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siflshonen · 1 year

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Todoroki: The Mountain, the Hawk, and the Haunted House Part 1

Link to the Todoroki family presentation: Part 1 | Part 2

Link to the Bakugo presentation 2.0: Part 1 | Part 2 | 1.0: Part 1 | Part 2

Link to the Kirishima presentation 1.0 | 2.0

Link to the Todoroki presentation

Link to the Deku presentation

Link to the Uraraka-Bakugo-Toga presentation

Link to the Shigaraki-All for One presentation

Link to the Spinner-Shigaraki-Bakugo-Deku presentation

Link to the BNHA presentations masterpost

In the online fandom system, domestic abuse offenses are considered especially heinous. In the My Hero Academia fandom, the dedicated fans who create the discourse around these fictitious felonies are members of an elite squad known as the So (you think these) Victims (are the most special characters) Unit, or SVU.

These aren’t their stories.

Whenever a work from one culture or language is brought to another (or even if the work stays in the same culture but transitions from page to screen), the translators, localizers, and creative team handling it can only do so much to help the new audience understand what the original work communicates through subtext or cultural associations by deciding how much of the work to leave out or change. In other words, the team must choose how to fail.

In the case of the Todoroki family, I feel there is much lost in translation. Or, at least, there is much lost if the reader doesn’t share the work’s original cultural background. I’m going to try to make my point with a poem.

Four children are mine

And I love my four children:

An arrow to ward away the darkness

aimed for the light of the dawn;

The winter, who brings the night again, beautiful and longer;

Next the summer,

who returns the sun at its zenith;

And small is the leader with clear sky and dusk rain in his eyes.

Four children are mine

And with four comes death

The arrow flies too high from the bow

The arrow flies but falls to darkness

From a shrine in the mountain, he aims for me.

My son haunts the mountain near the peak

I fear the mountain I cannot climb

I fear the arrow meant for me.

Winter settles quietly

Summer turns away from me

The leader makes a mirror of my heart

I tell my son I love him

And I look in the mirror yet I cannot face it but to watch it crack

My son is my spitting image

I tell my son I love him

I tell my son

Without looking into his eyes,

I tell my son I love him

As the arrow flies.

This poem is about Enji Todoroki and his children - the four he actually fathered and the one for whom he unknowingly acted as a surrogate. The poem vaguely alludes to the meanings of the children’s names with one notable change - for Shoto Todoroki, instead of calling him “charred frozen” - which is basically how his first name is written - I called him “leader”.

When written with different characters in Japanese, “Sho” can mean “leader.” So, while “leader” isn’t the true meaning of Shoto’s name, I decided that it was thematically fitting to use since he’s also the “hero of his family” and leads the way for them to continue into the future. In changing the meaning of Shoto’s name, I chose how to fail. Yes, it’s imperfect, but by putting in the work, I can at least show you how I arrived at the destination to help you better understand what you are reading. Much of what I’m about to write about falls into this category - it’s not exactly the perfect explanation or whole, unaltered, canon truth, but is supplementary information to help you come to your own conclusions.

Anyway, now that I’ve told you the poem is about Enji and his children, it probably comes off a little differently, huh? That’s the power of writing allegories and using recurring motifs. If you have not figured it out already, you’ll learn soon enough what words symbolize each child.

Now, let’s break down this already broken family. There are so many damn Todorokis that I’m going to do something very, very rude and call them each by their first name for the sake of clarity (and also because, frankly, it’s a more honest representation of how I actually feel about these characters.)

What is the Todoroki Family?

The challenges facing the Todoroki family - such as the pressures Enji feels, the disappointment and internal crisis Toya inherits, the social and marital prison in which Rei finds herself trapped, the nature of the public’s feelings of betrayal at the reveal of Enji’s family dysfunction, the social snafus and ugly family dynamics in which Natsuo and Fuyumi are often caught - are distinctly shaped by the series’ Japanese society. There’s a special je ne sais quoi quality to their family drama that feels authentic even to me, and I’m a foreigner to these cultural tropes. It’s a little disturbing.

But, besides a fictional family, what are the Todorokis? What purpose do they serve in the story? What is their purpose within the narrative, and what is the purpose of the narrative in which they exist?

Well, on the one hand, the Todoroki household can function as an allegory for traditional Japanese families, society, and power structures (we could use the word “patriarchy”) crumbling under the pressures of modernity and a changing world, which is similar to how the Shimura household functions in Shigaraki’s backstory, or even the story of All Might’s retirement. On the other hand, they are a case study of a deeply flawed family that, if the magic-powers quirk element was not present, could exist in the real world.

They make for good drama. But every member of the household serves a purpose in the narrative, in the family, and in the meta. Usually, these three things work together for a greater purpose.

What is Enji Todoroki?

I didn’t say, “Who is Enji Todoroki?”. I said, “What is Enji Todoroki?”

If you said, “an asshole and shit father,” well, yeah, you’re sure on to something! But it’s not helpful to disengage with a major character in a work if you want to understand what the hell they’re doing in the narrative. I’m not telling anyone to like Enji, or any Todoroki, but I am asking that you entertain the concepts behind them with an open mind, if not an open heart.

What is Enji Todoroki? Much of this should be obvious in any language, but I’m still going to break it down.

The manga tells us pretty blatantly that he is a man from an older generation struggling to remain relevant in a new and changing world. He is ambitious, prideful, hardworking, hypocritical, and wholly dedicated to his job. He’s the patriarch in a household structure that is no longer relevant and coming apart at the seams. But most of all, Enji is afraid that nothing he does will ever be enough.

What is Enji Todoroki? Enji is someone who tries his hardest at anything he does even when it sends him to ruin.

Enji and Effort; Enji and Enjo

In my Bakugo and Deku presentations, I mention that the concept of talent as a fixed quality is predominantly accepted in the west while a common eastern perspective posits that talent is something developed over time. The distinctly Japanese Enji and his personal conflict over the existence of the “natural born”, western-coded All Might thrusts these implied concepts of talent from subtext (not that they were particularly hard to identify throughout the manga) into blatant text. And I’m not just talking about the moment where Enji thinks to himself, “I have always envied natural-born superheroes.”

The written characters for Enji’s given name means effort. The name also sounds like another word for “fuckin’ honkin’ bigass fire”, Enjo, but for our discussion, Enji means effort. Endeavor, his self-chosen hero name, also implies the application of effort.

Everything about this man is defined by his efforts, even when they are in vain. Everything.

He pours his effort into becoming Japan’s greatest Hero. He pours his efforts into escaping the fate of his father. He pours his efforts into making the most terrible domestic choices possible to try to be enough for his family. He pours his efforts into atoning for his transgressions against his family, and then again for those against society. And it is not enough. He knows it is not enough, it never will be enough. Not one thing he has ever done in his life has been enough for him, enough for his family, enough for society. It is never enough. This is his burden.

You don’t have to feel bad for him about it, mind you. I’m just telling you that it is, functionally, his core struggle.

Enji poured every bit of himself into looking away from his son Toya and into running away from him. It’s going to take every bit of effort within himself to stand his ground and face his son again, and even then, he is still going to need help. Perhaps that’s pathetic, but even Enji knew he was only going to be a professional Hero, never a superhero.

Enji is a man who believes, who is basically required to believe, who likely cannot continue to exist if he does not believe, that his value and justification for being is defined by his ability to pull himself up by his bootstraps, or to just keep struggling in the endeavor.

He pours his effort into everything he does and curses his own weaknesses. Even struggling takes effort.

Japan's Burning Soul: Notes on National Pride and Flame Quirks

In my Kirishima presentation, I talk extensively about kouha and their manly aesthetic as it applies to symbols of Japan. What the presentation doesn’t talk about are flame motifs.

In Japan, flames are seen as purifying. They are also seen as manly, and not just in the way Kirishima defines it. There’s several phrases in Japan that talk about stuff like “a burning soul” or even “Japan’s burning soul” or the “blazing spirit” of a Japanese youth. Well, I think these are just about as tacky as they sound but in the same kind of boyish, tacky-cool way most shonen anime can be.

I’m talking about the flame motif on festival jackets. I’m talking about every time Galo from Promare talks about his “flaming firefighter soul”. To some extent, I’m talking about the flames on the Hokage jacket in Naruto (Minato’s and Naruto’s jackets get the flames as a nod to their shared mentor Jiraiya, who is a whole-ass conversation about masculinity in culture, theater, and mythology in and of himself.) These examples are indicative of each of these characters’ pride in their masculinity and in their nationality. Enji’s flame quirk and his constant use of flames as a brand are no exception to this trend.

Some minor characters, and later Dabi, allude to the fact that flame-based quirks are somewhat common in MHA. I’m not completely certain if the prevalence of flame quirks is also meant to indicate that these quirk holders share the same sort of “flaming spirit”, background, national pride, or even miscellaneous political views, but somehow I get the feeling that it does.

These people are, on some level, connected in that they possess the flaming soul of (masculine, old, patriarchal) Japan. The existence of Pro Hero Endeavor is a representation of the traditional, conservative Japan’s soul. All Might may wear red, white, and blue (and yellow like a yellow-haired westerner) to represent a certain set of foreign ideals, but Enji wears the red and the blue with distinctly Japanese pride.

The Colors of a Nation

Red and white, the colors of the Japanese flag, have strong cultural connotations through Japanese architecture, festivals, and shinto practices. (Please keep in mind that colors can mean a lot of things in every culture depending on context, and in Japan, different shades of the same colors can also hold distinct meanings. For example, certain shades of blue are often worn by villains in theater, but blue is not always “evil” or “villainous” by default.) But the color that I personally associate with Japan is blue - specifically, anything dyed with the aizome technique.

Aizome clothing, or clothing dyed with indigo, transitioned from being a nobility-only thing to one of the few colors that commoners could wear starting in the early 1600s - because by then, bright colors were exclusive to the nobility. The indigo dye is also popular for its antibacterial, insect repellent, and flame retardant properties. Firefighters wore it. Samurai wore it under their armor. So it’s not surprising to me that Endeavor’s Hero costume, and that of his son, would use fabric in a particular hue of dark blue.

Also? If you wanted to know? Aizome is used to dye Japanese blue jeans today. Hey, Best Jeanist!

Anyway, Enji is dressed in the color of the common Japanese man, the firefighter, the samurai, the noble laborer or honorable servant - but definitely not of high nobility.

We don’t know a ton about Enji’s background in detail, we know he wasn’t born ungodly rich. We know his father died. We know he went to UA. He made money from his Hero career, and married into a pedigree. Yes, he chose Rei because she had an ice quirk, but got the bonus of clout and old world connections.

So, uh, yes, the marriage of Enji and Rei was one of new money and big ambition married to old nobility and traditional values, and that’s true even when taking the kids out of the equation. But more on Rei and the marriage later.

Unpacking Enji's Envy of All Might

The majority of Japan’s political scene is conservative. (Look at the ideology column in that table, NOT just the name of the party. If you’re a westerner, I realize that identifying which ones are conservative is going to be particularly difficult to do given their translated names.) The Jiminto, or Liberal Democratic Party (again, look at the ideology column, NOT JUST THE NAME OF THE PARTY. Remember that “liberal” and “democratic” can hold different connotations in different countries!) was founded in 1955 and, despite having a nebulous identity beyond being “kinda to the right”, continues to hold a significant majority. Over the years, the party has commonly been seen as reliable, stable, and able to get the job done. Well, except for during those periods of time when the scandals came out.

This is not unlike how the public of MHA saw Endeavor. Well, until the scandals came out.

Now, I do not think it is correct to say that Enji = the Jiminto and leave it at that. (I would, however, call him a personification of Japan’s modern patriarchy, or at least something pretty damn close.) His dogged, openly vocalized grudge against All Might is more extreme than what the majority of the Jiminto might openly express, especially considering their consensus of policy regarding the US. I only want to give some context to the longer-standing political scene of Japan as it affects the modern day.

See, while Japan and the US have had an enduring relationship and are, uh, well, allies now, the older generations of Japan, particularly in rural areas, still hold deep grudges against the States and are bitterly, bitterly angry at the cultural imperialism and the military takeover and the government policy changes and the economic changes and the, well, the everything. Actually, the mutual cycle of envy between the Japanese and US citizens detailed in that Times article is important to remember from both perspectives. There’s old bias against each country lingering in both directions, and, while not a direct reference to how it remains in the Japanese population, understanding how it affected the creation of Japanese internment camps in the US is very illuminating in understanding the public US sentiment about the Japanese before WWII then after it.

When Enji, (or Endeavor), discusses his inferiority complex, he gives away the game and makes the subtext of the rampant western envy present in many of the characters in the work burst out into just plain text.

While Toshinori Yagi is a Japanese man, the power he inherited, or what Enji (and the world) wrongly believed was “natural-born talent” (a western concept), blatantly signals “western power” through his costume and art style (US comics!) and he represents the “band-aid” of temporary western military and socio-political power imposed upon Japan.

The US is considered a superpower, after all.

That said, I do feel that giving the western-appearance clout (and magic quirk) to the Japanese Yagi aptly communicates that there is nothing naturally special about the US or its citizens, or really anyone who has power. All of that misunderstood “special glow” or “flawless perfection” or “incontestable strength” are just appearances, presentation, circumstances, and luck - nothing more and nothing less. Yagi (who is, again, Japanese, so this is a Japanese man displaying the incredible aptitude for superheroism, to Enji’s surprise and probable chagrin) may have had a knack for using the quirk and therefore was the greatest at winning and saving, but he also destroyed himself trying to be the perfectly westernized superhero.

Also, by comparing the obviously westernized Katsuki Bakugo and pridefully Japanese Enji Todoroki, Horikoshi makes his point that a shithead is a shithead regardless of nationality, background, or philosophy.

At the same time, both characters have the ability to change.

Speaking as someone from the US, I’m conflicted, humbled, creeped out, and very emotional over the fact that Horikoshi has chosen to have a complicated, sometimes critical (early Bakugo’s westernisms are not flattering, and the westernized persona of All Might is an unsustainable, unrealistic, unfair thing that destroyed the man maintaining it), but overall kind, laudable, and compassionate portrayal of characters that stand in for the west.

I’ve heard Horikoshi has been criticized as a “freeaboo” for the open admiration of the west inherent in My Hero Academia. I’ll admit, I think he might be a little bit of one, but I’d be the cat calling the monkey a long-tailed bastard if I didn’t also admit that I’m a bit of a weeaboo. We can be mutually embarrassed about how much we like each other despite everything, I guess.

But back to Enji and Yagi. Enji bitching about All Might and expressing disgust over his “American” presentation and perceived advantage is, um. Well, I could call it an example of him making excuses because Yagi is actually Japanese, but it is true Yagi gained experiences and some training advantages in the US that Enji did not have. And, like, Yagi also got a magic quirk (from another Japanese person.) That’s something.

But I digress. The irony and realities of Enji’s envy and self-deprecation could be debated all day, but it doesn’t lessen the stink of hostility and western envy wafting off of it.

The Significance of Mountains in Japan

You know about Fuji-san, or Mt. Fuji, the largest and most iconic mountain of Japan? Awesome, because it’s Japan’s most famous cultural site and a great case study for how the Japanese view mountains as sacred. People hike Mt. Fuji and other sacred mountains for secular reasons, too, sure, but many do so as a spiritual pilgrimage. It’s a mixed bag, sort of like how, in the west, everyone is impacted by and understands Christmas despite how it’s primarily only modern Christians that have religious traditions regarding it.

Sekoto Peak, the in-story location where Enji sometimes trains and Toya burns himself, doesn’t actually exist and therefore has no real-life associated myths, but Enji’s choice to train on it indicates much about his discipline. It also provides a quiet association between honing his abilities to their pinnacle and his connecting to the understood sacred power of the mountain. There’s a mystical element to it.

Most, if not all, Japanese mountains are considered sacred in some sense no matter how tall or pretty they are. This is just understood. Many mountains are the sites of one or more Buddhist or Shinto temples.

Ah, and since many mountains are volcanoes, it shouldn’t be terribly surprising to think of them as residences for fire elementals or other kami and spirit figures. Or even demons.

Enji’s view of All Might as standing on the peak of an even higher mountain, or even perhaps BEING a mountain himself that Enji is unable to climb or conquer, is analogous to him realizing he is one insignificant human man in the face of a force of nature. All Might is not unlike a kami (god - though please remember there is a difference in attitude between those that worship and honor a god versus those that worship capital-G God) to Enji in this sense, but it is perhaps more correct to say that Enji sees All Might as someone who was able to make the pilgrimage to the highest peak and reach enlightenment, thereby becoming divine, while Enji himself is incapable (and therefore unworthy. Because he’s not working hard enough, obviously! Or at least, that’s what Enji thinks.)

If you’re a reader in the Christian-based-background west, you’re likely thinking this is like saying Enji sees himself as a filthy, nasty sinner who is going to hell forever. This isn’t NOT sorta kinda partially in the neighborhood, but that would be a much more punitive, permanent, and fixed view than a Buddhist or east Asian perspective. It’s also missing the point. Readers can want whatever they want, but they shouldn’t necessarily expect this story to absolutely intend to make Enji burn in hell forever through outside forces (because he definitely is doing it to himself, at least currently in this lifetime. Burn, asshole.)

Buddhism’s Four Noble Truths

Rather than a Judeo-Christian sensibility, Enji’s story (and Deku’s, and Bakugo’s, and Rei’s, and Shoto’s, and Uraraka’s, and Toga’s, and Shigaraki’s, and…) more closely resembles Buddhist philosophy and the journey of someone coming to understand the four noble truths - and it ties into Enji’s own discovery and understanding of these truths, which is a journey basically every damn character in this series is going through - if not for their own sakes, then for the sake of learning it on behalf of someone else. That link has a detailed writeup, but here’s the brief:

The First Noble Truth (dukkha) - everyone suffers, and suffering is part of the world. Enji knows this one intimately.

The Second Noble Truth (samudaya) - something causes suffering to happen. In Buddhism, most things that cause suffering are related to having desires for material things or status. Enji learns that he and his desires are the major source for his own suffering and for that of his family.

The Third Noble Truth (nirodha) - knowing that suffering can end. Like, in the abstract. This is acknowledging there is a way it can happen even if one doesn’t know what it is yet.

The Fourth Noble Truth (magga) - knowing there is a way to end suffering. This one is about an action plan. Enji’s action plan is to give his family a new home to live in that does not include him. Later, he realizes he must apologize to the public and continue to do the only damn thing he can to contribute meaningfully towards ending their suffering: keep being a pro Hero even if he can’t be a superhero.

Does knowing or doing any of this purify him? Well, sort of, through the fire ‘n flame of the grueling ordeal of fighting All for One notwithstanding whether or not the public and (some of) his kids still hate him afterwards, but nah, not really.

In some ways, this is a nice quality that My Hero Academia has - that characters still want things, are allowed to want things, and their desires are treated as natural. Sometimes heroic, even! The characters’ ensuing suffering is also a natural and realistic consequence, but that’s a-ok - everyone will still plug along and do their best to try and reach a collective enlightenment. A constant state of enlightened perfection is not attainable nor sustainable for the mortal, which is why the concept of enlightenment through an ongoing cycle of rebirth exists rather than in the form of an immediate reward, but that doesn’t mean we should stop in the endeavor of striving for it.

So that’s what Enji Todoroki is: an illustration of how action through atonement is always better than sending someone or pushing someone to send themselves to hell forever, thereby never allowing them the opportunity to escape the wheel of life.

What is Rei Todoroki?

Rei is a daughter of prestige and her family’s last hope to stay relevant. She’s a woman raised in and trapped by the obligations, power, money, and structure of an old society that is doing everything it can to keep from crumbling.

But she’s also complicit in helping to uphold it. Rei is definitely a victim, but she’s also definitely a perpetrator. ‘Cause that’s how it works - people under the thumb of one kind of authority or abuse often perpetuate it and continue the cycle.

Rei’s given name means, as written, cold. It’s simple, but fitting. She is often emotionally unavailable and unable to connect with Enji and her children (especially Toya, but that’s a two-way street.). It’s one of the contributing factors to why she didn’t “see” her son.

Yuki-Onna and Yamato Nadeshiko

A yuki-onna, or snow woman, is a figure from folklore. They are described as beautiful women who appear on cold and snowy nights. The Wikipedia page I linked gives a good picture of the wide variety of yuki-onna stories out there and of the nature of this figure for your reference. But Rei, while a more human character, definitely suggests a yuki-onna. I think the stories that associate the yuki-onna with children, specifically the one where she asks strangers to hold a child (and survive holding it, in which case she generously awards the holder) or associate her with mountains, are the most interesting for this discussion considering the other mythological and cultural associations present in the Todoroki family.

Rei is also a sort of yamato nadeshiko figure, or an idealized Japanese woman. TVtropes did my work for me on this one:

“Being a yamato nadeshiko revolved around the Confucian concepts of Feudal Loyalty and Filial Piety, which…meant acting for the benefit of one's family and obeying and assisting authority figures…Virtues include(d) loyalty, domestic ability, wisdom, maturity, and humility.”

A nadeshiko is, in English, a dianthus. I know it by the colloquial name Sweet William.

The white-edged flowers kinda looks like Fuyumi’s hair, no?

However, Rei is a yamato nadeshiko with a twist! Rei’s character starts out as a doormat, totally broke and unable to handle life in the Todoroki house, and then later finds the resolve and underlying “iron will” to face Enji, the family, and her mistakes again. Women aren’t naturally “perfect” in any sense of the word, ever, and they definitely don’t naturally (or even unnaturally, even through dogged effort) fit the mold of the yamato nadeshiko (at least, not every waking second of their lives.) But they can grow stronger over time, just like everyone else can. Rei becomes more like a “true” yamato nadeshiko after she stops trying so hard to be one for the sake of upholding her marriage and socially-acceptable appearances and instead approaches the situation from a place of collected, experienced resolve.

Yamato, as all these sources’ll tell ya, is an old term for Japan. “Yamato” is the name of the clan that set up the first (and only) Japanese dynasty as well as the name for the actual seat of government they created (and yeah, the Yamato seat was located on a mountain.) Today, “Yamato” is also the ethnic majority of modern Japan. Wikipedia has the most succinct brief on how Japan, despite its efforts to brand itself as one homogenized and harmonious Yamato people, definitely ain’t one.

