grey, quite a bit of black, an occasional patch of blue where the sunlight could still reach, and there was… white. Somewhere in the distance above him, a glimmering smear of white. Its light was bright enough to make him close his eyes, but it was welcoming, almost beckoning him to reach out and wrap his fingers around it. He extended his hand blindly and caught it in his palm.

The light was as warm as he imagined, yet somehow more firm than he was expecting. There was a gentle tug, followed by a more sturdy pull, and the man opened his eyes to meet a pure white tutu and strawberry blond hair, and eyes as blue as the frosty water around him, but warm enough to tingle in his soul and enliven his senses.

He would have gasped, or even pulled back. But then again, this had to be a dream—a hallucination of his, right? Her pendant—the last heart shard—had been given back to Mytho, who had returned to the world of his own story. She had no necklace now, and the enchanted ballerina looked almost strange without her usual accessory resting against the skin of her chest.

Come to think of it, why wasn’t he thrashing about and struggling for air? It must have been an illusion after all, the final moments when a person’s life flashed before his eyes. The man was staring his death in the face, and his death was absolutely breathtaking. If this was but a mere fantasy, he would be content to die if that meant he could relive these final moments as the happy ending he had once only dared to dream of.

‘Please, won’t you dance with me?’

She never opened her mouth, but her eyes spoke her signature words with the way they softened at the edges, just like the way they did each time she would charm a shard of the prince’s heart into a pas de deux of love and hope.

Right, they had danced together like this before, submerged in the depths of water. It had been in the Lake of Despair, he remembered now, when Drosselmeyer had made his forceful attempt at thrusting his ideal tragedy upon them through the man’s unwilling hands. That time, he had lifted her, spun her round and round, cradled her in his arms, and dipped her into a split. He had looked intently into her eyes and held her gaze tenderly as he assured her that he would stay by her side forever. He had been prepared for the end, and this here was yet another end. Their end. No, his end.

Were their dances always destined to take place when the end was in sight?

But this time was different, wasn’t it? How could he possibly be drowning in despair when he was feeling such warmth rising in his chest, when the figure holding his hand was smiling so lovingly at him? Could he truly say that he was falling into darkness when his heart soared with joy at each movement, each step of the pas de deux they were engaged in now?

Light began to seep into his vision, brightening his surroundings. If dying meant that his ascension to Heaven would be guided by the presence at his side, he would happily welcome death. Maybe he could finally allow himself to be just a little bit selfish, as Autor had indignantly advised, and drown himself in his world. The world he wished for. Yes, this was his happy ending, he decided, as the ballerina lifted his arm and brought him into the blinding light.

He wanted to call out to her, to ask where she would go, to ask if he could ever see her again after this dance ended. But when he opened his mouth, he could only let out a cough, then a splutter, and then he was gasping for oxygen, his back pressed against the warm wood and his head almost touching the leg of the chair he had been sitting on… some time ago. Time had seemed to flow in slow motion, and he had lost all track of it during the timeless moment in which he had encountered the world he wished for, danced with his dream, and held his happy ending in his arms.

‘Fakir!’

When he finally lifted himself onto his elbows and took in the sight of her—wet hair plastered down the side of her face, droplets trickling down her naked body, eyes shining with love and hope—he knew that this was not his happy ending after all. She leapt, arms extended and face split into a wide and toothy grin. And as she landed in his embrace, he understood.

This was only the beginning, and they had an entire future ahead of them to live out as many happy endings as they wished.

[lisatelramor]

Run, Hide (It’s Dark Outside)

Y'know, 90% of these random kiss stories involve detective conan or magic kaito characters. Luck of the draw I guess? Either way, they're fun. There's still a few more coming. I just want to space them out.

For the prompt: Heiji – Kurama: Creepy

*

The body in front of him had, so far as Heiji could see, the right number of limbs and all the internal organs one would expect to find in an eviscerated corpse. Said organs gaped like the spilled guts of a fish onto the grass, adding to the scent of blood with the noxious smell of open bowels. The corpse had two blank eyes, and a mouth open in a death snarl. Two arms, two legs. The general shape was right, but that was as close to human as the body got. Reddish brown skin was flecked with stiff hairs like a boar, and the jaw of it had tusks. The nose shape was too flat, the rest of the teeth too sharp, and its hands had what appeared to be claws.

This was only the second time Heiji had ever run across something like this (and boy had he tried to forget the first time). The last time he’d been in middle school, and he’d been firmly removed from the case as a special police unit took over.

Unlike that time, this corpse was fresh. He didn’t have the slightest clue who else might be in this woods. Heiji had just come here for a vacation. Camping was supposed to be fun.

There’s signs of a fight—scarred trees, a few gauges in the ground, a clear line of blood spatter, bits missing where something had been in the way. Or was it someone? Heiji couldn’t tell what exactly cut the body. It was sharp, but not sharp like a blade. He gave the body one more look. In a pants pocket was an ID.  Despite his appearance in death, Akiyama Inozu looked human enough on his ID. Ugly as heck with a smushed looking face, but not someone Heiji would have given a second glance if he ran into him on the street, and well within the normal range of Asian skin and hair color.

