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arofili · 2 years

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dwarves of middle-earth △ firebeards and broadbeams △ headcanon disclaimer △ @khazadweek day one △ first age // family

Azaghâl was the King of Belegost during much of the First Age of the Sun. He earned his use-name from his prowess in battle, and proudly wore it all his days, though his decision to take an outer name in Khuzdul was unorthodox. Yet so widely beloved was he by his people that few spoke against this choice, and the Firebeards of Gabilgathol defended him fiercely against the few Broadbeams of Tumunzahar who dared comment on Azaghâl’s name. The spouse of Azaghâl was Thalor, a lesser prince of Nogrod who gained his name, and great wealth, in his travels in the eastern lands later known as Eriador. Thalor boasted even of having visited Khazad-dûm, though many doubted the truth of this tale in particular. Thalor’s dowry to Azaghâl upon their marriage was a grand helm crafted by none other than Telchar himself, greatest of Nogrod’s smiths, and a friend of his father. Upon this helm was a golden figure of the wyrm Glaurung, symbolizing Azaghâl’s power in combat. Thalor bore Azaghâl two sons, and the pair were deeply affectionate with one another. Often Azaghâl and Thalor would travel together into Beleriand, trading with Caranthir the dark and Elu Thingol and later the Edain as well. On one such journey along the Dwarf-road Azaghâl’s grandfather had constructed along the River Ascar when their company was assaulted by a legion of orcs. Though Azaghâl and his folk put up a mighty battle, there were simply too many enemies for them to take down, and after a pitched battle through the night, more than half of the dwarves had been slaughtered. They would all have perished had not Maedhros the tall, Lord of Himring and brother to Caranthir, come suddenly to their rescue. Maedhros’ mounted elves descended upon the orcs, slaying many and sending the rest scattering only to be chased down by the warriors of Himring. Maedhros himself saved Azaghâl’s life by taking a blow meant for the dwarven king, and in deepest gratitude Azaghâl gave to him the Dragon-helm and pledged a life-debt to him. Thus began a lifelong friendship and alliance between elf and dwarf. Maedhros and his soldiers escorted Azaghâl, Thalor, and the surviving dwarves back to Belegost, and attended the solemn burials of those slain in battle. Afterward, Maedhros and Azaghâl spent many days in conversation, learning much of each others’ peoples and becoming fast friends. It was Maedhros who gave Azaghâl’s sons their use-names, Sacha and Fimli, though these pronunciations were likely an alteration of the original Sindarin words. When the Sudden Flame descended upon the peoples of Beleriand, Azaghâl left Thalor to fortify Gabilgathol and himself set out into the elven lands seeking battle. His unexpected arrival to Caranthir’s settlement upon the shores of Lake Helevorn allowed the elves there to hold their siege for three more nights, ensuring many of their goods and people could escape southward to Amon Ereb. In the coming years, Azaghâl was one of the first lords and kings to enter into the Union of Maedhros, ever eager to wage war against the Enemy and further prove his skill in battle. When the fateful Fifth Battle dawned, Azaghâl and his warriors marched with the eastern contingent. As the battle turned ill, he refused to flee, and his stout-hearted soldiers stood with him against the mighty wyrm Glaurung, whose likeness adorned the very helm Azaghâl once bore. As the elves fell back in retreat, the dwarves of Belegost hewed away at the dragon’s scales, for the make of their axes was so sharp and strong that nothing could withstand their blows. Yet when Glaurung turned the force of his rage upon the dwarven king, Azaghâl was at last struck down and the dragon crawled over his body to defile it. This would turn to the wyrm’s undoing, for with his last breath, Azaghâl drove a knife into Glaurung’s belly and so wounded him that he fled the field with many of the dismayed beasts of Angband following. Thus died Azaghâl, King of Belegost, and his people raised up his body and bore him away with slow steps and dirge of deep voices. Such was the power of dwarven Song that even though they heeded not their foes, none dared attack them, and they did not halt until they returned to Gabilgathol to intern their king in his mountainside tomb. Sacha, eldest of Azaghâl’s sons, was crowned King in the days following. Thalor his father retreated in grief and lived only a few years longer before he wasted away in sorrow. Blaming his fathers’ deaths on their friendship with the elves, Sacha turned Maedhros away from Belegost in his hour of need and closed the doors of Gabilgathol to any outsiders save their Broadbeam kin in Tumunzahar. Now Sacha was handsome and lordly, with a beard of flame, and some whispered that he was Linnar come again, the first reincarnation of their Firebeard forefather. Fimli his brother was craft-wed, and happy to throw himself into the forges rather than rule, and so all of Gabilgathol looked to Sacha alone for guidance. When Gabilgathol received word from Tumunzahar of the theft of the Nauglamír and the slaughter of those who worked upon it, Sacha was eager to answer the summons of his fellow king Naugladur to march to war against the Grey-elves. But Sacha’s rashness betrayed him, for the Firebeards were weary of war and had no quarrel of their own with Thingol’s kin, and the king’s council overruled him. Sacha was furious and swore to embark on this mission alone, if he must, and with three of his closest followers he departed to join Naugladur and the dwarves of Nogrod in their campaign. With Thingol slain and his Maia queen departed, the dwarves faced no opposition as they stormed into Doriath. Only in Menegroth did they face resistance, and there a great battle was fought before the treasury. Though many dwarves were killed, including Sacha’s three companions, in the end Naugladur’s forces were victorious and claimed the Nauglamír for their own, along with many other treasures. But the conflict was not yet over, for that very night Sacha was overcome with greed and jealousy, desiring the Nauglamír for himself. He crept to Naugladur’s side with the intent to steal the precious necklace, but even as he struck Naugladur awoke, for the King of Nogrod had feared such treachery and kept a dagger by his side as he slept. Thus was Sacha slain, though Naugladur kept his prize only until the morrow, when he and all his company were killed in battle with Beren Erchamion and his allies among the Green-elves and the Ents. No dwarves survived that battle, but an advance party sent ahead to prepare for a feast upon the king’s return to Nogrod witnessed the utter destruction of their kindred, and brought word of the whole tale to both Broadbeams and Firebeards. The dwarves of Tumunzahar lived many generations in enmity toward their kin in Gabilgathol, cursing Sacha as a traitor and naming him Bodruith, the vengeful one, and hating those Firebeards who refused their aid as cowards. But amid his sorrow for his brother’s death, Fimli, now King of Belegost, determined Sacha had lacked the wisdom to truly be a reincarnation of Linnar, and rising to the occasion of leadership he ruled Gabilgathol well for the rest of his days. Though he did not fight in the War of Wrath, he rekindled Azaghâl’s friendship with Maedhros the tall, fostering the peredhil Elrond and Elros for a time. When the Valar’s war against Morgoth drowned Beleriand below the waves, Fimli led his people to the eastern eaves of the Blue Mountains until the stormy seas calmed, whereupon in his old age he returned and began restoration of the great halls of Belegost.

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higanbanawritings · 1 year

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Rekindled Hope

The human experience is filled with moments that test our strength, resilience, and courage. And its near-death experiences that serve as poignant reminders of the fragility of life. It’s moments like these that leave us grappling with fear and uncertainty.

As bade clashes against claws, Reira is reminded no matter how invincible she felt or how many demons she was able to slay easily, that even she wasn’t immune to moments like these. It was hard to stand with the deep gash on her right leg and the wound on her abdomen made it hard to move let alone breathe. It was getting harder to fight back. The demon before her cackled as it regenerated yet again. Mocking her as she took another stance to attack.

“How adorable. You really thought you could defeat me like that. You’re bleeding so badly that you might die from blood loss before you can swing that word again.”

Reira gritted her teeth. As much as she didn't want to admit it, the demon was right. She was losing a lot of blood and exerting herself meant certain death. Still, she was part of the demon slayer corps. She was going to slay this demon even if it was the last thing she did.

“Star Breathing! Fifth Form: Leo! Lion’s Barrage!”

Reira lunged at the demon kicking it into the air before propelling herself forward. Provoking the demon into attacking her midair, Reira kept kicking it upward and faster. Just enough to disorient it and slash its neck.

But as Reira started to close the gap between the two it seemed that the demon had caught on to her plan. Using its own body strength to stop spinning and dodge the final kick. It then grabbed Reira’s leg and hurled her to the ground below.

Back hitting the rubble all the air left her lungs. Her head was throbbing. She could even use total concentration breathing to stop the bleeding in her leg or abdomen. This was it. She was going to die here like a dog. The demon landed on the ground and walked up to Reira with its claws out.

“I was gonna go easy on you but since you made it so difficult, I’m gonna drag this out for as long as I can. Until your throat dries out from begging for a mercy kill.”

Reira closed her eyes waiting for the attack but it never came.

“Flame Breathing! Second Form: Rising Scorching Sun!”

When she opened her eyes, she saw the back of a haori decorated with flames and hair resembling fire.

“You did good. Rest now.”

Reira closed her eyes, falling into a world of darkness.

“You leave here Reira, don't you dare ever come back!”

Eyes fluttered open. Reira emerged from the shadowy depths of unconsciousness to sunlight that bathed the Butterfly Mansion.

It was silent and a profound stillness settled around her. The boundaries between reality and the ethereal realm blur leaving her disoriented…and vulnerable. Was it all a dream? Was she back home? The stinging pain in her abdomen and right leg as she sat up said otherwise.

“Careful now. Kocho-San would be displeased if you opened those stitches.

That voice! Reira turned her head to face its owner. With his flame-colored hair and bright eyes his aura exuded strength and passion. She recognized him from the final selection. He was the son of the former Flame Hashira: Rengoku Kyojurou. It was he who saved her.

“I came to check up on you. After all, the Kakushi said that you wouldn’t survive, but I know someone as strong as you and with an amazing technique would pull through.”

Reira laughed bitterly. If only he saw how pathetic she was at that moment.

“If I was so strong and my technique was so amazing, how come I wasn’t able to kill that demon.” Bitter words came out through gritted teeth. Tears pooling at the corner of her eyes.

Kyojurou looked over her hunched figure and her hands gripping the sheets. She was angry and ashamed of losing a battle. Of her near brush with death.

“I’m not fit to be a demon slayer. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t even leave a scratch. At that moment I realized I was a stupid rich girl who ran away from home to escape an arranged marriage. Even coming out of my mouth I realized how stupid I sound. I should quit, go home, and hope my father and grandmother take me back.” Sobs racked through her body as she was made to not only live over her near-death experience, but also the memories of before becoming a demon slayer.

“I’m not like you Rengoku-san. You’re actually capable. People can rely on you. And you slay demons to help others, not because of some selfish reason like me.”

Kyojurou couldn’t help but let his compassionate nature shine through as he swiftly approached Reira. His eyes filled with understanding and empathy. Without uttering a word, he envelopes her into a warm embrace hoping to provide a sense of security and solace. Enough to calm her down.

“Please don’t speak of yourself that way.” He pulled back to look directly at Reira.

“Facing death to protect others doesn’t make you weak, stupid, or selfish. You fought to have control of your own destiny so you shouldn't let this stop you.”

Recognizing Reira’s vulnerability Kyojurou began recounting his own experiences: feeling useless because of his father’s berating, the feelings of guilt whenever he couldn’t save his comrades, and even his own deadly encounters with demons including one where he had to rupture his eardrums to save his life.

As he was speaking his spirit burned brightly, radiating an unwavering determination that permeated Reira's being. He didn’t realize it at the time but he was inspiring her to find her own resilience and inherent strength. She wanted to now move forward with unwavering resolve. Kyojurou’s very essence rekindles her fading spirit.

“I believe in you. I know you can rise above this and be stronger. Discard any self-doubt and limitations that tell you otherwise. I’m rooting for you…”

“Reira. Hirawa Reira. Thank you. Rengoku-san. Your words helped me find the will to move forward.”

Kyojurou couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, Hirawa-San I must go. But before I do, promise me that the next time we’ll meet it’ll be in better circumstances.”

He held out his pinky. Reira looked at it before linking it with hers.

“I promise.”

After Kyoujurou left Reira smiled to herself. His unwavering determination and passionate nature gave her a much needed sense of comfort. As she embarks on her new journey to become stronger his words will serve as a symbol of hope. A reminder that even in the darkest of times, there is a flicker of hope to guide us back to the light.

Author’s Note: Hey! Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this and this is something that I plan on turning into a full series.

You can also read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47636701

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #rengoku kyoujurou #rengoku kyoujurou x reader

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myhahnestopinion · 2 years

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THE 2022 AARONS - Best Film

75 films released in 2022 are eligible for this year’s ceremony. That ties a low with the pandemic year of 2020, but my goal was to focus on quality over quantity. Well, at least that’s what I told myself until I opted to watch Disenchanted over Decision to Leave. I did watch a lot of good films last year though. Here are the Aarons for Best Film:

#10. Scream

Ready or Not directors Matt Bettinelli-Olpin & Tyler Gillett were the first people brave enough to take a stab at Scream since the passing of director Wes Craven. They slayed at becoming its stewards. The fifth film’s satire has bigger prey in mind than just the slasher subgenre, cutting through a whole culture obsessed with reliving an idealized past. It’s a scary, and pertinent, reminder of how easily infantilized fan-bases can be weaponized against human beings, told with a sly style that would have made Craven proud. While the film features plenty of familiar faces and Ghostfaces, it’s the new blood of current and soon-to-be horror icons like Dylan Minnette and Jenny Ortega that really made the horror-comedy a scream.

#9. The Black Phone

Based on the short story by Joe Hill, The Black Phone recalls the best works of his father Stephen King. The 70s-set serial killer thriller grabs ahold of viewers with its supernatural hook - a phone that converses with the dead - but it’s the clever characters that will keep them captivated. Sinister director Scott Derickson slowly dials up the dread as young Finny Blake tries to escape the clutches of his kidnapper, with the looming specter of past victims making the cost of failure clear. The frightening film’s secret weapon is its resourcefulness, deftly deploying Ethan Hawke’s maniacal villain and eerie 8mm imagery as it lays the groundwork for an off-the-hook finale.