Likewise, the yamato nadeshiko was a propaganda tool to encourage women to behave “correctly” and paint the picture of a desirable Japanese woman. The unreasonable expectation of women to reach the standard of the idealized yamato nadeshiko was, and is, total bullshit.

Miai and Traditional Marriages

It’s old-fashioned, but not scandalous or inherently skeezy that Enji and Rei had an arranged marriage. Miai, or matchmaking meetings, are still a thing today in the real world and would likely continue to be a thing in the analogous-to-the-real-world’s-present future setting MHA presents, especially for someone like pro Hero Enji. He didn’t have the time or interest to date around, and he needed a marriage of business and mutual interest rather than love (and I don’t just mean “marriage of business” for the purpose of producing designer kids, though that is absolutely what he did and everyone involved even knew it.) Rei’s family are also exactly the kind of family that would desire miai to arrange the most mutually beneficial marriage possible - regardless of Enji’s involvement.

In the grand scheme of history, marriages for love being the accepted norm is exceptionally modern, and while love marriages are increasingly common in many places including Japan, they certainly are not “traditional”. Here’s a blog about Japanese marriages written in 2002 that may contain some interesting tidbits bridging the new and old traditions. Here’s a brief history of marriage in Japan.

Also, Enji and Rei were married young. Overall, the Japanese, especially women, are expected to marry young, though the mean age for women at their time of marriage has increased as time has passed. There still exists, especially for Japanese women, an expectation to marry younger, or at least marry while “in their prime”. If you watch anime, you likely already know what a “Christmas cake” is in modern slang. (That article does a fantastic job of illustrating western envy and postwar Japanese cultural shifts using the adoption of the Christmas cake as a case study.) If you don’t know, a Christmas cake is a slang term for an unmarried woman over 25. Because apparently, a day over 25 means she is past her prime for marriage and has “expired”.

Marriage fulfills certain social obligations even among middle- and lower-class Japanese citizens, but while Rei would not be alone in feeling the pressure to get married for the sake of her family, she would feel it the most acutely because of her status.

Appearances and Divorce in Japanese Society

Rei could divorce Enji, it’s true, if she had his agreement to do so or if she had sufficient evidence to prove it in a Japanese court. Which, good luck. Because while we know Enji was brutal and abusive in training, which parent actually burned Shoto and left a lasting scar? That’s right. Rei did.

So Rei’s divorce likely would have totally fucked her and the children over. For one, she’d be stripped of the Todoroki family name and likely any Todoroki assets, and since she’d be breaking the deal made between Enji and her family, her own family likely would not take her back!

Divorces are becoming more common in modern Japan, but it’s important to remember that the stinging double-standard of “divorce is okay, except if it’s ONE OF US” that the upper classes (or just the exceptionally proud or wealthy) impose on themselves is brutal. If the public knew Rei had divorced and were given no context - which they wouldn’t get because shaming one’s (ex-)husband and family by sharing those details publicly would be considered crass and unthinkable - the public would likely rip her and the children apart even if they ripped Enji apart, too.

Remember: keeping up appearances is everything in Japanese society.

Rei living outside the house in a facility for her mental health is already shameful and potentially scandalous enough, and it wouldn’t do her any favors in court regarding custody of the children, anyway. Instead, she chooses the limbo of remaining married, but separated.

The Rindo Flower

Yes, I have read meta about Rei’s favorite flower being a rindo flower. I’ve seen it in this post from @foundouthatdabiistouyatodoroki and on Reddit, as well as just, like, around the fandom. I agree that the flower’s presence is often a stand-in for Toya, but I also think it stands in for the ghost of Enji’s, well, not exactly love, but his affection and promise to Rei made via their marriage.

Remembering that Rei likes a flower and showing that he remembers is kind of, like, the bare minimum, but it’s somethin’, I guess.

The rindo, most likely the Japanese gentian in English, is, well, a gentian.

The flower’s color suggests the indigo of the aizome dye, a traditional Japanese color, and its meanings include compassion for sorrow, justice, and… victory. When held upside down like Rei presents it during the hospital scene, it implies loss. (The gladiolus, which the article mentions as another flower of victory, is named because the leaves and shape so resemble a sword. Well, to the Romans, the word for “sword”, and was also a euphemism for a dick. Gladiators, or “sword-ers”, were talked about in terms of their masculinity, victories, and how many other things they penetrated with their “swords”. Real classy. Source? All my history classes.)

Considering Rei’s status as a sort of “blue blood”, I think it’s interesting to note that gentians are the flowers that appear on the Minamoto crest (though the crest most likely uses the less-specific-than-the-rindo balloon flower from the same genus.) I don’t know if associating Rei (and her kids) directly with one of Japan’s major noble clans (and the same one that the Tale of Genji centers around) was Horikoshi’s primary intention, but I think the connection is still worth talking about.

As that Wikipedia article can tell you, the Minamoto name was once given to imperial family members who could not inherit the throne through the family line. It’s fitting for Toya, considering how his father decided he couldn’t be a Hero that surpasses All Might despite being the firstborn son who was created for that explicit purpose.

Let’s talk about that, actually.

What is Toya Todoroki | Dabi?

What is Toya? He’s the first son of a wealthy family with noble blood in him who was utterly crushed by the thought of failing to uphold the social obligations into which he was born.

Personally, I consider Toya to be the most fragile major character in the entire series, contested for the spot only by his own father, Shigaraki, and possibly early series Bakugo.

Toya, or more precisely Dabi, is Enji (and Rei) Todoroki’s very own monster. Instead of a “perfect creation” like intended, he became, well, whatever you want to call Dabi.

But let’s talk about Toya first.

The Role of Firstborn Sons in Japan

Firstborn sons are fucking important in Japan and in many other eastern cultures. Generally, they are obligated to inherit just about damn near everything and, in return, are tasked with basically all the responsibilities of honoring their parents. A Japanese family isn’t just a series of blood ties, but an institution. This system, called ie, has its own legal rules. Under the ie system, the firstborn son and his wife (who is likely doing most of the caretaking) live with the parents to continue the household. The other kids are expected to marry out or go start their own families.

Of course, not every single family follows these rules, but the social norms and pressures to uphold them exist. This academic paper written in 2007 analyzes why certain children in the birth order may live with (or near) their parents and explores several factors that impact this decision within families (usually related to whether or not the parents are providing childcare for the grandchildren.) Here’s a fun quote from page 3:

“...the first-born child generally lives with or closer to his/her parents than the second-born child, a result which is consistent with both our theoretical model and Japanese social norms. Second, there is one exception. If a first-born child is a female and she has at least one younger brother, then she locates farther away from her parents than her younger brother even though she is a first-born child.”

More on that “second” part in regards to Fuyumi later.

But, like with most cultures, the more traditional (and established and wealthy) a family is, the heavier the predetermined responsibilities of each household member weighs on them. And Enji Todoroki’s family is high-profile. So, you can imagine that the pressure placed on Toya is immense.

The pressure placed on firstborn son Tensei Iida was immense, too, but their family dynamic was totally different. The Iida family was, like, healthy and functional. Wild.

Moving on. So Toya was not only youthfully excited to impress his father and support his family as the firstborn son, but he was also, in a certain sense, socially conditioned to want to do so.

To me, this is where things get interesting. Toya’s struggle is not against his parents for crushing his dreams of a life beyond what they and their society’s established roles provide him. Instead, it is the opposite. Toya’s parents are ready to shake up the established family formula and free Toya from many of the obligations of firstborn son duties. Toya is not ready for any of that newfangled modern sensibilities nonsense. According to tradition, Toya’s role and life should be set and secure.

When Rei asks Toya if he even wants to be a Hero, she inadvertently makes him grapple with the possibility that carrying on the family business (or at least carrying on the to-be tradition of becoming the Flame Hero and surpassing All Might per his father’s wishes) is not a given. Other choices exist. Rei’s question, while well-meaning, creates a fissure in Toya’s faith in the patriarchal system from which he developed his entire identity.

If Toya, the first son, can’t use his flames, isn’t a Hero, doesn’t inherit, and won’t continue to live with the family, who is he? If he doesn’t fulfill that role and those obligations, is he worth anything to anyone, even himself?

Conventional wisdom says no. He would be a disgrace and a failure even without Enji’s dumbass “create a genetically ideal child to use the ultimate flame quirk to surpass All Might” scheme in the mix. For Toya, it was never about surpassing All Might, not really. It was about fulfilling his household role and showing his father that he was worthy of being in the family.

When Shoto was born, Toya saw that door slam shut. After that, his inability to embrace another way of life leads to his undoing. But he is also, you know. 13.

Toya, through no fault of his own, cannot handle his father’s flames - not his flames of sheer power, not of mindless effort, not of personal fear, not of burning western envy, not of national pride, not of anything. But Enji burdened Toya with them anyway.

Arrows, Hamaya, and All Might

The characters in Toya’s given name mean “lamp (or, like, a light)” and “arrow”. @skyflyinginaction and their mutuals have an early discussion about his name and its possible meanings as well as a discussion about symbolism here that’s fun to read, and I’m always happy to not have to do any more work - er, happy to give credit where it is due for research and thoughts. But I do have more to add.

Arrows and archery have particular connotations in Japan. The ones I most commonly think about are hamaya, or evil-warding arrows, used ceremonially. Hamaya can be purchased at temples to be displayed in the home as luck-bringing or evil-warding items. Of course, the bow is also a significant evil-warding symbol, and the bow and arrow are often meant to appear together as a set of evil-warding objects, but yanno. Whatever works.

Anyway, around the New Year, archery contests and traditions abound as a way to predict the coming year’s fortune or ward off evil. This blog entry details one day of tradition in Ibaraki as well as the associations with masculinity and, erm, promoting fertility.

There’s one more tradition I learned orally, so I can’t source it, though the purpose for it was different than the one I just linked. In the one I was told, the head priest opens the yabusame (horseback archery) ceremony by firing an arrow through the temple gates and off the side of the mountain to slay an invisible demon. The firing coincides with the sun’s placement and becomes, much like Toya’s name suggests, an arrow of light.

In any case, arrows are associated with luck, sons, and warding off evil. I get the sense that the “arrow” in Toya’s name brings all of these cultural associations into play. More specifically, I get the sense that Toya was meant to be the “arrow of leading light” meant to slay the “evil” of the west, All Might, and purify that uppermost and unreachable peak where All Might stands in Enji’s mind. Don’t quote that, though.

‘Course, the “guiding light” or “purifying light” implied by Toya’s name eventually becomes perverted from its original purpose.

Toya’s Cremation

According to the manchild himself, Toya died not when he burned the shit out of himself on Sekoto Peak, but when he thought his family had replaced him. That’s when he says Dabi was born.

The word Dabi means cremation. Heh. The enthusiastic @foundoutthatdabiistouyatodoroki posted about why and how it may be written as something indirect instead of something more direct for the sake of Japanese sensibilities.

I’d also like to point out that Toya’s body was not properly, ritually buried or cremated in any sense or tradition. This is important, since the failure to do so often prevents the spirit from passing on to the afterlife!

Arguably, Toya cremated himself, but not all the way and not in the way that aligns with the intentions and purpose of a kotsuage, or funerary cremation ritual. Also, his family did not pick out his bones - the authorities did when they found a piece of his jaw. That linked article talks more about the significance of the tradition, but put simply: the family didn’t properly mourn Toya, and in doing so, they did not free themselves emotionally of his specter. They also didn’t free Toya from his attachments to them.

This life-to-death stuff is a two-way street, and Toya’s soul was left hanging onto a burned, rotting corpse by the thread of his own grudge. He’s a modern horror story.

Dabi’s Horror Inspirations

That’s right, Dabi fans! It’s time to talk about the well-known Frankenstein allusions present in the character - though I’m pretty sure Horikoshi pulled from the 1931 film and not the book. Whatever.

As Toya, Enji’s creation was an ice quirk + a fire quirk instead of a (cold) corpse + a reintroduced (hot) spark of life (and later, half of his “father” Victor Frankenstein’s own brain) like Frankenstein’s monster. Frankenstein’s monster’s weakness, at least in the movie, is fire. In the book, fire is still present and double-edged.

As Dabi, Enji’s creation is a reanimated corpse (wow!) + a twisted sense of self created from Enji’s own will (wow!) who seeks revenge on his creator and family for his loneliness and creation. His weakness is, uh, yeah, it’s still fire.

While Enji is not the one who recreated and revived Toya as Dabi, it is Toya’s grudge (and desire to see and be seen by his father) that keeps him alive. In fact, Dabi is a really cool twist on a yurei or perhaps an ikiryo since he is technically still alive. Still, Dabi most closely seems to follow the patterns of an onryo, which is a more specific form of yurei. These spirits, and the story of one in particular, are the inspiration behind the Japanese Ju-on: The Grudge movies (and then their US-made counterpart.) Here’s a bit from the onryo entry from yokai.com not ‘cause it’s the most academic, but the most succinct:

“Their motive is always the same—vengeance. Onryō are easily powerful enough to kill anyone. However, they prefer letting the object of their hatred live a long life of torment and suffering, watching loved ones die in their stead. Onryō inflict a terrible curse on the people or places that they haunt. This curse can be transmitted to others like a contagious disease, creating a circle of death and destruction far more devastating than any ordinary ghost.”

You may decide that the entry for the gyoro or another yurei suits Dabi better, but surely you see the point that he’s playing the role of some kind of ghost. His eerie blue flame suggests onibi, or resentful spirits taking the form of blue flame. Wikipedia also does me a big favor by mentioning the overlap between onibi and European will o’ wisps, which usually lead people astray towards goals they can’t reach!

It really would have been better for everyone if Toya hadn’t pursued the incredibly hot blue flame, huh? Instead, he just burned out fast. Kinda dissappointing and anticlimactic - like a dragon’s head on a snake’s body.

Yeah, that’s right - Dabi seems to have renamed himself “dissappointment”. Heh. Tweens and teens really are the funniest people on the planet.

The First Son Passed Over for a Second Time

But perhaps the funniest and most horrible detail of the whole manga is the implication that All for One and the doctor took one look at Dabi’s shambling corpse escaping from the nursery and went, “Yeah, let that one go. He’s a little too pathetic to be the next vessel or organ for infinite hatred to fuel our big schemes.” Like, absolutely nobody (except the very family he thought replaced him, and boy, are they a shitshow), not even the villains that seek out pathetic people in order to use them, wanted Dabi.

Dabi is, in many ways, Doctor Garaki’s “First Son” vessel experiment for All for One, and he was passed over in favor of Shigaraki in much the way Toya’s father passed him over for Shoto due to how unsuitable a vessel he is.

When Dabi faces Geten, the ice-quirk user whom ReDestro treats almost like his own successor, who believes that a powerful quirk (and strong sense of individuality with a need to express it) is the only thing that makes someone worthy of living, who exists as his weird mirror with a more weaponized and powerful form of Rei’s ice quirk, I wonder if he thought god was laughing at him. I know his face and skin began splitting apart as if to show his true identity (a dead kid upset at his family) and show a waver in his resolve to stay alive to accomplish his goal, but I’d love to know if he has any ideology outside of his grudge towards his father and family.

If Hawks told Dabi to his stapled face his real reasons for helping Endeavor, what would Dabi say? Heh heh heh. Dabi learned not to trust Rei, Fuyumi, or his own brother Natsuo, so I’m not terribly surprised he never trusted Keigo in the first place.

Keigo, who never thought to watch Dabi. Keigo, who had to ask who Dabi is. Keigo, who also didn’t see him.

Keigo, who wants to take Toya’s place.

But let’s talk about Toya’s other siblings... in part 2!

#todoroki family #bnha meta #bnha manga spoilers #dabi #toya todoroki #enji todoroki #endeavor #shoto todoroki #shoto #rei todoroki #fuyumi todoroki #natsuo todoroki #hawks #keigo takami #todoroki presentation

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redcoralpot · 5 days

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Hi may I request something like twd (any character) and a ghost reader who is like haunting them just for fun.. reader is sort of mysterious and cryptic but overall he just wants to mess with them :3 Idk how it would work but I couldn’t get rid of the idea in my head

Harmless Pranks, Little Thoughts

Daryl Dixon x Ghost!M Reader

Summary: You are quite the formidable ghost from your years behind a desk, however, you find that the afterlife gets boring rather quickly. When you stumble across a man in the forest, struggling to survive, how can you resist a little harmless fun?

Warnings: Animal death, canon typical violence, and implied death.

Word Count: 1.1K

A/N: Long time no see!

Earth is quite ugly these days. The cracked asphalt was steaming underneath your feet, but you simply sighed, walking alongside broken down cars. Some had weeds curling around their tires, holding them in place. Nature had long overtaken civilization by the ten year mark of humanity’s extinction event. Any survivors had scattered, chased away by slow, blubbering undead.

Said creatures weren’t hard to relax among once the odor stopped bothering you. Strange, how one of the only senses that stayed with you was smell. They only had mind for the living, no discrimination as long as it had flesh and blood for their teeth to rip to pieces. Otherwise, they just… existed as eyesores. You squinted at a rather unfortunate one, trapped by a seatbelt, doomed to scratch at air until a merciful survivor put it out of its misery. It gnashed its teeth, its jaw uncomfortably visible against gaunt skin. A few steps further and you were met with the edge of a forest, closer than you remembered. The grass didn’t sink when you breached the treeline, nor did sticks prick your arms, and you whistled as loud as your lips would let you.

You brushed your fingers against the bark of trees, seeing the ridges rippled underneath them. Sometimes, if you focused enough, you could almost feel how it would have been if you were alive again. There were some scratches, naturally put and then those which seemed too precise. A bear couldn’t knick away the outer layer to access inside it, straight lines cutting windows in pine. Leaves had been crushed underfoot, meticulous, pressed into the grooves of a boot sole. This only gave you a matter of seconds to flinch back as a breeze whisked past your face– metal glinted in the sun, sharp and sleek. You could practically feel its feathered end tickling your nose. Then, it was gone as quick as it came, hitting its mark with a squeak!

A gruff voice grumbled, “Hello, dinner.”

Years of floating around hadn’t gotten rid of your instincts– hell, you had seen one too many survivors suffer gory deaths to play around. You ducked behind the vandalized pine, watching as a squirrel landed on the dirt, the arrow piercing straight through its eye. Footsteps approached and a hairy, uniquely human hand grasped the corpse. The smell of sweat, blood, and dirt filled your nose; fitting for a survivor. In this world, you supposed you couldn’t judge. Shoulder-length brown hair framed hardened yet passionate eyes, with gray peppering the stubble on his chin. Old for a survivor but still alive and kicking, you noted.

The man gently pulled the arrow out of his target, blood dripping in crimson rivers as he placed it back in his quiver, reaching down to tie the squirrel to his leather bag. Another, equally sized rodent shared the same fate. Its fur blew in the wind, dull; a simple decoration on a cold corpse. He lifted his crossbow easily, taking his view to the sky above, searching for a new target.

Thus, an idea sparked in your mind; unexpected and brilliant in the moment. Mischievous, sure, but when have you ever been opposed to some fun? If anything, being nothing but floating air piqued such interests by thousands. It took energy to physically manifest yourself– kind of like working out. The more you did it, the easier it got, you told yourself. Your eyebrows scrunched and your stomach clenched as you stomped your foot down with a crack, splitting a runt of a stick in half. Despite its size, the noise echoed throughout the atmosphere, bouncing off of rocks until it dissipated.

The aftereffects were immediate, dizziness slamming into you like a freight train. You tried to lean on the tree for support, but you were as solid as smoke, and the wood simply phased through your body. The man whipped his attention towards you, crossbow pointed, but no amount of arrows could get rid of you. Perhaps, that is what started your obsession with Daryl, when you looked back on it. A man that only protruded sharp edges and weight on his back, yet had survived with the burden for so long. You looked down at your dress shirt, bloody, ruined from when a customer had lunged for your neck. It still had your name pinned to the black tie.

Carol slammed the door shut behind Daryl, crossing her arms in the most private space they could have in the settlement, “Something’s been up with you lately, Daryl.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with me,” he said, shrugging, but his tone held no annoyance.

You floated through the door, watching as a shiver went up Carol’s spine at your passing. She shifted her weight and continued, “I’ve just noticed you’ve been jumpy, that’s all. You know you can talk to me if something’s bothering you, right?”

That bothersome thing, you knew, was obvious. Harmless pranks, some basic and some ingenious, but none that ever harmed the man. Not anything that did more than attract a lone walker, which is what you learned survivors called them now, at any rate. Hiding an arrow, Dog’s toy– why is a dog’s name Dog, anyway– or knocking on the walls occasionally. Sure, Daryl was jumpy, who wouldn’t be in a world like this? However, over time, he got accustomed to your antics, so much so that he did not react to them nearly as satisfying as previously. You had to go bigger, better, each time.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.”

“There’s only one in a million things that can scare you these days.”

Mhm, that’s right. You are– were– a one in a million office worker; the sentiment was baffling. If only your boss thought the same, you chuckled.

However, what was once a likely source of pride for the arrogant prick lost in the winds of time… now only cast deep shadows underneath Daryl’s eyes as the man glanced at his feet. His face had permanent wrinkles where his eyebrows touched his nose, ingrained like inked tattoos on his skin.

It was then, in the swirl of conflicting emotions painting Daryl’s face, that your fingers twitched. It was then, past Carol’s careful exit, that you yearned. Such a strong instinct, akin to fear and overtaking greed, gripped you. Your surroundings felt less dim and you felt more alive than you have in the many, many years prior. For the first time, you had the urge to clasp his cheeks and to comfort the man whom you suspected rarely ever felt a gentle touch. Not to prank, not to scare, not to dance around like a jester for eternity– the desire melted your body like chocolate. As the air gave way to your ghostly form, parting under your fingertips, you realized that the Earth was a little less ugly with Daryl in it.

@cannabrisano @dxrkymxrchy @bedshrooms

Want to be tagged?

#x male reader #male reader #lgbtq #gay #male y/n #the walking dead #daryl dixon #twd #daryl dixon x male reader #carol twd #fanfiction

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echantedtoon · 10 months

Text

Monster Bride Part 7 Hantengu Bros

(Warnings: The boys are in bad shape, mentions of wounds, blood, Karaku is poisoned, Sekido has a broken leg, Urogi was shot with an arrow, Aizetsu has some wounds, etc.