Who did you call with shit like this? Police? A priest? Regardless, someone was dead. There was an old guy who owned the camp ground, Heiji supposed, but he’d left two days ago with some sort of family emergency, so Heiji could probably rule him out as both a suspect and someone to call.

Heiji snapped some pictures with his cell phone on the off chance that he would have to call this in to the police. There was a lot of chances evidence could get lost when you were in the middle of a woods. And since he was in the middle of the woods with a fresh corpse, he had to wonder where the killer had gone. Another camp site? Back to a car and driven away by now? The blood was so fresh it hadn’t even fully congealed. No, this had to have happened very recently. So recently that it was a miracle Heiji hadn’t heard the fight while wandering around.

“If I was a killer, where would I go next?” he muttered. Well, if he was a killer who quite possibly just got sprayed with blood and bits of entrails after disemboweling an opponent, he’d probably want to get clean before someone noticed. Showers were less than fifteen minutes of walking away.

Heiji tucked his phone away and edged around the gore radius of Akiyama’s body. He wasn’t going to be hungry any time soon, that was for sure… There was an uncomfortable feeling settled in his hindbrain as he walked, like he was being watched. If he was being watched, Heiji couldn’t figure out where from. Not a pleasant feeling in the middle of the woods with a dead body. And a murderer somewhere who might or might not be human. He might mock Kazuha’s charms, but that was only because he really didn’t’ want to think about the whole other realm of who knows what going on right under his nose. Yeah. Not fun thoughts.

It didn’t help that it was getting dark.

He had to squint a bit in the forest gloom where it was all shadows now that the sun had slipped behind a hillside. He kept a flashlight on his keychain though, and that helped. At least it did until he swung it up and the iridescent glow of eyes scared him half to death.

“Shit!” The glow, there and gone, was probably an animal. Probably. Heiji was never going camping alone again. Hell, dragging Kudo and his group of kids with him would have been better. Even with Kudo’s karma from hell, they’d at least have company. He could make out the edge of the trees and the showers beyond that. Thank goodness.

He didn’t make it to the clearing. Something tripped him—or he tripped on something, it was a bit unclear. Heiji fell hard face first into a bush. Twigs snagged at his skin and clothing as he tried to get out of it. There was something wrapped around his ankle though, and when he raised the flashlight again, there were the same glowing eyes from before, only there was a face with them and silver hair topped by two pointy dog-like ears. “Fuuuuuck fuck fuck fuck….” He was dead. Kitsune. Was it the evil kind or one of Inari’s? Stupid question since it was probably what took out the other guy. Heiji tugged at his trapped foot. There was a root wrapped around his ankle which shouldn’t even have been possible. Not going anywhere then…

Heiji gave as much of a bow as he could considering he was seated and still half in a bush. You were supposed to be polite to supernatural creatures, right? “Hello kitsune-san. I hope I’m not trespassin’ on yer territory or anythin’…”

The kitsune didn’t answer. Its ears pricked forward and its bright gold eyes never left Heiji though. …was it nine tailed foxes that turned silver? And it was a male fox. The stories mostly had pretty fox women or creepy old men, not scary-pretty demon men. It crept closer. There was something coiled at its waist. A whip? Could a whip eviscerate a boar demon? Or had it been those long claws? Hell, it was probably a magic whip to go with the magic creature in front of him.

“Just a harmless camper here, sir, didn’t know ya had claim a the woods. Uh. Was that guy yer prey earlier?” Woah, it was pretty big up close. Taller than Heiji with way wider shoulders and hell, even free Heiji wouldn’t be able to fight against a demon. Its face looked close. Even prettier close up if you were into sharp eyes, fox ears and fangs. “Uh. Please don’t eat me.”

The kitsune either smirked or it was flashing some fang for threat effect, but it had Heiji’s heart rabbiting faster either way.

“It’s considered a bad idea to take a walk at twilight,” the kitsune said. It crouched over Heiji, its face close enough that Heiji could have touched it if he wanted to. Which considering it meant it was closer in the off chance the demon wanted to rip his throat out, Heiji really would have preferred it further away.

“Y’don’t say,” Heiji said weakly.  He inched back as far as he could with his leg trapped.

“Yes,” the kitsune said conversationally, “you end to see things that’s best left to the imagination.”

“Y’know, I don’t usually imagine corpses. Not without bein’ able to catch who killed ‘em.”

“A bit of a detective, hmm?” The kitsune makes a sound that kind of sounds like a laugh. “Then you’ll sleep easier knowing the demon you found earlier had a death sentence for eating children.”

Heiji’s eyes widened. That whip at the demon’s waist was made of some kind of vine. Hoo boy. He used plants. Heiji was in a fricking forest. If a vine whip could disembowel someone, he hated to know what the guy could do with a tree. “Y’know, not sure if that helps or not,” Heiji admitted.

“He’ll get a trial in the afterlife if that helps.”