#8. The Batman

Since its debut, every comic book filmmaker has been riddled by the same dilemma: how to eclipse The Dark Knight. If director Matt Reeves, who sharpened his skill for thoughtful blockbusters on Planet of the Apes, didn’t solve the question, he at least gave a very good guess. Reeve’s reinvention pushed the envelope of superhero cinema by drawing inspiration from David Fincher, distinguishing itself in the competitive genre through grounded stakes and great spectacle. Abetted by Paul Dano’s riveting Riddler and Robert Pattison’s arresting, arrestedly-developed version of the vigilante, the twists and turns of the mystery noir keep viewers tightly-wound even after its dam breaks open.

#7. TÁR

TÁR’s composition is unusual: it begins with a full set of production credits, shown in reverse of traditional order. The switch-up is the opening salvo of a film fully intent on upsetting power dynamics. The three-hour character piece plays with audiences’ sympathies as it chronicles the collapse of famous (fictional) symphony composer Lydia Tár. The nuanced tale of narcissism takes some cues from modern day ‘cancel culture,” but the tenor is a tragedy as classical as they come. To alleviate trepidation, it’s important to note that TÁR isn’t as stuffy as it may sound: the coda of this unusual composition is a rollicking punchline as appropriate as it is unpredictable.

#6. Pearl

Pearl is a gem. Filmed in secret alongside its predecessor (more on that shortly) and released a few months later, the prequel extrapolates X into a compelling study of its eponymous character. The wickedness of the Oz-inspired technicolor terror contrasts itself through its singular focus. Tracing the lead-up to Pearl’s first string of murders in 1918 as her fairy tale dreams turn into a deranged fervor, the film keeps the body count going but the spotlight fixed on the incontestable star power of Mia Goth. Goth’s devotion to the demented ending guarantees that, while X is extricating, Pearl will always linger in the back of one’s mind.

#5. X

‘Elevated horror,’ the designation given to the recent trend of arthouse films, has routinely struggled to find the right balance between lofty thematic ambitions and expected genre titillation. X marks the spot. The trick was in fixating both on being unabashed about one’s nature. The thrust of Ti West’s throwback grindhouse flick, which documents a group of sexually-liberated filmmakers’ fateful encounter with an envious elderly couple, is a morality play about accepting mortality. The sexed-up slasher doesn’t skimp on penetrating flesh though, with gnarly gore effects designed by Wētā Workshop. It could have been objectifying and objectionable material, but West directs it all with a curious compassion; as a result, X multiplied wins for his films this year.

#4. The Banshees of Inisherin

Banshees is a lament of ghosting gone wrong. Martin McDonagh’s drama escalates an unconscientious uncoupling - truthful but tactless - between two life-long best friends to its most absurd and absurdly funny degree. Backdropped by the Irish Civil War, the boiling tension between the curiously incongruous but synchronously stubborn pairing of Brendan Gleeson’s ambitious Colm and Colin Farrell’s simplistic Pádraic highlights how quickly spite can erode one’s better angels. It’s a downbeat design yet Inisherin’s spirit lies in its impeccably witty dialogue. They may not be able to put their finger on whether it’s gaiety or grief, but audiences will be howling in response to Banshees for one reason or the other.

#3. Speak No Evil

Much has been said recently about horror’s use as a vehicle to process past trauma; Speak No Evil returns the conversation to the genre’s custom of cautionary tales. Danger lies ahead, not behind, of the film’s family when they accept an invitation to an idyllic weekend stay with a foreign couple. Evil preys on the unprepared; the insidious nature of its terror isn’t clear until its trap is already sprung. For the unassertive, the Danish film is uniquely devastating. The less said to prospective viewers, the better, though rest assured that Speak No Evil deserves every good word.

#2. The Fabelmans

Steven Spielberg has spent a lifetime doing his dream work and capturing his audiences’ imagination along the way. Loosely based on his own childhood, The Fablemans brings that wide-ranging filmography into focus. The assortment of anecdotes is one of the director’s funniest films and undoubtedly his most vulnerable. While this semi-autobiographical story could have been a simple victory lap for the septuagenarian, Spielberg’s sentimentality has always been far wiser than critics claim. The sure to be sacred text to future generations of filmmakers is certainly a testament to the magic of movies. Yet, even as Spielberg reframes his past, the learned moral imparted by The Fabelmans is really about what cinema is unable to control.

AND THE BEST FILM OF 2022 IS...

#1. Everything Everywhere All At Once

Movie multiverses may be inescapable at the moment, but no project encapsulates the concept’s infinite possibilities more than Everything Everywhere All at Once. The revolutionary martial-arts flick runs like The Matrix trading its estrogen for ecstasy as it awakens an under-audit laundromat owner to the larger worlds around her. The film’s directors, collectively credited as Daniels, learned the tools of the trade on the offbeat Swiss Army Man and apply that same sense of humor here: one that’s lewd, ludicrous, and incredibly life affirming. Able to transform a universe of humans with hot dogs for fingers from joke to tearjerker and back again, the film is continually unexpected but everything one’s ever wanted all at once.

NEXT UP: THE 2022 AARONS FOR WORST FILM!

#film #TheAarons #TheAaronsFilm #TheAarons2022 #best film #best picture #best of 2022 #top 10 #everything everywhere all at once #the fabelmans #speak no evil #the banshees of inisherin #x #pearl #tar #the batman #the black phone #scream

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caranelguild · 1 year

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January 16 - 29, 2IY 1

As the crew of the unnamed flying object (UFO for short) near the desert realm of Dharak, their quest-giver Gali becomes more and more eager to be home with her family. She warms up to our adventurers, telling stories of her growing up in the realm's capital city of Aggradil, in the shadow of the Immortal Palace of the Undying Resh Khan, where she had worked as a handmaiden.

She tells of her siblings, Sarai, Schmuel, Dorchi, and Shay, and her parents Heli and Ilan.

But she will have to wait a day longer to see them; the crew elects to disembark a day's walk from the city, so as to keep the UFO undetected. Nearing evening, the group encounters a merchant travelling towards Aggradil with three loaded wagons of a large local gourd. Our adventurers learn that it is almost the festival known as Ei-dal, a week-long affair where the denizens of the city sleep upon the streets, feast, and carve these gourds into lanterns.

The merchant helps them gain entrance into the city when they arrive a little after sundown. Our adventurers learn that the city is unfriendly to root vegetables (ew, eating something from the dirt, where we bury our dead?), apples (the fifth Resh Khan took a Snow White-esque fairy story too literally), and foreigners generally, though the current Resh Khan has allowed immigrants to begin settling a few border towns. Gali and the merchant tell our adventurers that as long as they aren't intended to stay in the city, visitors are more or less welcome - but it's probably best if they publicly leave a "donation" in the palace fountain.

That's where the gang heads first, though when they get there it's not clear why. Neither Nur nor Zilybar have any money, and Roy just tosses in a handful of pennies. Arlex drops in a proper gold piece while Nur steals some coins from the water.

Then Gali is too impatient to wait any longer, and leads off towards her family home. They wind through the city for some time. Soon, they are in a residential area, the angular bungalows made of sandstone with porch roofs.

Gali races forward when she arrives at her block, and pushes through the dense bead curtain of her family's front door, crying out, "I'm h - !"

She is cut off, and as our adventurers turn the corner, they watch in horror as their guide is pushed back out of the home, the point of a scimitar protruding from her back and dripping blood upon the stoop.

"We knew you'd be back sooner or later," growls the wielder of the scimitar, a humanoid figure swathed in black from head to toe. He withdraws his sword and Gali drops to the dust, gasping through a perforated lung.

That's when the assassin notices Gali's companions, five armed adventurers! He doesn't have a lot of time to adjust to the new circumstance before it sweeps him up: Arlex and Zilybar dart in to attack.

Roy quickly knits a healing spell that brings Gali back from the brink of death; but after dodging and riposting his attackers, the assassin cries out about his directive and slashes the wounded woman's throat open.

Then a second assassin appears behind the first, hurling chakram. Two more appear through the dim doorway, but disappear into the darkness of the house.

From their horse, Nur sends precise arrows between their friends, and slowly, the black-clothed murderer is taken apart.

But then an assassin appears upon the flat roof of the house, and leaps upon Nur's horse, stabbing them with a poisoned dagger! Another whirls chakram upon their forearms, sending the spinning blades at Arlex down below.

That assassin's night is cut very short when Nur casts their shadow into the air above them before trading places with it, nocking two arrows that slay the ambusher and send them falling back to the roof. Nur lands on the rump of their horse and battle the assassin there.

Roy conjures his Twilight Sanctuary, imbuing his allies with vitality.

Finally, the murderer dies, falling in bloody ribbons to the dirt beside Gali. Zilybar darts through the open aperture of a window slit to pin the second assassin between himself and Arlex, and she is soon dealt with.

Soon, only one assassin remains, grappling with Nur in the dust by their horse's hooves. Roy assists the shepherd in binding this attacker in rope, before turning to the corpse of Gali.

Roy holds a diamond in his hand as he careful recites the words of his most powerful spell; shortly, Gali's throat seals behind a knotted scar and she gasps a first breath into revived lungs.

The experience of death - of finding assassins waiting in ambush in her family's home - leaves her cognitively impaired, however, and our party drags the dead assassins into the home and off the street and investigate the building's interior without her contributing.

The place has been ransacked. The library has been torn apart, and there is no sign of the two scrolls Gali had found in the Immortal Throne - the two scrolls our adventurers were hoping to find fully translated and ready to direct their world-saving course!

#augleth #a scattered throne #dnd #d&d #chapter 29

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thesleepy1 · 3 years

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Everyone Loves The Bard

A/N: I need to get a fic out because I literally haven’t written in weeks. However, I’m also incredibly lazy so you all are getting another Eskel fic. I love my boy. As always, no beta, we die like retired witchers.

Pairings: Eskel x reader, Jaskier x Geralt

Summary: The first time you meet Jaskier is also the first time you see Eskel jealous.

Word count: 2,051

Warnings: suggestive themes, foul language, hurt/comfort, possessive tendencies,

Part 2

Part 3

It happened on the path, as most things in your daily life did. You and Eskel had just left a poor contract. He had slayed the beast with little injury to his physical self but the alderman had dealt him a mental blow. The old man had refused to pay Eskel, making up excuses that if you were allowed to join him on the hunt, then the beast couldn’t have been worth that much coin. You had almost lost your arms, a fact that you were quick to point out. No mere human could have done what Eskel did.

But the alderman was relentless and Eskel, the ever polite gentleman merely thanked the man for the opportunity and pulled you gently away. Eskel didn’t want a fight. He was tired and you were injured. He argued that time would be better spent finding another contract then sulking after one that didn’t deserve your concern. Bad contracts were expected on the path and as long as one could still walk, there would always be more work to be done.

You rode on Scorpion so as to not further agitate your wounds while Eskel moved on foot. He kept a steady hand on the steed in case you could no longer keep upright and needed to be stabilized. Your wounds were nothing major. There were a couple of bruises on your arms and chest, a cut across your back, and a little on your abdomen that was a tad deep for comfort. Nothing that a local healer couldn’t patch up. If you could get to a healer in a reasonable amount of time of course.

The next town over was perhaps a three day ride. With you needing to keep a slow and steady pace that might extend it to four days, but really it was nothing to fret over. Eskel didn’t mind being on foot and Scorpion loved the extra attention. Winter was a long way away and the summer heat did wonders for your mood.

That being said, on the fifth day of your travels with Eskel you regretted not pushing the alderman further. You were no longer able to ride Scorpion without falling. Eskel sat behind you, thick arms wrapped around your waist. His hands grabbed onto your stomach like letting go meant letting you fall to your demise. You were pressed tightly against his chest, the heat radiating off his skin began to grow uncomfortable in the bright sun. You later found out that was because you had a fever and the sun was a mocking sun of a bitch.

“We’re almost there,” Eskel yelled directly into your ear, only his mouth wasn’t anywhere near your head. Your skull was pounding, a throbbing sensation that began at the base of your neck and traveled up the back of your skull. “Stay awake for me,” Eskel screamed again but you’ve never once heard Eskel raise his voice above an excited rumble. Every little sound was like a back handed slap across the face. Your body ached and sweat made your clothes stick uncomfortably to your skin.

“Make it stop,” you breathed and even that seemed too loud in your ears. Eskel heard you loud and clear regardless. You could hear his slow heartbeat thumping in his chest. If you didn’t know any better it almost sounded like he was afraid. “Just kill me already.”

“You do that well enough yourself without any help from me,” Eskel tried for lightheartedness. “What were you thinking? Jumping in front of me like that? Following me into the cave?”

“Couldn’t bear to see you alone,” was your hushed reply.

The next few hours happened in a blur. One moment you were cradled in Eskel’s arms as he carried you off of Scorpion. His large hands were as big as your face. He could palm your skull and you would beg for it. In the haze, you faintly remembered reaching out a hand to wave goodbye at the stallion but that could’ve been a fever induced dream.

The next moment you woke up in a unrecognizable room on a bed made of molding hay. You were tucked under a mountain of furs you recognized from Eskel’s packs: bear, wolf and fox. You were drowning in them and moving underneath them proved to be difficult. That combined by your otherwise compromised body, you were crawling in an undignified way out of your bed. Your arms could barely support your weight and you were happy that no one saw you in such a state.

“I must say, I spent the whole morning wondering how you were going to get out from under there,” a male voice drew your attention to another makeshift bed across the room. You were in something of a hastily put together infirmary built in the back of a stable. It smelt of horseshit and whatever farmers put into pig slop. There was a row of three beds on each side of the room. Besides you and the man, there was one more occupied bed by a woman who had seen better days.

“Oh don’t mind her, she’s just hung over. Alive, to my knowledge,” the man answered your unspoken question. “Frankly, you looked worse than she does when you first came in.” You looked back at him. He was dressed in an olive green doublet that did wonders for his blue eyes. Although, it was an odd outfit for the infirmary. His hair was disheveled and he smelled of more ale than the woman in the bed one over. An elven lute leaned against his bed, the case filled with loose, aged music sheets. Which explained his unusual attire as well as his talkative personality.

However, what stopped you from making fun of his craft was the wolf medallion around his neck.

“How did you get that medallion?” you asked curiously from the floor, suddenly too tired to get back on your bed.