The song Y/n sings is A Thousand Years Lullaby version by Christina Perri and fenekot - Hush little baby don't you cry (Mockingbird) (Lyrics) although sone words of tge second song has been replaced to better fit the narrative. Link to songs below.

youtube

Enmu is next)

Quietly you stepped closer as and closer and CLOSER to the bush silently. Slowly behind the henhouse you went and stopped right in front of the bush. The wind blew swaying it's branches creepily and looked like thrashing arms. You grabbed a handful and silently and slowly pulled them back.

And you froze at what you saw-

The winds howled as the darkness crept across the skies. The darkness behind the bush shielded your form from the moonlight which cascaded down between the trees and clouds in the sky. The shadows danced and branches creaked as the wind blew them about. Like arms beckoning you closer to grab you away in their rough grip. Drag you into the shadows never to be seen again. You cracked an opening in the branches and looked out. The darkened sky looked out over the entire area. Tree branches swayed and night fell upon the ground. However you froze as your eyes met a sickening sight.

R E D.

The coldness of the air bit down hard on your skin, like painful bee stings pricking your skin. The terror far greater than seeing a thousand wolves sunk in. A hand flew to cover your mouth as a foul urge to vomit rose and a sickening copper smell filtered through the air.

RED!!

That was the color painted everywhere on the ground displayed before you. And there...lying face down slumped over was a man's body. A canvas for the color. Your eyes shrank in terror and your ears gained a ringing sound all on their own drowning out any noise.

A DEAD BODY.

In your backyard and lying right in front of your face. How-...Where did it come from?! Who was this!? Where did it come from?! You wretched yourself away from the bush in shock and leaned over slightly. The urge to vomit riding as you did everything you could to keep it down. The bush branches snapping back into place hiding the sight from you. Automatically you gave a few coughs and gulped down air in an attempt to calm yourself head spinning. There was a dead man on your property! Oh gods! What if someone thought you were responsible for this!? You could be tried for murders-

Wait...

How did you know he was actually dead?

That one thought made you freeze in your tracks instantly. That's right...How did you know for certain that he was dead? You just merely saw him covered in blood. Your head turned back to the bush. He...he could've been hurt and tried reaching your house for help. What if he was laying there suffering?! That thought perked you back up into going back to the bush and cautiously reaching out to slightly pull the branches again. The body was still there unmoving. It...sure LOOKED dead but you couldn't tell in the dark. If he was still alive..you had to help him. You couldn't just leave someone to bleed out. The unmoving form still remained unmoving even as you noisily pushed through the bush and stood right next to the head....It was definitely a man. You could tell by how Large the body was and how muscular the exposed skin was. In the limited moonlight you were able to make out long hair that mostly covered his face and he laid in a position that suggested that he'd collapsed by himself. But the question still remained...Was he still alive?

You hesitated again ...but slowly you reached over to the face laying on its side and touched the long black strands of hair covering his eyes. It was .. surprisingly soft and silky to the touch and you slowly pulled it away from the face to examine it. The right side of a man's face greeted you. You nearly jumped back at what you saw. His right eye was closed obviously either unconscious or dead. Your hand instead went to almost touch his lips and flinched back feeling a weak warm breath blow across your fingertips. You reeled back in shock, hand to your chest, and jumping

HE WAS ALIVE!!

Hands grabbed his right shoulder and HEAVED. Barely moving an inch, but slowly the body turned, and with a thud whoever he was collapsed onto his back. A shocked gasp escaped from your throat upon purple eyes seeing his front body. Oh gods...So much blood. His body was practically DRENCHED in the red color! And you found out why. Mr. Unknown had the front of his blue shirt ripped to pieces to where it was barely hanging on over his shoulders. A large gash across his front from his left shoulder and ending just above his right hip was exposed to you. There was so much blood..How was he even still alive!? You reached out to touch his forehead- But froze as a strong hand snatched you hand.

A pair of eyes opened up and gazed up at the blurry figure above him. Not making any sense of the blurry, spinning vision. Until the eyes rolled up into the back of his head and the last thing he saw was a glimpse of purple.

**************************************************

Warm.

Everything was warm once feeling returned to his body. Which was odd. He was lying on the cold hard ground last he remembered. Logic was of course the first thing to return to him. His thinking was always faster than his reflexes. Then the feeling of his body settled in. Warmth...but incredible aching, throbbing soreness. It throbbed and banged his body. Hmm..So he wasn't dead after all. It was too painful to be heaven and not painful enough to be hell, and too annoying to be purgatory. So he was Still alive but had passed out for a short while. A gasp escaped from the sore dry throat that sent him into bouts of a coughing fit. It caused his chest to hurt so much a whimper escaped from the sore body.

Where was he? Was he home with his brothers? He so wanted nothing more than to hear his father's quivering voice and Sekido angrily yelling at him while forcing him to eat food to get better. Zohakuten telling him how dumb he was. Karaku and Urogi hugging him affectionately.

Blue eyes slowly opened themselves up to the world blinking rapidly at the light and his vision blurred until he could see...A one roomed house? It was mostly empty. A coffee table square in the middle, a picture frame or two holding a painting of someone on the walls, a basket in the corner, a shelf full of dishes and other small items, a fireplace with a fire currently going, and a few other bland things. Nothing that really stood out as anything important to him. But who lived here? Why was he inside? How did he get here? And who touched him?

His question was answered when the door opened and the figure of a woman in a blue kimono walked in. The smell of wood drew his attention to the logs she was carrying. Silently he watched as she slid the sliding door back closed with a foot before continuing on to the fireplace and proceeding to feed the fire the wood. He laid there silently staring at her legs as she worked, feeling too weak to look up just yet and not wanting to give himself away just yet. The sounds of a metal poker scraping against the fire appeared for a little while before it too went away and the legs turned to face him. They didn't move again for a long moment before he felt a hand touch his blanketed shoulder- Faster than either expected his left hand shot up to tightly grip a much smaller wrist and squeezed down just enough to get them both to freeze. Blue eyes snapped upwards and paused at the sight of a-..

...A-A woman?!

THE. MOST. BEAUTIFUL. WOMAN. HE. HAD. EVER. SEEN. Was standing there above him looking surprised when he grabbed her hand. Blue eyes stared widely at her.. before the tight hand slowly loosened their grip and he let go of her. She pulled her hand back looking it over before looking back at him and slowly smiling.

"I'm sorry. I guess I must've startled you." She tilted her head at him with a smile. "Good morning. How are you feeling?"

His mouth dropped open but all that came out was a torrent of violent coughing which caused pain to EXPLODE in his chest. His body wracked violently as waves of pain washed over him. A force in the form of two hands slam down onto his shoulders to still his body.

"Easy! Easy! Breath slowly. Slow your inhaled." The gasping from the male under you coughed and sputtered and looked like a drowning fish before he finally was able to lay back mouth open and gulping mouthfuls of air. "There you go. That's it." You slowly pulled your hands away from him. "That should feel better soon. Are you feeling better?"

To your surprise a choke noise escaped from the man's throat and he shook his head no. His blue eyes looked at you. And you couldn't help but stare in awe. They might've been the prettiest blue eyes you've ever seen but what was strange was that the sclera and pupil were both blue. Huh. Strange. Was he born with a rare eye coloration or something? The blue eyes weld up in tears water about to spill over before a sob escaped his mouth.

"It hurts," he whimpered in a voice you never heard from a man before, "I f-feel s-s-so..weak."

You instantly felt bad for him. "Yeah. I guess having a wound like yours would hurt but you're ok." You tried to calm him down by smiling and patting his arm. "It's not very deep and you should make a full recovery if you rest up and take care of the wound."

A shaking hand reached up to grab the blanket covering his body and lifted. The blanket shook in his Shaking hold and he could barely lift his head up to peek at his torso, but he saw the clear wrappings around his torso and the snug blankets tucked around his body with care. He stared at your handywork before allowing himself to flop back into place and turn his tearful eyes back on her.

"D-...D-Did you D-Do this-s?"

"If you mean your wounds no. I didn't hurt you but I did find you outside my home and brought you in here." You gestured to his torso. "And I bandaged you as best as I could. The wound is big but the cut wasn't deep and I could treat it easily. Although you're going to be sore and weak for a while. What's your name?"

"A-Aizetsu."

You beamed softly at him which made his face turn a deep shade of red. "Well Aizetsu, my name's Y/n! It's very nice to meet you. But if it's not too much to ask how did you get in my orchard?"

He sniffled before reaching a shaking hand up to wipe at his face. "I-I don't r-r-remember. I w-was-....T-There was a f-fight a-and U-Urogi G-Gotta hit by an arrow a-and he dropped me.." His pupils widened in horrific realization. "I-I fell....I-It hurt.. s-s-so mu-much."

"Hey. You're alright now." He was surprised when something soft pressed against his face making him jump but then blink bewildered as something soft wiped his cheeks.But his eyes widened in shock as he realized that SHE was the one wiping away his cheeks. Humming softly as she shushed him. "There, there. You'll be alright now."

But that raised more concerns. He said he was in a fight? What kind of fight left him like this? If someone else was hurt then why didn't you find anyone else with him? He said whoever it was dropped him. Does that mean someone abandoned him here? That was sick. Would that mean there was a chance of danger coming to your doorstep. And THAT'S what worried you the most.

"You said there were someone hit by an arrow?," he nodded in awe captivated by your beauty and softness as you continued to wipe his face up without complaint. "Does that mean there's someone else hurt outside? Are you alone?" He continued to stare wide eyed at you. "Mr. Aizetsu?"

He jumped blinking at you. "Uh?! Oh! N-No. Noone else. "

"Then are you alone?" You pulled your hands away.

He whined as your hands left him but shook his head. "No. N- Not for long. My brothers w-will come looking for me."

"You have brothers?" He nodded. "That's good. You can stay here until they find you then. Are you hungry? I made some homemade soup and rice, and I'm sure you must be thirsty." Blue eyes perked up at the promise of food and nodded eagerly making you smile. "Then I'll get you some. Just sit tight for a moment."

He watched as your form walked on over to the shelf Gathering bowls and anything else you needed before heading on over to the lit fireplace. A few minutes later you returned with a bowl of delicious smelling stew and tea in hand. He would've sat up to take the drink from you, but blinked as all of a sudden a hand pushed itself under his head and lifted him with extreme gentleness he'd never felt before. As if he was cracked glass and at any moment could shatter. Something warm and herbal smelling wafted over his lips as you cradled his head and held the cup to his lips.

"Here. Drink."

The eyes stared up at yours and how soft your features were... before they glanced at the cup, and slowly opened his mouth. It was enough for you to tilt the cup for him to drink taking great care to not spill any on him. Making sure to also give him breaks between gulps to allow him to breath until it was empty. He'll also need something solid in his stomach. Wiping his face when he finished. He didn't make any moves to stop you from cradling his head and feeding him until he seemed to be full enough and you gently encouraged him to sit back up. You needed to treat his wounds again. He seemed to struggle to sit up by himself so you had to push him up into a sitting position before you could again treat him. He just remained silent and compliant throughout the entire process until he was laying back down and you smiled at him again.

"There you go. You must feel better with something warm in your stomach. "

"Yes," he agreed, "Um...C-Can you tell me how long I've been here?"

"I found you yesterday around sunset and you've slept through most of today. So almost a full day and night. Not too long.''

He hummed again. "Then my brothers are s-surely already on their W-Way here."

You looked confused at him. "How would they know you're here?"

"They'll follow my scent."

"Oh..They have a hunting dog?"

He hummed again fiddling with the blanket. "S-Something like that?

You didn't know what he meant by that but decided not to pry him when he was already hurt. The rest of the day passed by smoothly since Mr. Aizetsu fell back asleep shortly after he ate dinner leaving you to go about business as usual until sunset came back and you see herding your animals back inside their pens. Your cow seemed rather on edge for some reason. Seemingly irritated as you lead her back into the barn, not seeing the figures limping into your house through the front door on the complete other side of your house. You finished putting away your animals before mindless just walking to your back door and stepping inside- ...Huh. Hey. When did the candles go out? And why was the fire so low? Not thinking anything of it, you just closed the door behind you and grabbed a few logs next to the fireplace. Tossing them in and grabbing the poker to prod the small fire into feeding on the new logs and bringing more light into the house. You smiled at the warmth until you heard the shifting of something behind you. You instantly turned smiling assuming Aizetsu had woken up. Only to freeze in horror as the darkness held four looming figures staring at you.

Four pairs of eyes. Red as blood. Green as acid. Yellow as sickness. Blue as sorrow.

All four stared at you from the corner of the room as your jaw dropped open in shock-

"Shit! She came in before we left!" The yellow eyes turned to the red ones. "I told you we should've waited until she fell asleep before grabbing Zetsu!"

"SHUT UP, UROGI!!"

The loud yell made you jump and fall over as you scrambled back against the wall-

"S-Sekido, D-Dont scare her. After all she did save my life."

"THAT'S WHY WE SPARED HER IN THE FIRST PLACE!!"

"W-WHO ARE YOU?!" All four pairs of eyes turned to you as your shaking hand grabbed the poker, holding it in front of you like a makeshift sword at whomever the eyes were. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!"

There was silence as they all stared at you unblinkingly.. before a noise made you jump. A strike of a match lit up as a tiny flame floated towards a lamp hanging from the ceiling and lit it up brightening the house further. And what you saw made you nearly drop the poker. Standing there was four men.

INHUMAN MEN

One had red eyes and leaned heavily on a staff. His left left lifted up and looking not good. One with green eyes slumped against the wall breathing raggedly and smiling despite his condition. One with yellow eyes and...PART BIRD!?!? Your eyes widened in horror more. A HARPY!! A FREAKING H A R P Y WAS STANDING IN YOUR HOME!!! He held Aizetsu in his talons as the blue eyed man looked at you apologetically...only...there was something different about him. Now there was two horns sprouted on his forehead when there wasn't any just moments ago. He stared from the Harpy's arms and-...And-.....

Why did they all look alike?

Aizetsu had the same face as the other three. The only differences were their eye color and the fact that Mr. Red and Green eyes had a long strand of hair running across their face. They all stared at you and you stared at them for a long,long, LONG moment of silence. Nothing but the crackling fire to break the silence. Until Aizetsu spoke.

"Y-Y/n. I-Im sorry. We were supposed to leave before you got back inside."

You didn't speak at first. Only stared at the four of them in utter bewilderment. Scanning over all four of them slowly.... before slowly asking. "What...ARE you all?"

"We're elementals. E-Except for Urogi, obviously."

"Elementals?! ...As in the fae creatures that control aspects of nature!?"

Aizetsu nodded. "Yes. I'm s-s-so sorry for not telling you before-"

"SKIP THE APOLOGIES!!" You jumped when Mr. Red Eyes snapped with a growl. "WE GOT AIZETSU AND THAT'S ALL WE NEEDED!! NOW LET'S GO HOME!!"

"Uh...We can't? Aizetsu can't walk like this," the harpy spoke to red eyes, "And Karaku's still poisoned. What are supposed to do? Carry them both while you hop on one leg?"

"YOU CAN USE YOUR ARMS FOR THEM AND CARRY ME WITH YOUR FEET TALONS AS YOU FLY YOU IDIOT!!"

"I STILL HAVE ARROWS LODGED IN MY WINGS!! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CARRY ALL THREE OF YOU LET ALONE FLY?!"

You just... blinked as the two men began to argue and Aizetsu tried and failed to get them to stop bickering. What was happening right now? You still stared as they argued before looking at the green eyed man and was surprised to find him slyly smiling at you. He gave a half lidded look before winking and you deadpanned back at him. Before he suddenly stiffened and shot into a leaned over position. The sounds of wretching followed making all three of his...brothers(???) shut up and look behind them as you paled. Again silence rang supreme. Until the brothers looked at one another awkwardly.. before they slowly looked at you.

You stared blankly. "....Did he just vomit on my floor?"

"Yyyeeeaaah. Sorry about that," Yellow Eyes said slowly looking at you, "He's hasn't been feeling so good since getting jabbed with a poison dart. He'll live but it has to wear off-"

"HE PUKED ALL OVER MY CLEAN FLOOR!", You bellowed catching all four off guard from the sudden RAGE you felt staring at the mess the green eyed man made before pausing seeing the trail of red pooling from your open front door all the way to where the men were standing there. "YOU'RE TRAILING BLOOD?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? I JUST CLEANED MY HOUSE THIS MORNING!!" YOU POINTED AT THE BATHROOM. "ALL OF YOU! GET IN THERE AND WASH YOURSELVES OFF!!"

"WHAT?! AND WHO ARE YOU TO BOSS US AROUND!?", Red eyes snapped back instantly.

"YOU'RE COVERED IN BLOOD AND STILL DRIPPING IT!! AND YOU PUKED ON MY FLOOR!! GO WASH YOURSELVES OFF OR ELSE!!"

"Or else what?" He hissed exposing his fangs growling and narrowing his eyes. "Do you seriously think a girl like you can scare me? I'd like to see you try to make me do anything!"

Your eyes narrowed at him and a large scowl appeared on your face.

**""

"Are you still hungry, Aizetsu?" You smiled at the man's face cradled in your lap as he stared at you.

He gulped nervously face red and pointy ears pinned to his head. "I-Im good," he squeaked out which made you giggle at him.

Last night had been a big whirlwind. Sekido had not expected the iron angry grip on his ear as you dragged his limping, half hopping, cursing form into the bathroom and scared Urogi enough with your irate yelling at him to drag his other two brothers into the bathroom after Sekido. Then with the limited light you had, you cleaned the blood trails and the vomit as you heard arguing and water being splashed about in your bathroom from the brothers irritating you further. It. Took. FOREVER. To properly clean everything up and air out the foul smells of copper and stomach. Don't even get you started on how much you had to wrestle Sekido down and fight him in order to force him to lay down and strap his broken leg in a splint. Which still left you with a few cuts from him wrestling with him. Nothing serious but it still annoyed you to hell and back.

"I'm real sorry about the mess last night, Sweet cheeks." Your head turned deadpanned to the green eyed demon. He was laid next to Aizetsu with a wet towel over his forehead and a clean bucket next to him in case he felt like getting sick again. "Do I get to have some food too?"

Your brow rose. "Is your stomach going to be able to handle it?"

"It's been hours. My stomachs settled and I emptied it out completely. ...I'm kinda hungry to be honest."

You sighed but moved to get him some food too. "Fine. But if you feel like you're about to be sick, you better let me know. You can't take the antidote anyways on an empty stomach."

Karaku lit up as he watched you grab another bowl of soup and come over to position his head the same way you did Aizetsu's. In your lap cradling his head and lifting the bowl to his lips. Last night you had also learnt their names and conditions. The one you currently fed was called Karaku and he'd been shot by a poisonous dart. The poison wasn't enough to kill him, just immobilize him and make him sick but you were familiar with the herb used to make the poison and knew the antidote to it. He'll be fine but it'll take time to get out of his systems completely. Aizetsu still had that obvious wound on his chest that needed to be mended but he'll be ok in time. Urogi, the harpy, was the least hurt. He had a few arrows lodged in his left wing you had to carefully extract and stitch up the small wounds but overall he could walk, talk, and if it wasn't for how close his left wing was held to his back compared to the right one you'd never tell something was wrong with him. Sekido (the only one you had to physically fight-) was the second one mostly ok, but his leg was broken and you had to maneuver it back into place before forcing it into a splint to keep it still enough to heal correctly. He was also the most stubborn of them all. Currently he laid propped up against a wall angrily eating a bowl of soup Urogi had given him earlier. He muttered curses between his at first but had shut up and stared silently when you started treating the others after fighting with him. Especially when you cradled Aizetsu and then Karaku with such gentleness as if they were cracked porcelain cups ready to chip away again. Red eyes blinked slowly as you wiped at Karaku's smirking mouth.

"Are you thirsty? I have some tea."

He gave a purr of content. "Sure. If it means I can get to look at your beautiful face more.~"

You just stared blankly at him more. "Flattery will literally get you no where. I'm still angry with you all for stealing my chicken-"

"Hey! Urogi was the one who stole it for food!"

"I was hungry and it was convienet!" Urogi wisely shut up as you snapped a scowl at him. Awkwardly he shuffled in the blanket wrapped around him. "Um...When can we have our clothes back?"

"Once they're done drying from the wash and I meand them. They were all filthy. Until then the spare clothes I gave you will do."

That was another thing about her. She insisted on taking care of them full despite them being obviously not human and could pose quite a threat. Perhaps her concern or anger clouded her judgement of danger but it...was very strange to him. Eventually she finished up taking care of Karaku and turned back towards Urogi with a frown.

"You're lucky I don't charge you for stealing my hen. They're not exactly cheap to replace! And who just walks on another person's property and steals their animals!?"

"Um...A hungry person?" You scowled harder. "Shutting up now!"

You groaned before just shaking your head. "Are any of you still hungry? I can get you some more."

"I'm fine," Sekido bluntly stated before turning away from you. "You're bothering me too much!"

You frowned further before rolling your eyes and walking away. "Well if you get hungry again let me know and I'll get you all back some more. I'm gonna go outside and see if your clothes are dry. I can nend them afterwards and give them back."

"Do you want some help?"

You looked at Aizetsu. "In your conditions? No. I'll be fine. You just rest up and get better-"

"It shouldn't take long! Our healing process is faster than you humans!", Sekido snapped annoyed.

"Really?...How long will it take all of you to fully heal then?"

"My little cuts should heal by the end of tomorrow," Urogi chirped proudly before looking over his brothers, "Them...I'm not so sure. Maybe a..." His eyes squinted as he thought hard on it. "Week? Maybe two weeks? Can't take longer than that though!" He smiled confidently. "We should be out of your hair before the blood moon."

"Is that really in two weeks?''

You really had lost track of time then. You just hoped that there wouldn't be anymore Fae creatures showing up like this unannounced. You were already having enough trouble wrapping your mind around these four that suddenly dropped in on you unannounced. You didn't need anything else also stopping by.

"Y-Y/n?" Your attention went back to Karaku suddenly waving at you with an upset look on his face. "Uh. Hey Sweetie. Can you get me another set towel for me? I don't...feel too good-"

"THROW UP ON MY FLOOR AGAIN AND I'LL MAKE YOU CLEAN IT!"