Yeeeeah, still not making the murder better. After this Heiji was going to start carrying a sword. Or something. Something that let him feel a little less helpless in this sort of situation. Cary ofuda charms even. Hell, if Kazuha could make omamori that worked, maybe she would have a talent with demon repelling and he should just drag her along if anything gave him the heebie jeebies like he was getting now. Like spiders running up his spine as predatory gold eyes seemed to pick him apart.

For a demon killer, there wasn’t a speck of blood on him. He didn’t smell like blood or death either. If anything he smelled like roses, and wasn’t that a head trip. Heiji couldn’t get any further back or flatter to the ground. He realized there was one kind of kitsune mythos he hadn’t thought of earlier. He swallowed hard as silver hair slid along the hollow of his throat. Gold eyes remained amused right up until Heiji couldn’t see them clearly anymore because his eyes were crossing.

“Detective,” the kitsune said, now all but covering Heiji’s body with his own.

“Yeah?” Heiji squeaked.

“Be more careful what you charge into.”

There was a press of lips against his own, the sensation of fangs hidden behind them, and the world spun out of focus. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was a gravelly voice and the kitsune’s responding laughter.

*

“Was that really necessary?” Hiei said.

Kurama laughed. “No, but it was pretty fun.” He let Yoko drain away back into his regular human body. The teenager beneath him was unconscious, knocked out by a toxin Kurama had coated his lips with. He could have taken the ‘innocent human’ approach and knocked the teenager out while he was caught off guard, but it had been infinitely more amusing to pull a prank instead. Kurama was feeling a bit whimsical today; it was nice to be out of the city and surrounded by an old growth forest.

“You shouldn’t have had to catch him in the first place,” Hiei said. “You’re getting sloppy.”

Kurama shrugged. “You were the one who was supposed to dispose of the body.”

“Why burn it if you can feed it to your plants?” Hiei’s eyes flicked away from Kurama’s smirk. He’d probably let the human stumble upon the body in the first place. He resettled his gaze on the teenager in question. “Should we kill him too?”

“Hiei,” Kurama said drily, “that would only lead to more time on our sentences.” He stood, brushing bits of leaf mold off his clothing. “He handled running into a demon pretty well.”

Hiei snorted. “If you call being scared witless handling it well.”

“There was no screaming,” Kurama pointed out. “Not when he saw the body and not when I came out of the trees. I wonder if he’s run into demons before?”

“He has to have some ability if he could tell what you were,” Hiei said. “Am I wiping his memory or are you?”

“Your methods are more precise,” Kurama said.

“Lazy fox.”

Kurama stood aside and let Hiei at it.

“Hmm,” Hiei muttered as he reached out. “He’s got a luck charm on him.”

“Strong?”

“Strong for an amateur,” Hiei said. He put a hand on the teenager’s head. Behind its wrappings, the Jagan eye opened and glowed violet. “All done. He won’t remember anything.”

“I’ll take him to his campsite, you take care of the body?” Kurama suggested.

“Fine, but you have to do the report to Koenma.”

“Fair enough.”

*

Heiji woke with a bad enough headache that he wondered if he’d raided his dad’s liquor stash again. He was face down on his sleeping bag with no recollection of how he’d gotten there. He could have sworn he’d gone for a walk…

Ugh, next time he felt like escaping the world for a bit he’d escape a little less. Maybe bring someone along. Like Kazuha. That seemed like a really good idea for some reason. He had the strangest feeling he should apologize to her about something. He rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head to block out the sunlight glowing through the tent walls. He’d get up when his head stopped throbbing.

(Later Heiji found some alarming photos on his phone and felt very glad to be alive and even more terrified at his memory gap. He was never going to say a bad word toward superstitions again and he totally owed Kazuha an apology. And maybe a gift because her luck charm seemed to have pulled another miracle.)

[arkus-rhapsode]

Fairy Tail Chapter 519 review

Guys if you’ve read my reviews you know I do try to find something positive in every chapter. I don’t want to ever let the stimulus of “this arc sucks” to affect my first read of a chapter. I want to love every chapter of FT. SO please understand when I say, this was bad. So here we go:

Oh look more glamour shots. Don’t think LL Bean will let you publish that one, given the angle.

so we have Erza heading right for the meteor and trust me when I say this is the least BS part of this chapter. Also this light Erza has, not explained.

So Erza pulls a saitama and destroys the meteor.

You don’t know the half of it Irene. It gets worse from here and let me remind you that Erza has all the bones in her body broken except for her arm.

Y’know the idea of Wendy enchanting dragon slaying magic to the sword isn’t a bad one. In fact had this fight been re written, the idea of Wendy giving Erza the Sky dragon slaying magic to use in her sword would’ve actually been pretty cool. But as of now and all evens that’ll transpire, this will only lead to more BS.

Yep. We just saw Erza do critical damage to a dragon slayer. Okay. First, Erza has all her bones broken, she most likely can’t move her body all that well, so why don’t you move out of the way Irene? Or turn into human form? Second, how sad is it that Natsu, the MC and powered up by Atlas’s hell flames couldn’t even do that much damage to Motherglare but a broken woman only using dragon slaying magic compressed into a katanna can make such a gapping wound.