“Oh, this old thing?” He held the medallion in his hand like it was some sort of award. “My lovely witcher gave it to me for safekeeping of course. He loves me too much to let me go out without some sort of claim around my neck. A little possessive if you asked me, but what can I say? No complaints here. None whatsoever.” You smiled at the bard and he returned the grin. “Although, how does he wear the thing when it's always so cold? And it practically weighs a ton. No wonder he’s such a pain in the neck. He has this thing dragging him down all the time. Really, he should be thanking me for taking it off his hands instead of,” the bard made his voice into a gruff mockery of his witcher, “Wear this so you know the difference between getting mauled by a bear and a manticore.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips. Your chest constricted the laugh into a coughing fit but the bard didn’t seem to mind your outburst. “Even I know the difference between a manticore and a bear.”

“Do you?” You raised a teasing eyebrow at the bard.

He took the challenge in stride, grabbing his lute from the side of his bed. He strummed a note or two before breaking off into song. The bard had done his research. He described a manticore in perfect detail as if he had slain one himself. Every detail of the beast was there: its thick, furry hide, its godly mane, the wings of the beast that made it even more of a pain to kill. There was a lyric about the manticore’s venomous tail which most thought of a wives’ tale. No normal man could have seen such a beast and lived to tell the tale. You and the bard were exceptions.

“Does your witcher let you battle as well?”

“As well?” You winked up at the bard, keeping your lips otherwise sealed. Smirking, he continued, “No, no. Letting me into battle would mean he likes me being there. I simply enjoy following him into battle to record every description for my songs. Method acting if you will.” He brushed off your laughter once more. “I tag along as his personal barker, his backup, his most trusted friend, and deeply treasured lover.”

You held up your hands in mock submission, “I see, I see.” You tugged down a large fur to wrap yourself up from the cool draft of being in a stable. “And what is the name of the witcher's deeply treasured lover?”

“Jaskier the greatest bard to have ever graced the continent!”

“Jaskier? I feel like I’ve heard that name before,” you tested the name on your tongue, racking your frizzled head to place the name.

Jaskier grinned and you instantly knew how anyone, even a grumpy witcher could fall in love with him. His very being was magnetic. His smile, the devil’s. “Does my reputation precede me?” He wiggled his eyebrows, his voice dropping to a purr. “Tell me, what have you heard of me?”

“It's going to kill me but I have heard your name before. I feel like I should know you.” Frustration clouded your mind and your head began to ache. It was cold and you were forgetting very simple knowledge. “There aren’t many witcher’s bards walking around the continent. I should know who you are.”

Seeing your distress, Jaskier leapt from his bed. He was by your side before you even heard him move. Definitely a witcher’s bard, you thought absentmindedly. He tipped your head back to look into your hazy, unfocused eyes. Jaskier laid the back of his hand on your forehead to check your temperature. “You’re hot as a fire,” he scolded.

“My witcher won’t like you saying that,” you whispered, tongue dry and voice hoarse.

The shockingly strong bard lifted you in his well toned arms. You were taller than him but he held you like you weighed nothing. “I think your witcher would be more upset with me if I let you grow cold on the floor.”

“I thought I was hot as a fire?”

You were laid back on your sea of furs, head gently settled on the pillow. The bard tucked you into place like you were a sick child under his care. “You’re absolutely breathtaking,” he brushed a stock of hay from your hair. He began to sit at the edge of the makeshift bed when a low growl drew both of your attentions to the doorway. A frazzled witcher stalked his way to your bed and Jaskier all but leapt out of the way before he was impaled by two very big, scary swords.

Eskel drew you into his arms, cradling you as he tucked you against each nook of his body. He was an imposing wall of force and rumbling words. His amber eyes glared at the bard and Jaskier sprinted back to his side of the room. “I-I mean no harm, dear friend. I was merely lending a hand to a companion in need.”

“Mine,” Eskel said lowly, eyes tracking Jaskier’s slightest moments. His ears strained to hear every beat of Jaskier's heart.

“Yours, yes. All yours, dear witcher.” Jaskier held out his hands to show Eskel that he could not do no harm. “I never even considered otherwise.” Eskel took note of his lack of weapon, his gaze finally landing on Jaskier’s medallion. He held you closer and sniffled the air. All you could smell was a goat that hadn’t been washed since the day it was born and Jaskier’s choice in beverage. But Eskel seemed to smell something else because he relaxed his hold, still keeping you on his lap.

“Where’s your witcher?” Eskel asked, recognizing the scent of a brother.

“He’s out securing a room for us. There are many contracts to be done around here, as I’m sure you are aware. He’s on a hunt but should be back any moment.” You watched as Jaskier unbuttoned his doublet, pulling down his collar to reveal red bite marks. They were recent, perhaps a day or two old. “You see, I have no eyes for your lover. I’ll have you know I’m very satisfied with my witcher.”

Eskel huffed out a laugh and it was the cutest thing you’ve ever heard. “So Geralt really fell in love with a bard?”

“What lies has he been feeding you?” came the teasing voice of the mentioned devil.

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kusaka6e · 2 years

Text

KISS ME WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED

giyuu x fem!reader

au where rengoku survived mugen train.

fluff, angst, light ending

sfw

insp by puppy princess by hot freaks

————

giyuu always had a hard time with people. it wasn’t that he didn’t like them, he just never knew how to speak to them.

until he met you, that is.

you were one of the caregivers at the butterfly mansion. you were skilled enough with your sword to be a slayer, but you preferred to care for the injured rather than take on missions. between your natural ability to calm people down and great bedside manner, and shinobu teaching you how to make different healing remedies, you were amazing at your job.

the first time you and giyuu met, he wasn’t in great shape, and didn’t remember much when he woke up. but you’d taken your time cleaning and dressing all of his wounds, washing his uniform, and making sure he had tea and a meal ready for him when he woke up. you could tell his injuries had come from struggle, that he was fighting his hardest to get rid of whatever demon needed to be slayed.

the next time he came to the butterfly mansion, his injuries weren’t nearly as severe, and he was conscious the whole time during his stay.

“welcome back, tomioka!”

he was stunned to have such a warm welcome, expecting shinobu’s teasing remarks. he quickly became embarrassed, unable to formulate a proper reply.

but, you took no offense, leading him to an open room to clean and and dress his wounds, aoi disappearing into the kitchen to start a new pot of tea.

you notice a gash on his abdomen in a similar spot to his last stay, but you opt not to say anything about it.

“let me know if you need anything!” you close his door with a warm smile, leaving him wide-eyed.

when did she get here?

why haven’t i met her before?

a few weeks go by and you don’t see him for awhile. on the one hand, you’re happy about him not getting injuries that need treatment. but on the other hand, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little sad about not having seen him.

you’re in the middle of scolding tanjiro for using his head in a fight again, resulting in his fifth concussion, when giyuu makes his way through the entrance. tanjiro sees him before you do, pausing his conversation with you to wave enthusiastically.

“hi mr. tomioka! and mr. rengoku!”

when you turn to look at them, you notice giyuu using rengoku like a human crutch on one side to help with a very noticeable limp.

“(l/n)! young kamado! nice to see you both!”

“always a pleasure, rengoku. can i do anything for you?”

“no no, i’m in no need of treatment! just helping giyuu here, since he seems to have broken an ankle!”

“kyojuro, it’s just a sprain.” he grumbled, making you hold back a laugh. you replace rengoku’s spot, putting an arm around his side and allowing him to lean onto you.

“are you sure you can hold me up?”

he didn’t mean for that question to sound so blunt. he just didn’t want to make you essentially carry him inside if he was too heavy for you.

“i’m much stronger than i look tomioka, don’t you worry about me.”

you weren’t offended?

he glanced down to make sure you weren’t being sarcastic, being met with you giving him a kind smile as you head into the mansion.

he had a lengthened stay after that interaction. his ankle was in fact broken, so he had to do lots of rehabilitation and treatment before it was safe for him to go on missions again.

and over those almost two months, you and giyuu grew very close.

he was amazed at your ability to take such amazing care of all the patients at the butterfly mansion, noticing how much attention to detail you put into everything you did.

and, he began to notice he didn’t feel as awkward or nervous around you. while you joked with him, it wasn’t in a way that made him the ass of the joke like shinobu did.

you were sparring with tanjiro when he came onto the balcony, having finished a round of his rehab exercises. it wasn’t lost on him that tanjiro, inosuke, and zenitsu would practice their fighting skills before they left the mansion. but, he nearly choked on his tea when he saw that you were the one they were practicing with, and you seemed to be winning all the practice matches.

if he wasn’t already, it was that moment when he was sure of his feelings for you.

a few days go by, and giyuu couldn’t sleep. normally, he’d just stay in his room and try to count sheep or something. but tonight was different.

he wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, making his way out of his door and into the hallway. moonlight is shining through the windows, casting shadows along the walls with him as he heads for the porch.

“(l/n)?”

he’s surprised to see you curled up in one of the loveseats with a book in your hand, mug of tea on the table next to you.

“hi tomioka! come sit!” you pat the seat next to you, folding over your page in your book before you close it.

“giyuu is fine too…”

you can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face, watching his pale cheeks tint pink as he stares at the ground.

“then, (y/n) is fine for me.” you nod, leaning back into your seat.

“why are you out here so late?”

“couldn’t sleep. and i haven’t had a chance to read my book in awhile.”

“i couldn’t sleep either.”

“you can stay as long as you like. coming out here helps me when im restless.”

he nods, staring ahead of him into the yard of the mansion.

he clenched and unclenched his fists a few times, trying to calm his nerves. he realized he’d never been alone with you unless it was to get his wounds tended to, and to say he was nervous was a huge understatement.

he lets out a gasp when your hand makes it way over to his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“no need to be so anxious, giyuu. it’s just me.”

truth be told, giyuu made you nervous too. but you didn’t want to let that stop you from making a move towards him.

“you don’t… dislike me, do you?”

before you can stop yourself, a few giggles slip from you. and soon, you’re bursting into full blown laughter.

giyuu’s shoulders drop, sure that he already knew the answer to the question.

“what are you talking about?! dislike you? why would you think that?”

“well, shinobu says that people dislike me a lot, especially the hashira. i hope she’s only kidding, but i’m not too sure.”

“shinobu can be a little blunt with her jokes, but there’s no need to worry yourself with that.”

“thank you, (y/n).”

“and, for the record, i like you a lot, regardless of who else may or may not.”

that loveseat on the mansion porch became a special spot for the two of you, and you’d meet up there most nights.

this was where giyuu finally opened up to you. you learned about his struggles with his mental health, the immense amount of survivors guilt he carried for sabito, and the vow he’d made with tanjiro about nezuko.

and you were so understanding. maybe it was the way you never made anything he said sound small, or the way you remembered all the little things he talked about. somewhere in there, giyuu was falling. and he was falling hard.

“i’ll be on my way back to the water estate tomorrow.”

his words make you look down at him, his eyes remaining closed with his head in your lap.

“i know.” you exhale slowly, trying to keep the sad look off of your face.

neither of you utter another word, trying to enjoy the night for as long as you could.

you’re not sure how much time has gone by, but the next time you look down at him, he’s snoring, long eyelashes fanning over his cheeks.

“tanjiro, please don’t headbutt anyone on your next mission.”

“i promise i’ll be careful, miss (l/n)!” he gives you a cheeky grin, purposefully not agreeing to what you said. you roll your eyes, moving on to check on zenitsu and inosuke before they’re off to their next mission.

giyuu is watching from a few yards away, a smile of adoration filling his face as he watches you talk to the younger boys.

“she’s good for you. you should make her your wife.” shinobu nudges his arm, making him jump in surprise.

nobody ever saw us other than when (y/n) was treating me

how does she know?

“and, she actually likes you.”

“shut the hell up.”

after you finish talking to the younger three, you give giyuu a grin as you walk in his direction, shinobu making kissy faces as she walks away to give you two some privacy before his departure.

“please be careful, giyuu.”

“i will. and you take care of yourself here too, not just the injured slayers.”

“i’ll do my best.”

there’s a slightly awkward silence, giyuu gently rocking on the balls of his feet.

“well, i should get back inside, i’ve gotta start up the first pot of tea for the morning.”

“alright. until next time, then.”

you both give an affirmative nod, you grinning like a child as you turn away. you only make it about 30 feet before you spin on your heels to run back to giyuu.

“huh-?!”

before he has a chance to get a word out, your lips are pressed to his, making him freeze in his tracks with his eyes wide.

you pull away after a few seconds, letting out a giggle at the redness on his cheeks and wide eyes.

“close your eyes, silly.”

he does as he’s told as you lean in to kiss him once more, cautiously holding your waist with one hand.

“be careful, okay? i’ll see you soon.” you place your hand on his cheek as you bid your goodbyes, smiling as he nods with a dazed look on his face.

you stay on the porch of the mansion, waving enthusiastically to the four as they leave the property.

the next week goes by relatively quickly, and you fall into your same routine as before.

one day, you wake up to a crow sitting outside your window, a rolled piece of paper between it’s beak.

you open the window, taking the paper with a confused look on your face.

“from tomioka!” the bird squawks, spreading its wings and taking off.

you feel your cheeks grow warm as you unroll the paper, neat handwriting in front of you.

dear (y/n),

this mission is proving to be much more dangerous than anticipated. i fear myself and the others may not all survive, and it is my duty to protect tanjiro and the others.

normally, the idea of losing my life on a mission does not bother me. however, i felt as though you deserved a fair warning, should things take a turn for the worst.

thank you for everything.

love,

giyuu

your hands begin to tremble as you read the letter over and over again, processing the message you’d be given.

you check every day for the next three days, not having heard notification of any deaths from a mission, but also not having seen anyone come to the mansion for treatment. which could’ve been either very good, or very bad.

you’re in the kitchen with shinobu when aoi comes running in, out of breath.

“we need you both outside, now.”

you both rush outside, gasping at the sight in front of you.

“giyuu!”

giyuu is resting on tanjiro and zenitsu’s shoulders, unconscious and covered in blood. inosuke is slightly lagging behind them, trying to keep pressure on a wound on his chest.

in one motion, you sweep him off the boys shoulders and onto your back, running as fast as you possibly can.

“miss (l/n)-!” tanjiro makes a move to follow you to help, but shinobu grabs his shoulder to stop him.

“give them a few minutes.”

you’re silent and stoic as you dress the injuries on his arms, amazed at the sheer number of cuts and bruises on him.

as you lift the shirt of his uniform, you freeze, seeing a huge gash still bleeding.