*****************************************

It was pretty awkward taking care of four men (Elementals at that) in your home. Mostly because they would NOT. STOP. ARGUING. You managed to get their names down. Urogi and Karaku would often poke jabs at Sekido who would yell back at the two laughing at him and attempt to swing that staff of his at them-... Until you wrestled it away from him and wouldn't give it back.

"GIVE ME BACK MY STAFF!!"

"You can have it back when you all leave! You can't just try to hit them when you're all hurt, Dummy!"

And no the staff was put in the barn with the rest of the farm tools. And this was only the second day they were there. Aizetsu kept profusely apologizing for his brothers' actions even though you assured him it was alright. However the third day was when things started to get ... interesting. Karaku was awfully quiet. Only lying down with his eyes closed other than when he asked for some food or drink from you. You checked him over. He was still sick and he seemed to finally be feeling it. Hopefully his body would heal soon and the medicine would be helpful. But it didn't seem to be anything serious. At least not at that time. You left early right after retreating their conditions and making sure they had something to eat. You'd need to purchase more blankets and bandages for them all. However you were never expecting the storm when you returned almost three hours later.

"S-Sekido...Am I going to die?"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!! YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DIE!!!"

A firm hand squeezed onto Karaku's arm like a lifeline, angry viens bunched up as the tense silence hung into the air. Karaku's chest rose and fell in raspy breaths as it hurt to breath. Everything felt too hot, too cold, too- A choked so escaped from his mouth as Aizetsu laid on his side and patted his shoulder.

"It's ok! You're g-g-gonna be ok. Breath. O-Ok?"

"DAMMIT!! WHERE'S UROGI WITH THAT GIRL!?"

No sooner than he said that the front door slammed open and said harpy came jumping in quickly dragging a woman's cursing and angry body behind him.

"WE'RE HERE!" said harpy yanked you over making you stumble and dropped the basket in your hands spilling everything over the floor. "I GOT HER DON'T WORRY!!"

"What the hell is going on here?!", you shouted pulling and yanking at Urogi's iron grip around your arm. "Your brother snatched me up in the middle of the path! He's lucky no one saw him fly-"

Anything else you were going to say died on your tongue as you saw the scene Urogi pushed you towards. It was the three that couldn't move yet. Sekido was sprawled across the floor in an awkward position on Karaku's left side death gripping his arm and glaring at you. It looked like he dragged himself all the way across the home just to lay beside his brother. Aizetsu was painfully sitting up on Karaku's other side where he's always been since you took him in only he looked panicked at you.

"Help him please!," he pleaded panicked voice wavering, "He's having trouble breathing!"

Urogi squawked as you forcing pushed him away and immediately ran over to Karaku. Jumping over Sekido's body and knelt by Karaku's head. A hand immediately plopped itself onto his forehead between his horns. A second hand pressed to his cheek making his blink up his green eyes at you. You stared at him silently.. Before you sighed and moved your hands from him.

"It's the poison isn't it?! He's not gonna die is he? "

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM!?"

"He's running a small fever." Both brothers fell silent and just .. blinked at you as you stood up and crossed your arms. "He'll be fine. I just need to make him some herbal tea. You all are over worrying yourselves."

There was silence as they all looked at one another.

"You mean... He's not gonna die?"

"No. He's not even in any danger." Aizetsu immediately sighed flopping back down to the floor and Sekido mumbled curses under his breath removing his hand from Karaku's arm. "I'll make you all some food while I'm at it... but first I better move you back to bed-"

"IM STAYING RIGHT WHERE IM LAYING!!", Sekido yelled from his awkward laying position.

You didn't feel like arguing with this. "*Sigh* Fine. I'll move your futon over here but I'm looking over your leg first. You might've harmed it crawling over here."

Sekido did not fight you struggling to move him back into position and fixing it where he laid down next to his brothers with his splintered leg propped up with a few pillows. Just pouted and watched you closely with narrowed eyes as you went about making them some food and started handing them out bowls. By now Aizetsu was able to sit up and you didn't need to take care of him but you did still need to help out Karaku whom purred out as you cradled him.

"Y-Y-You're a real angel. You k-know that?"

You rolled your eyes but smiled. "No. I'm more of a devil myself "

For the first time all day, Karaku smiled even as you held up the cup to his lips to drink. "Ooh.~ Even better. Because that's exactly my type.~"

Oh be quiet and drink." He chuckled despite himself and you just pushed the cup into his lips. ...But paused feeling the hair on his head. The long black hair was clean and soft but it was also tangled. They needed that taken cared of too. "Do you think you can sit up if you try?"

Your question caught the man off guard but he shrugged. "I mean I can try but I don't know...Why?"

"Because Im taking care of you. Now come on and try."

Karaku was confused but shrugged and proceeded to try and get himself into a sitting up position. He struggled a bit but you pushed his back and Aizetsu reached over to pull his arm so he was able to sit up. He blinked as you handed him the cup and told him to drink it as you just got up and walked over to the shelf in your house.

"Hey, Sweet cheeks...What are you doing?"

You grabbed something and turned around revealing a brush. "Taking care of you like I said. All four watched as you once again stepped around them all until you were seated behind Karaku and he paused feeling you touch his hair. "So messy.. Can't be healthy for your scalp. Hold still."

Karaku's eyes widened as did. The strategic touch was light and he didn't move as she hummed and just started untangling the unruly mane of black hair cascading down his back. Everyone's surprised eyes were on you as you worked on him and used the brush you had in your possession. Brushing and gently prying apart knots in the black locks until the brush was going through without any resistance. Only then did you stop and smile.

"There. All better."

Karaku didn't say anything. Only reach up a hand in awe at the gentle treatment. You smiled at your work shuffling back to admire it... before your eyes wondered over to Sekido. His hair was in the same tangled mesh Karaku's was. Automatically you just reached over to gently grab the strands but jumped as he snapped his head around to snarl red eyes at you.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

"Helping you."

"WITH WHAT?!"

"Your hair?" You rose a brow pointing at your own head of hair to clarify. "It's all tangled and I thought the reason we came back here was to take care of you two." You reached out aga- Two hands snapped up to cover the top of his head. "Gyutaro, how am I supposed to help you if you do that? Move your hands."

"NO!! I don't like being touched!!"

"Oh... That's ok. I don't like that either." You held up the comb. "Then you can use this and do it yourself."

"NO!!"

"Then one of your brothers can do it."

"NO!!"

.....You deadpanned. "Not this again. Why must you Always be stubborn? Look just do it."

"NO!!"

"Either you do it or I'll hold you down and do it myself! That's bad for your hair and scalp health!"

"N-"

"Just do it, Sekido!" Karaku said admiring his own hair with a hand. "Quit being a big baby."

"Who's side are you on?!" He yelled at him as you took his distraction to grab one of the loose straggly strands of hair. "I SAID N-"

He froze. Something soft and gentle touched his head which automatically made him freeze. His body instinctively standing on end and a thumb and finger curiously tugged gently at a strand of hair....But no hard metal comb yanked through his scalp. Instead two gentle hands caressed the strands and gently began to weave out the tangled big and small so slowly it didn't even pinch. A hum of a woman's patient voice sneaking through as she worked. The murmurs of a lullaby echoed and gentleness wafted with it. And all of his brothers watched as she hummed.

Silence. Other than the lulling memories of melodies and the soft touch that was left behind.

"Heart. Beats. Fast. Colors and promises. How to be brave? How can I love when I'm afraid to fall? But watching you stand alone?" You gently pried apart two strands of black hair as Sekido remained still. However his brothers' eyes all widened seeing his face. "But watching you stand alone, all of my doubts suddenly go away some how."

Aizetsu looked down as he watched Sekido's hands grip into the fabric. Urogi fell silent as Sekido didn't make any moves to stop her. And Karaku stared in absolute shock as tears weld up in those red eyes and freely flowed down his face from the gentle treatment.

"One step closer. I have died everyday waiting for you. Darling don't be afraid I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more. " You continued working through the hair which was surprisingly easy to brush through. "Time stands still. Beauty in all she is. I will be brave. I will not let anything anything take away what's right in front of me. Every breath. Every hour has come to this."

Sekido's arms lightly shook as she nearly completed her work and red eyes watery glanced at the shocked brothers. They all looked incredibly shocked at him.

"One step closer. I have died everyday waiting for you. Darling don't be afraid I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more. And all along I believed I would find you. Time has brought your heart to me. I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more."

You finished up Sekido and leaned back to look at your handywork. However he just slammed his eyes shut from view of his brothers and snapped his head away so you didn't have any clue he was even crying. Instead you rose a brow. Jeez. You weren't expecting a thank you but that was a bit rude of him. You looked over at Aizetsu next. The brothers were so busy still staring at Sekido in shock that they didn't see you walk around to sit next to Aizetsu until you touched his hair making him jump and look at you in shock.

"Hush little baby. Don't you cry. Everything's going to be alright. Stiffen up that upper lip little baby. I told you I am here to hold you through the night. I know Mommy's not here right now and we don't know why. We fear what we feel inside."Aizetsu's blue eyes widened to the size of plates as you gently combed through his hair which went through easily. "It may seem crazy, Little Baby. But I promise we're gonna be alright."

You kept going on to finish your job humming all the while to yourself. Unknowingly to you, Sekido wasn't the only one who was now crying. Aizetsu felt himself starting to cry from the gentle treatment and humming the woman gave him. Larg fat tears stung his eyes before flowing down his cheeks and dropping onto his blanketed covered lap. You hummed along until you were finished before standing up and turning to Urogi still frozen there.

"Ok. Now it's your turn." He didn't respond. "Urogi?" He still didn't say anything making you raise a brow confused before looking behind you and looking shocked as Aizetsu cried. "A-Aizetsu!" You immediately went to grab his shoulders. "Are you ok? I wasn't too rough was I? Oh no. Did I bump into your injury?"

He didn't answer for a long, long, LONG MOMENT. Before he slowly looked right right in the eyes.

"A-Are you single?"

You blanked. Staring at him for a bit before you blinked. "...What?"

"Yo-You don't have a-a-any lovers right?," he managed to stutter out catching the attention of the the other three. "Y-Y-You're N-Not engaged t-t-to anyone else...R-Right?"

You just... slowly blinked at him. "....What?"

You jumped as two shaking hands gently grabbed your cheeks. "Y-Y-You're so kind..So beautiful. Can I...PLEASE can I...W-WILL YOU BE MY WIFE!?" He ended up shouting that last bit rather loudly.

Silence rang out as your draw tried to work itself as he still stared watery eyed and cutely into your eyes. "......WHAT?!"

"Aizetsu." All eyes turned to Sekido as he furiously wiped his face before snapping at him. "Correct yourself. She won't be 'YOUR' wife." Aizetsu's face fell before Sekido's eyes turned to your squished cheeked frozen face. "Shell be OUR wife."

"WHAT?!"

"I SECOND THAT MOTION!" Karaku piped up instantly.

"NE THIRD!," Urogi chirped waving an arm around as you went blank.

"Wait...WHAT ARE YOU ALL TALKING ABOUT?!"

"From this day on we're courting you. We're going to provide our wife with anything she needs."

Sekido looked at you seriously and you froze staring at them all. Before slowly realization crawled over you and all you could mutter was three words.

"Screw my life."

133 notes · View notes

grapesplease · 3 months

Text

bleed me out and hang me to dry

astarion x male! drow! bard! tav

an. sequel to i love you (i'm sorry) its the 3+1 trope! :D full of oc info and astarion fluff! i love these bastards to death! also egregious use of random star shit i learned, probably not dnd lore compliant but wtv

cw. mentions of past torture and abuse

“Why are you giving me that look?”

“You’re really going to help me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” The elf gives Altair a confused look, wondering what was going on in his head, “You, the bleeding heart that you are, promised everyone here help with their problems, and yet you think I wouldn’t help you fight some drow?”

“No? You have no obligation to help me, you don’t get anything out of it.” Altair has an incredulous look on his face, “You- What do you get out of helping me?"

wc. 7.4k

Altair let out sharp hiss of pain as Astarion applies a salve to his knee. His pant leg is rolled high, and he knows that he has to roll it higher for Astarion to properly help him.

The elf is kneeled down in front of him; they had just been through a fight with a nasty group of goblins, and Shadowheart was fresh out of magic to heal him. So now his partner (whatever their relationship was) was treating him the old fashioned way, with good ole’ bandages and salve.

He wants to keep his old scar hidden, and against his better judgment, he considers doing it. Thinking that fighting the next few days in pain would be fine.

“Not like it's something I haven't done before..”

“Would you be a dear and roll up your pants a bit more?” The elf asks, glancing up at him through his lashes. “I need to just finish treating you, I promise that no kind of carnal lust is on my mind right now.”

He hesitates, but reluctantly listens to him. There’s a brand on his thigh, given to him by his dear friend Ariadne. A little reminder of how he could never truly escape her, and that he’d never forget who he belonged to.

He could never forget the pain of searing hot metal.

It was a constellation, Ariadne told him that it had the star he was named after in it. She had told him it was a present for being the new quote on quote, “rising star” in the ring. (A bit on the nose, if you ask him.)

He hated how she had said it back then, now that he was seeing everything in retrospect. “Rising star,” his ass! He was just trying to fucking survive! How could she say that like it was an accomplishment, like he should be proud of killing people? When he was barely breathing after every fight?

She was the one who was bringing him back from near death every time, broken bones healing back together and cuts closing in an instant weren't new to him. Ariadne was the one who kept him in the fight, whether he liked it or not.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by Astarion, who’d started lightly tracing over the scar. Altair flinches, his body stiffening. His gaze meets Astarion’s, and his breath hitches. It wasn’t like he'd never seen it, he just never disclosed who exactly gave him that scar, or what it meant to him.

“I never told you how I got that brand, did I?”

Astarion sighs, bandaging up his leg and setting the salve aside, “No, you never did.” He traces over the exposed skin, thin lines connected with pinprick dots. It was intricate, clear that much thought went into it. “Were you tortured by an astrologer? You have one too many space themed scars, love.”

It wasn't a lie, he had a few tattoos of various constellations, along with a few more star-shaped scars on his back. His jewelry box of star themed earrings and necklaces didn't help much, either.

He chuckles in response, “She really loved the history of my name, apparently.” His eyes look up to the night sky, and he motions for Astarion to sit next to him.

“There it is,” He points to a collection of stars, “the Aquila constellation. It's shaped kind of like an arrow, and the one at the top, the brightest one, is the star I’m named after.”

“How poetic.” Astarion comments, he supposes that it's fitting, as Altair had been a consistent beacon of hope for him. “What does it symbolize?”

“The constellation represents strength,” Altair replies, “I assume my father wanted me to be strong, knowing the hell he left me to live in.”

He shudders, remembering the things he had to do to survive in the Underdark. It was times like these where he cursed his elven memory, wishing he couldn't remember every fight he's ever had, every scar he’d ever gotten.

He wishes he didn't have to remember the desperate looks of his opponents. He knows that the same desperation was mirrored in his eyes.

His guilt doesn’t make him feel any better, but he hopes it serves as some kind of penance. After all, they were the same as him, people who were victims of sick games that drow nobility used to entertain themselves.

“He left me in the Underdark, so that he could live up on the surface with my mother.” Altair says, “They were happy, according to him, but my mother was killed by monsters a few years after they left me.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” Astarion replies, moving to hold Altair’s hand, his fingers running over the back of it. “They traded your freedom for theirs, that's awfully unfair.”

“An eye for an eye, I suppose."

Altair thinks back to when he first got to Baldur’s Gate after escaping the Underdark. He met his dad there, peacefully idling away at a book. Oh, how angry he was to find out that the man that had abandoned him was just living his life, acting like there was nothing wrong in the world.

He remembers that one of the first things he did was slap him, and cuss him out. Gods, he was almost dragged away to jail before his father stopped the soldiers. His father let out endless apologies, but all he thought at the time was that his father looked pathetic.

The next thing he did was ask him questions. “Why did you leave me?” “Why didn't you try to save me?” “What made you think this was fair to me?” “Why did you put me through that?” “Do you regret it?”

“Did you ever miss me?”

They’ve talked since then, argued, apologized, the whole nine yards. He's reconciled with his father, but he doesn't think he can ever forgive him for leaving him in the Underdark. Nothing can ever convince him that his father did the right thing, or that it was the only thing his father could’ve done.

“A woman named Ariadne gave that scar to me,” He admits, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck, “She was the first person I ever befriended down there, she's the one I thought would help me escape. Unfortunately, she sold me out for the mere chance of gaining power.”

“Was she the one who made you become a gladiator?”

“No, but she did sponsor many of my fights, and a lot of my cosmetics.” He motions to the myriad of star-related tattoos on his body. “These tattoos were one of them, along with..” He tucks his hair behind his right ear, revealing how half is cut off, “This lovely parting gift.”

“Couldn't aim for the neck, could she?”

“She fancied herself a killer, but she was pathetically bad with a knife!” He barks out a laugh, “Clearly things have changed since then, because she’s confident enough to try and kill me again.”

“I don't think we should worry too much, if half an ear is all the damage she can do to you.” Astarion chuckles, “Karlach would have her set ablaze before she even got to your tent!”

“I’m sure you’d take a chunk out of her neck before she could take one out of mine.”

“Oh! Such high praise from someone as strong as yourself!” The two are laughing with each other, hands intertwined. Altair wants to savor moments like these, wanting to remember what it feels like to be normal, to care for someone like this.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to ask-” He turns to Astarion, catching his breath, “When we met, you recognized me, where did you first find me?”

“Well, at some shit tavern, no offense to your musical skills, mind you-” He sighs, recalling the moment. “You piqued my interest, being a drow playing the violin and singing. Here you were, a sparkly, singing drow! I even tried propositioning you!”

“Oh, that can’t have gone well.”

(He knows it didn't.)

“You rejected me, very harshly!” Astarion dramatically leans onto Altair’s shoulder, a hand over his forehead. “My ego! Horribly wounded by a sparkly bard!”

“What was it that I said exactly?”

“You said I looked sickly! Like I could barely walk up the stairs! Never mind getting in bed with you! I thought I hid my whole “being dead” thing well- until you came along!”

“Oh yes, it was something along the lines of, ‘Perhaps you should visit a hospital bed before you visit mine.’” Altair snickers, remembering the mortified look that Astarion had given him. “And you left in a huff after calling me a few choice words. In my defense, I was incredibly wasted."

“I mean, I got to bed you eventually.” The elf snarks, “So I guess everything worked out in the end.”

“I guess it did.”

“..aand that's how I bravely defended myself from an assassin!” Altair’s piss drunk, spouting about absolute nonsense, “In fact, that's how I got thiis rapier!” He waves his sword around, laughing.

Astarion rolls his eyes, sipping from his own bottle of wine. He knew Altair had a drinking problem, he just didn't think it was this bad. However, it was certainly fun to see him yelling and screaming. It was a nice change of pace from his usually more put together and cheery persona.

“Wait- hand me my violin!” He slurred out, his arm was wrapped around Alfira’s shoulders. “Alfira, we should play togeth’r, a duet! A duet! You said you wanted to be bard in Baldur’s Gate, riight? I know a great tavern tha’ would be perfect for youu~”

“Now, I think it's high time you let go of your bottle.” Astarion chides, taking Altair’s wine away from him. The drow responds with a groan, and looks up at Astarion with pleading eyes. “Don't look at me like that, darling, you need to be cut off at some point. I don't want you whining to Shadowheart about a hangover.”

“Oh come onn, I know how much I can drink.”

“Oh, you're such a big baby.” He politely smiles to the group of tieflings that had gathered around Altair, and then pries him off of Alfira, dragging him towards his tent. “Apologies for my dear partner, I’ll be taking him off your hands now.”

Astarion sits him down, going off to find a bottle of water for him. Altair watches him attentively, prompting Astarion to turn, raising an eyebrow.

“What? See something you like?”

“You caree about me~” He giggles, thinking it’s the funniest thing in the world. How silly! To think that someone like Astarion would care for him! To think that anyone would care for a mess like him. “Youu care! Hahaha!”

“Only because I know you won't remember it in the morning.”

“I will!” He retorts, flailing his arms about, “I will! I swear!”

“I doubt it, love.” Astarion pushes the rim of the water bottle to Altair’s mouth. “Drink.”

“What are you, my-” The rest of his sentence is cut off as Astarion tilts the bottle, forcing water down his throat. He sputters, pushing it away from his mouth. “ghk- Gods, alright! I’ll drink!”

“Good boy.” Astarion gives him a pat on the head, before settling down next to him. “After you finish drinking that, go to sleep.”

“Aww, but I wanna talk with youu.”

“We can talk when you remember how to speak without slurring your words.”

“Noo, I wanna talk now!” He whines, leaning into Astarion’s shoulder. “I wanna tell you more about myself, s’only fair after you told me about Cazador..”

“Oh, just go to sleep, you idiot.”

“I will if you let me talk to you!”

Astarion groans, but relents. “Fine, if it gets you to rest.”

“Yaaay!”

Altair thinks for a moment about what to tell Astarion, he did want to share something, after how much Astarion had shared with him. Maybe not about his horrible time as a slave, something more lighthearted- but his life was so horribly depressing. What could he even talk about?

His eyes glance around his tent, before landing on his violin.

Wait- He’s a bard!

“Astarion!” He exclaims, grabbing the elf’s hands. There are stars in his eyes, and Astarion feels like he's in for a long night, and not the kind he likes. “Did I ever tell you about how I became a bard!”

“No?”

“I-” He pauses, looking confused for a moment. “Wait, giive me a second..”

Astarion grins, amused at his antics. As Altair is thinking, he shifts, letting Altair rest his head on his chest. His fingers go to thread through his hair, gently running through the strands.

“Don't tell me you don't remember, love.” He softly laughs, “Did the wine erase your memory too?”

“No! I just need a moment..” He yawns, sinking Astarion’s touch. He always loved when Astarion would comb through his hair like this, he felt like could just drift off. “Just give me a second..”

What in the hells did he say last night?

Altair blearily wakes up, wiping away the sleep from his eyes, finding that his body was sprawled over Astarion’s. His hair is undone from its usual braid, and is instead tangled in Astarion’s hands.

“What..?” He groans as he pushes himself off of Astarion, carefully untangling his hair from his fingers. “Gods, my arms are sore..”

His eyes flit back over to Astarion, who's still sound asleep. He racks his brain for memories of last night, he got drunk, yelled a little, sang, told some shit story about his time in the Underdark.