And Dead. Or at least Erza should be, flopping on her side with that many broken bones. Also Irene, why did you compress yourself back into human form?

Irene the only one pulling crap is you, for not staying in dragon form and just stepping on everyone like you should. Also this leads into the dumbest part of the chapter, no seriously.

What. the. fuck.

Okay Hiro if you want to justify what Irene is about to do next then you should’ve extended the flash backs, don’t just add in other part of the flash back to create conflict. Second, Irene what the hell are you? Look I’ve said before Irene’s torture only justified her want to be human and that want is what drive her to act crazy when given the chance to take a new body. But this childish personality, this one where you literally say don’t laugh at me with a baby crying, where did it come from? You’ve given no reason to justify this childish behavior. And it still gets worse.

The Fuck. Erza you not only have most of your bones broken, you some how after destroying a meteor have enough strength to launch yourself, while being stabbed. I guess you could try to argue that due to her broken left side she can’t feel the stabbing but look at this.

(Okay how the hell can you launch yourself like that as well as do that much damage) Hey Irene be smart and stab Erza.

Oh my god. Why? No, why?

Not even you know why this crap is happening? Actually I do know, Hiro is too lazy to come up with a way to defeat Irene that would make sense and we obviously can’t have Erza lose and let Alvarez have some victory.

Oh what fresh hell. Irene you said you couldn’t enchant yourself into Erza because you saaid you didn’t share the same magic so enchanting personality was not possible. I had said this before myself that a logical reason she couldn’t enchant herself is because she’d be stuck in the body of a child. Also you were already crazy, Irene. That was the whole point tis flash back with you, to express why you were crazy, also how do you stop being insane just enough to know that you’ll go nuts again. We saw chronologically through this flashback that you were already mad before you gave Erza up.  It makes no sense.

Oh fuck off. Lets look at that “Love deceives the heart” crap. None of this was done out of love this was all portrayed as her being selfish. Also what Love has Erza shown that’ll “remedy” the heart? Her laugh? Throughout this fight you both have expressed you don’t love each other. Irene you kept referring to Erza as trash. You tried to wipe her out with a meteor that couldn’t be stopped and only did stop “cause she’s erza” so if Erza didn’t stop it what then? So much love I’m feeling. The only way this could make some fraction of sense is if Irene had a Brain and Zero thing going that her personalities were split and at war.

Post Chapter Follow up(and follow up of this whole excursion): Wow this was bad. I’m going to say I hated 500 “Fire and Ice” because it was a microcosm of every flaw in FT, but this was microcosm of what every FT hater accuses it of being. This Erza and Irene conflict had nothing but overly done powers, pointless drama, forced drama, ideas introduced only to be solved in one chapter, egregious fanservice, and friendship speeches abound. This is mockery of what FT is, unintentional self parody. Everything good that could’ve come from this is wasted.

Lets look at the negatives. As I said Irene’s motivations keep changing on a dime, this random tweeking to her backstory just raises more questions. Lots of people were pissed that Irene turned out that Irene was a dragon slayer and related to it’s mythos but honestly I liked the idea because dragon slayers often are the most thought out thing by Hiro. But Irene is so damn inconsistent in her personality. First she was introduced as this queenly woman who showed off that she really acts like a child in manner, no now she’s plain psychotic because of her drive to want to be human again, no she was always a kind mother who went crazy for some reason (Yeah the reason she said she’d go crazy isn’t brought up.) The potential for the best spriggan was there, she had a backstory, had power to match up, and developed to the point she’d keep focus. But then she is portrayed as so incompetent that she gives up her whole body only to have lost more power, and get mad and almost kill everyone even though she says she doing this for happiness and now she kills her self for love.

Now on to Erza. My god, she’s Erza is just right because this woman is not the badass that tons of fans fell in love with this. This is a parody that isn’t funny. Look I like Natsu a lot but he does some over powered, plain lazy, wins but I can tolerate it because he is the MC. But Erza even though she’s been here since the beginning should not be held to that because she has prove in the past not to be like this. But no she’s even more over the top then Natsu. I a sense people are going to say Erza struggled against Ajeel and had help against him, well Wendy was right here, Erza could have totally taken Irene with the help of Wendy but not I’ll be completely broken and Wendy you’ll just stand over there.

Lets also get into this love thing. This has been done by Hiro and done better before by him. Perfect example Gray vs Silver plot line, Silver did act like a dick to Gray but he showed that the reason he wanted to die wasn’t cause I’m a parent and I need to die, it was I’ve done horrible things that I can’t justify anymore and you should feel no shame in killing me for it. Because Silver was done in a way that I sympathize with him, want to see him beat for being a villain, has a legitimate reason to want Gray to kill him, Gray beat him on his own skill, and expressed love between parent and child. But you know that a parent should be prioritized to love their child no matter what, but in real life that is not always the case, there is no shame in creating an asshole who is a parent. Hiro has done it right before with Jude so I don’t see how you can’t do that with Irene. nope gotta redeem her. Hell this isn’t even like with King in Rave Master where his hatred for Gale was actually all his misplaced anger that he needed to be justified but ultimately saw he was wrong in doing that and it wasn’t all Gale’s fault, this was I’m crazy cause I have a tragic backstory oh but I love you when I’m to strong to beat.