“god damn it.”

you make a mental note to do some serious training with him when he’s healed, this being the third or fourth time you’ve had to dress a wound on a similar spot in his abdomen.

it takes hours, but you’re finally able to dress all of his wounds and asses him, and get him stable enough so that you don’t have to be at his bedside to monitor him.

it’s not until you look down at him with all his bandages, left eye swollen to the size of an apple and hearing him wheeze with his breaths that you break down.

zenitsu cringes from next door as he hears you hit the floor, your sobs shaking the walls of the mansion. him and tanjiro are staying at inosuke’s bedside, inosuke now sleeping after aoi dressed his wound and medicated him.

“should we go help miss (l/n)?”

“miss shinobu said we should leave them be…” tanjiro chews on his bottom lip, concerned for both you and giyuu.

“i’ve never seen mr tomioka talk like that about someone. they must mean a lot to each other.”

“that’s probably why she’s so upset about the state he’s in now.”

giyuu stays unconscious for five days. and it’s the longest five days of your life. shinobu, aoi, kanao, and even tanjiro and zenitsu offer to sit in your place at giyuu’s bedside, but you refused to leave him. they settled for bringing you meals, blankets, and your book collection into the room. you read out loud to him, had one sided conversations, even sang a few songs.

shinobu had said that he may not wake up due to his injuries. and you were doing everything you could to push that thought out of your mind.

there’s no way

he’ll be fine.

it’s about four in the morning on the fifth day when you finally allow yourself to fall asleep. you hadn’t slept at all since giyuu’s return, but your body was finally beginning to fall victim to your fatigue.

you kept giyuu’s hand in yours, using your other arm as a pillow as you dozed off.

about an hour later, giyuu finally begins to stir, groaning at the pain in his abdomen as he sits up. it takes him a few moments to get oriented to where he is, his last memories being those of the fight that injured him.

he remembers hearing your voice, almost like it was a dream.

and then, he realizes one of his hands is being held, smiling with relief as he sees you snoring next to him. he knew you’d probably been worried sick about him, and he was glad you were resting.

he gently patted your head as he settled back in his bed, laying on his side to face you.

“rest well, (y/n). i’ll see you in the morning.”

you wake before he does the next day, hanging your old blankets on the balcony and organizing your books, picking a new one to read to him that day.

your back is turned to the window when you hear movement behind you, making you freeze as your heart drops.

“good morning.”

you turn to see giyuu sitting up, giving you a painful smile as the sunlight dances over his features.

in an instant, you’re kneeling to his level and wrapping him in a tight hug, your body shaking with sobs of joy rather than fear this time.

“i-i’m so glad you’re alright.”

“i wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for you. thank you, for taking care of me.”

over the next few days, giyuu was out of bed and doing some basic rehab exercises, but was far from being able to train again. you two sat together on the porch almost every night, which was something you both looked forward to greatly.

it had been a particularly rough day for you when you plopped down next to him, surprising him that you’d arrived after him.

“long day?”

you instantly begin to rant, crossing your legs into giyuu’s lap as you talk animatedly with your hands. he’s holding on to every word you’re saying, listening intently. he lets you finish, chuckling as you have to catch your breath from talking so quickly.

the pauses between conversation were normal for the two of you, so you weren’t surprised when giyuu didn’t respond right away.

you were surprised however, when he gently cupped your face and kissed you gently, making you gasp and widen your eyes.

“close your eyes.”

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer fanfic #giyuu x reader #hashira #inosuke #kny #kny x you #tomioka giyuu #giyuu tomioka imagine #rengoku #zenitsu #tanjiro kamado #aoi kny

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ryehouses · 3 years

Note

for povs i think itd be cool to see the pov of someone who works at the palace, or something like that. fennec talking about din's main character disease makes me wonder about how people who aren't friends with din but still around him a little amount see him. if it's bad for fennec, who actually speaks to him and sees his more "relaxed"/"normal" side, how it is for others must be good

also cause i love tusken's, more ushib (she's my fav) or any others would be so fun. a short pov from a'shek could be cool too.

anyway, i'd read from any pov lol. love your work and can't wait for more, though also no pressure <3

hello hello! thanks for stopping by!

a (very short, by my standards) a'shek pov for you! i didn't have much from him, but i did have this fragment from chapter 12, "ba'balut," while the spotted anooba are traveling towards the oasis!

The winds finally died down on the fifth night of traveling through the desert, allowing A’Shek to get a better look at the Mandalorian.

They had ridden together for five days and had spent four nights huddled together around the campfire to ward off the desert’s chill, so A’Shek knew the Mandalorian well enough already, but he still appreciated the chance to get a clearer look at him. He had heard many things about this Mandalorian, and wanted to know how many of them were true.

The Mandalorian had killed a Greater Krayt. This A’Shek knew for certain, because that was the sort of news that passed quickly from tribe to tribe. Greater Krayts – the rah’tin, the Terrible Ones – were a threat to an entire tribe. To slay one was no easy thing, as the Sun Rock had been proudly proclaiming all over the sands for months, but the Mandalorian had done it.

Of course, it helped that the Mandalorian had armor, like the thick scales of a krayt dragon’s hide. That armor glittered now, turned nearly white by the light of the moons.

But it is not just armor, A’Shek thought, watching the Mandalorian.

If armor was all one needed to slay a rah’tin, A’Shek was sure someone would’ve managed it by now. Despite what A’Karan – who was now just scattered bones, picked over by junda birds and urusai, with his head very satisfyingly adorning a pike outside A’Shek’s winter tent – had preached, there were other tribes who had A’Shek’s view, and were keen to try new things. Some young warrior somewhere had probably tried to fashion his own armor from ghuy’ra scrap.

No, it is not just armor.

The Mandalorian was tuskra too. He’d claimed so in the canyonlands, when A’Shek had come across the Mandalorian on a hunt. A’Shek recognized that claim. Even if he hadn’t run into Sun Rock scouts a few days prior to seeing the Mandalorian, A’Shek remembered the White Bantha’s tales, from rains and rains ago.

They had found an outsider in the desert, wounded by a bladeback boar that had been fatally wounded in its turn. The White Bantha had taken that outsider in, as was custom – bladebacks, while easier to slay than a Greater Krayt, were still a dangerous enemy.

The White Bantha had offered their outsider alain’ah. The outsider had lived. By all the laws of the sands and the winds he had been made tuskra then, and tuskra he was still, even though he’d left Tatooine.

A’Shek could see the shape of that, now. It was hard to get a good look at the Mandalorian in the sands. He was wary, around A’Shek and his warriors, and tended to keep his distance even when on the back of a speeder.

A’Shek didn’t mind. He’d rather have a wary dragon-slayer than an overconfident one. A’Karan had been prone to overconfidence and had died for it. A’Shek was determined not to follow the same path, and appreciated the Mandalorian for reminding him of that determination.

But we are nearly at the oasis, now. A’Shek and his band would be upon the slavers – the ghuy’ra – who had dared to raid A’Shek’s land. Who had stolen his people and poisoned his waters.

We will fight soon.

And A’Shek was not the sort of chieftain who went to war with a warrior he did not know – did not understand – fighting at his side.

A’Shek knew his own warriors. A’Timma and A’Ken, who had fought with A’Shek against A’Karan and the old ways, and even young A’Shasta, who preferred his songs and stories to war but fought anyway, when the Spotted Anooba needed him to fight.

But A’Shek did not know the Mandalorian. He could see the Mandalorian now. How he moved. How he stood. How he was used to the weight of the spear he carried across his back, which shone like a shard of moonlight.

A dragon-slayer, A’Shek thought, watching the Mandalorian across their crackling campfire. A brother of the White Bantha. A treasured friend of the Sun Rock.

A warrior of the Spotted Anooba, if A’Shek – and Ushib, who had taken Boba Fett as her own son despite A’Karan’s fierce protests – had his way.

But first, A’Shek thought, standing up. All of his warriors turned their attention to him. They knew what was coming. A’Shek had tested each of them too, as they had traveled through the desert.

They knew who still had not been tested.

The Mandalorian knew it too. He did not rise, not at first. He just lifted his chin in A’Shek’s direction, rather like a bladeback boar flashing its tusks.

A’Shek smiled and leveled his gaderffii at the Mandalorian. The Mandalorian, to his credit, did not flinch.

Come, he said, tracing the shape of the words in the air. Spar with me.

A’Shek wanted to see what this dragon-slayer could do for himself.

#ast asks #thank you!#a'shek needs to make an appearance some time i do love him #ast 'verse pov tag

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breitzbachbea · 2 years

Text

Day 7: Fantasy [SicIre]

My fifth and final entry for @hwsrarepairweek2022! Politics don't sleep and beds are frequently the place where they are enacted.

Ship: Sicily [OC]/Ireland [OC] (Michele Vento/Harry O'Connel) Set in a Human/Fantasy AU Read it here on ao3

If you want to know more about the AU this is set in and the OCs I talk about, head on over to this post!

On the King's Mind

"We shouldn't have let them go," Harry said and paced around the room once more in his night garments. "We shouldn't have let this slide."

Michele looked up from his notes for a moment, but said nothing. It was dreadful to write in wax in the grim northern climate but he had gotten used to it. He had a lot to record for this day and was sure some details had evaded him still.

Charlie was the king's best friend ever since the fae dropped him in a failed attempt to exchange him for the crown prince himself. Though, during the last days a change had gone through the changeling; Charlie had become more and more like the shrewd fae, who kept to themselves and dealt dire consequences to those who wronged them. His own supernatural strength had grown and his control over it had vanished.

Charlie's transformation had coincided with the arrival of a delegation from the English court. They had been led by Sir Robert, one of the knights who was held in the highest regards by King Arthur of England. Strange things had begun to occur all over the English kingdom and the delegation had come in peace, to seek out both news and advice from the Irish court.

Today, all had been revealed to be a lie. A potion, concocted by King Arthur's magician Tahir, had been the cause of Charlie's condition. Robert had doused Charlie with it, who had thought little more of it than a trivial expression of their longstanding antipathy towards each other.

Far from trivial, since the outcome could have been grim. The English knights had made many remarks about the dangers of fae folk at a human court and even frightened a great number of people with their talk. None of the King’s and Queen’s closest men had been impressed by it, most certainly not the giant Paddy, who had already served their late father and mother loyally, but the common folk had whispered wishes to exile Charlie from court. When Charlie had gone into a rampage at court, Robert had thrown himself into the fray, under the pretense that he was too far gone to reason with and to slay him would be an act of defense.

Only he hadn’t reckoned with the King himself. Harry had engaged his childhood friend in battle and endured many serious wounds, while his own blows were harsh but not fatal. All throughout, he had appealed to Charlie and spoken to him as if he was a young knight in need of good-natured discipline.

The tone had switched at one point to the one of a playful battle between two young warriors in training. Harry had jested where the strength and cunning had been all throughout their youth. On the floor, battered and bruised, he had cheerily exclaimed: “You’ve beaten me! What a feat you accomplished! Hear, Gwendolyn, are you not proud of your son that he defeated his brother on the throne?”

Whether it was Harry’s remark or the voice of the aged lady who had raised him as her own, the spell had been broken and Charlie’s rage had subsided. Though there was one last attempt by the English knights to point to the damage and say that the changeling clearly could not be trusted, it was their words which were met with suspicion. In the ensuing turmoil, they had slipped away.

“What do you think?”

Michele emerged from his thoughts and blinked at Harry. “Huh?”

“I asked you what you think I should do now. We cannot let this slide, but should we lay this at Arthur’s feet directly or only at the one of his knights?”

Michele considered taking another look at his notes, as he had also recorded the brief council held earlier, but deemed it unnecessary.

“If you ask me for an opinion, it is to leave it to your men and women tomorrow,” he said. “Today, not everyone could gather, and you discussed in a rush, with much confusion about what happened still. I am humbled to be asked for my opinion, but I am a mere outside observer. I dare not make a call about your foreign politics.”

Harry looked at him for a few moments. “Hm. I see your point.” Michele returned to his readings and Harry returned to bed. “You are also consort to the King though, and I’d expect mine to speak their mind on such matters.”

Michele’s heart slowed down as he froze, the end of his stylus against his lip. An elated smile spread on his face and his cheeks turned red when his heart pumped faster the next moment. “I am the king’s consort?”

“I share my bed with you each night, do I not?” Harry asked and put his arms around his waist.

“That much is true,” Michele said as he stared lost into space. He didn’t react when Harry kissed his neck.

“What did you think you were?” Harry asked and pulled back. Michele finally turned his head to look at him.

“I … I just didn’t know that you had designated such an important role to me, I merely thought I was in your good graces in many ways.”

“You think I treat anyone I like like my lover?” Harry grinned.

“No, no, I just … consort to the king … I never held office at home and neither had I ever been married, so to have to fill this role when I thought myself a mere historian all this time…” Michele fumbled with his tablets and stylus, which he dropped in the process.

“Calm yourself.” Harry picked up the stylus. “You have to change nothing about your behaviour or tasks. I don’t ask of you what is expected of a queen consort. I do ask that you speak your mind as part of this court. I don’t think anyone who once helped rescue the Queen and King should think of himself as a ‘mere observer’.” He took Michele’s hand and put the stylus in his palm. Hand between hands, he lingered as he looked him in the eye. “And especially not a man who’s done a lot more than ‘observe me’. You don’t write down things about our nights in your little books, do you?”

“No, no,” Michele lied about the taking no notes about the king’s sex life. Most of them never made it onto scrolls anyways and were for personal use the day after only.

Harry released his hand and he put his stylus into his notebook. He collected all of them and got up to put them away in his personal chest, where his scrolls were stored as well. With quick steps, he went back into bed and Harry’s waiting arms.

He did not deny him the first kiss, but after it asked: “So … I may do the same things I did before, but I should speak my mind from now on?”

“Aye, that’s what I ask of you. On all matters.” Harry stroked his side.

“I see. May I do it right now?”

“Of course.”

Michele leant in to whisper into Harry’s ear, who laughed afterwards.

“I never thought you coy in such matters!” Harry said.

“I never was!” Michele replied. “But I will from now on speak to matters of politics just as bold, if you wish so.”

“I do.”

Michele fluttered his eyelashes with an expectant smile. “So what do you think of my suggestion?”