Oh.

He told him everything. Or- most of it anyway, just the parts about how he was forced to fight other slaves while starving and only found solace in creating and telling stories. A perfect conversation topic, the best way to reveal your fucked up past! Dammit, did he show him his journal too?

A rustle from behind him makes him snap his head back around, tensing up. He doesn't know if he can talk about it now that he's sober.

“Ngh, good morning, Altair.” The vampire sits up, yawning. “Glad to see you sober again.”

“Morning to you too, Astarion.” Altair mumbles, running a gentle hand over Astarion’s head. “I.. how much did I tell you last night?”

“Just bits and pieces, most of it was unintelligible to me.”

“Sorry about last night.”

“What for?”

What does he mean “What for?” for just dumping his trauma all over him, especially when Astarion was trying to get him to bed. Gods, he's not a child, he should be able to take care of himself!

“For making you listen to me,” Altair tries to remember what exactly he revealed, was it the torture? The brutal fights? He had to know how much Astarion knew about her. “I told you about when I was a gladiator, right? and that I was..”

A killer hangover has him hissing in pain, holding his head. His memories are still foggy, and his head can't take the strain of trying to remember. It’d take a good couple hours before his mind was clear enough for him to try.

“You told me that you wanted to be a poet.” Astarion says, putting a hand on Altair’s shoulder. “Don't hurt yourself trying to remember everything, I can just tell you.”

“Alright then, what else did I spill?”

“You waxed poetically for a while about how you took solace in art, about how you shadow wrote some songs and stories for a while. You attempted to show me your journal.”

He pointedly looks at the open journal on the ground, some of its pages scattered on the floor.

“Don't worry, I didn't get to read much of it. You ended up crying as soon as you opened it, and I had to calm you down.”

He pauses, hesitantly continuing. “You.. you cried about how you were living in the Underdark, about being forced to become a gladiator.”

“Oh.” Altair shakily sighs, running a hand through his hair, “What did I tell you exactly..?”

“Mostly about the living conditions,” He replies, “You were crying too much for me to understand, so I ended up just coaxing you to sleep.”

“Well, thank you for taking care of me, sorry for being such a child.”

“You don't have to be sorry, love.” Astarion yawns, getting up from Altair’s bedroll, “You listened to me whine about Cazador, it was only fair I do the same.”

“Still, thank you..” Altair gets up as well, following Astarion out to greet the morning. “..for listening to me, when you didn’t have to.”

They’d been in the Shadowlands for a while now, Shadowheart was still talking about Shar and her protection, and Gale was geeking out about how the curse had affected the land around them. The usual day for their party.

He’d just talked to Raphael, shook hands and made a verbal contract, the whole nine yards. Astarion said he was ready to go and find whatever monster they had to kill, ready to learn more about his infernal scars and about how to stop Cazador. All he was waiting on was Altair’s command.

Altair, on the other hand, was more concerned with how Astarion seemed to be slower. They hadn’t lost any fights yet, but none of his attacks had his usual power behind them. He wasn't fit to be in any fight right now, and Altair knew it.

He pieced together why quickly, as he realized that there weren't many animals here for him to eat, the only ones they’d seen had been taken by the shadow curse. He hadn't offered to let him feed recently either.

Astarion was starving.

“Astarion,” Altair stands in front of his tent, arms crossed, “You haven't fed in a while, have you?”

“Well, there aren't exactly any animals here, and I’d hate to take my chances with the rest of the party.” He sends him a flirtatious look, licking his lips, “Unless you're offering that pretty neck of yours~”

His mouth is watering at the mere mention of feeding from Altair- and he does a poor job of hiding it.

“Astarion, I’m being serious, are you alright? I don't want you starving at tomorrow’s fight.”

“I-” Astarion was starving, but he was planning on sinking his teeth into a rat or something. He'd seen a few in the Gauntlet of Shar, Altair didn't have to do this for him. “Well, if you insist..”

Altair nods, the two heading into Astarion’s tent. He lays down on Astarion’s bedroll, letting the elf unlace part of his top. His dark skin is exposed to the frigid air, and he shivers. Astarion’s hands leave feather light touches on his neck as he brushes away Altair’s hair.

Gods, Astarion was already salivating at the sight of his neck.

Altair lets out a gasp, fangs sinking into his neck. Astarion’s tongue eagerly laps up the blood that spills out, groaning. A week without a proper meal leaves him greedy, and Altair can feel himself getting lightheaded.

He gently pats Astarion’s shoulder, “That's enough. Any more and I’m going to pass out.” Astarion whines, but unhinges himself from Altair’s neck. The drow pushes himself up, padding around for his violin so that he could cast Lesser Restoration on himself. “Astarion, I’m going to grab my violin, I left it in my tent.”

“I’ll grab it for you, just give me a moment to fix your shirt.” He motions for Altair to lean forward a bit, and he starts to lace his shirt back up. “You're in such a hurry, darling. Don't go running off topless in front of the party, I’d get jealous.”

“I don't think you should be the authority on decency, Star.” His breath hitches as Astarion’s cold fingers brush against his collarbone. “I think you’ve been seen in more scandalous positions than I have.”

“Oh, are you implying something, love?” Astarion leans in close to Altair, whispering scandalously as he holds the drow’s gaze, “Do you want to be seen when we have sex?”

He pulls the thread of Altair’s shirt tight, sending a shudder through his body.

“No.” Altair breathily replies, “I.. I like being a sight for your eyes only, Astarion..”

“A pity, I’d love to share this..” He drags a finger up Altair’s neck, “..beautiful body with everyone. But you being all mine doesn't sound too bad either.”

He lightly taps Altair’s nose, cheekily smiling at him.

“Astarion..”

“I’ll go ahead and grab your violin, darling.” He pecks Altair on the forehead. “Try and entertain yourself while I’m gone, why don’t you?”

He smiles to himself as he makes his way to Altair’s tent, the face that he’d made when he left was priceless! His cheeks were positively flushed, all the way up to his ears, he was sure that he looked the same though, his pale skin being warmed by the drow’s blood.

Astarion rummages around, spotting the violin behind his pack, as he moves to grab it, he knocks a journal off of Altair’s desk. He mumbles out a few curses, before leaning down to pick it up. It’s open to a page, written in Elvish.

“...ordered another punishment for the Comet, and he came crying to me! He’s a fool, coming to me for help.”

What?

He knows that Altair would hate him if he read it without his permission, especially if it was full of documentation of his torture. But it irks him a little bit, not knowing the extent of Altair abuse.

All he knew was that he was a slave in the Underdark, and that the house he was in forced him to fight in gladiator matches. He’d only made passing mentions of his living conditions, things like being starved or in constant pain, which he could unfortunately relate to.

Sometimes there was mention of a mysterious woman- Ariadne. She came up the most when they were exploring the Underdark, it confused him, as Altair would go from near panic attacks to describing fond memories when talking about her.

Astarion shuts the journal, his touch lingering a bit on the swirling gold embroidery.

Should he talk to Altair about it?

They were getting close to finding a cure for the tadpole, and Altair seemed set on heading to Baldur’s Gate after investigating Moonrise Towers. He didn’t know how much longer Altair was going to stay with him, they certainly had something going on, but he didn’t know if it was enough for Altair to stay with him.

He wanted Altair to stay with him, even after their journey together.

He just didn’t know how to ask him to stay.

He sighs, figuring that Altair has waited long enough for his violin. He heads back to his tent, trying to sort out his thoughts.

“Found your violin.” He sits down next to Altair, who’s reading one of his books, “Oh, I quite like that story.”

“Really? Wouldn’t peg you as the type to enjoy horror.”

“Well, it’s kind of like a comedy after everything we’ve been through. Helps me laugh at it all.” Astarion hands him his violin, “Does it help you any?”

“A bit, but I’ve been mostly laughing at the bad writing. Let me tell you that gladiator fights are nothing like this!” Altair huffs dramatically, “So much talk about honor, and how they describe the equipment? Incredibly inaccurate.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but how did you escape the Underdark? You don’t have to answer if it’s a sore subject, but you’ve never gone into much detail about it.”

He sighs, recalling the first time that Astarion saw him break down in the Underdark. He was a fool then, trying to pretend like the place didn’t haunt him. Altair holds his violin, gripping his bow a bit too tightly. He should tell Astarion, they were getting close to Baldur’s Gate, and he couldn’t endanger him like that.

“There’s a journal in my tent, it belongs to Ariadne, the person who promised to help me escape. I think I already told you that she betrayed me though. She was cruel, and I wish I could say that I hate her with all of my being, but that’d be a lie.”

He nervously plays with the pegs of his violin, “She was still the first to treat me like I existed, you know? She gave me food, money, and some kind of social interaction. I know that what she did was wrong, and that she was never my friend, but a part of me misses her.”

Astarion looks at him sympathetically, understanding how desperate you get for any kind of interaction when you’re isolated. That time he spent stuck in a coffin comes to mind, being trapped in the dark with only his thoughts, nothing but silence for days on end.

He knows that Altair spent most of his life like that, trapped in a stone cell, only let out to be fed or to fight. Altair was able to create stories, and pretend like all his fights were epic tales, but even he admits that much of his time was spent staring up at a cold, stone ceiling. That, and being beaten for not performing well enough in fights, or whatever fault they found with him.

“I finished reading most of her entries, I assume she lost it before getting to Baldur’s Gate though.” Altair says, “She was in the middle of chasing me out of a tavern before I was kidnapped and put on that mindflayer ship. According to her journal, she’d found out where I worked. I fully expect that she found my house soon after I was kidnapped”

He turns to Astarion with a determined look, “I have to go back, I can’t keep running from her. Not to mention, my father is still there, and I don’t know how long it’ll take before she resorts to using him against me. I need to kill her, to finally be free.”

“And here I thought I would be the only one meeting my old master in Baldur’s Gate,” Astarion jokes, “Good to know we’re both on a mission to get revenge.”

“It’s not revenge- I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Killing the person that ruined your life? I’d say that’s the textbook definition of revenge, darling.”

“It’s not- well, it’s more about me being free.” He explains, looking away from Astarion. He knew that Astarion wouldn’t understand how he felt about Ariadne, it’d be so easy to hate her if all she did was torture him, but she didn’t.

“She- She was still nice to me, you know. She was the very reason I learned that there was more to the world than my cell, and that I still even had a father. Ariadne was my first friend, she was a lot of my firsts, even though she ended up wanting to kill me.”

“That journal I found details some things from my enslavement, and it hurts to read sometimes. It only proves how bad of a person she is, that she hated me from the start.” Tears start to fall from his eyes as he relays his emotions to him.

“It’s tainted all the memories I had with her, every single one that I’d go back to when I trance, wanting to remember the better moments of my life. She hated me the whole time. It was funny to her, how little I knew, how even though I was the better fighter, she was still superior to me.”

“Killing her is going to be my way of getting closure, and reclaiming my life.”

Altair is still crying, crying and bloodless, he remembers. His hands shakily move his violin under his chin, placing the bow on the strings.

“Sorry- The blood loss is starting to get to me- I just have to heal myself”

“I don’t think you’re in playing condition, dear.” Astarion gently lowers Altair’s hands, taking his violin and setting it down behind him. “I think you’re in need of a good night’s rest, Shadowheart can take care of it in the morning.”

Altair nods, but looks at Astarion warily.

Why wasn’t he saying anything? No disgust at not hating his torturer? He would understand if Astarion was confused, angry, even. Was he really just going to help him fight some unknown danger?

If there was one thing he learned while in the Underdark- from her, it was that love meant nothing. He loved people, cared for them, only to be hurt. It was always finite, his relationships never lasted, despite the effort he put in, why would this one be different?

He’d help Astarion get rid of the tadpole in their heads, and then help him kill Cazador.

After that, he’d be on his own.

Right?

“Why are you giving me that look?”

“You’re really going to help me?”

“No? You have no obligation to help me, you don’t get anything out of it.” Altair has an incredulous look on his face, “You- What do you get out of helping me? My loyalty? Unless I’ve misread something, no one here has to help me- I don’t expect any of you to help me!”

Astarion is a little angry, was he stupid? What did he mean he didn’t expect help? Was he truly that blind to how much he cared for him, to how much everyone cared for him. Did he simply think that the people here wouldn’t fight for him the way he fought for them?

“We- I care about you as much as you care about me. You’ve done so much for the party- for me, and you just expect me to let you charge into a fight alone?”

“Yes? People don’t- they don’t just help for no reason, Astarion!” He stammers out, Ariadne had drilled that idea into his head. She only reinforced it when she betrayed him, and even more so through her journal entries.

“I don't expect help from anyone! I didn’t see why you would be different, even if you said you cared for me. I thought that you were only playing along with my antics, using ‘love’ to get a free night of sex, or someone willing to protect you!”

That comment hurt Astarion. Altair was right, he was the one who’d emotionally manipulated him into a relationship, being nice to gain something. But he’d changed, he started genuinely caring for him. He tried showing him that he cared.

The nights he spent comforting him, listening to him talk about his past? The silly banter they’d have while Altair was healing him? How he constantly- constantly threw himself into danger to protect him? Did that mean nothing to him? Did Altair only see that as repayment for his affection?

Altair still sits there, confused. He wasn’t wrong, he thinks. All his life has been a game of giving. He cares about people, gives them his trust, his words of love and soft kisses, keeps that person happy, until they abandon him.

They leave, and he pretends like all those emotions weren’t real, that nothing happened, he uses the feelings in a ballad or story, and tries to forget. Wash, rinse, repeat. He’s lived like that for 215 years, and he hasn’t had anyone try to break that cycle or tell him he was wrong. It was just life, after all.

“Did everything we do mean nothing to you? Was it all just you playing along to entertain me?”

“No! Gods, No. I care about you Astarion, I do!”

“Then why do you act like everything I’ve done for you means nothing?! Do you think I don’t care about you too, Altair?”

“I..” He holds his tongue, he truly didn’t think Astarion loved him. He didn't think anyone truly cared about him. He’d been alone this long, after all. Why would Astarion be any different than his past relationships?

He’d done the same for all of them, listening to their past, helping them through rough patches. Altair had done everything by the book, he revealed bits of himself to them, but always- always, they'd leave him.

No one wanted to stay after learning that he wasn't a charismatic bard, they didn't want to risk being killed because of his past. Sometimes they were disgusted with what he did as a gladiator. But he’d always understood, why would anyone want to try and bear the weight of his past with him?

His silence is all the answer that Astarion needs to hear, and the vampire frustratedly grabs his hands, moving closer to him.

“I’d follow you to the ends of Faerun, and help you fight whatever horrible monster from your past shows up.” He states firmly, holding Altair’s gaze. “I’d do this because I know you’d do the same for me, no matter how scared you are- I love you, Altair, even if you don’t believe it yourself.”

“I-” Altair looks back at him, fear behind his eyes, “I want to believe you, I do. But I can’t, I don’t know what to do if you just love me, what do I do in return?”

His mind is spinning, relationships never worked like that. It was always give and take and give and take-

He wasn’t worthy of a relationship, a real relationship, he had to compensate for all his flaws. He had to, or that person would leave him.

Just like how Ariadne did.

She would leave him alone in his cell for days on end, sometimes years, if he offended her enough.

Darkvision doesn’t help much when the walls are the same color, and his mind could only entertain itself for so long before it began to spiral. He was never enough, he had to always make up for it. It was the only way he wouldn’t end up alone, stuck in a stone cell.

“You don’t have to do anything.” Astarion softly smiles at him, “You just have to accept it. I’m loving you with no strings attached, dear.”

Was it really that simple?

“Is that really it? I just accept that you love me? Even though it’s..” Altair trails off, vaguely motioning to himself.

“What, like loving you is hard?” He pressed a kiss to the palm of Altair’s hand, cradling it against his cheek, his red eyes looking up at him through his lashes, “Loving you is easy, you just have to accept it."

“..oh.”

It was that simple.

White-hot pain flares up from Astarion’s back, and he feels warm blood dripping down his arms.

It’s him.

A choked sob rings through the halls, as Cazador’s laugh rubs salt in his wound. Tears mix with blood as he white knuckles the carpet below him. Why was he back here? Where did everyone go?

“Did you really think you could escape?” Astarion’s head is forced up, clawed hands digging into his cheeks. “Foolish boy, you know I can find you anywhere. The audacity to even try and run!”

He roughly lets go of his face, moving to a table that he can only assume is lined with tools. Cazador hums as he traces his hands over every single one, and he starts to prattle on about how he’s going to use them on Astarion.

His mind races as he tries to rationalize everything, he's not here, he's at camp, in his tent. His breath hitches when he catches a glimpse of a familiar half-drow.

No.

Altair lays limply on the ground, chained to the wall. He turns to Astarion, and his stomach turns-

His eyes are red.

“Altair!”

“This is your fault.” Altair’s head lifts up, gaze boring through him. His voice is hoarse, and Astarion can see pointed fangs just past his lips as he opens his mouth “I should've never trusted you.”

Altair sits comfortably outside Astarion’s tent, hands idly plucking a tune on his violin. They were camped outside of Rivington, only a night away from getting into Baldur’s Gate.

“Let him go! Stop!” He turns to Astarion, who’s writhing in his bedroll, tears falling from his closed eyes. “Please..”

“Astarion!” Altair throws his violin to the ground, rushing to his side. Astarion’s having a dream, a kind that Altair is all too familiar with. “You're safe, wake up, come on..”

His voice is soft as he gently shakes Astarion’s shoulder. “Cazador isn't here, you're having a nightmare. Please wake up..”

As if listening to Altair’s pleas, Astarion’s eyes snap open, nails digging into his wrist. Frenzied, red eyes meet his, and he loosens his grip as he realizes what happened.

“Shit- I’m sorry.”

“It's fine. Are..” He wants to ask if he's alright, but he knows the answer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Astarion stares at him in response, hand still holding onto the drow’s wrist. He was safe, Altair was safe, Cazador isn't here.

“I had a bad dream.” He laughs, ‘bad dream’ would be an understatement, “It was about Cazador. He had you, and you were- you were turned. Gods, I hate this, we're literally on our way to kill him, and he's still tormenting me!"

“They have a way of doing that to you.” Altair rests his hand atop Astarion’s. “Our torturers, I mean. We can never really forget, but we can kill them.”

“Ha, that we can.” Astarion thinks it’s unfair, that he has to live with the memories of torture, with scars that will never fade. All while Cazador gets to die, and never suffers the same way he did. “Funny how that works out, two ex-slaves going to Baldur’s Gate to kill their enslavers.”

“Sounds like great material for a story.” Altair hums, “Maybe I’ll write a little song about us, ‘Astarion and Altair: Free Elves’ has a nice ring to it.”

Astarion groans, laughing. “Gods, no. Don't tell me you're going to be singing that at taverns, Altair.”

“I would never!” He replies dramatically, gasping in mock surprise. “That'll be one of my personal songs, for my ears only!”

“Oh please, I should have some right to hear it, my name is in the title!” Astarion scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Besides, I’ve already seen your whole journal. I assume I’ve seen all of your ‘private’ songs.”

“You've only seen the most recent one. There’s more at my home.” He sighs wistfully, “I’m excited to finally sleep in my bed again, provided Ariadne left the place intact.”

“Personally, I’m excited to finally take consistent baths. I’m tired of smelling like shit all the time.”

They sit in a comfortable silence as their laughter dies down, Altair looks back up at Astarion. Concern still hangs in his mind, “Are you feeling better now?”

“I am.” Astarion sighs, wiping an exasperated hand down his face, “Cazador will know I’m back, and my brothers and sisters will probably be everywhere trying to look for us.”

The worst part about all of it was that he was still scared. Countless ‘what ifs’ run through his head. What if they failed, and he died? What would happen to Altair and the others? They’d gotten a place in his heart, even though he’d never care to admit it, he didn't even want Cazador touching them!

“After we kill Cazador, and the Absolute..” Altair’s voice snaps Astarion out of his thoughts, “We should settle down, you could move in with me, and maybe I could help you find a job.”

“Hm, that sounds dreadfully boring.”

“I think boring is what I need if we succeed in taking down a cult.” Altair laughs. “Besides, it wouldn’t be too bad. I’m confined to the dark as much as you are, I’m practically blind during the day. Stupid tadpole lets me enjoy the day without sun sensitivity setting my eyes ablaze.”

“I wasn't aware that you had light sensitivity.” He knew that drow had a hard time seeing in sunlight, but chalked up Altair’s resistance to him only being half-drow.

“Mm, it was pretty bad. Pretty sure the tadpole made me immune, like you. I’m going to miss not having my eyes fried to a crisp whenever I open my curtains.”

“Oh, but you’ll have me.” Astarion pulls Altair into his bedroll, and pins the drow beneath him. “And I still look just as ravishing in the dark, darling~”

“I-'' A blush graces Altair’s face, and he lightly hits Astarion’s chest, laughing. “Gods, what am I going to do with you?”

“Oh, I’d love to know what you’d do with me,” Astarion teases, earning a groan from Altair, “Or what I’d do to you.”

“Well, I’d love for you..” Altair puts a hand on Astarion’s chest, “..to shut up and let me sleep.”

“I’d love to sleep in your bed, darling. Or in any bed really, but having a handsome drow next to me would be a great incentive to sleep in yours.”

“Gods, no!” He stammers out, “My room is a mess, you’d have to wait outside with the rest of the party while I try and clean whatever is left of my house.”

“Where is your house?” Astarion questions, “I’m sure you aren't living in luxury, but I know you didn't live in the sewers or anything.”

“It's in the lower city, near the Blushing Mermaid. I play a lot of my gigs there, even though the patrons are drunk out of their minds and could care less. Started a lot of bar fights, too.”

“200 years and some things never change.” He sighs wistfully, recalling the years he spent there drinking his misery away, “Though, you were quite sloppy with your kills there.”

“What?” Altair’s eyes widen in shock as Astarion lays down next to him, an amused smile on his lips. “I never told you I was a contract killer!”

“You didn't.”

“What did you see me doing?” Sure, he took a few jobs killing people in Baldur’s Gate, and sure- he wasn't the sneakiest, but for Astarion to have caught him? He was worse at his job than he thought.

“I smelled some blood in an alleyway, and lo and behold-” He makes a dramatic gesture with his hands, motioning to Altair, “There you were, dragging away a body!”

“This is so embarrassing..”