And this is the worse part of this chapter and this Erza vs Irene fight in general. It is the clearest evidence that Hiro just doesn’t care. This is so lazily done and so impossible to make satisfying that he just needed to release the chapter because he has to end this story. And this is the greatest show of it, not knowing what direction to go, overblown, cheap ways to make or characters seem more powerful. All just a mess.

The only positive was Erza herself didn’t kill Irene. And even then that’s not saying much.

Final Verdict: 0/10

Just all the flaws of writing on display

Erza is just beyond the point of justifying

Tons of great ideas to work with and barely are taken advantage of

This will go down as one of the worst chapters of FT with 322, 404, and 500

[e-mangos]

Goblin: Episodes 13-16 (Final Thoughts)

I cried so much, my eyes and lips are dry and I’m cradling a thermos of water now as I write this. Having heard about the postponement of episode 14 for this week in exchange for a “special” episode, I decided to wait and binge watch 13-16 all at once, which turned out to be both blessing and bane. I gotta tell ya, when it rains on “Goblin”, it bloody hell pours.

I don’t know, guys. I may be reaching, but me thinks the universe has it in for Kim Shin/Goblin.

Loses his family and mortality for disobeying a foolish boy-king’s jealous commands.

Gets sword shoved through his chest cavity. Rots in pretty field for decades. Alone.

Wakes up as the Goblin and is tasked with being a guardian spirit. Spends 900+ years wandering the earth. Alone.

Finally finds his bride only to lose her--ironically in a bid to keep her alive. Instead of dying, a creature of fire gets banished to a spiritual Siberia where chapstick doesn’t exist while said bride goes on her miserable way with no memory of their love. Spends nine years alone.

Finds his way back via a (strange) loophole, reunites with bride and then loses her again when she sacrifices herself. Not only that, best friend and sister pass away. Spends several more decades alone.

Numbers one and two I can understand. It’s three and four that get my knickers in a right knot. While I can understand why Goblin had to go away after removing the sword--consequences are consequences after all--I just can’t wrap my noggin around why he had to suffer during that time. I mean the man is a hero, both as Kim Shin and as Goblin. He sacrificed himself to rid the world of evil and what does he get in return? Nine years in a barren wasteland between life and death.

Why? Hasn’t he had enough? What exactly did he do to warrant such cruel punishment disguised as “mercy”? This is the core of my dissatisfaction with this ending. I’ve nothing against loneliness in fiction. When it feels like a contrivance, however, it loses all meaning. It becomes another cheap sleight of hand to wring a couple more tissues worth of tears from viewers. What makes it hurt more is how much Goblin didn’t deserve it. I can get behind him having to go away for 9 years--hell, I loved it because it evened out the playing field between him and his bride--but if he was going to come back anyway, couldn’t he have spent the time in a spiritual Bali? Even he was going to be alone, couldn’t he have been stranded on a beach or in the field of flowers where he first passed? Why is he always left waiting for so long?

A part of me wants to think it’s because if he had gone somewhere comfortable, perhaps he wouldn’t have wanted to come back; he wouldn’t have fought his way back to Eun Tak. Eun Tak’s future was obviously set in stone, so what if Goblin’s return was a given and they all just had to wait the “divine” nine years until she turned 29? Although Goblin wouldn’t have known he was destined to return, the Almighty would’ve, so why not send Goblin somewhere more chill?Why did this poor man have to cross country through a blizzard with only a piece of paper for company? Adding insult to injury, Eun Tak kicks the bucket barely a minute after enjoying wedded bliss. Whut? Admittedly, her death initially excited me. I assumed her dying would somehow “rewrite” the issue of her pesky mortality and his lack of; you would think such a noble and brave sacrifice would warrant her becoming an angel or a fairy or a sprite--bloody something!--with a bit more longevity. Nope. In the end, we get the return of barely legal!Eun Tak. Is she just going to keep reincarnating until she uses up all four of her lives? Oh boy.

That being said, the finale was still an emotional tour de force. Never has a time skip been more satisfying. Eun Tak’s age was always a sore spot for me, so I appreciated the drama giving her time to mature and “catch up” (though how much you catch up to a millennium old supernatural creature prone to fits of childishness is debatable lol) to Goblin. It evened out the playing field having a self-realized and self-confident Eun Tak rebuff Goblin’s clumsy advances; a perfect mirror of their first meetings where she relentlessly pursued her new hubby and Goblin played it too-cool-for-school because 900+ years alone can make a guy rather bitter. It was particularly fulfilling watching her fall back in love with a man she has every right to be wary of because even though her mind forgot him, her heart was--in some ways--beating for his return. Of course her being older also made their spicier engagements more entertaining. Say what you will, but those 900 years did wonders for Kim Shin’s ability to sweep a girl off her feet. My goodness, Gong Yoo can get it. *Eagerly awaits all of the kissing montages sure to flood Youtube in 3...2....1...*

Sun Reaper. Where do I start with you two? Theirs is a story of regrets, almost’s and could’ve beens/should’ve beens. That age-old cliche of two lovers constantly missing each other isn’t a new one but it still feels like Kim Eun Sook managed to put a fresh coating on it in that both remained cognizant of the lost chances. They willingly chose to continue walking past each other--and with good reason. There was too much baggage between both Sunny/Grim Reaper and Kim Sun/Wang Yeo. Plus’ there’s something pure (and painful) about knowing you can be with someone, but choosing not to for both of your sakes. Again, that idea of love trumping life, death and everything in between rings strong and true between Grim Reaper and his Sun Queen. Seeing them finally get their “happy ending” made all of Lee Dong Wook’s tears truly worth it.