“Oh, I agree wholeheartedly.” Harry seized Michele, who giggled with delight, to sit him upon his lap and kiss him deeply.

#hwsrarepairweek2022 #Day 7: Fantasy #aph #hws #hetalia #aph ireland #hws ireland #aph sicily #hws sicily #hetalia OC #sicire #aph sicire #hws sicire #the pen is mightier than the sword #this was rushed but you basically get 2 stories in 1 sooo. good deal.

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xu-ren · 4 years

Text

A Kinder End

Genre: Fluff and angst

Pairings: Diarmuid (Fate/Zero) x reader

Wordcount: 2000+

My requests and askbox are open, so pretty please don't be shy.

Masterpost

*~*~*

“Lancer, prepare yourself! I can’t hold this spell for long.” Lancer readied himself at [Name]’s words. “God of the North wind, Boreas, God of the East wind, Eurus, God of the South wind, Notus, God of the East wind, Zephyus, Your faithful servant besieged you to lend get your strength so that she may vanquish her mighty foe!”

The wind tore her hair away from her usual bun, letting it whip freely around her. Had it been any other time, Lancer would have appreciated the sight of her unbound black tress. As it was, the wind she summoned started to clear a path to Caster. Lancer tensed up as her wind went closer and closer to Caster. ‘Come on…Just a bit more…’ Just as Lancer caught a glimpse of Caster, her spell failed and she collapsed.

“My lady…!” Luckily, he managed to catch her just before she hit the ground and lowered her down gently. Saber and Rider, who had stopped their assault on Caster when [Name] started her spell, prepared to resume their assault on Caster. Rider offered to buy them time to think of another plan to defeat Caster as [Name]’s plan had failed. Lancer didn’t hesitate to break Gáe Buidhe so that Saber could defeat Caster. His number one priority was to get [Name] to safety now that she was unconscious and vulnerable. However, he had to ensure that Caster was defeated first so he stood at the water’s edge cradling [Name] carefully as he watched Saber defeat Caster.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lancer laid [Name] down as gently as possible at an abandoned building. It was unfortunately the best place that he could find for now.

“Lan…cer?”

“My lady!” *Her eyes narrowed for a brief moment before they relaxed again. It was a testament to her weariness that she didn’t even bother to correct him.

“Where are we?” “An abandoned building, my lady. I apologise, it was the best…” Lancer trailed off as [Name] raised a hand to silence him. They both kept silent as [Name]’s eyes darted around, absorbing every minute detail of their surroundings.

“Diarmuid, where’s Gáe Buidhe?”

“I…broke it so that Saber could defeat Caster. I apolo…” This time, [Name] pushed herself up and placed a finger upon Lender’s lips to silence him. They stayed as they were for what seemed to be an eternity until [Name] collapsed upon Lancer’s chest. What meagre strength she had accumulated from her brief rest had been spent.

“You are apologising a lot today, aren’t you, Diarmuid?” asked [Name], her tone mildly scolding.

“I apolo-“

“You are doing it again, Diarmuid. You have no reason to apologise to me, after all, you merely did what you thought was best at that moment. Besides, we are a team, not master and servant.”

By the end of her short speech, her voice was scarcely a whisper. If not for their proximity, he would have never heard it.

“My lady…”

Suddenly, Lancer tensed up and he tightened his hold on [Name].

“Diarmuid?”

“Someone’s here.”

“Go, Diarmuid.”

“My lady…”

“Go on, I await your return.”

“Yes, my lady.”

He hated to leave [Name] alone, especially when she was so vulnerable but he couldn’t disobey her either.He wasn’t very surprised when it was Saber who met him in the courtyard of the abandoned building. At the very least, they would finally be able to finish their battle.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

She watched from her spot as the two servants fought it out. Such honourable warriors, there were no one more deserving of the title ‘Heroic Spirits. She was glad to have met them despite her reluctance to enter this war in the first place.

Suddenly, a shadow was casted upon her and she looked up to see Kiritsugu pointing a gun at her.

“Mr. Kiritsugu, how…expected,” she whispered quietly as her lips formed a small, wry smile.

He put his finger to his lips in the universal gesture of silence. She cocked her head to the side. In response, Kiritsugu hands her a scroll.

‘A Self-Geas Scroll. A magical item used by Magi to form an unbreakable contract. Binding spell… Affected Party: Emiya Kiritsugu. The Emiya family crest orders the following. The pledge is to be observed by the affected party upon fulfilment of the conditions described herein. Pledge: Kiritsugu, son of Norikata and the fifth descendant of the House of Emiya, will be forever forbidden from harming or intending to harm, [Name] [Middle Name] [Last Name]. Condition…’

After reading the scroll, she looked at Kiritsugu searchingly. She gathered the magick stored at the amulet around her neck before speaking into his mind. To his credit, he didn’t even flinch. In fact, the only outwardly respond he showed was the slight widening of his eyes.

‘I won’t do it.’

Kiritsugu responded by pulling the safety of his gun.

‘After all, it doesn’t matter, does it? You are going to kill me either way. A master without a servant can form a pact with another servant and you can ill afford that.’

For a moment, she thought that she saw a shadow of surprise pass through Kiritsugu’s face.

‘Kill me, Emiya Kiritsugu. Let me be but another life you sacrificed in your quest to save the world. However, will you listen to this girl’s final wish?’

He lowered his gun slightly and she took it as her cue to continue.

‘Ensure that my death isn’t instant.’

This time, she definitely saw the surprise on his face. She smirked. It was a highly unusual wish as most people hoped for the opposite.

‘I wish to say farewell to Lancer.’

He nodded and shot her in the aorta, ensuring that it gazed the aorta so that she would bleed out in 5 minutes.

‘Thank you.’

The gunshot rang across the abandoned building.

Lancer’s head whipped towards the direction where the gunshot came from so fast that he gave himself whip splash. He immediately abandoned his stalemate with Saber when he saw that the gunshot came from where he had left [Name].

“My lady!”

He raced towards her, hoping against hope that she wasn’t shot. His heart had never been filled with such rage as when he saw her bleeding from where he left her with Emiya Kiritsugu standing over her holding a gun. He readied his lance to slay the miscreant who dared to harm his lady.

“Diarmuid!”

Her voice was authoritative and they had been together long enough to know that she wanted him to stand down. He tore his gaze from where he was glaring at Kiritsugu to look at her. He barely registered the shocked gasps of Saber behind him.

Her right hand on her chest was stained with blood while she used her left hand to gesture for him to come to her side. He approached her while keeping Kiritsugu in his line of sight. As he got closer, Kiritsugu backed away to give them some privacy.

He dropped down on his knees next to her as she smiled at him. Her face was paler than he had ever seen and that only makes the blood on her lips stand out even more starkly. He held her gently and lowered her carefully to not aggravate her wound so that her head rested on his knees in hopes of making her more comfortable.

***His clothes changed to the daily wear that [Name] had bought for him and he made to tear it apart to make some makeshift bandages.

“Lea…ve it.”

“My lady…”

“Leave. It.”

“My lady, I can see the blood on your clothes.”

She opened her mouth to answer him but more blood merely dribbled out of the corner of her mouth. Instead, she spoke into his mind.

*‘Is that so? I will find even darker clothes next time then.’

She tilted her head to the scroll resting innocently at her side so he picked it up and read it. His eyes widened with understanding as he read it.

“My lady! You should have let me die.”

‘Do I seem like such a heartless person to you, Diarmuid? I would never even think of sacrificing another’s life for mine.’

“I don’t mean to insult you, my lady, but I have already died once.”

‘It doesn’t matter. Kiritsugu had no intentions of allowing me to live either way.’

“But…”

“My servant. By her Command Seal, [Name] [Middle Name] [Last Name] orders you, Lancer, to not take revenge upon…” she coughed, causing blood to bubble out of her mouth. “Emiya Kiritsugu or anyone else that you hold responsible for her death.”

“My lady!”

“By my Command Seal, I order you to return to the spirit world upon my death. And by my Command Seal, I order you to not form a pact with another master for the duration of the 4th Holy Grail War.”

More blood spilt from mouth and her face was bone white.

“My lady! How can you possibly expect me to do such things?”

‘You will do it, either because I commanded you or as a deathbed promise to me. And no more of that my lady nonsense, I have used up all three Command Seals and therefore am no longer your master. Call me [Name] at least once before I go, please?’

“My…[Name].”

A wide, genuine smile spread across her face and suddenly, she looked as if she was full of life despite the blood seeping out of her. Using the last of her strength, she spoke into the minds of Diarmuid and Kiritsugu respectively.

‘Don’t despair. Let’s meet again in another life, Diarmuid.’

‘The ends don’t justify the means, Emiya Kiritsugu.’

Lancer’s heart clenched as she raised her right hand to stroke his face, her eyes memorizing every feature of his face hungrily before her hand fell and her eyes closed for all eternity.

“[Name]…! [Name]…! Please…come back…!”

He rocked back and forth while holding her tightly to him, his lithe body wracked with sobs. He brushed her hair from her face and the memory of brilliant smile she had gifted him with when he called her by name only made him sob harder. If he knew how happy it would have made her, he would have called her by name more often, propriety be damned. If only he had disobeyed her and stayed with her, she would still be alive.

How could life be this cruel? She was a powerful magus with a bright future ahead of her and suddenly, it was gone. She was no more than another life lost during the Holy Grail War.

How desperately he wanted to take revenge for her death and yet her words bound her. He couldn’t bear to disappoint her, even in death.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

“My lady, why are all your clothes black?” Diarmuid was curious, never had he seen a woman who wore nothing but black.

“Black is my favourite colour. Besides, doesn’t it look good on me?” she asked as she gave a little twirl.

Black did look good on her. It emphasised the paleness of her skin and made her eyes look bigger. Her lips, painted black as well stood out starkly against her pale skin. It also made her look slender and intimidating despite her diminutive height.

“Finally, you can’t really see blood on me if I’m wearing black, right?”

“My lady!”

“Kidding… Don’t be so uptight, Diarmuid,” said [Name] while giggling.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Diarmuid.”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Stop calling me ‘my lady’. I have already said it many times but we are a team and therefore equals. Call me [Name].”

“I’m afraid that I can’t do so, my lady. It would be highly improper to call you by your name.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*

***

“Diarmuid, do you have nothing else to wear?”

“I’m afraid that this is my only outfit, my lady.”

“Well, you certainly can’t go out like that. Let’s go shopping.”

“My lady, there’s …there’s no need to trouble yourself!”

“It’s no trouble at all. Besides, I have been wanting to explore the shops here anyways. How about this? You be my bag carrier for the day and I buy you an outfit as a thank you present?”

“Al…Alright, my lady.”

(Time skip)

“So, so? What do you think?”

“You have good taste, my lady.”

“Of course.”

Lancer couldn’t help but admire his outfit that consist of a dark green shirt, black pants and black shoes paired with a black vest in the mirror.

“As a bonus, we match too,” said [Name] as she gave a twirl in her black dress with dark green embellishments.

#fate zero #fate #fate series #fgo #fgo na #fate diarmuid #lancer diarmuid #diarmuid ua duibhne #diarmuid #diarmuid x reader #fgo imagines #fate imagines

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qserasera · 4 years

Photo

a thousand gold: Emperor & Imperial Consort Mix

a Zhongli/Childe mix;

His Majesty, Rex Lapis, the Emperor of Liyue falls in love in the third millennium and fifth century of his reign. (x)

Song list + some lyrics below the cut

& a post with links to available eng-subbed songs here

01 左手指月 Upwards to the Moon [Instrumental] (Ashes of Love OST) -Sa Dingding

02 Imperial Ceremony [Instrumental] (Curse of the Golden Flower OST) -Shigeru Umebayashi 03 新壺中天 Xin Hu Zhong Tian [Instrumental]-Queena Cui 04 天赋 Heavenly Gift (Princess Weiyoung OST)-Tiffany Tang & Luo Jin In just one glance, love has become a heavenly gift / My heartbeats in front of you get warmer / Because of you I've started to understand / Forget about tomorrow and its what ifs

05 人間樂園 Paradise in Mortal Realm (Consort Meng Arrives OST) - Deng Tongtian & Zhang Wenbo Love is a cocoon of lovesickness / For you, forever and always

06 等待的季节 Season of Waiting (Bu Bu Jing Xin OST)-Cecilia Liu We shall meet again / There is nothing to be done but I'm still filled with longing / I suddenly want to see your face / That familiar feeling

07 落花成泥 Falling Flowers Turn to Mud (Legend of Yunxi OST) -Ju JingYi No remedies can heal parting pain / Fate tantalizes humans in love / Wait until the clouds disperse / Leave the moonlight to sigh 08 宮牆柳 Willow by the Palace Wall (Story of Yanxi Palace OST) -Li Chun Ai The willow by the palace wall follows the wind / Kowtowing once for every step 09 伤情 Wound [Instrumental] (Three Lives Three Worlds, The Pillow Book OST)- Various Artists

10 心事 Worries (Ruyi Royal Love in the Palace OST)-Deng Tongtian Looking at the bright moon / A heavy embroidered circle, round and receding / Looking at the world's scenes / See them repeating and parting 11 叹云兮 Sigh (Legend of Yun Xi OST)-Ju Jingyi If this world withers and fades, I'll stay by your side to protect you / Using my silent resolution to oppose everything's that said / And if everything in this world is ruthlessly falling apart / I will use the thread in my hands to sew everything whole again 12 因風起 Because of Wind (Listening Snow Tower OST)- Juno This land has its limits, but our love is boundless / We pass the long night flying side by side / The future is still a long way off, I follow as you split the wind and slay the moon / I don't believe an entire lifetime could still find it difficult to avoid parting

13 鳳囚凰 The Phoenix Prison-Bai Lu I want to return with the wind / But my heart cannot escape / It wants to tie with you / Wants to share the world with you

14 幾生歡 Few Lifetimes of Happiness (The Destiny of White Snake OST)-Yang Zi A step upon a stone tile, rain on blooming flowers / A kiss bothering other people / I'm afraid they haven't seen a scene so picturesque 15 浮年盞 Floating Years - Liu Keyi (Cori Liu) The moon is like back then / People are like back then / Watch the fall flowers / watch the plum blossoms