“Oh, but don't worry, no one else saw!”

“But you did! And I was only a hitman for like 20 years!” Altair only became a contract killer because he didn't have many other skills when coming to Baldur’s Gate. Not his proudest moment, he admits, but he did a lot of odd jobs while trying to keep himself afloat, killing people just happened to be one of them.

“Makes me glad that you rejected me back then, otherwise I might've been killed by you.”

“I would never.” Altair scoffs, “Killing someone as pretty as you would be a crime!”

“Exactly!”

Astarion laughs along with Altair, but his mind wanders.

They could've killed each other 200 years ago. He knows that some people had caught onto his vampirism, and that Altair very well could've taken a job to kill him.

Conversely, he could've seduced Altair, and brought him to Cazador; he had tried and failed, after all. He thinks about that possibility, if Altair hadn't refused him so harshly, he would’ve been another victim. If Altair was a mercenary for longer, he could’ve killed him.

He grimaces at the thought.

“Well, hopefully we get a few years of peace after this whole cult fiasco. But knowing you and your bleeding heart, we’d be off on another adventure right after ending a cult!”

“I’d like to spend at least a few decades with you before we're whisked away, maybe get married or something.” Altair chuckles, but his head snaps over to Astarion when he realizes what he said. “I mean- only if you want to..?”

“Well, why not?” Astarion brushes a hand across the half-drow’s cheek, cracking a small smile at his flustered face. “There isn't anyone else I’d like to spend my eternal life with.”

“Oh.” He’s laughing, tears in the corners of his eyes, “Gods, this isn't how I wanted my proposal to go.”

He wipes at his tears, face flushed. “I was going to serenade you, and give you a ring and everything! It was going to be beautiful.”

“For a bard, you aren't very good at keeping your composure.”

“I swear I’m better on stage!”

Astarion laughs, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead, “Sure, darling.”

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x male oc #astarion fluff #bg3 tav #bg3 #astarion x tav #writing #oc x canon #oc #oc writing #oc whump

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yourlocaltreesimp · 1 year

Text

Like Lightning, My love.

BOTW!Link x Reader

TW: Heavy angst, gore, Hurt/No comfort.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Gerudo town was about as much of a pain as you expected, but with new armour, as many potions as someone could possibly fit in a single pack, your worries were quelled. Link’s boyish grin and happiness about exploring the final divine beast certainly helped.

“So, (y/n). You ready?” He grinned, your heart fluttered, knowing just how long you’ve travelled to be here. How long you’d spent learning about the world and about him. Learning every single detail of him. His sky blue eyes and wonky smile. His crooked nose from having broken it one too many times. Each and every scar that lined his sun-kissed skin.

“About as ready as I could be” You mumbled through your own excited grin. You’d have the divine beast Vah Naboris kneeling as it’s counterparts did. You met up with Riju, who had her thunder helm on as much as she could, given for the extra space. She was a young chieftain, but she certainly was strong. And with that, your small group was ready to go with three sand seals waiting. Attaching some ropes to their harnesses and your shields you were able to set off into the storm towards the divine beast Vah Naboris. The beast summoned cracks of powerful lightning as you approached to fend you off. Sand and wind whipped through your hair as the small shield granted by the thunder helm protected you from the lightning. Link followed by your side, the wind and sand blowing against your bodies as you approached the Divine Beast. You both covered your eyes to the best of your ability without throwing off your balance, trying to keep some of the elements at bay. At least the lightning wasn't a concern anymore, and you weren’t too bothered by a little bit of sand in your eyes. You looked over to your partner, wildly meeting with the divine stormfront. He looked over at you, noticing the way your hair was blowing about in the wind, along with the way your clothes and equipment were shifting with the strong winds. It was all so.... beautiful. You looked beautiful. You felt so right in the moment. A large crack of white lightning struck the shield provided by the Thunder helm, the powerful crack taking up your senses. The light dissipated, the energy dispelling into the sand below. With it, you laughed, strong and powerful. The sound so full and untainted you’d only ever heard it yourself a few times before. Link followed suit, the bellowful sound threatening the thunder itself. Even in your memory, Link never let himself be so free. You steadied yourself on the sand and spurred your sand seal forward. Notching two bomb arrows, you shot them at Naboris‘ feet, the robot buckling under the instability. You swiftly moved back to the protection of the helm as Naboris bellowed, calling lightning from the sandstorm where you’d just been. You bared all your teeth in your smile, not bothered by the raging storm that whipped around the three of you. Link was almost transfixed by the lightning and your reaction to it. It only increased his fascination with you. The way you laughed, the way you didn't worry as to what the element did to your equipment or clothing. You were at ease, comfortable and happy. And it made Link fall in love with you even more. He took the moment to look over you again, taking in your movements and the way the light and storm played as they moved against you. He felt the cold breeze against his own face, but he felt happy. You made him happy. You always did. Riju called out to the both of you,

“Good job! One leg down, three more to go!” One of Naboris’ legs dragged slightly in the stand, the yellow glow within it was dispelled. Three more legs shot down and we could board the beast and solve the puzzles within. Link felt Riju's voice calling out to him and he snapped out of the small trance he was in, looking at you and smiling with pride. You’d taken down one of the legs, and now it was time to take the rest of them before tackling what was inside. He wanted to get this done for you, to take Thunder Blight down once and for all.

"Shall we proceed?" Link spoke to Riju, looking at her for her response before taking your hand and walking up to the Divine Beast. She nodded. For efficiency, you both split up. Riju circled naboris so we could use the thunder-helm’s aura for protection against the storm. Link and you split to shoot down Naboris’ legs one by one. Three were down and just as you released the final arrow, Naboris let out a shrill cry. Lightning met the sand where you stood, heavenly light dousing you. The thunder cracked in your ears and when the light from the lightning and explosion of your arrow was gone, You were not standing. You fell like Icarus towards the sea of sand below, dousing yourself in the light you loved. The light which served to kill you. Naboris cried out as its final leg was shot down, moving to a kneel so Link could get inside. A look of panic filled Link's face when you weren't there after the lightning hit. He turned in every direction in an attempt to find you until his eyes met Naboris. His stomach clenched at the thought of losing you. His eyes filled with tears as he called your name out over and over and over again. After a few seconds of not hearing a response, he snapped himself back to reality and ran over to the kneeling beast. He climbed on quickly and searched through the darkness for you, your name filling the air as he scrambled around, tears in his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to hear your voice. You were face down in the sand, body short circuited by the electricity. Your skin was marked with the winding, wrapping scars of the electricity. Your hair was singed where the energy met with your body. You were bleeding, your skin burnt and charred. Horrifically, the sand had melted, making pools of molten glass that stuck to your skin as it cooked. Riju looked beyond horrified, her eyes not attuned to the sights of battle. All was quiet but the wind, it howled in a mourning cry as sand danced in the gust. Link’s tears fell faster at the sight of you in the sand. Nothing mattered other than you. Not Riju, not the Divine Beast, not anything. He only wanted you to survive. The image of losing you was more terrifying than anything he had ever dealt with.

"(y/n)! (Y/n), please don't be dead. Let me hear your voice. Let me know you're alive." He spoke in a panicked voice. His hands started to move across your body, checking for pulses and signs of life...

"(Y/n) ... please just wake up." Link's voice was filled with so much sorrow and pain. He didn't want to lose you, not like this. He called out your name, hoping with all that he had that you'd hear him.

"Wake up..."

#breath of the wild #loz botw #botw link #botw!link #legend of zelda #link x reader #link x you #x reader

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honeyhobi · 10 months

Note

Hello! Don't feel pressured to make something with this but I figured I would send one in ❤️🐈 Spider and/or any other characters you're feeling inclined to write, and a combination or just pick which ones work of; 2 (time loop), 39 (avoiding a conversation), 49 (self-sacrificial)

Put That Guy In A Situation™️ Ask Game!

Crossposted on AO3

2. Time Loop and 49. Self-sacrificial + Spider Socorro

Content Warnings: Brief Father/Son Incest, Non-con, and Major Character Death

It happens the same way every time.

The Sea Dragon crashes. A battle breaks out. The surface of the sea alights with fire. Neteyam’s eyes go lifeless. His blood stains Spider’s hands.

Then he wakes up in the morning in that tiny bunk on the ship, with his murderer’s monster’s rapist’s kidnapper’s father’s head between his legs. This many repetitions into the loop, things that were once funny to relive have become constants that Spider uses to stay sane. Wainfleet burns his tongue on too-hot coffee during breakfast in the commons. The days (weeks, months, eternities) old bruises on his hips start to turn from purple to green. One of the crewmembers in the control room during the debriefing on the tulkun hunt from yesterday (yesterday for everyone else, fifty-eight days ago for Spider) slips a hand under his tewng, only to get his nose promptly broken by Zdinarsk.

And just when the start of midday comes around, Quaritch spots the Sullys and some Metkayina kids trying to free a tulkun from one of the Sea Dragon’s trackers. It all goes downhill from there.

He’s tried to change it over a dozen different ways. He’s used his mouth to distract his father from going out on deck, but someone else always spots the kids anyway. He’s tried slowing the crew down by throwing a fit in the control room, in the dining commons, out on the deck when Prager pins Lo’ak face down on the ground. Every single time they just lock him up below deck and forget about him while he drowns with the sinking ship. And when he doesn’t change anything, just goes through the motions of the loop in hopes that something will miraculously be different this time, he ends up back here.

Here, on an outcropping of rock, with the waves lapping at his feet and Neteyam’s blood spilling everywhere.

“I want to go home,” Neteyam says through ragged breaths. His voice is small, scared, a reminder like a poison arrow right to the heart of how young he is. Younger than Spider, even though he always acted otherwise.

Jake cradles his son’s face, and almost subconsciously Spider mouths along to his next words. ‘I know, I know. We’re goin’ home. It’s okay.”

But it’s not. Because Neteyam still goes wide eyed as he looks at his dad, not quite seeing him but instead seeing right through him. He gasps, “Dad, I—”

And that’s it. In every version that Spider has ended up here, Neteyam never gets to finish his sentence.

“No,” Spider whispers, but his voice is lost beneath Neytiri’s same awful, wailing scream.

“No. No, no, no. Neteyam!”

Lo’ak sits back in shock as reality sets in. The Metkayina girl that Spider learned is named Tsireya somewhere around loop thirty cries quietly to herself. Jake pulls Neytiri into a hug, but it doesn’t make a single thing better.

“Dammit!” Spider shouts, slamming his fists against the rock. His knuckles split and ocean water intermingles with his blood, and the sharp sting of it only fuels the fire in his chest. He looks up to the sky, at the disappearing sun as eclipse draws nearer.

He screams, “What do you want from me? What could I possibly do that’ll be enough to end this?”

Eywa does not respond. He screams again, wordless and agonizing, beats his hands against the rock again and again even as Jake and Tsireya reach for him. They call his name, restrain his arms so he can’t hurt himself anymore. He fights, hissing and spitting and yelling nonsense.

“Get off me! Don’t, don’t touch me! Daddy, don’t! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s my fault, get off!” He’s probably crying. He always cries.

This is supposed to be Neteyam’s moment. Spider is being selfish for taking the attention away from a grieving family, but it doesn’t really matter. They’ll have a million more chances to grieve if things keep going the way they are. Spider will have a million more chances to watch as the breath leaves Neteyam’s lungs, and Spider wants nothing more than to be the one bleeding out on these rocks instead—

He abruptly stops struggling against Jake, who at some point has pulled Spider into a restraining bear hug. The sky goes dark as eclipse cuts through the day, but Spider has never before seen a light as bright as this one. Jake loosens his grip minutely.

“Spider?” He asks. His voice is rough with tears. “Are you back with me?”

Spider nods his head wordlessly, and Jake lets go. He moves around to be in Spider's line of sight, his hands up placatingly like he expects Spider to lash out at any moment. But Spider has never felt calmer than he has at this moment.

“I figured it out.”

“Figured what out, kiddo?” Jake's tone is patronizing in its gentleness.

“What I have to do to stop this.” Spider doesn’t explain further, because any moment now Jake will stop listening as Quaritch starts speaking into the comms.

“Stop wha–” Right on time, Jake's focus turns inwards as his earpiece comes to life.

And Spider moves into action. Before anyone can shout in alarm, before they can think to stop him, he rips off his mask and chucks it as hard and as far as he can into the ocean.

“No!” Lo'ak yells and reaches for Spider's hand, but he’s too slow.

Even Neytiri sits up from hunching over Neteyam's body to cry out in denial. Tsireya probably doesn't quite understand the importance of the mask, but she immediately dives into the water after it anyway. She won't find it in time. Spider takes a giant gulp of toxic air, relishes in how his lungs reject it even as they try to pull more in. His fingers go numb, his vision blurry, and then his head is on somebody's lap.

“What did you do? Spider, what the fuck did you just do!” Someone shouts above him. It doesn't matter who.

“It's okay,” he tries to tell them, but he isn’t sure it comes out that way.

“No, you stay with me, boy! I can't lose another son!” That’s Jake, he realizes, screaming his name and shaking him relentlessly as if that'll stop the inevitable.

Spider would feel more guilty about putting them through this if he didn't already know they won't remember it in the next loop.

“It's okay,” he says again. “You're gonna get him back.”

He knows what to do now. Eywa has given him this chance to perfect every detail down to the second just so he can save Neteyam. Maybe it's just the lack of oxygen talking, but Spider can't find it in himself to be afraid. He was never supposed to make it out of this loop.

His vision tunnels into darkness and the last thing he hears before he goes under is:

“Spider! Spider! Spi—”

And he begins again.

#my writing #answered asks #avatar the way of water #miles spider socorro #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #jake sully #neytiri te tskaha mo'at'ite #lo'ak te suli tsyeyk'itan #tsireya avatar #dead dove do not eat

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sleidog · 1 year

Text

Learn about my OCs! post #1 Slei!

Come learn about the big lemon! Firstly; slei has two commonly used armour sets, mainly it's the chest piece that changes; the first striped outfit is his outlaw/pre commander fit that he also brings back for path of fire, the other outfit he wears as commander/in colder climates. He also uses a raven mask when his identity needs to be kept hush-hush and a big feather mantle when it's truly bitterly cold.

[ Name ] Sleibhain/Slei [prefers his short name!]

[ Species ] Sylvari

[ Height ] 6'2"

[ Age ] 12-22 [30-40 by more normal age conventions]

[ Class ] Druid Ranger

[ Cycle ] Dawn

[ Gender ] Male, He/Him

[ Status ] Single [in an on/off open relationship]

[ Orientation ] Androsexual

Slei is the reluctant new commander of Dragon's Watch. After taking over from Destrey, the original commander, Slei took it upon himself to make his best effort at pulling a splintered pact back together after monumental losses after the seige on Mordremoth.

He ends up being the first line of defense against 4 more elder dragons and finally, albeit reluctantly when it comes to the final dragon, ends the dragon cycle.

[ P e r s o n a l I t y ]

Slei is easy going and easily mistaken as being lazy and flippant. His attitude towards most things is usually that it can wait until it's absolutely necessary. However, when it comes to matters of importance he's a focused and dedicated individual until that task is complete.

Generally fun to be around and very easy to get along with, Slei is a particularly low maintenance friend who's just as happy to give others space as they need it and have no problem if the same is given to him. Vastly prefers his own company and that of his pets rather than other sentient races.

[ L i k e s & D i s l i k e s ]

✔ Animals/Nature ✔ Catching a break ✔ Adventuring/Exploring ✖ Being Misunderstood ✖ Loud noises ✖ Small/enclosed spaces

[ H o b b i e s ] • Animal handling • Woodworking for bows and staves • Treasure hunting [ S t a t i s t i c s ]

[ A b i l i t i e s ]

De-escalation; Very apt at de-escalating a situation with his passive nature, it's hard to argue with someone who doesn't have the energy to argue back!.

Skilled bowman; Slei has an inate ability with a bow and arrow. He's extremely precise and will often wait for the perfect shot if he isn't shooting multiple arrows into the sky to rain down on a large mob of enemies.

Woodworker; Slei enjoys carpentry when he gets spare time, usually in the realm of repairing things that were broken, or making bows and staves. Back when he was just a common thief in his younger years, he often made a lot of his own equipment like this. He would also sell the things he made to get enough money to get by in his outlaw years [given his stolen money usually went almost fully to refugees]

Animal connection; Slei perhaps has a greater understanding of animals than he does of sentient races, to the point that he synergises very well with animals, more so than he does with other races, unless he has prior experience with that person.

[ T r i v i a ] • Prior to his promotion to Pact commander [and eventually Dragon's Watch commander] he was planned to be executed for a crime he didn't commit.

• Slei's choice to be involved in criminal activity was purely to spread funds and goods to those less fortunate, anyone aligning with his gang who hurt or robbed someone less fortunate was severely reprimanded and removed from his group.

• Slei's been arrested more than once and released on bail. One such time he was doing community service around winters day, he delivered a gift to Destrey, who would go on to be the original Pact commander in this canon. Destrey cherishes that gift to this day and has no knowledge that Slei gave it to him.

• Slei's primary weapons are from the Warden's set, though he can also be seen with Pact weaponry or his favorite bow, the Bright Inquisitor's longbow, a gift from Delanaich.

• Slei never intended to become the Commander of the Pact, he just found Destrey's resignation note.

• His iris is small in relation to the rest of his eye, giving him a very intense stare despite his day-dreamy attitude.

• Slei's leaves on his body are ripped/torn in places from his rough background in his early years.

• He has leaves on his chest and underarms that mimic body hair.

#gw2 #gw2 art #sylvari #sleiart #slei #ocs #worldbuilding #long post

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yellowmagicalgirl · 10 months

Text

Night Sky Petunias

After they crash-landed, Captain Amelia contracted a disease found on a surprisingly large amount of humid planets, a disease that caused her to cough up flower petals.

This was written for Ekevka for the 2023 Battleship Bingo on AO3. I never thought I'd ever write hanahaki, but Ekevka's prompt inspired me.

CW: blood, references to death by illness

FFN

AO3

SquidgeWorld

At this point, Amelia knew that her ribs must have broken in the crash landing. Every time she coughed, a spasm of agony shot through her side, jostling the injury from the inside. And somehow, that wasn't the most concerning thing about her coughing fits.

Every time she coughed, petals came up as well.

As she looked down at the handkerchief the doctor had given her, she felt the urge to correct herself. They weren't petals, not anymore. They were flowers, purple with black centers random white spots. Perhaps they would be pretty if they hadn't come out of her. They weren't the sort of flower that would have been found in her mother's gardens, but it wasn't like Amelia had ever wanted a life centered amongst the perfectly-manicured flowerbeds, filled with identical roses.

Perhaps the petals would be pretty if they weren't covered in her blood and phlegm.

Delbert looked at her with... it wasn't pity, that much Amelia could tell, but she couldn't quite parse the expression on his face. "I don't want to interfere with your personal life - not more than Jim and I already have, anyways - but you really should tell them, once we get back to civilization."

"Doctor, what are you talking about?"

"I, um, I thought you'd know about this, that they would've gone over this in military training, since it's a surprisingly common disease that can be found on different planets, typically the more humid ones -"

She cut him off with a glare. Perhaps there was an occasion when his rambling would be endearing, but it wasn't this one.

"Right," he said. "Getting to the point. The disease is called hanahaki. The infection is harmless unless you harbor unspoken romantic feelings. Don't look at me like that; I don't understand the medical reasoning behind it either. With most strains, if you tell them your feelings, the flowers will clear up within an hour or two. If you don't tell them, well, there is a surgery, but last I heard it caused heart damage. Physically, not just emotional heartbreak. I imagine it's better than choking to death, which would happen if someone didn't remove the flowers somehow."

"Most strains?"

"Unfortunately, there are some strains where your declaration of love needs to be reciprocated. If they aren't, well. Like I said, there's surgery now. But I wouldn't worry about that, if I were you. Whomever they are, I imagine they're lucky to have you."

Right. Whomever they were. Perhaps Amelia could go tell them once she knew who the apparent object of her affections was.

"I've heard that the type of flower can help indicate the identity of whom you're pining for. It sounds silly, but this disease does defy logic. Not that I'm trying to pry, of course."

It wasn't like she had many clues to figure out whom she cared a torch for, so Amelia held her hand out to him, palm facing up so that Delbert could see the flowers. "Based on these, what do you think of the torch I'm carrying?"

His face went through several micro-expressions. If she were in less pain, she probably could have pinpointed them. "Ah, well, that appears to be Petunia Cultivars. Galaxy flowers, or night sky petunias, in laymen's tongue. I imagine that they're a fellow spacer, then? A freelancer, or someone in the navy?"

A coughing fit saved her from having to answer. That didn't actually help. The person she had been closest to ever since joining the navy had been Mr. Arrow. She would have gladly spent the rest of her life with him, but her feelings for him had been strictly platonic. He had been her dearest friend. He still was. Before he had died, he had known the depth of her friendship, so there was no use asking the doctor if there were any platonic strains of hanahaki.

So she was pining for someone who had a deep connection to the stars. A fellow spacer was most likely, but Amelia couldn't think of any who had caught her eye recently. Perhaps the doctor was wrong about their occupation, but who else would hold such a knowledge of the stars? Not unless...

Oh.

Oh no.

Author's Note: Cue Amelia's increasingly-delirious attempts at flirting!

Night sky petunias are a real flower, and quite beautiful. Here's a picture of one. They also come in dark pink, but I liked the look of purple ones better so I went with those in the fic.

I imagine that Delbert was expecting that if anyone got hanahaki for him, they'd probably cough up a brown orchid, such as a Tracy's orchid or a boat orchid. Orchids are known for being fragile flowers, and on an out-of-universe note, these orchids also match his whole aesthetic.

#treasure planet #captain amelia x delbert doppler #hanahaki #captain amelia #delbert doppler #my writing

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gritsandbrits · 10 months

Text

Thinking about my Narnia OCs. Spoilers for Narnia, the last battle

Octavia loves to solve mysteries but the one mystery she refuses yo touch is the one about Aunt Girdy. Cold, aloof, possibly bakes children in her oven Aunt Girdy. Rarely seen at family outings and when there is one it's a funeral.

When Octavia's parents drop her off to spend the weekend with the old bat, Octavia thinks it must be divine punishment for forgetting to thaw the turkey last week. While Girdy proves to not bake children in ovens, she has proven to be cold and strict.