While it suffered from a rambling middle and a rather rushed closing that screamed of Kim Eun Sook’s signature cheesiness (hur hur), “Goblin” delivered. The mythos alone is enough to fuel spin-offs and sequels (yes please!). This, coupled with one of the best OST since 2005′s “Soulmate” and you’ve got a drama that packs an emotional, visual and auditory punch; a real treat for all the senses. It’s truly rare for me to enjoy the entire cast, but hats off to you Kim Eun Sook; from Deok Hwa to teenage Wang Yeo, the actors made each and every character lovable, relatable and most importantly, real. You could feel every beat of their emotions; all the highs and the lows were played out with such depth and rawness that you couldn’t help but cry and laugh and rejoice with them. Writing for an ensemble cast can be challenging, but Kim Eun Sook is quickly shaping dual couple storylines into an art form.

Because the episode was great..because it wasn’t...because it was decent, but all my days watching “Goblin” were the happiest....

[krystisyaandwine]

I’m so excited to get to participate in the blog tour for Kiersten White’s latest novel in The Conqueror’s Saga, Now I Rise. I truly think that Lada is one of the most unique and captivating characters in YA, and she more than lived up to all my expectations once again!

Wine Pairing 

One of the many things I love about these books are the wonderful nods to the Dracula mythos woven throughout the story, so I paired Now I Rise with this Draculea Vlad the Impaler Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah, not to mention the fact that Lada is one FIERCE, gender-swapped version of Vlad the Impaler.

 *All wine recommendations are strictly for those of legal drinking age only.*

About And I Darken

Title: AND I DARKEN

Author: Kiersten White

Pub. Date: June 28, 2016

Publisher: Delacorte Press

Format: Hardcover, Paperback, eBook, audiobook

Find it: Amazon, B&N, iBooks, Audible, TBD, Goodreads

NO ONE EXPECTS A PRINCESS TO BE BRUTAL. And Lada Dragwlya likes it that way. Ever since she and her gentle younger brother, Radu, were wrenched from their homeland of Wallachia and abandoned by their father to be raised in the Ottoman courts, Lada has known that being ruthless is the key to survival. She and Radu are doomed to act as pawns in a vicious game, an unseen sword hovering over their every move. For the lineage that makes them special also makes them targets. Lada despises the Ottomans and bides her time, planning her vengeance for the day when she can return to Wallachia and claim her birthright. Radu longs only for a place where he feels safe. And when they meet Mehmed, the defiant and lonely son of the sultan, who’s expected to rule a nation, Radu feels that he’s made a true friend—and Lada wonders if she’s finally found someone worthy of her passion. But Mehmed is heir to the very empire that Lada has sworn to fight against—and that Radu now considers home. Together, Lada, Radu, and Mehmed form a toxic triangle that strains the bonds of love and loyalty to the breaking point.

About Now I Rise

Title: NOW I RISE

Author: Kiersten White

Pub. Date: Jume 27, 2017

Publisher: Delacorte Press

Formats: Hardcover, eBook, audiobook

Pages: 496

Find it: Amazon, B&N, iBooks, TBD, Audible,  Goodreads

Lada Dracul has no allies. No throne. All she has is what she’s always had: herself. After failing to secure the Wallachian throne, Lada is out to punish anyone who dares to cross her blood-strewn path. Filled with a white-hot rage, she storms the countryside with her men, accompanied by her childhood friend Bogdan, terrorizing the land. But brute force isn’t getting Lada what she wants. And thinking of Mehmed brings little comfort to her thorny heart. There’s no time to wonder whether he still thinks about her, even loves her. She left him before he could leave her.

What Lada needs is her younger brother Radu’s subtlety and skill. But Mehmed has sent him to Constantinople—and it’s no diplomatic mission. Mehmed wants control of the city, and Radu has earned an unwanted place as a double-crossing spy behind enemy lines. Radu longs for his sister’s fierce confidence—but for the first time in his life, he rejects her unexpected plea for help. Torn between loyalties to faith, to the Ottomans, and to Mehmed, he knows he owes Lada nothing. If she dies, he could never forgive himself—but if he fails in Constantinople, will Mehmed ever forgive him?

As nations fall around them, the Dracul siblings must decide: what will they sacrifice to fulfill their destinies? Empires will topple, thrones will be won . . . and souls will be lost.