16 为一人 Only For You (General's Lady OST)-Ye Xuanqing Waiting for that passionate love / I'd trade a lifetime of prosperity for a life of suffering / Drink a bottle of wine and seal up the story

#tartali #zhongchi #zhongli #genshin impact #chili #fanmix #childe tartaglia #this took a while! it's a ficmix also i guess!!#with general vibes for the emperor au instead of following the fic plot beats that closely asfdasdf #i may make a separate post with links to some official-ish eng subs for some of the songs but we'll see thinking emojis

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arofili · 3 years

Photo

men of middle-earth ⧎ easterlings and southrons ⧎ headcanon disclaimer

Kulren was the chieftain of a tribe of Easterlings who entered Beleriand in the First Age. He was a great war-leader who took close counsel with his wife Nabren, an archer and scout. Nabren passed on her skills to her eldest son Kultan, while her other two sons, Kulnab and Kulrad, favored the sword as did their father. Kulnab was also a great rider, commanding a company of horse-mounted warriors, while Kulrad had the gift of ekhda, “wildness,” which allowed him to go battle-mad and hew down his foes without fear for his own life. When they crossed the Blue Mountains into Beleriand some months after their kinsmen led by Pegmûl, Kulren and his folk were met by the elven-lord Maedhros the Tall, who offered allegiance to them. Though at first Kulren was hesitant to bind his service to such a fearsome elf, Nabren saw the value in the allegiance and urged her husband to agree. When orcs attacked their camp during negotiations, the elven and mortal vassals of Maedhros fought fiercely against them. Kulrad recognized a fellow ekhren in Maedhros, who alone surpassed his deadliness in battle, and it was this more than anything that moved his father to agree to serve under the Lord of Himring. Kulren’s folk settled in and around Himring, an unforgiving land made harsher by the recent Battle of the Sudden Flame. Kulren and his youngest son Kulrad dwelt in the main fortress, training and strategizing under Maedhros, while Nabren and her eldest son Kultan worked to till the lands where their people lived. Kulnab befriended his lord’s brother Maglor, who like him was both a singer and cavalry-leader. They all pledged their loyalty to the Union of Maedhros, and were dedicated by bonds of friendship and respect to their allies. In the Fifth Battle, Kulren’s folk remained true to their allegiances when Pegmûl’s sons betrayed the Union. Kulren himself was among the first to fall, brought down by Khagan who was later named Uldor the Accursed; then died Kulnab, attacking his father’s killer in vengeance, and his body was thrown into the flames of Glaurung. In grief and rage, Maglor slew Khagan for his treachery and the slaughter of his friend, while Kultan and Kulrad battled Khagan’s brothers, slaying them both at the cost of their own lives. Nabren also perished, bleeding out from her wounds upon the battlefield, and the greater host of her people were slain or captured. But the faithfulness of Kulren and his family would not be forgotten by the elves who survived this Battle of Unnumbered Tears. Maglor immortalized them in song, giving them each Sindarin names praising their loyalty: Bór the Faithful for Kulren their chief, Díbór the Faithful Wife for Nabren his spouse, Borlad of the Faithful Plain for Kultan the farmer, Borlach the Faithful Flame for Kulnab the minstrel-rider consumed in the end by dragonfire, and Borthand the Faithful Shield for Kulrad whose ekhda proved vital to the defense of those folk who survived the bloodshed.

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asscreeds · 4 years

Text

Heila - Chapter 4

thank you again to @freyastrider for letting me yoink your screenshots :’D

TW for graphic descriptions of violence & death. Read on AO3 | Masterlist

The cool midday wind blew from the North, hastening the journey by longship, and Eivor thanked the Gods for their favor today. Curled up at the Wolf's feet, Nali hissed at Dag almost comically when he had boarded, scarcely recognizing the man, making Eivor chuckle. Not even five minutes into the journey, Dag started up another one of his stories, and Eivor did not realize how much she had missed the man's silly tales until her crew burst out into laughter at something absurd he said, the Wolf-Kissed joining in heartily.

Four hours passed and they had just passed Roucistere. By then the sun had sunk further into the sky, sending its rays into everyone's eyes and turning the sky and eastern sea a beautiful gold. Were it any other day, Eivor would have found the scenery beautiful, yet even with Dag's stories and the lightheartedness of the journey as her and her vikingr were reunited on the ship once again, she could only think of the battle ahead and prayed that it would go smoothly.

Thinking back to your sobbing form made her heart squeeze with some unknown emotion; she could not decide if it was pity or something else. The name 'Gunnar' stuck in her mind. Who was the man to you? Part of your clan, obviously, but what was he to you? A companion? Brother? Lover, maybe? Despite her trailing thoughts she surmised it was not for her to know and began chastising herself for even pondering. It was not important to her; what mattered was honoring her promise to you and seeing that he and the others were returned to you safely.

As they pulled into the docks, Eivor could see a few of her men that had been sent forward earlier in the day had already set up a small camp above the beach, higher on the hillside where the two-dozen horses could graze and rest. Jumping from the lypting of the ship to the dock she bid her vikingr follow her up the hill to the forward camp, the raiders most grateful for being able to stretch their legs after the journey.

As they gathered about the campfire, she called for their attention. "From what the scouts have told, the Danes are being held to the southwest of the barracks, near the most open portion of the city. There is a northern gate near the barracks that leads to the heart of the city that we will rush through. If two or three could ride forward to fire arrows and slay the gate's guards, we will catch them off guard and ride forward with little problems. The issue lies in exiting the city once we have freed the Danes, as the northern gate will be undoubtedly crowded with the soldiers from the barracks. We may either leave by the most western yet farthest gate, or the closer eastern gate - it depends on how the guards will react. Whatever happens, stick together," she explained, and her vikingr nodded, some cheering. Before letting them mount the horses she added in one final thing: "Remember, these are people who have been scarcely fed for days and been treated as animals. There is a very low chance that they will be able to defend themselves if they are targeted - load them onto the backs of your horses, then ride as fast as you can. Do not engage in battle unless you must, if you are outnumbered or are blocked from pushing forward. If all goes well we will overwhelm them with the suddenness of our attack and we will be able to slip in and out with little issue."

Then she let them go, and they each mounted a horse, standing near the mouth of the road waiting for her to lead them. To her surprise she found her personal mount among the horses; Askr, the rowdy, black destrier stallion she had purchased from Rowan a few months ago, whom she had just recently bonded with enough to be able to ride him into the heart of battle. Patting his nose, she mumbled, "I pray to Thor that you will not suddenly turn your heart in the middle of this and buck me," and then took her seat in his rune-inscribed saddle. The horse only gave her a side-eye and snorted.

Walking Askr forward to the road, she raised her fist to the sky, looking at the vikingr. "To Canterbury!" she cried, and the resounding war cries of the warriors hastened their mounts forward into a comfortable gallop on the stone road. By now the sun had eased down into the horizon, and they would reach the city hopefully just in time for the gap in guard rotation as the day rota switched for the night.

Even in the dim light of dusk Eivor could still see the steeples of the church rise into the sky as they rode over the hill, and then Eivor pulled them all to a slow trot. Much to her delight, they had just begun lighting torches for the night and even from a distance she could see only one lone guard at the northern gate. Looking over and nodding to an archer, she sent them forward to deal with him before they rushed in and the guard could call for help. "Light your torch near the gate once you have dealt with him." One Norseman would only puzzle him, instead of seeing an entire raiding party descending down the hill like a flood.

By now the last light of the sun had nearly gone, and the sky turned a deep indigo as the first stars began to shine and the slim crescent moon began to rise higher. For what was about to transpire, it was such an incredibly calm night; a gentle breeze, the soft chorus of crickets, the hooting of an owl nearby. As they crested over the hill in definite eyesight of any eagle-eyed guardsmen she saw the torch of the archer being waved around near the gate; their signal. Bidding Askr into a canter, she and her warriors rode forth to the gate, meeting with the archer that had remounted their horse. The breach was quiet, and though the thunder of the horses' steps were a dead giveaway, it seemed that scarcely anyone had noticed their arrival. Good.

Things did not go so smoothly once they rounded the corner to the area where the Danes were kept. Almost instantly four or five guards jumped up with weapons drawn from where they had been conversing around a table, and Eivor could only give a smirk as she and a few others drew their bows back to release a volley of arrows upon the men, not missing a single mark. They quickly fell, and she rushed forward to the imprisoned Danes. Despite their cages being secured with a lock and her nor the guards having the key for them they bent and broke easily enough. Drawing out her torch and stepping forward into the cage she was met by sad, sunken eyes that should have never belonged to any human being. Slowly, she approached them.

"I have been sent by y/n to rescue you. We will help you to mount the horses, take you to our longship and to Ravensthorpe where you will be fed and bathed," she said quietly, and immediately some burst into tears, rejoicing, others staring ahead quietly afraid. In all there were only maybe a dozen of them, four women and eight men divided into separate cages, all as visibly ill as the next. She did not ask any of them for their names.

As the fifth Dane was paired to a horse, a patrol rounded the corner to the clearing, and Eivor felt the rush of adrenaline blanket her mind. They were met with swift swords to their shields almost instantaneously as her vikingr beat them back away from the Danes, and the shouting from the conflict seemed to wake the entire city. Another two Danes were paired, and suddenly the church's bells began to ring, splitting the calm air of the night in two. Shit.

Moving as fast as she could she lifted a large man with bright blue eyes to rival her own onto her shoulders, placing him on the back of her horse. The man groaned with the movement and in her torchlight she could see dried bloodstains about his torso; another sad victim. She bid him to wait, leading Askr a few paces away in a shadowed alleyway between buildings to hide, and then ran back to the others to continue to pair the ninth, tenth, and eleventh Dane.

By now many of the Saxon guardsmen knew what was happening and descended upon the warriors like fighting dogs, and though the Raven Clan had a mounted advantage they were beginning to be pushed back into the clearing. Some had already fled, beginning the ride back to the longship. Eivor prayed that they would not be followed.

Grabbing the final Dane was where things went sour. An arrow flew right into the eyesocket of a Danish woman, who fell limp in the saddle and shocked the warrior at the front with the sudden dead weight at their back. More heavily-armored guards rushed in from the barracks and were poking and slashing at the horses chests, spooking them; little by little they were losing ground and precious time. The last prisoner secured, and with a final push from the guards, Eivor mounted Askr and commanded her warriors to follow her and run. They galloped higher into the city, heading towards the eastern gate with hopes of escaping cleanly - unfortunately, these guards were intelligent and had swarmed not only the east gate, but all other exits, too. They were penned in.

Eivor could not see any other solution. Pushing Askr into a hard gallop she rode forward as archers stationed in the barbican above the gate released their arrows and the Wolf-Kissed had raised her shield just in time to prevent them from piercing her and the man's flesh. Some others were not so lucky nor swift enough. Three more Danes were struck by arrows. In the pause of archers knocking arrows again her vikingr rushed behind her, yet this time the arrows were set aflame. The portcullis was still open, thankfully, though beset by a formidable wall of soldiers.

They would fall and be trampled just as any other.

Galloping forward in the final stretch Askr's chest connected with the unfortunate men in the path of destruction, hooves pounding on their bones as if wading through water. What a good horse. Thankfully, he was never wounded by the effort. Taken aback by the feat most archers did not fly their arrows a second time, and those that did scarcely hit their target. Nobody was injured that time. The other horses followed close behind and soon there was a pretty pile of corpses lying near the mouth of the portcullis like a disgusting blanket.

Exiting the city and breaching the cold night of Cent made Eivor release a breath she did not know she was holding, the shock of adrenaline still hitting her hard. She definitely was not going to do that again any time soon. Glancing behind her to check they were not followed, she opted to take the quickest route to the longship; regardless if someone came after them they would still board the ship as quickly as they could.

She decided to try and talk to the man on her horse, just as she'd done to you. "What is your name?"

The man stirred slowly, as if he did not recognize that he was being talked to. He could not focus on much past the way his body felt as if it were being carried forward by a valkyrie, mounted on her horse and riding towards Valhalla. "G-Gunnar," he croaked, and Eivor nearly choked on the cool night air. Ah.

Looking behind her at the state of the man, she realized he was in a far worse state than you were when she'd rescued you. His eyes were clouded, unfocused, dried blood seeped down from a wound at the center of his forehead; he was weak, with the way he barely clung onto the Wolf-Kissed's smaller frame despite being heads taller than her. There were the dried blood stains at his middle, too, and she could not guess where those wounds came from.

She prayed to all the Gods she could think of, even those that she did not revere, that he would stay alive long enough to make it to Ravensthorpe.

"Alright, Gunnar. I am Eivor. We're taking you and your clan to a safer place." The ride to the ship felt much longer than riding from it, despite being the same route.

Gunnar would seemingly gain awareness some moments, holding tighter to Eivor's waist and groaning in pain, and then completely lose it at others, falling limp at her back and scaring her each time thinking that the man had passed.

Only one time did he address her. "Y/n sent you…?"

"Yes, she did," Eivor said, and the beach and her longship were in her sight. Nobody was followed. Five of her raiders and their paired Danes had already boarded the ship, keeping it still to the harbor even in the night's high tide.

Gunnar let out a breathy wheezing sound. "Ah, she's alive…" he said, and Eivor could hear the smile in his voice despite everything. "Alive…"

Slowing Askr down to a trot they approached the longship, the tide rising to the point where the horses were lifting their legs in the water. There were still more of her clan stationed at the forward camp; they would return the horses to Ravensthorpe after they departed. Dismounting the horse, she grabbed Gunnar by the waist, laying the large man over her shoulders and carrying him to the ship. He could not find the strength to sit up on the seats. Eivor slowly lowered him against the side of the ship, propping him up.

Taking a headcount, every single one of her drengr survived; out of the dozen Danes they rescued, five would not live.

Jumping to the lypting again she commanded the ship be turned round and the sail raised. The sea's wind roared, boosting the speed of their getaway, though it would not hold over the river Thames as they passed Roucistere. The night's calm northern breeze did little to bend the cloth of the sails, so it was lowered.

At some point, Gunnar roused again. Nali had curled at his bloodied side and was purring furiously, and the man gently petted the cat, in another spell of awareness. "Hello, little friend of Freyja," he spoke, spooking Eivor.

"You are awake, Gunnar. Are you feeling better after a bit of rest?" Eivor asked, grasping at anything to keep the hope of this man reaching Ravensthorpe alive.