That night Octavia sneaks into the attic and finds a box full of trinkets. She uncovers some interesting things: a dagger, an arrow broken at the tip. A vintage tin of Turkish Delights - the hell are Turkish Delights, Octavia asks herself - and an old b&w photo of a young woman with a young (white) man.

Octavia hears some noises and is about to leave but suddenly she finds herself outside in the middle of broad daylight when it's supposed to be nighttime. The grass a brighter shade of green brighter than humanly possible, the sky azure blue, musty odor replaced by frangipanni. And more unnerving Octavia realizes there is no door for her to return to.

On the other side Girdy wakes up and see that Octavia isn't in bed. She panics, she hate the police and doesn't want them at her house but doesn't want to get charged either. In the eye of tve hurrcane she spots thw attic door open and heads inside she finds evidence of Octavia messing in her trunk. At first Girdy is angry but it dawns on her she may have travelled to the place Girdy herself once visited-Narnia. Suddenly Girdy is digging around in books and the boxy clunker of a computer to find ways of travelling worlds. And then she spits another clue: the book Octavia brought with her to read was written by a Susan Pevensie.

Octavia is taken to the court of the Summer King, Salamann. He beguiles her with tales of the narnian race, of the defeat of the winter witch at the hands of the Four Kings and Queens. He talks of the Last Battle, and of the missing Flower Queen Gertrude. Octavia says she has an aunt named Gertrude but she isn't fit to be queen, more like a tyrant. Salamann tells her that in his domain fun is free and nobody has to work. Well almost nobody, he puts criminals to work as punishment. He plans to expand his world of fun to all Narnia, perhaps someday he might even cheer up the real world too. Salamann believes that the prophesied return of the Flower Queen, he could have the power to make things right.

It turns out Salamann's plan for a peaceful world is causing suffering. On his whims to built amusements he disrupts important monuments and nesting places for the animals and creatures. He puts "unfunny people" to work as punishment. In reality the unfunny people are political dissidents and critics, or people just having a bad day. Soon Octavia learns the truth from a young mouse whose home was destroyed by the construction of Salamann's park. She says in order to stop him they must find the Four Kings and Queens, who are currently in hiding.

Girdy is desperate to find Octavia but nothing she does works. Finally she brings herself to read Susan Penvensie's book.

In Girdy's youth she had lived with the old man, when four English children move in. Girdy was a shy girl, partly due to the bullying she experienced as a mixed race girl. She suspected the Pevensie kids to be tbe same to her relief they aren't. She accompanied them to Narnia, and learning of her powers over plants and nature, became the Flower Queen. As she got older she lost her ability to travel to narnia but never lost her penchant for plants. When the war was over, she and Peter - whom developed a romance with - decided to get married. Getrude had wanted to open a flower shop.

Gertrude was visiting family in Canada when she found out that the Pevensies as well as several of their extended family passed in a train accident. Susan wasnt there, making her the only survivor. In the aftermath, and with her dreams of a happy life shattered Girdy became bitter and lost contact with Susan. They hadn't spoken in years. But Girdy did keep a lot of things to remember them by. It was all she had.

Wait Susan can help her! Girdy finds the number and calls her expecting and answer. An unfamiliar voice answers and it is one of Susan's kids. They tell her that Susan passed away a few years ago. Before her death she wrote a book based on her experiences in Narnia. At this new info Girdy becomes ashamed. How had she been so foolish? To let so many years go by without a single hello or how are you? It was too late for reconciliation. All she could hope now is for Octavia to make it through.

Octavia journeys through the land avoiding Salamann's forces and befriending narnians along the way. Girdy continues to read Susan's book and feels a weight lifting off her, she goes back to the attic and uncovers the dagger the arrow the tin of turkish delights everything she kept of her friends. Now she truly cherished them. It was all she had.

Once she steps out again she finds herself on the same meadow of frangipanni, the sweet summer breeze in her now imperfect coils. The frangipanni whisper to her of the young girl and the soldiers in red and orange and gold. Of the king who rule the domain with dreams and eternal laughter.

Girdy hears it all and asks the frangipanni which direction she needs to take. She and Octavia eventually reunite but they are caught by Salamann, who asks Octavia why have she left their game. Girdy attempts to shield her niece but what can an old woman do? Suddenly an arrow comes their away distracting Salamann enough for the heroes to get away. A mystery figure guides them away, through a hidden pathway until they reach a boat. One the boat the figure unveils their hood - a servant of Caspian. Girdy reveals she once visited Narnia but told no one in their family. Having met Caspian before she trusts his servant to bring them to safety.

As Octavia learns more of her family history, Girdy and Susan have a long overdue conversation. Girdy apologizes for not talking to Susan while she was alive, that she did keep her letters but afraid to write back. Susan replies she also was too anxious to write anything back and was sidetracked by her boo and personal life. But even all this time never lost hope that Girdy would find her happiness again. Girdy and Peter meet again, Girdy is still an old woman at this point, she hasn't fully regain her joy but Peter tells her he still loves her no matter what. He had been disappointed that she seemed to forget about him and his siblings but promise to help her break free of her demons.

Caspian's Servant takes Octavia and Girdy to a castle ground far away from Salamann's cluthes. There in all their sparkling glory are the Four Kings and Queens. To Octavia's surprise one of them is her favorite author - Susan Pevensie!

Susan reveals that after she died she was reborn into her queen form, to finally rejoin her siblings. Octavia says her aunt has been to Narnia before, She mentions Salamaan spoke of the Flower Queen having the same name. The royals reveal that Gertrude IS the Flower Queen. Octavia is shocked but Girdy admits they are telling the truth. She tells Octavia that in their world Peter was her childhood sweetheart and that they had planned to marry after the war. When she lost him & their family, she lost a part of her soul. Only until Girdy regains her spark she can use her powers. Realizing all this makes Octavia feel guilty for judging her own aunt. She had no idea that underneath all that coldhearted resentment, was very deep pain.

At the end, Girdy and Octavia returns to the human world, the older lady having finally accepted that she can live again. Peter promises he'll wait for her like always. Edward gifts Octavia a tin of turkish delights. Susan gives Octavia her blessing to continue the chronicles.

Salamann plans to use Girdy's magic to rid the world of all sorrow and pain. He had seen portraits of her and fell in love. But he needs all elements: he already has water, ice and of course his own fire magic. He needed earth, spring. In a night he ambushes the royal place and kidnaps her. Salamann tries to seduce Girdy but she refuses. While the idea of changing her past seems tempting she didn't want to destroy her beloved Narnia or the real world to do it.

Octavia, The Four Kings and Queens and their allies launch a rescue operation; on the battle Girdy reclaims her joy and her power. Girdy reminds Salamann that pain and sorrow are just as valid as happiness and joy and to run away from negative emotions is just as bas as letting them consume you. Salamann doesn't listen and in a jealous rage tries to kill Peter. Girdy summons a spell and Salamann is swallowed into the earth, never to be seen again.

The story ends with Octavia and Girdy not even being gone that whole weekend, just as Octavia's parents arrive to pick her up. They're shocked to see Girdy in a better mood. They never seen her so...joyful. Perhaps she's thankful to get the brat put of her hair bur she tells them Octavia has been a good girl and open to visit her anytime. A week later Girdy and Octavia go to an ice cream shop in town to talk about Octavia's Susan Pevensie collection.

#narnia #narnia oc #peter pevensie x oc #oc x canon #the chronicles of narnia

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sparrow-orion-writes · 11 months

Note

Hay Sparrow, I hope your week has been well.

Since I’ve been doing those minor revisions to ‘To Heal a Broken Soul’ today, I figured I’d ask some questions that were inspired by what I was revising.

Does your world have magic in it? If so, does that magic sometimes have unintended side effects when it is cast? Can it be miscast? If it can, what are the consequences for doing so?

If there isn't any magic, is there anything that happens that does have unintended consequences?

Hiii thank you for the amazing questions as always!

Two of my writing projects utilise magic, and that's Released and Cardinal Sins. And the magic for both is actually really different and used very differently.

In CS, magic is elemental, so it fits into one of a few domains

The Forest (earth manipulation)

The Sky (Wind, air)

The Sea (Water, siren magic)

The Crucible (Fire) (Fire giants, volcanic)

The Internal (mind manipulation and compulsion, usually only present in half-humans of a magical descent)

The Infernal (demonic)

All of this magic presents in different ways and is unique to the user. Water magic tends to be harder to control than the other elements, especially with a sirens voice. The demonic has the least emotional and physical toll on the magic user. Earth and sky magic tends to work together and in harmony, and usually formed in the offspring of fey and weather sprites. With exception for Aspen, who has the power to control lightning, and was gifted this power by the forest after undergoing a genetic transmutation through hellfire.

And an exception for Tulip, the King, who has powers of earth, air, water, fire through the fifth earthly element granted to him, which is soul.

Aspen and Tulip are both seen extending their limits. Aspen's repercussions are exhaustion to the point of passing out, and bleeding eyes, nose and ears.

Fairweather, a siren, shows that she can't control her compulsion, and accidentally demands people do things which is why she ends up wearing her mask.

Mercury, previously human, now something, uses an enchanted arrow to kill his brother, because he misdirects his intention from the deer he was hunting to his brother, who irritated him.

In Released, though, magic is a little less organised. Each person has a specific fate and their powers relate to it. It depends on the power on whether or not there's any misuse or over exertion.

The best example is Kieran, who can't control his power, and is constantly exhausted and gets high to avoid the toll it takes on his mental and physical health.

This magic isn't usually cast so much as is a part of their personality.

#ask answers #tysmmmm #released #cardinal sins

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regina-daemonium · 2 years

Text

The fall

Still working away on my other two long-running stories, but sometimes my mind wanders already towards possible future story ideas.

Below a loose draft of a bit of writing, I hope to give wings within a new story. When I finally finish the ones I am currently working on that is.

Forged from the purest of celestial irons, the Archangel white with splashes of gold and blue armour would shine as radiant as the brightest morning star whenever he took flight. Now it was dull with dirt, dented and covered with a crimson hue. The blood, some of his brethren, but most of it his own as Lucifer fell from the heavens clawing at his own wings to hasten his fall.

Wings, one by one, fell away as the Archangels ripped them from his back. Six, ones pure white wings now turning ashen as they drifted down in a furry of blood and feathers. A deep dark green mist forming around them, keeping them together as they now made their own decent.

Lucifer did not care as he fell faster and faster into the darkness of hell. Nor did he hear the sudden strangled cry from within the swirling green fog. All he thought about was to try and catch her.

To save….

her.

A broken angel plummeting, her arms stretched out up to the heavens, towards the ones she loved. A ones curious, always smiling face, now twisted in pain, arrows burrowed deep within her broken wings. All the young angel ever wanted was to love and be loved. Tears of sorrow now streamed down her paling cheeks, her long silver locks tangling in the winds. The ground now close, she shut her eyes, a prayer for her brothers to be safe upon her dying lips.

Arms wrapped around her, a gentle touch. The young angels wings, ones white now slowly disintegrated, as they touched the devils ground. A soft smile filled out Lilith face as she looked up her eldest brother with love and tenderness. Set gently down on the ground, cradled in his arms, Lilith no longer felt the pain, nor heard the raging battle as a calmness settled over the dying angel.

Anger cast off like he had cast of his wings, Lucifer gently wiped a strand of hair from his sisters face. Jet black eyes staring into those of emerald green, eyes that ones sparkled with live, now slowly dimming with each laboured breath.

“I love you my sister, for now and eternity”, Lucifer whispered before placing one last kiss on Lilith's forehead. Tears filled the ones revered Archangel eyes, hanging for a breath at the fallen angels lashes, before rolling down the now newly born demons cheeks.

“Don't be sad my sweet brother, you tried", Lilith's voice sounded so soft, her fingers cold against his damp wet cheek. “It's OK” she whispered. “Just hold me and remember all the fun we used to have.”

Lilith's fingers lifted higher, a soft content sigh passed her dry cracked lips as she trailed her fingers though his raven hair.

It made Lucifer think back on the times he would lay with her in the meadows, how his little sister would run her fingers through his hair with one hand while pointing up at the clouds with the other as she told him what she saw in them.

The meadows was where Lilith would braid daisies, crowing Mammon head with them. Where she would dance, kicking up the dandelion seeds with Leviathan. Where she would roll down the hills in a giggling fit with the twins. Where she would sing, her voice so beautifully matched with Asmodeus as they gave voice to their newest song.

“Lucifer you must promise me...”

His fingers curled round hers, leaning in closer, her voice now so faint it was barely more than a faint whisper.

“Promise me that you will take care of them…”

Staring up the dark sky, Lucifer prayed for what would be the last time, begging his father to safe her his beloved sister, to take his live instead. But there was no answer but the echoes of a dying battle, the drips of his own tears falling.

Lucifer felt Lilith's hand slip away, as he watched with growing grief her eyes fluttered shut, never to open again. The mask of death slipping slowly over her face.

“Please”, he whispered one last time into the darkness. Closing his eyes, Lucifer sent out his prayer to anyone that would listen. “I'll do any for her to live.…”

Would you?

Would you swear an oath to me Lucifer, become mine if.... If I where to saved her?

Eyes snapping open, the black replaced with furious red, Lucifer stared up into the golden eyes of the demon now standing before him. The question hung heavy in the air.

Lucifer had started the war today to save his sister from getting wiped out of existence, all because of a mistake she had made fuelled by her love towards the man that had captured her heart. But his rebellion had been brewing long before, Lilith had just been the tipping point. His desire to be free, for all to be free to follow their dreams like his sister had, to no longer follow blindly the rules of heaven had spurred the Archangel on. He had been foolish, even prideful perhaps, to think he could have won the battle.

And now, he was given a choice, give up his freedom in exchange for his sister's life? To be bound again, this time not as a servant of heaven, but to the future Demon king of hell?

#obey me #obey me shall we date #Obey me lucifer #Obey me lillith #Writing draft

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doggosaurusrex · 2 years

Text

Magical Mentorship (2/6)

Against his protestations, Hubert has been assigned to lead a class on reason magic, where he ends up with an unexpected --and unwanted -- dedicated student.

Meanwhile, unsure of how to approach his budding feelings for Ferdinand, Hubert finds himself in the role of student, whether he likes it or not.

Also known as that time Sylvain became Hubert’s self-proclaimed wingman in exchange for magic lessons.

Takes place during the Crimson Flower route with all possible units recruited.

Word Count: 6094

Content Warnings: canon-typical violence, mild swearing

Part One

Three days had passed since the unfortunate incident in the garden. Sylvain had, thankfully, been dispatched to secure the Faerghus border along with Felix and Ingrid. There was no one to bother Hubert for additional magic training, and no interrogations into his non-existent romantic life. With enough luck, Sylvain would become distracted and forget all about the dreadful proposal he had made in the garden.

Unfortunately, Ferdinand had also been absent during that time as he too had been sent to the border to accompany the former Blue Lions. Hubert was no stranger to working independently for long periods of time; however, the other man’s absence hung over him like a persistent, overcast sky. His dreams were filled with flashes of Ferdinand’s bright smile, his warm laugh, the way the sunlight tangled with his copper hair, the electric touch of his hand on Hubert’s arm or shoulder during a moment of camaraderie…

Hubert tried to shake the thoughts from his mind. He was being ridiculous. Both of them were respected generals in her majesty’s army, and as such, would often be required to attend engagements that brought them to different sides of the continent. Wallowing like a lovesick maiden in a romance pulp was beneath him.

Hubert had his own tasks to occupy his time and thoughts. Arundel, or rather Thales wearing the deceased noble’s skin like an ill-fitting cloak, had run into a predicament. Several of the fiend’s dark mages needed to be rescued from demonic beasts that had broken loose from their control. If it were up to Hubert, he would have left every single one of them to rot, laughing as he watched them be torn limb-for-limb by the very monsters they created. Unfortunately, they could not afford to fight a war on two fronts and had to maintain a façade of cooperation with the loathsome maggots.

Just being in Thales’s presence made him feel ill. It did not help that the wretch would often deliberately seek Hubert out, as if twisting a knife into the mage, knowing Hubert could do little to reject the fiend’s commands lest he risk putting Lady Edelgard’s safety in jeopardy by refusing. Fortunately, with so many Garreg Mach alumni unexpectedly joining her majesty’s cause, and the miraculous return of their professor, they had enough military power to decline much of Thales’s assistance while maintaining their assault against the church.

The mission was little more than another of Thales’s thinly veiled attempts to exert power over the emperor, an unpleasant reminder of the accord that they had been forced to strike years ago. Hubert made sure to bring the professor as well as several other trusted generals, knowing their presence would dissuade Thales requesting more unsavory tasks from Hubert. Once the mission had been completed and Thales’s slugs rescued –with no lack mocking commentary directed at them from Hubert—the mage had departed with the Arrow of Indra in hand as payment to himself.

It was shortly after dawn when the professor had called him to the war room. She was pouring over a series of maps and reports that lay spread on the table. Her gaze flicked up as she heard Hubert enter the room. She briefed him on the situation.

“From what Shamir said, it looks to be some minor bandit activity near the base of the Oghma Mountains. Nothing too severe at the moment, but we don’t want them reaching the nearby villages.”

Hubert nodded.

“Any connection with those who slither in the dark? Thales is becoming more brazen with openly displaying what atrocities he and his ilk have committed.”

The professor frowned. “Not that I’m aware of, though you mentioned it’s not unusual for them to hire brigands. Keep your eyes open for anything suspicious.”

“I always do,” Hubert smirked.

“Good. If everything goes as planned, it shouldn’t be too difficult for the two of you to handle.”

“The…two?” Hubert’s smirk faltered, “Professor, who else—”

Hubert felt his words die in this throat as Sylvain rounded the corner, in full armour and grinning ear to ear.

“There’s my favourite, magical mentor! Adrestia’s slyest spymaster, and our most talented tactician!”

Sylvain wrapped a friendly arm around the mage’s bony shoulders and drew him into an awkward, sideways hug.

Hubert went ridged. His fingers twitched with the urge to burn the knight’s arm away with miasma.

“That’s enough, Sylvain,” the professor sighed.

Sylvain chuckled and removed his arm. He joined the professor at the table, eyes scanning through the reports and maps.

Together, the three of them went over the best routes for reaching the bandit camp undetected. They would circle through a surrounding forest, cutting off the bandit’s route that would lead to the next village. Less than half a dozen bandits had been spotted, though if their numbers turned out to be any larger, Hubert and Sylvain were to retreat to Garreg Mach to request reinforcements. The professor rolled up one of the nearby maps and gathered some of the scattered reports, handing the documents to Hubert.

“Good luck, you two. I know you will support each other and make an excellent team.”

The professor dismissed them, the smallest traces of a shrewd smile lighting her face.

Hubert silently glowered as he placed the documents in a satchel. This was surely payback for ending his duties as a reason magic instructor. Hubert did not doubt for a moment that she had assigned them together on purpose. Clearly the professor still expected him to guide Sylvain in some capacity.

With their task assigned, Hubert left to collect the supplies that they would need while Sylvain readied the horses.

Several vulneraries and bundles of bandages were prepared and packed. Hubert made sure he had a suitable tome with him as well.

As he was leaving, his eyes fell upon the Arrow of Indra tucked away in the cabinet where he stored his staves, tomes, and other weapons. Hubert picked up the weapon, running his fingers across its surface. Sparks of electricity flickered across the blade. His proficiency with utilizing lances had been improving, thanks to a training regiment that he had been completing with Ferdinand’s assistance. Furthermore, the weapon had been crafted of arcane crystal, a suitable conductor for channeling magic spells. Hubert wrapped the lance in cloth, not wanting to draw anyone’s attention to the rare weapon.

Sylvain was already waiting for him at the monastery gates with two horses saddled and readied. Aside from his standard equipment, Hubert noticed that Sylvain also had hidden a lance behind a layer of cloth. Likely the Lance of Ruin. If he looked carefully, Hubert could see the relic’s bone tendrils twitch beneath the cloth.

With their weapons secured and their supplies ready, the two departed.

Sylvain led the way through the dirt trails that wound through the forests surrounding the Oghma Mountains. He guided his horse with the ease of one who had likely been riding since they could walk.

Hubert, on the other hand, clung to his own horse’s reins until his knuckles were cramped and leached of colour. Keeping the mare on course was an ongoing battle. He had growled a threat of turning the beast into glue after the mare had tried to wander off the path for the third time. The mare tossed her mane and snorted with defiance every time the mage tugged on her reins and steered her back onto the trail.

The two men travelled in their silence for a time. The clip-clop of their horses’ hooves, the light breeze rustling the dense canopy of the forest’s leaves, and the distant chirps of songbirds were the only noises to be heard.

At least until Sylvain started humming to himself.

At first Hubert ignored the noise. It was not unusual for some people to be unused to working in silence and required some modicum of noise to stay focussed. So long as Sylvain ceased the racket once they neared the bandit camp, Hubert could tolerate it.

Then the humming intensified.

Each of the notes was high-pitched and off-key. Sylvain had looked over his shoulder and stared directly at Hubert when making a particularly shrill note, the beginnings of a smirk forming on his face.

“If you have something to say, out with it already!” Hubert snapped.

“What, me?” Sylvain said with feigned innocence, “Can’t a guy just enjoy humming a tune. Course, I’m sure you’d much prefer to hear singing from a certain Holy Knight.”

Hubert groaned loudly. Barely an hour working with the knight, and already Gautier was needling him over the same nonsense from days earlier.

“At this point, I would much rather hear the wailings of a decrepit banshee than listen to one more note of that ear-splitting screech you refer to as humming.”

“Okay, ouch! That was uncalled for!”

The conversation dropped. Hubert basked in the blissful silence. At least until…

“So…given any thought to my proposal?” Sylvain asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Hubert gritted his teeth. Of course Gautier refused to let go of his ridiculous plan no matter how much Hubert wished otherwise. That would have been far too simple a conclusion for one of the bull-headed knights of Faerghus. Hubert had encountered hounds that were less tenacious when tracking a rabbit they had scented.

“Did I not make myself abundantly clear days ago? My feelings for Ferdinand von Aegir do not extend past mere camaraderie; therefore, making the need for courting advice completely unnecessary. I do wish you well in your pursuit of successfully completely the dark knight certification exam; however, you will have to find a different tutor to assist you,” Hubert stated. His words clipped, firm, and hopefully enough to end this farce.