Now I Rise Review

AND I DARKEN was one of my favorite novels of 2016. I absolutely fell in love with the concept of a gender-swapped, anti-heroine take on Vlad the Impaler! That premise is, quite frankly, badass. And I found all the little nods to the Dracula mythos absolutely brilliant.

I was thrilled to get to read an early copy of NOW I RISE as part of the blog tour, and this book certainly did not disappoint. I am absolutely addicted to this series and fascinated by the evolution of both Lada and Radu’s characters.

This book spends a lot more time in Radu’s perspective than the previous book did, and it was so fascinating to observe his character arc throughout this novel and the struggles he is faced with in fitting in to his society, choosing sides between two warring nations despite split allegiances, and questioning his faith. I fell in love with Radu in book one and feel like he definitely stole the show in book two.

While I would have liked just a bit more of Lada’s perspective in this story, when we were in her POV, it was so fascinating watching her further develop into that iconic character of the Impaler. I love the fact that even though Kiersten White does show some of Lada’s more humanizing characteristics and weaknesses, she still absolutely reads like an anti-heroine. I feel like that is something that truly sets her character and this story apart.

The first book covered a very large expanse of time and seemed to stay in the MG age for a large portion of the story. This second book is more focused on a shorter period of time and really zeroes in on these characters during a YA age. Honestly, I enjoyed both equally. I feel like the pacing in the first was a bit faster, because of how much material it covered, while in NOW I RISE the pacing is a bit slower, but you really get a lot more detail about the characters, setting, and political machinations.

The amount of research that White puts into these books absolutely shines through the text. The historical events that White does feature in the story are immersive and feel like they could be very accurate representations of how things may have transpired.

There were also some really powerful scenes with Mehmed in this book. I won’t go into detail, so I can avoid spoilers, but his character is becoming more and more fascinating to me as the series progresses as well.

I cannot wait for the next book to come out already. I am so excited to see more of Lada’s character and where White takes this story from here.

About Kiersten White

Kiersten White is the NYT bestselling author of the Paranormalcy trilogy, the Mind Games series, Illusions of Fate, The Chaos of Stars, In the Shadows with artist Jim Di Bartolo, and the upcoming historical reimagining, And I Darken. She has one tall husband and three small children and lives near the ocean, where her life is perfectly normal. Visit her at http://www.kierstenwhite.com.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Goodreads

Enter the Giveaway

3 Winners will receive a finished copy of NOW I RISE, US Only.

  Follow the Blog Tour!

Thanks to Rockstar Book Tours for hosting this tour for Now I Rise! Be sure to check out their site and the other amazing posts on this tour!

Week One:

6/19/2017- Bookfever– Excerpt

6/20/2017- Lisa Loves Literature– Review

6/21/2017- Two Chicks on Books– Interview

6/22/2017- Fiktshun– Review

6/23/2017- Carina’s Books– Review

Week Two:

6/26/2017- Dazzled by Books– Review

6/27/2017- Books and Things– Review

6/28/2017- Rattle the Stars– Review

6/29/2017- YABC– Review

6/30/2017- Once Upon A Twilight– Review

Week Three:

7/3/2017- Adventures of a Book Junkie– Interview

7/4/2017- Seeing Double In Neverland– Review

7/5/2017- Fiction Fare– Review

7/6/2017- YA and Wine– Review

7/7/2017- Little Red’s Reviews– Review

Did you read And I Darken? Have you gotten a chance to start Now I Rise just yet? Who are some of your favorite female characters in YA lit that don’t conform to traditional gender roles?

Follow us online for more YA and Wine!   

NOW I RISE Review and Giveaway! I'm so excited to get to participate in the blog tour for Kiersten White's latest novel in The Conqueror's Saga, 

[hermanwatts]

Fantasy and Adventure New Releases: 28 March, 2020

This week’s fantasy and adventure new releases feature doomed felon NPCs, living saints policing the streets, and a spoiled princess trying to avoid a second trip to the headsman.

Burnt (The Balance of Kerr #1) – Kevin Steverson and Tyler Ackerman

An offer they couldn’t refuse. A chance to re-set the balance…

Tog and Kryder were raised as brothers, even though they were very different. Tog was a Half-Orc, tall and strong, and good with an axe. Kryder was shorter and tended to daggers…except when he used the magic passed down to him from his deceased mother. Having just reached adulthood in the Baronies West, both were enjoying life.

But when Baron Arnwald sends them out on a mission to determine whether the rumors of war are true, the brothers get a lot more than they bargained for. Running into Lan, the Keeper of Memories, they are shown many things that have nothing to do with the upcoming war…or do they?

One thing is certain—the Creator’s balance has been upset, and they must use all of their wits and skills to make things right again, both in their lives and in the world. Mercenaries and mages stand in their way, though, and the odds are stacked against them.

Although Tog and Kryder are only two people, forces are working in the background to get them to the right time and place where they can make a difference. If they’re not careful, though, they also might get very, very dead.

Corona-chan: Spreading the Love – edited by David V. Stewart

Stuck inside? Quarantine got you feeling down… or even worse, BORED?