"No," came his simple answer, looking up towards Eivor. Blood began oozing from the corners of his mouth and his nose. Immediately Eivor rushed to his side, and all her warriors turned their heads, and upon seeing why the Wolf-Kissed acted so suddenly, they understood.

Gunnar could only look to Eivor still with an unreadable expression. Taking a cloth from her pouch she began wiping away at the blood, though it continued to run and run, and then Gunnar smiled at the Wolf-Kissed's efforts. In the calmness of the moonlight and Gunnar's awareness she realized how bright his eyes were and how they crinkled at the corners when they were not clouded with pain. Grabbing her hand, he willed her to stop.

"It is no use. I am a dying man," he said, and then let out a great, wheezing cough to drive the point home. Blood still ran from his mouth, down the scraggly hairs of his beard, onto the front of his tunic. Eivor stared, wide-eyed, her own heartbeat pounding in her ears as she stared at the fading man.

"...What would be your last wishes, drengr?" she asked, and Gunnar picked Nali up from his side and set her down farther away, and though Nali only weighed not even a stone it was a great effort for the man, who then fell limp after.

Gunnar seemed to pause, taking in wheezing breaths, thinking of the many answers he could give. Avenge my clan. Slay Frederik. Send word to my wife and daughter in Denmark of my death. Above all he chose one.

"Keep y/n safe," he rasped, suddenly reaching for Eivor's hand and holding it firm. "Keep her safe. Keep this clan safe. There is nothing else left of us.

"I have known her since we were children. Like a brother. I have cared for her as I have cared for my own blood. She is the voice of reason that kept us all bound together in times of strife. I could not protect her when I swore I would. I have known I would die this way for months, yet I did all I could to fight against it. For her. Please, keep her safe. In this world, and the next," he said, and his cryptic words both puzzled and troubled Eivor.

Eivor nodded, and squeezed the man's hand. "I heed your dying words. I will protect her to the ends of the earth."

Slowly, like the moon's face dwindling away as the sun rose each morning, he faded, the light in his eyes dying with him, and he went with a calm exhale into the night air. Eivor set his hand upon his lap and closed his eyelids. He would be given a proper burial, though where, she did not know. It was for you to decide.

The rest of the journey was in silence.

...

You had spent the better part of the day anxious, uneasy, unable to rest like Valka had wanted you to. To keep your mind distracted she asked you of your homeland, to which you gave mostly simple answers, and eventually you grew so anxious you had to pace. Scarcely moving around for days except to relieve yourself made your body shriek in pain with the effort of moving that you would have collapsed if Valka had not caught you. She scolded you like a mother would a child, and then you'd begged her like a child (much to her amusement) for her to help you relearn to walk.

After an hour and some more food and drink you were able to hold your own weight again, and after two more you could walk, albeit slowly, without the strain of the sliced muscles in your back bothering you too much. Valka took you to the pond behind her hut, and you revelled in the sound of the waterfall, and though the movement pained you enough to cry you could not stop yourself from cupping the fresh water in your hands and splashing it in your face. Valka laughed and said she could draw you a bath later. You stayed there for a while, until the sun began to hang lower in the sky, and then you noticed peculiar wisps of light that you've never seen before - catching one you found it was some type of delightful insect that held light within its body, and you let it be free again.

By now your stomach growled with hunger and you slowly raised yourself off the ground and went back into the hut where Valka had already gotten the two of you fresh bowls of soup and bread. Ever grateful you ate quickly, feeling a little calmer after the day. After you ate Valka drew a bath for you, and though the water was lukewarm to ease the pain of your injuries you were grateful to be able to clean the layers of sweat off your body. Valka helped you with the areas that you could not reach, even helping to wash and rinse your hair, and not once did you feel uncomfortable with your nakedness in front of the other woman. It felt natural, in a way, and you surmised she wouldn't really care, anyway. After redressing your wounds, you were surprised by her giving you a freshly-washed, simple chemise, made of soft linen and about ankle length, saying that "It would be easier on your body to sleep warmer, yet not be inhibited by heavier clothing," referring to the men's trousers and tunic you had been dressed in as a prisoner.

Then Valka made you more of the sleepy tea, and you fell asleep before the sun had even set. Thankfully you did not have a nightmare this time, and were back to the normal nonsensical dreams that you would never be able to recall come waking up.

Your sleep, however, was disturbed by the sound of a horn being blown, your mind instantly connecting the sound to Frederik’s horn, and you were sent into a minor panic before you remembered who was blowing the horn. It was not Frederik coming to face you, nor were you back on his longship heading to the monastery; it was Eivor, bringing the remnants of your clan to you. Adrenaline fueled you and you leapt from the bed, frightening Valka who had not yet fallen asleep and she rushed to your side, bidding you to return to bed, but you could not. You had to see Gunnar, you had to see your kinsmen. Limping forward a few paces out into the cold air of the night Valka ran back to her hut and returned with her heavy fur cloak, gently setting it about your shoulders so that you did not freeze.

You walked past the stables, down the western side of the longhouse, past numerous buildings you did not know the purpose of and saw several people getting off the longship. And even in the dark of the night you could see bodies being lifted onto stretchers, and your heart dropped. Some deep, deep, ugly part of you hoped that they were Eivor's warriors and not yours, to no avail. There were five of them, and you rushed forward, stumbling, and in the light of the torches you tried to make out faces.

A hand was felt on your shoulder, preventing you from toppling over, and you turned to face Eivor, who looked at you with a somber, defeated face. You did not like that look, nor the way you were turned away from looking at the final body of your kin. You could only stare silently into the Wolf's eyes.

"Y/n, I…" Eivor started, unsure of the right words to say. She sighed, and then took hold of both of your shoulders and squeezed. "I am sorry," was all she said, pulling you closer to her chest in comfort. You did not like her tone and what it meant. You could not make yourself move to match the warmth of her hug. The entire clan had gathered, but they were all silent.

Slowly, she let you go, and you turned around to look at the bodies. You could recognize the pallid faces of poor Lissi, and Jørgen, and Erna, Nils…

And then there was Gunnar, stiff and pale, blood staining the cloth of his tunic all around, and you froze, your mind not processing what you were looking at. And then you drew in a great breath and wailed, a painful, broken-hearted sound pulled from your throat like a bow running harshly across the strings of an instrument. You dropped to your knees, crawling closer to the man's body and pressing the palms of your hands to his cold cheeks, sobbing and gasping for breath. like a madwoman over his body, willing your hot tears that fell onto his face to bring him back to life. Why was he to die like this? Away from his family? His home? He did not even die in battle. He did not deserve this death. You hunched over his body, still sobbing, pressing his cold forehead to yours and then closed your eyes, and prayed that he would find his way out of Hel's domain to where he belonged, seated with the other einherjar in Valhalla. Maybe guided by a valkyrie, maybe out of his own will.

When you pulled away you were now weeping silently, and you could not bring yourself to look at the bodies of the rest, nor look at the faces of those that were alive, passing by you as they were carried to the barracks. You instead looked out into the forest on the far side of the river, and you could not bring yourself to move even as Eivor's men began to haul the stretchers away.

The Wolf-Kissed approached you, slowly, and set her palm on your shoulder again. "He passed peacefully, facing the moon and stars. His wounds were too dire for him to go on," she said, and you rose from kneeling on the ground, her hand on your shoulder a wonderful feeling keeping you grounded in reality. You could not speak, only staring ahead still. Eivor stayed by your side, silent for a moment.

"He… he called for me to protect you, to keep you safe as his dying words," she said quietly, and this made you turn and look at her through your tear-laden lashes. Eivor's heart squeezed. "I promised to him that I would. And my word is my bond. I will keep you safe, until… until you decide what you want to do," she said, the last bit sounding strained, as if that was not what she truly wanted to say. This was all very sudden to your already exhausted mind.

You stared at her for a moment longer, and Eivor felt you were looking through her, not at her. Blinking some tears away you slowly turned from her, looking at the water's edge and how it reflected the moonlight, trying to clear your head. "I… he… " you began, trying to find your words and will the lump in your throat away. "H-he… he was not my blood. But we grew up together… a big brother to me," you mumbled, not truly knowing why you were telling Eivor this. "I… I cared greatly for him. I still do. I've thought before what I would do if he passed, and even that hurt, but… this is…" Snivelling, you pressed a palm to your mouth so that Eivor would not have to see the ugly way your face contorted and lip quivered as you tried to hold in another anguished cry. The woman did not think any less of you. She stood unmoving behind you. "This is… this is Frederik's fault. All of it. If he had done anything…" you croaked, the lump in your throat rising again to the point where you could not speak further nor breathe, choking on air and holding it for far too long, and Eivor set her large palm on your shoulder again. When you did not respond, she slowly pulled you into another hug, being ever mindful of the injuries at your back, and you immediately clung to her, shoving your face into her chest even though it was still armored, your head under her chin, and sobbing anew. You couldn't help it at this point. You felt like a maelstrom of emotion, waves of sorrow washing over you as you kept thinking of Gunnar's soft smile that he gave you on the longship and how it contrasted with the stillness of his pale, dead face. And then you realized how cold you were, even in Valka's coat, when the warmth of the larger woman began to seep into your body; a small comfort. Eivor shushed you gently and dared to smooth your hair out just as Valka had, and you felt yourself growing calmer in the arms of the warrior.

After some time you felt more composed, calmed, and you slowly removed yourself from Eivor as the intimacy of her consolation and promise to Gunnar hit you and you suddenly felt uncomfortable, stepping back and looking to the patterns in the wood of the docks.

"I know Gunnar had a wife and child, back in Denmark. They should know of his passing," you said, running your fingers over the edges of Valka's cloak. Eivor nodded. "I will send a letter, then."

Swallowing, you thought of her words earlier. Protect me until I decide what I want to do, she says… you did not see any other path.

"You… you said that you would protect me, until I have decided to go elsewhere," you started, looking up to match Eivor's blue eyes, though difficult it may be. The woman blinked slowly and nodded.

"I… I do not think I could go elsewhere. I do not want to return to my family, knowing that Frederik could potentially return there, too. And whatever lies he spun they would believe his words over mine. I do not have a home there, not anymore," you explained, and then broke eye contact with the drengr, feeling a burst of anger at the entire situation for a moment before you took a deep breath, sighing.

"And you… you saved my life. You and Valka, you've helped me to recover. And that is something that I feel I can never repay."

You met Eivor's blue eyes again, and even in the dim light of the moon could see how soft they've grown. "I would stay with the Raven clan, if you would let me," you said, feeling small again. Eivor blinked again, and then her expression somehow grew softer, and nodded. "Of course, y/n. You will always find a home here in Ravensthorpe, and wherever else we may go," she said, sending you a muted smile. You will always find a home with me.

You let out a breath, sighing in relief and in exhaustion, and realized how cold it had gotten when you could see it hanging in the mist, and then you felt it seep into your bones. "Th-thank you, Eivor," you shivered, and the Norsewoman took note of your state almost immediately, and on instinct pulled you to her side and began walking you back to Valka. "Of course, lagr kærr."

Passing the barracks you were relieved to see some of your kin already tended to and resting; you would speak with them tomorrow of your decision. You did not have a leader, not anymore, and it was up to them whether they wanted to leave or stay once recovered. You, however, would find a home in the Raven clan yet.

Valka was, as expected, not in the hut, most likely at the barracks treating the last of your friends. After such a long day both you and Eivor were exhausted, and the Wolf bid you farewell at the door, turning to go to her own place of rest. Shrugging off Valka's coat you placed it in it's usual spot and then crawled into your cot, still straining with the movement. Your body had its own celebration when you finally relaxed, and though you would certainly feel the soreness tomorrow you were glad that you still had some mobility after the wounds near your spine had become infected. You would heal in time. Closing your eyes, you fell asleep blissfully quickly.

In the shadows of the longhouse's exterior, Randvi had watched how your smaller form tucked into Eivor's as the two of you ascended to the seeress's hut, and felt an ugly twist of envy in her gut. She turned away from the scene to storm to the alliance map. She still had reports to write.

#yall dont get a summary this time i am tired #my writing #valhalla #ac valhalla #eivor x reader #f!eivor x reader #eivor #lady eivor

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razieltwelve · 3 years

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Writing Genre Fiction

Not all fiction is the same. It’s why we often divide stories according to which genre or sub-genre they belong to. In the case of fantasy, it’s not unusual to see stories classified as epic fantasy, or humorous fantasy, or dark fantasy, amongst many others. Each of these genres or sub-genres has its own quirks and conventions, and a reader can generally tell whether or not a story fits fairly quickly. As a writer, then, what are some of the things you should consider when writing for a particular genre or sub-genre?

In my opinion, it comes down to the five crucial aspects of a story:

Characters

Plot

Setting

Themes/ideas

Writing technique

Each of these five areas is vital to the success of a story and each genre or sub-genre has its own conventions that apply to each of these areas. Adhering to these conventions, or at least acknowledging them, is the easiest way to ensure your story fits into a particular genre or sub-genre. To illustrate this, let’s pretend we’re trying to write a humorous fantasy or a dark fantasy story.

Characters

Characters are the heart of a story. There are very, very, very few stories that can survive having boring and formulaic characters. In contrast, readers are often willing to overlook a lot of flaws in a story if the characters are interesting and engaging enough. If you want to write a humorous fantasy, then you need to make sure that humour is a part of your characters.

Let’s start off with one of the stereotypes of fantasy fiction: the adventurer. Now, adventurers are commonplace in fantasy fiction. If we want readers to know that they’re reading a humorous fantasy, then we need to make our adventurer a humorous fellow. Now, this doesn’t mean that the adventurer has to be funny. On the contrary, it is entirely acceptable for their misfortune to be the cause of other people’s mirth. Consider the following introduction:

Jeremy could still remember the day he’d first joined the Adventurer’s Guild. They’d given him a wooden plate with his name on it and told him to go kill some goblins. That first mission hadn’t gone exactly to plan. If it hadn’t been for a serendipitous landslide annihilating the goblins’ camp, he might well have met his end then and there. However, there was nothing wrong with a bit of luck to start a man’s adventuring career off. Surely, it wouldn’t be long before his wooden plate gave way to a copper one and then a silver one and then perhaps even a gold one. Ideally, he’d get to platinum one day, but he didn’t want to be too arrogant.