“That’s a shame. I guess you don’t want to hear about Ferdinand’s ideal spot for a tryst.”

Hubert drew his horse to a sudden halt. The mare whinnied and shook her maned head in annoyance. Hubert turned to the knight, his face scarlet.

“I beg your pardon; I believe I misheard you…” Hubert had somehow managed to keep his voice from hitching.

Sylvain smirked at him with an imp-like grin.

“Oh, I think you heard me just fine. Turns out our golden boy isn’t as innocent as he lets on. Mind you, he immediately got all flustered. I thought the poor guy was going to burst into flames he was turning so red.”

“And tell me, Gautier. Why was the subject of Ferdinand’s preferred…tryst location a topic of conversation?” Hubert’s eyes flashed and his blood inexplicably began to boil. Traces of a miasma spell gathered at his fingertips.

“Okay, first of all, I can smell the sulfur circling around you. So, drop the miasma spell and calm down! Ferdinand’s not my type…

“Secondly, he was the one who brought it up. I’m not entirely sure why, he just kind of…blurted it out. I guess he was trying to make conversation, you know how he is.”

Hubert sighed, the miasma spell vanishing. Internally, he cringed at his momentary loss of control but was careful to maintain a neutral outward expression.

“Though I’ve gotta say,” Sylvain smirked once more, “That’s one hell of a reaction from a guy a who…how did you word it again? Oh yeah…Whose ‘feelings for Ferdinand von Aegir do not extend past mere camaraderie.’

Sylvain added a deep rasp to his voice for the last few words.

Hubert bristled at the paladin’s poor imitation of his voice. Once again, Hubert calculated the toll it would take on the army and the future of Adrestia if Sylvain were to “mysteriously vanish” in the woods that surrounded them.

The two went quiet as they approached the fork in the road. They were just outside their target location. The jeers and hollers of the bandits could already be heard from where they stood. With a quiet set of hand gestures, the two men halted their horses to continue on foot.

Sylvain slid smoothly from his own saddle, while Hubert dismounted with significantly less grace. The mage’s foot had gotten tangled in on the stirrups, barely catching himself from falling face-first in the mud when he tried to pull it free. He glared murderously at the knight who dared snickering at his predicament.

Once Hubert’s feet were mercifully back on the ground, they led the animals to a nearby wooded area. The horses were quickly secured, and the two men grabbed their weapons.

Hubert snatched his tome while Sylvain chose the silver lance that had been secured to the saddle. After a moment of hesitation, Sylvain also grabbed the still-covered Lance of Ruin as well and strapped it to his back.

On quiet feet, they slipped their way through the forest to the bandit encampment. Hubert took the lead, watching the ground for any traps or trip wire alarms. Sylvain followed close behind, surprisingly light on his feet for one who was fully armoured.

Hubert peered through the leaves, assessing the camp that lay before him, and frowned.

There were more bandits than Shamir had mentioned in her scouting report. Likely, reinforcements had arrived shortly before he and Sylvain had set out on the mission. A cluster of four heavily armoured fortress knights were gathered at the centre of the camp. Two cavaliers on horseback patrolled the perimeter. Two snipers with bows in hand were perched in the trees, almost impossible to spot behind the thicket of leaves. A swordmaster and a brigand sat around a campfire, weapons set aside, chatting and hollering with one another.

“That’s a hell of a lot more than half a dozen bandits,” Sylvain hissed, crouched at Hubert’s side, “So, we heading back to the monastery for backup?”

Hubert’s eyes darted around the camp, assessing each of the foes.

“You’re capable of casting Balganone, yes?” Hubert whispered to Sylvain, his eyes locked onto the cluster of fortress knights.

“Sure, but trying to channel that spell through my lance is going to cut its power in half. It’s not going to be enough to burn through their armour, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Sylvain frowned, nodding towards the same group of armoured knights through the branches.

Hubert went silent for a moment, thinking of their next course of action. An idea quickly sprung in his mind.

“I may have a solution,” whispered Hubert. He signalled for Sylvain to follow him.

They crept their way back to the tree where their horses were resting. The mare Hubert had rode lifted her head from the patch of grass she had been nibbling at. She snorted as he carefully approached her.

Hubert grabbed the cloth-wrapped lance that had been secured to the saddle. Carefully, he unwound its bindings, removed the cloth, and presented the weapon to Sylvain.

“It’s called the Arrow of Indra. Made of ancient technology and a relic of the old world long before the Church of Seiros was established. It was crafted with the intent to channel magic just as effectively as any tome or staff.”

Sylvain’s eyes went wide as he examined the lance. Tentatively, he received the weapon and gave the lance a gentle swing, testing its weight.

“Wow,” Sylvain breathed, mesmerized by the tiny sparks that flickered across the blade, “Where did you even find this thing?”

“That is of no concern right now,” Hubert hissed, “I do believe it should fit well with the hybrid combat techniques you have been utilizing lately and are seeking to master.”

“Guess it’s worth a try,” Sylvain left his silver lance with his horse, the Arrow of Indra taking its place on the knight’s back alongside the Lance of Ruin.

The two crept their way back to the outskirts of the bandit camp. The enemy formations had not changed much since they departed. The cavaliers were still a distance away from their comrades, keeping an eye for anyone approaching from the road. A rustle of leaves high up in the trees indicated that the snipers had not left their roosts. Meanwhile, the swordmaster and brigand at the fire pit passed a bottle of whisky back and forth, roaring with laughter. The fortress knights were still clustered together, looking over a map that had been stretched across a table.

“If we time our attacks correctly, we should be able to eliminate the fortress knights in one swoop,” Hubert whispered, “I’ll cast Mire first. The acid sludge conjured by the spell should hold them in place. At that point, you cast Balganone. With the acid already corroding their armour, the fire should have no difficulty penetrating their defenses and burning them to cinders.”

“And what about the snipers?” Sylvain pointed to the trees above the camp, “The second we launch those spells, they’ll be on top of us.”

“Banshee should be enough to immobilize for a time. I’ll cast Mire again to finished them off.”

“Will you be able to switch spells that quickly?” Sylvain frowned, “I might be able to fire Sagittae at them…”

“Focus on ensuring the fortress knights are eliminated. Removing them from the board will greatly bolster our chances of success. The brigand and swordmaster by the fire pit are of far greater concern to me,” Hubert grimaced, staring at the aforementioned soldiers who had currently stumbled to their feet and were taking turns throwing knives, poorly, at a target that had been scrawled on a nearby tree, “We can only hope that they are as inebriated as they appear.”

Sylvain nodded.

“I can deal with them if you can get rid of the cavaliers once they show up. Got those Dark Spikes handy?”

“And here I thought I was the one to be giving you magic advice,” Hubert chuckled.

Hubert readied his tome, the pages already radiating a dim, violet glow. He slipped between the branches through the woods, carefully not to step on anything that would alert the enemy. Sylvain followed close by, the Arrow of Indra in hand. Once their target was in range, the mage and the knight launched their attack.

Everyone went as planned.

Hubert’s Mire spell caught the fortress knights unaware. Horrified shrieks echoed from their helms as they tried to scrape away the corrosive slime that chewed through the heavy plates. One of the knights had tried to escape, only to find their foot tangled in the slime and falling face-first into the dark mire.

Sylvain immediately followed with Balganone, the spell launching flawlessly from the Arrow of Indra. Fire engulfed the group of fortress knights. Flames licked through their corroded armour, incinerating the soldiers inside.

Hubert wrinkled his nose as the scent of burnt flesh and melted iron filled the air.

A rustling from the trees above alerted him to the archers preparing to fire. Hubert cast the Banshee spell he had brewing, summoning a host of ghostly hands to hold the snipers in place. A series of curses and shouts sounded from the branches as the archers found themselves unable to move.

Hubert immediately switched to summoning dollops of mire on top of the archers.

An arrowed zipped by Hubert’s face, nearly grazing his cheek. One of the snipers must have broken free from Banshee. He cursed, jumping back and readying Mire once more.

A cascade of blinding arrows spiralled towards the treetops. Hubert turned to see Sylvain, pointing the Arrow of Indra towards the trees, the sharp tip glowing from the aftereffects of the Sagittae spell. The accuracy of the spell dubious, most of the magic arrows finding themselves stuck in the surrounding trees, nowhere near the hidden archers.

Nonetheless, the spell had fulfilled its intended purpose. Hubert used the distraction to finish casting Mire once more.

The cavaliers patrolling the edge of the camp began charging towards the commotion on horseback, while the brigand and the swordmaster stumbled to their feet and groped for their weapons.

Hubert silently nodded at Sylvain then towards the soldiers at the fire pit. Sylvain returned his own nod of affirmation before peeling off towards his targets.

The rumble of horse hooves became thunderous as the cavaliers approached. One of them had a javelin ready and aimed at Hubert.

Violet spikes, summoned by the mage, erupted from the ground and skewered both of the cavaliers and their steeds.

Hubert turned to see that Sylvain had eliminated the swordmaster and was giving chase to the brigand.

The brigand staggered, breathing harsh and heavy as he ran. Blood streamed from multiple slashes against his chest.

He pulled out a coloured stone with the image of a crest.

Hubert’s eyes went wide. Cold surged through his body.

“Sylvain, wait!”

The knight halted, turning to Hubert with a look of annoyance and confusion. A look that immediately turned to horror as a bright, red light blazed through the camp.

Screams that could turn one’s blood to ice were ripped from the brigand. The sickening crunch of his bones snapping and realigning reverberated through the camp as the brigand’s frail human form was twisted and reforged into something monstrous. When the eldritch light vanished, a massive demonic beast stood where the brigand had once been.

The beast lumbered towards them, saliva dripping from a gaping maw of razor teeth. A series of sharp spines jutted from the creature’s back. Its red eyes were filled with nothing but mindless hunger.

“Sylvain!” Hubert hollered to his companion, “Be ready with another Balganone spell. It combined with Mire should be enough to melt through the beast’s thick hide…”

There was no response. The knight stared at the beast, his face blanched, eyes wide, and whole body shaking.

“Sylvain!” Hubert shouted again.

The paladin remained silent and unmoving. Terror was plastered across his face.

A very similar scene from years ago, from one of the first missions Sylvain had attended with the Black Eagles, flashed in Hubert’s memory. The scene of a young man, normally filled with aggravating amounts of bravado, frozen in horror as he watched his brother mutate into an incomprehensible nightmare before his eyes…

“Damn!” Hubert cursed as he saw the demonic beast began rushing towards Sylvain.

The mage fired a quick miasma spell at the monster, drawing the beast’s attention away from the knight who remained frozen place.

The beast roared and began charging towards Hubert. The mage dashed behind a nearby tent, hoping for some semblance of cover. The monster smashed through the flimsy structure, tearing through it like parchment.

“Sylvain!” Hubert screamed again, his voice becoming desperate. With tome in hand, he scrambled to cast another spell.

Sylvain blinked, finally broken from the spell of paralyzing fear. He turned towards Hubert and the monster, the Arrow of Indra readied.

“Cast Balganone! Now!” Hubert shouted, his Mire spell already brewing.

Sylvain held out his lance and began conjuring his own spell.

The dark sludge and the bright flames collided into the beast at the same time. Enraged roars filled the air. It twitched and squirmed, trying to shake away the burning substance that had coated its scales. Two of its sharp spines melted and snapped off as the boiling mire continued to eat away at it. Fissures of steam lifted from areas where the sludge was chewing through particularly thick clusters of scales. The stench was unbearable, as if a volcano had erupted under a bog.

The beast collapsed, its armoured hide stripped away, exposing the scorched, vulnerable flesh beneath. Weakly, the monster wriggled, trying to regain its footing, only to fall back down.

Sylvain used the opportunity to sprint ahead and drive the Arrow of Indra through the weakened skull of the monster. The monster made one last feeble cry as the blade pierced it before falling dead.

Sylvain tore the bloodied lance away. He stood over the slain beast, breathing heavily, his eyes wide and frenzied.

With the last threat eliminated, the two silently searched through the remnants of the camp, looking for clues as to what the bandit’s plans were.

Nothing of interest surfaced. Even the maps that the fortress knights had been pouring over were non-descript diagrams of the area’s terrain and local settlements.

An uneasy chill set in Hubert’s bones. The presence of a crest stone screamed involvement of those who slither in the dark. Unfortunately, the ruined camp offered no clues as to their plans or whereabouts. Hubert cursed under his breath. He would be sure to report the incident to Lady Edelgard and the professor, as well as have his information network search the area for more evidence, but it was doubtful such an investigation would bear any fruit.

With their task completed, Hubert and Sylvain departed from the camp and made their way back to their horses.

Hubert glanced over at his companion and frowned. The knight was uncharacteristically quiet. His jaw was clenched, eyes blazing furiously at the trail before him.

“Sylvain—”

“Look, just save it!” Sylvain snapped, “I know I screwed up back there. It won’t happen again!”

“…I was merely going to inquire as to your wellbeing…”

“Oh…” said Sylvain, his shoulders slumping as his anger visibly deflated, “…I’m alright…I guess…”

A moment of silent hung between them again before Hubert spoke once more.

“I imagine our encounter caused some unpleasant memories of Miklan to surface...”

Sylvain laughed bitterly.

“Is it that obvious?” the knight spat. He sighed heavily before speaking again.

“I’ve fought dozens of these demonic beasts, but this one…seeing that transformation…hearing those screams…Miklan was always a right bastard, but I still can’t shake the feeling that if things had been different then maybe…”

“I know it is not my place to speak of matters concerning your family,” Hubert said hesitantly, “but Miklan’s decisions, regarding his banditry as well as the theft of the Lance of Ruin, are of his own doing. True, the rigid caste system instilled by this continent’s overvalue of crests had dealt him an unfavourable hand in life, but what he chose to do with that hand, and the subsequent consequences incurred, are not your burden to bear.”

“Yeah…I know…” Sylvain sighed; his eyes downcast. Several moments of silence passed before he spoke once more.

“What about you? Got any older siblings?”

The simple inquiry cut surprisingly deep. Images of his younger brother and sister flashed through his mind. It had been some time since he had last seen Matilda and Theodore. Both of them would be adults by now: Matilda a young woman in her early twenties and, based on what their mother had written in her last letter, it sounded as if Theodore was nearly as tall as Hubert in height. With pang of sadness, Hubert pondered if he would even recognize his younger siblings anymore. He knew that they, as well as their mother, were all safely in hiding, but he could not risk visiting them while Thales watched his every move.

“No. I do not,” Hubert stated flatly in the end.

Sylvain only hummed in response, letting the conversation drop.

The two returned to their horses, secured their weapons, and prepared to depart. Hubert had managed to situate himself in the saddle with no dramatics this time. He was just about to steer the mare towards Garreg Mach when Sylvain turned to him with a grin.

“So…how about I tell you about that spot I mentioned earlier.”

Hubert groaned, burying his face in one hand while the other still clung to the horse’s reins.

“Must we continue this farce?”

“Hey, I said I would help you find ways to woo Ferdinand if you helped me with my reason magic. Not only did you give me some good pointers back there, but you also let me use that lance of yours. Seriously, that thing is a game-changer, you have to tell me where you found it!”

“I would hardly count loaning you a necessary tool and shouting orders during the heat of battle as any sort of valuable tutelage,” Hubert muttered.

“Hey, I’m a man of my word. It’s the least I can do.”

Hubert winced, chewing at his bottom lip and internally pleading for his face to stop mimicking the colour of a ripe tomato.

“That information is not necessary. Where Ferdinand fantasizes of engaging in amorous activities is his business and his business alone. I do not require intimate details of what Ferdinand would find to be a suitable tryst location.”

“Tryst location? Who said anything about a tryst location. I’m just suggesting an interesting spot you may enjoy. Maybe somewhere you can…relax. And if one day, you and Ferdinand both happen to end up in the place I mention…well that’s none of my business, is it?” Sylvain said with a wink.

“Very well. If you insist,” Hubert sighed in a voice that certainly did not hitch above its normal octave, while his heart absolutely did not flutter in his chest like a bird trying to break out of its cage.

“Well then. Let’s get a move on!” Sylvain smirked, guiding his horse down the trail, and signalling Hubert to follow him.

With a loud groan, Hubert urged the mare forward into a light trot, trailing after the knight.

After riding along the trails for about twenty minutes, Sylvain came to stop. Hubert brought his own horse to a halt as he eyed the surroundings.

There was nothing of particular interest in the area. It resembled much of the same forest that he and Sylvain had been tasked to scout. Situated at the base of the mountain range, the forest was little different than any other could be found within Adrestia. There were no ponds or trickling streams to draw the eye. The place did hold a certain pastoral quaintness to it, with its pine trees and small patches of wildflowers dotting the trails, there a sense of tranquility that some would find pleasing. Although Hubert could not picture Ferdinand necessarily disliking the spot, the location hardly seemed like the type of area to be of memorable notice to Ferdinand’s gregarious attention.

“This is the location?” Hubert inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“You bet!” Sylvain grinned, pointing to a spot up high and above the trees, “Right up there!”

Hubert’s stomach plummeted and whatever colour was in his pale face was leeched away as he looked at the land formation beyond the trees that Sylvain was gesturing towards.

“The…Oghma Mountains,” Hubert stated flatly. He miraculously kept his voice neutral, but just looking at the mountain made him feel lightheaded and dizzy, “You are suggesting we climb the Oghma Mountains…”

“It’s perfect!” Sylvain beamed, “The guy loves heights! You should have seen the way Ferdinand’s face lit up every time we were at the top of any sort of valley, cliff, or even large hill. He would spend a solid ten minutes gushing about how extravagant the view was. I thought Felix was going to pitch him off the last hill…”

Hubert was only half-listening. The mountains loomed before him, a battalion of hostile giants that threatened to crush him. Images flashed through his mind of himself falling from the dizzying height and turning into paste once his body slammed into the ground far below. Or perhaps he would be impaled by one of the many trees on his way down?

Memories of a foolish young boy who had tried to follow his dreams and climb atop a pegasus returned to him as well. It was one of his earliest memories and Hubert still felt ill thinking about the incident. He had clung to the beast’s neck, screaming, as the pegasus launched itself into the air. It had tried its best to buck the young rider of its back as it tore through the sky, the ground treacherously far away from his reach. It was only through the timely rescue from his mother that Hubert had not ended up as a broken, mangled corpse at the age of five.

“There’s a cliff edge right over there,” Sylvain pointed to a ledge that was nauseatingly far from the ground, “Petra and I found the spot a few weeks ago during sky watch duties. The view up there is pretty great, and I don’t think many people have found that spot.”

Stricken, Hubert’s eyes darted up and down the cliff. The face of the cliff was steep drop. There was no gradual incline that could be traversed to access the spot.

“And pray tell, how exactly am I supposed to reach that location?” Hubert hissed, “Do you expect me to scale that cliff face like some sort of squirrel?”

Sylvain raised an eyebrow at the comment and frowned.

“Can’t you just, you know, warp there?”

It was Hubert’s turn to quirk and eyebrow and scowl.

“I am sure you may have noticed, but the faith magic required to cast that spell is not my speciality. At best, I am able to cast a moderately effective healing spell if forced to make use of that particular branch of magic,” Hubert said with a grimace, recalling the dreadful faith magic lessons the professor had pushed him to undergo in order to develop his non-existent healing abilities. An endeavor the professor had thankfully abandoned when Hubert’s ill-fated attempt of casting Physic on a frog had resulted in the creature exploding.

“Well, I know that,” Sylvain snorted, “But what about the other warp spells? The ones used by those creepy mages that pop up from time to time. They didn’t use faith magic for those…”

Hubert’s blood went cold. He and Lady Edelgard had done their best to shield the majority of the imperial army from their unsavory, but unfortunately necessary, dealings with those who slither in the dark. Jeritza and the professor were the only ones he knew for sure that were privy to the information. Even so, between Thales’s insistence of appearing uninvited at the monastery and his mages’ only undergoing the minimal effort to hide their presence, it was not surprising that others within the army were becoming aware of their involvement.

Sylvain’s annoyingly observant nature was going to continue to be a nuisance.

“I do not possess the knowledge for that particular spell,” Hubert stated flatly. He suppressed a shiver, thinking about Thales’s offer of dark magic knowledge that went far beyond Hubert’s own. It was a poisoned offering. A festering thing of maggots and thorns. One that would have forever condemned him to be of the same malignant ilk as Thales himself had he accepted.

In another life, had things been only a little different, had the professor and their classmates not rallied to her majesty’s side in her time of need, Hubert may have accepted the tainted offer…

“What made you think I would be capable of such magic, anyway?” Hubert hissed at the knight.

“I don’t know. It just seemed like something you’d be able to do…” Sylvain said with a small shrug, “There’s a small pathway just up ahead and to the left that should get you up there. It’s a bit overgrown, but it’s still manageable by foot…You know, I’m sure Petra would lend you her wyvern if you wanted to get up there quickly…”

Hubert’s stomach did a somersault at the suggestion. A tinge of green seeping into his face. The only thing worse than climbing a tall cliff was the thought of having to ride one of those damnable flying reptiles.

“The footpath will do just fine,” Hubert said curtly.

“Suit yourself,” Sylvain shrugged, “Well, do what you want with the information. But I personally think that romantic little vantage point is your ticket to wowing Ferdinand.”

Hubert continued to stare at the mountain, his brow furrowed enough likely to leave permanent lines.

He knew Sylvain was right. That Ferdinand would be absolutely enamoured by the view that cliff edge would bring. The mountains were nestled snug at the point where the borders of all three countries converged. The particular vantage point Sylvain mentioned would provide a clear view of Leicester, Adrestia, and the Airmid river that snaked between them. Hubert could already see the way Ferdinand’s face would light up, enthralled by the majestic view before him. The way his amber eyes would dance with joy and his melodic voice would drift through the air as he sang praises about how the vast forests and fields stretched out below him…

“I will…give it some thought.”

Hubert cast one, last grimacing look at the mountain as he and Sylvain departed.

As much as Hubert wished to see the radiance of Ferdinand’s awestruck smile as he gazed upon the grand horizon presented by the rarely used vantage point, he was absolutely not about to risk traversing a towering death trap in order to do so.

#ferdibert #hubert von vestra #ferdinand von aegir #sylvain jose gautier #doggofic

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