Corona-Chan: Spreading the Love is here to rescue you from the existential horror of indoor life, by offering you a glimpse into other worlds of wonder, whimsy, and warped humor.

Tales of high adventure, escapist fantasies, and thrilling stories of suspense await within, from some of the keenest and most rebellious minds in pulp fiction, with a foreword by the infamous Daddy Warpig.

With 200,000 words of exciting fiction, most never before published, including four books, Corona-Chan is serious about spreading the love!

Read it today!

Coven (Saint Tommy, NYPD #7) – Declan Finn

Detective Thomas Nolan has finally returned home. In typical police fashion, he is welcomed home with a murder case and gunfire.

After one arrest goes spectacularly wrong, Tommy is assigned another case and another dead body.

But everything goes wrong from the start of the case. The deceased is a member of a nearby military base, and no one wants to answer his questions. A local bodega gives him mind-splitting headaches. Worst of all, someone is after his children.

To make matters worse — Tommy no longer has his charisms.

The Edge of Darkness (The Volatar Saga #1) – D. K. Holmberg

They called him the Volatar. He came from nothing. Found his power. Became a legend, then lost it all.

Now he has all the power in the world but can’t touch it. With war growing, an old enemy on his heels, his best friend by his side, only the north holds the secret to reconnecting with his lost power.

But war has a way of pushing old heroes aside.

Hevith Alaster knew nothing of the Hith when their dark magic took his family away. Life on the wagon train had been simple. Keep moving north, stay ahead of the war.

But war found him all the same.

Hurt, humbled, and left to rot in a northern prison, Hevith must carve out a new life for himself in the wake of tragedy–but only if he can find a way to break free before the Hith break him. Either he must rise to the challenge or he will be yet another casualty on the Hith’s path to total domination.

Ghostblade (The Savage Hunters #1) – Adam Lane Smith

Giant monsters roam the land.

Civilization is frozen in a savage age. For one young hunter named Alden, power and survival are one and the same. The ancient evil that once ravaged his village and murdered his ancestors has returned. At the same time, politics hurls Alden into gladiator pit battles for control of the throne.

When Alden takes possession of a cursed sword promising untold power, the hunter is determined to save his people by slaying every giant monster standing between him and the throne. But the angry ghost trapped inside the blade has other ideas.

Sentenced to Troll 3 – S. L. Rowland

The ancient portals have been unlocked, restoring fast travel to Isle of Mythos.

No longer the outsider, Chod enjoys his newfound acceptance as a hero and troll. New lands and adventures await with the promise of gold and glory. But every opportunity offers the chance of misfortune.

Several portals still remain closed, hiding dire threats behind their veils of dark energy. Enemies have disappeared into parts unknown, and rumors of the return of the greatest villain Mythos has ever known grow louder by the day.

Chod has one goal- unite the heroes of Mythos. Fail, and he loses everything.

Shadowbound (Ghostlight Academy #1) – Gage Lee

Kai Evers only wanted to give his little sister Biz an unforgettable trip to the happiest place on Earth.

But when an augmented reality game goes off the rails, the pair find themselves whisked away to a ruined fantasy world in desperate need of heroes. Trapped in the ruins of an ancient cultivation academy, the siblings must learn to master the mysterious ghostlight to restore the broken gate that can send them home.

This seemingly insurmountable quest will change Kai’s life forever—or end it.

Ghostlight Academy: Shadowbound is the first book in the exciting new series from the best-selling author of the School of Swords and Serpents series. Featuring cultivation, base building, quests, treasures, and monsters, this first volume is your key to an intriguing new world.

Subtle Target (Six Assassins #2) – Jim Heskitt and Nick Thacker

A ruthless peddler of poison is closing in. How long can she evade the inevitable?

Elite assassin Ember Clarke never thought she would have to stare death in the face.

In week two of a six-week trial by combat, she’s working hard to keep her head above water. But the hitman after her this week changes everything by poisoning Ember’s crew solely to get to her.

Devastated by these senseless killings, Ember strikes out to find the vicious murderer. But a technicality in the rules keeps the poisoner’s identity secret.

Can Ember uncover the identity of her shadow before this person kills again?

Tearmoon Empire – Nozomu Mochitsuki

Surrounded by the hate-filled gazes of her people, the selfish princess of the fallen Tearmoon Empire, Mia, takes one last look at the bleeding sun before the guillotine blade falls…

Only to wake back up as a twelve-year-old! With time rewound and a second chance at life dropped into her lap, she sets out to right the countless wrongs that plague the ailing Empire. Corrupt governance? Check. Border troubles? Check. Natural calamities and economic strife? Check.

My, seems like a lot of work.

Hard work and Mia don’t mix, so she seeks out the aid of others, starting with her loyal maid, Anne, and the brilliant minister, Ludwig. Together, they strive day and night to restore the Empire. Little by little, their tireless efforts begin to change the course of history, pushing the whole of the continent toward a new future.

And why did the selfish princess have a change of heart, you ask? Simple—she didn’t. She’s just terrified of the guillotine. They hurt like hell, and Mia hates pain more than work.

Fantasy and Adventure New Releases: 28 March, 2020 published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/