Of course, his first mission hadn’t been the only one that hadn’t gone to plan. The second hadn’t gone to plan either, nor had the third, or the fourth, or the fifth… In fact, it had been ten years and twenty-seven missions, and he still had a wooden plate dangling around his neck. On the upside, he’d finally upgraded from a pointy wooden stick to a proper spear. It was progress. Kind of.

Now, the moment a reader gets through those two paragraphs, they’re going to know what kind of story this is. It’s going to be a humorous fantasy. The very nature of the character (Jeremy) makes it clear that humour is going to play a part in the story. What if we wanted to write a dark fantasy? Well, we’d have to approach it differently:

Ten years and twenty-seven missions. That’s how long he’d been eking out a living. Mission to mission. Day to day. Never knowing when he’d finally bite off more than he could chew. He’d done everything he could to rise up through the ranks, but nothing had worked. He’d lost a few fingers for his troubles – and more than a few friends. The best nights were the ones he didn’t dream. But when he did dream…

Gods. He could still hear the screams. He’d seen fellow adventurers ripped to bits by goblins, crushed under landslides, or set ablaze by fire drakes. It wasn’t skill that had allowed him to survive. It was luck. And maybe a bit of cowardice. But adventuring wasn’t a job for heroes. No. Heroes got killed quickly. It took a cunning man to survive, and a cunning man had to be willing to cut his losses, even if it meant losing a few friends in the process. It might make it hard to sleep at night, but it was still better than ending up in a dragon’s belly or on some ogre’s skewer.

Again, you can see how the character himself is quite a dour, pragmatic fellow. This already makes it obvious that the story will have different feel to it than the earlier one. Moreover, his explanation of his history makes it very clear that this is a world where bad things can and do happen quite frequently to people in his profession. Moreover, his admission that running and abandoning people is acceptable demonstrates a certain… darkness to the world he inhabits.

Characters often reflect the genres or sub-genres they are a part of. If you want to write a humorous fantasy or a dark fantasy, then that needs to be reflected in your characters.

Plot

The plot is another critical part of a story. It is, simply speaking, the sequence of events that occurs throughout the story. Once again, the plot itself can be used to signpost what sort of story a reader is dealing with, and readers who want to read a particular genre or sub-genre will almost always expect certain things from the plot.

For a humorous fantasy, this often means a subversion of expectations to create humour. Since fantasy, as a genre, has so many expectations, this is actually not as difficult as it might seem at first glance. Imagine you’re reading a story and you get this for a plot:

Prince Zachary was the second-most dashing prince in all the land. To become the most dashing prince, all he needed was to rescue a princess. It’s a pity, then, that there aren’t any princesses that need saving. What to do? Well… why not use his royal wealth to train a commoner to pretend to be a princess before hiring a dragon to pretend kidnap her? He could then ‘rescue’ the princess and claim the number one ranking. What could possibly go wrong? How about everything.

As you can see, the plot subverts a whole host of expectations in a way that immediately makes it clear that this is going to be a humorous story. Indeed, the plot is perfectly set up to create humorous situations from beginning to end. Now, what if we wanted to write a dark fantasy? Dark fantasy has its own expectations, and in this case, we’ll want to conform to them. That means taking the normal fantasy tropes and ideas and adding some grim darkness to them.

Prince Zachary was once the heir to the second-most prosperous kingdom in the land, but betrayal saw the downfall of his family. Robbed of his birthright and forced to wander the land disguised as a commoner, Zachary struggles to survive. Ambushed on a lonely road by bandits, he finds himself on the verge of death. Wounded, penniless, and alone, Zachary has no choice but to abandon his honour to survive. If he wants to reclaim his throne, he’ll have to become the same sort of monster as the traitors who struck down his family.

Dark fantasy features dark themes (as the name suggests), and this generally needs to be reflected in the plot. Betrayal, tragedy, and general horribleness are all parts of dark fantasy, and you’re going to need to have them in your plot if you want to write a dark fantasy. It’s not a coincidence that so many dark fantasy stories have what seems to be a whole dictionary’s worth of awful things happening to people.

The plot your story has can often be one of the biggest tells as to which genre or sub-genre it belongs to. A humorous fantasy will often have a humorous plot. A dark fantasy will often have a darker plot.

Setting

The setting of a story is the world in which the story exists as well as the rules that govern that world. What sort of setting you have will greatly influence how your story is perceived by the reader. As you can imagine, a setting full of tragedy and woe will lend itself more easily to a dark fantasy story… unless you make the tragedy and woe so utterly ridiculous that it becomes funny, in which case you’ll end up with a humorous fantasy. Don’t believe? Let’s try it out.

Evermere is a world riven with conflict. Its petty kings have fought for centuries, and their wars have done nothing but wreak havoc and suffering upon common folk and nobles alike. Driven to ever greater depths of desperation, the squabbling kings have turned to demonic pacts to further their power. Now, demons walk the land, harvesting the souls of all those unfortunate to cross their path and inflicting even greater tortures on all those who dare to oppose them.

Yeah. The world described above is pretty awful. It’s got all the ingredients you need for a dark fantasy because it allows you to deploy all of the most common tropes, traditions, and conventions (e.g., people getting tortured, civilians getting wiped out, people being betrayed, bloody conflict for petty reasons, etc.).

But what if we turned the tragedy and woe up to eleven? Well, then you’d get a setting that actually lends itself to humour:

Evermere is a world where kings are a dime a dozen. Wait. That was last week. Right now it’s about a penny a dozen – royal inflation and all that because of all the unnecessary kin-slaying and treachery. And let’s not forget the demons. Constant civil war wasn’t bad enough. Someone actually thought getting demons involved was a good idea. Now the local tax collectors are joined by demonic soul collectors in a never-ending bid to suck commoners and nobles alike dry of all their wealth and their souls.

As you can see, the setting here makes it clear that this is going to be a humorous sort of story despite it being quite dark. Indeed, the increased darkness is such that it actually goes from being dark to being amusingly over the top.

Setting matters. The world your story is set in is what gives it context. Dark fantasy stories often have dark settings. Likewise humorous fantasy stories tend to have humorous settings. In a dark fantasy, demons might expect payment in souls. In a humorous fantasy story, demons might demand payment in limited edition action figures.

Themes/Ideas

Every story has themes and ideas. In some stories, these might play a very central role. In others, they are more in the background. By now, you can tell where I’m going with this. Each genre or sub-genre has themes that occur quite frequently. Including these themes will often make it easier to write for those genres or sub-genres.

If you want to write a dark fantasy, it’s likely you’ll end up including themes or ideas like:

Betrayal

Crime paying off

The good guys not always winning

Pragmatism over honour

Moral relativism

What makes humorous fantasy (and humour in general) a bit of a special case is it’s not so much about what themes or ideas you employ but more about how you use them. For example, you can write a perfectly serviceable humorous fantasy using the themes given above with a few tweaks. Have the betrayal at the heart of the story be something petty, such as two wizards going to war because one dared to wear the same robes as the other to a prestigious convention. As for moral relativism, instead of making it a complex discussion about moral shades of grey, make it a story about a guy who has realised that sometimes it makes sense to pay a dragon to eat the bandits who’re troubling your village.

Certain themes and ideas lend themselves best to particular genres and sub-genres. Making use of those themes and ideas will help you to write a story that satisfies the reader and fits into those genres and sub-genres.

Writing Technique

Writing technique refers to the technical aspects of writing, such as word choice, sentence composition, and so on. Different genres and sub-genres are written in different ways, so conforming (or not conforming) to those standards can make your life as a writer easier.

Take something like epic fantasy. In most epic fantasies, you tend to see more advanced vocabulary and longer, more complex sentences. The prose will often come across as a bit florid or even purple to those who aren’t fond of epic fantasy stories. In contrast, dark fantasy stories tend to lean more toward more succinct prose and grittier descriptions and exposition. Battle isn’t some glorious, heroic endeavour out of story and song. It is brutal and ugly and bloody and all too real. Likewise, humorous fantasy has its own writing techniques, such as hyperbole, contrast, and so on.

Just contrast these descriptions of a battle.

Blood. The coppery smell of it filled the air. Gerard’s spear caught in his opponent’s gut, and the dying man lunged forward with his sword. Gerard let go of the spear and dodged the desperate slash before he drew his dagger and jammed it into the man’s throat. Blood spewed from the wound, and he shoved the other man into the muck of the battlefield. At his feet, a wounded man clutched at his leg. He kicked him in the face and yanked his spear free. There was still plenty of killing to do.

That, as you can imagine, would fit well into a dark fantasy. It’s gritty, realistic, and definitely dark. Now, how about something different:

The two men circled each other, their blades at the ready, each as keen for battle as a berserk wolverine. With all the grace of two walruses fighting on the shore, the pair lunged forward. To call what followed combat would have been an insult to the word combat. It was closer to the deranged flailing of two half-witted drunks.

The writing style should immediately give away that this isn’t a serious story. Instead, it’s a humorous one.

Writing technique can greatly impact how a story is perceived. Things like word choice, sentence construction, metaphor, exaggeration, and more can all help define what genre or sub-genre a story belongs to.

Summary

If you want to write a genre story, then you need to understand how that genre works. Each genre has its own rules, expectations, and conventions. You don’t need to slavishly follow all of them, but incorporating at least some of them into the characters, plot, setting, themes/ideas, and writing techniques you employ will make your task far easier – and far more enjoyable for the readers. This applies to areas as diverse as dark fantasy and humorous fantasy.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

#writing #writing technique #writing advice #writing tips #improving your writing #writing humor #writing dark fantasy #genre writing

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sovereignxfae · 3 years

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𝙷𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜.

KNY verse.

K’in’s role.

K'in was born to parents who died from an attack by a demon couple. It was quiet, save for the sounds of a baby crying. Newborn with no one for help, covered in blood and freezing. The demon couple, against their better judgment, took in the child. They stayed with the child long enough to name them and care for them until the age of 13.

The couple had been found out by their lord, Kibutsuji Muzan. K'in doesn’t know that their parents were killed or had just left them, all they know is that this man that smelled of cold and blood took them in and taught them about almost anything. During a dinner with the Demon Lord K’in was given some of his blood with their meal and now they are a half breed between human and demon. They can still walk in the sun, though they must wear sunscreen, and eat human food and it sustains them. Although they still need to eat humans from time to time so they don’t go stir crazy.

Without much of a warning they had been sent away to learn the art of demon slaying by one of the demon moons. Seemed counter productive to them but with Muzan being home less and less it was something to stop them from dying of boredom. They returned to the Infinity Castle before the main trio was taken by the Hashira.

Breathing Styles I made cause they would cause they're extra and I wanted to;

Fae Breathing Style

First form: Br'er Rabbit - This move involves intricate movements from K’in, they move so fast and fluidly that it almost looks like they’re dancing. With this it confuses their opponent and makes it easier for them to decapitate them.

Second Form: Night hag - The wielder uses the butt of their weapon to hit their foe either on their head or chin in a swift motion with immense force that is successfully paralyzing them and allowing a clean cut.

Third Form: Wendigo - The user does a series of cuts in different directions until carves right into the chest of their foe or or for their demon foe their neck and it carves out the shape of horns.

Fourth Form: Grim Reaper - This name is a reference to how K’in uses their weapon. They use the chains to wrap up their foe all while whispering a prayer in a foreign tongue before beheading them.

Fifth Form: Black Shuck - This form is mostly used when K’in are in groups. They circle the demon and get into their space, effectively distracting them so that others can claim the kill. Though they use this alone as well to set the foe on edge and make the kill easier.

Onyx’s role.

(this is heavily brought by me having feels 'bout the new kny eps so yeah hehe T^T)

Onyx is was the fourth wife of Tengen Uzui.

Not a shinobi like him and her other wives but a medic nin instead. Worked on the sidelines of the danger and cared for the wounded. Could more than hold her own but the thought of blood on her hands because she wounded another, regardless of where they stand, was not okay for them.

Especially when you bring the truths of her upbringing into play.

Born into a family if all boys, it was hard to see it as anything but an omen. She wasn't babied more was she treated any less harshly from her siblings.

Traditions went through as usual.

Learn how the kill. The targets were almost always usually sick and frail. Hanging onto life by a thread.

It made them sick. They had no choice but the agree to go along with it until they left. Went out to find a family to settle down with and hopefully wash off the sullied blood off her hands.

Delphine's parents always said that's what she'd be good for. She wasn't against it. Whatever would stop her from doing what she did before whether or not they were well and alive or hopeless.

She met Tengen, Makio, Suma, and Hinatsuru during this time. They fell in love fairly quickly. Tengen loved Onyx for her kindness even when she lectured him about the injuries he sustained on missions while she takes care of them.

The girls got along well. Enjoyed teasing their shared husband and doting on him when they finally convinced him to rest.

It was nice. She weren't forced onto the field. All that was asked was to be home and ready to care for then once they return.

A child was agreed on. None of the girls ready to take the leave necessary to give birth so adoption was the chosen option.

The child's birth mother wasn't prepared for her. Worked in the entertainment district so it wouldn't have worked well.

When Delphine was going to get the newborn and sign papers they were attacked.

Demons had chosen the hospital to raid for food. Mother killed. All employees were as well. Onyx was left bleeding out and hanging on by a thread.

She was spared. So to speak.

Muzan turned her while she was on the edge of her deathbed. She has forgotten entirely about her human life but regains her skills because of muscle memory. She's trained more in martial arts so she can take care of herself.

Though she doesn't have her memories anymore she still treats K'in as her child which results in them calling her mom.

Memories of her husband and wives were wiped clean though when she sees a married couple she hurts. It's dull but pain all the same.

Delphine co-parents with Muzan over K'in.

Blood demon art will be presented in hc form!! Meaning I have a slight idea but it'll just sound like rambling if I try.

#❝ don't wanna let you down but i am hell bound— ❞ (kny v.)#verse information #verse info #❝ morning dew and secrets kept — ❞(onyx)#❝ lemon slices and burning iron — ❞(k’in)#//vduud kin's breathing styles may never be written bcs ill die if i gotta use those names in threads but 3 am me worked hard on those 😤#//i lie cause i would if the chance is there but i can't write do ggt scenes all that well so eh

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