#ITS TIME FOR HIDDEN BLADE REWATCH EVERYONE!!!!!!

[accio-victuuri]

sharing this article from today about HB. 🤍

Nominated for "Best Feature Film" at the Golden Rooster Award: "Hidden Blade": a hidden arrow that breaks the unspoken rules of box office for literary and artistic films

A classic is a kind of work,

It continues to give rise to clouds of criticism of it,

And keep getting rid of it,

It never completes what it has to say.

Hidden Blade, whose global box office is still rising, is the box office ceiling for domestic literary and artistic films. The background of this performance is that serious films have encountered an era of shallow reading, the industry and the public have been torn apart, and box office has become an undercurrent sweeping everything. However, because literary films do not conform to the shallow entertainment psychology, their niche nature is predicted by bloodthirsty and crude evaluations, and they are ahead of schedule. They are killed by film placement rate.

The true mission of film︱Making culture visible

The turbulent clouds and red color in the broad field of vision are somewhat incompatible with the festive atmosphere of the Lunar New Year. Released on the first day of the Lunar New Year, it is a kind of performance art in itself... It is very cliché, and it is exactly the same as the self-deprecation of super commercial films. As a spy war literary film, "Hidden Blade" has achieved a breakthrough in innovative expression of Chinese films, and its heterogeneity is unique among domestic films.

The dramatic tension of too many movies relies entirely on scenes and special effects, which disappear once they leave the theater. "Hidden Blade" creates a huge psychological magnetic field, which is still exciting even if it is separated from the audio-visual environment. The tone threshold of "Hidden Blade" is not some kind of contempt for the audience, but the ultimate respect for the audience, history, and movies.

Literary films are a type of film relative to the concept of commercial films. They focus on artistic expression and cultural connotation, and try to pursue higher aesthetic values ​​and cultural significance. Their production is also different from commercial films: commercial films pursue commercial interests or mass entertainment, and take the movie box office as the main goal, while literary films focus on the artistry and cultural connotation of the film.

Transgressing norms and offending common sense, art films are pioneers of film. They often fail but expand the boundaries of film. There are two literary classics in the history of world cinema, "The Shawshank Redemption" and "Westward Journey". They failed miserably at the box office when they were first released. However, they accumulated a large number of die-hard fans through the later dissemination of images. After years of accumulation, they became indelible classics.

The core of the value counterattack between the two works is still that gold will always shine.The former's exploration of human nature and social systems has created a milestone in modern cinema, while the latter's postmodern deconstructive stream of consciousness has won resonance in an era of subversion of tradition.

As a cultural carrier, movies are the most intuitive and transparent value expression of the thoughts of the times. Although most of the classics handed down from ancient times are not the true understanding of the thinkers' era, they have been accepted by the public after years of precipitation. As a result, classics continue to increase in value over the course of history. This is the power of classics and the reason why we respect classics.

As early as in "The Death of Romance", Cheng Er used lines to express his feelings, "Movies are made for the audience of the next century." Look, for artists who break through the context of their times, the feedback they receive from the times is often lagging or misaligned, although this misalignment itself is precisely the connotation of the avant-garde. Yes, art films have always been a disadvantaged group in the industry that suffers at the box office.

In contrast to the tragic box office situation, the ambition and strength of literary films in film art awards. This is also the reason why "Hidden Blade" recently swept the 36th Golden Rooster Awards, with 8 major nominations and caused controversy among public opinion.

The existence of "Hidden Blade" is indeed an isolated example of a domestic literary film. With a box office of 931 million, it is not only the highest-grossing film in director Cheng Er's career, it is even several times the total box office of all his previous works! It's so stunning that "Hidden Blade" has always been criticized by the public, expelled from the art film camp by default in the name of "removing the highest score"!

"No one knows your name, but your achievements are immortal." The grand proposition of the unknown hero in "Hidden Blade" is more sentimental about family and country than any of Cheng Er's previous works. And does this main theme of "greatness, light, and justice" fit in with the art film's original understanding of "the world, society, and life" for individuals and the authorial expression of film language?

"Hidden Blade" is not the first of its kind to draw on commercial marketing for a literary film. At that time, "Fireworks in the Day" was announced as a romantic suspense film, and it received similar reviews and received double box office revenue. It can be seen that only true literature and art dare to joke about "super commercial films".

Cheng Er responded to this joke in an interview with "China News Weekly", "I was editing the film that day, and then they came in with their mobile phones to show me, and said that everyone still thought it was too literary, and I said let's just type a line. Come out - a super commercial film. This is a joke, and indeed no one put such a slogan in the trailer."

He said that he just found it interesting and that there was nothing to rebel about and it was not worth rebelling against. Confidence and relaxation are often qualities of an artist. These qualities make people stand out like fireflies in the dark, allowing the public to quickly pick them up from the crowd. And Cheng Er slowly titled a serious film "super commercial film" because of his humor.

Movies are not just an art of light and shadow | they are also an art that can cultivate people

Low box office is not the standard for art films. “When art is dressed in shabby clothes, it is easiest for people to recognize it as art.” However, this is not an essential representation of art, but the quality of the audience that needs to be improved. The complaints faced by "Hidden Blade" are the same as those faced by literary films as a whole, which is the contradiction between the film's authorial expression and public acceptance.

But does literature and art have to be a niche? Does it deserve to be obscure and slow-paced? Come to think of it, no one is more qualified to answer than "Hidden Blade", who has boiled the black water into a world of wealth and led the public's aesthetic appreciation with niche art!

The most representative narrative style of Cheng Er's films is "flashback narrative", which established his unique creative and imaging style. It invites the audience to participate, rely on brain supplements to build together, and gain the pleasure of decoding. It is a true "understanding", and it is easy to be confused if you don't understand. Such films pursue aesthetics and reflection, and are usually aimed at more mature and artistic audiences.

Movies are products of the cultural industry and are essentially consumed cultural products. In the context of the influx of capital and hot money into the film market and the industrialized mass production of film culture, commercial films are certainly high-return cultural snacks tailored for audiences. Even the creators of literary and artistic films are hard-pressed to avoid being judged by box office success . "The concept of influence or even kidnapping.

It is common for literary films to sell less than 5 million yuan. From Chen Zheyi softly asking the sky, "Why are elegant and gentle people scolded?" to Huang Xufeng angrily choking netizens, "I have no merit but hard work." There is no antidote in the world. The reason why literary and artistic films are criticized is often because in the fast-food era of shallow reading, literary and artistic films have to embrace the sinking market and attract non-target audiences in order to pursue box office.

But movies are just products? No, it is still a cultural expression and a carrier of social values. Comparing movies to products, then literary and artistic films are obviously not fast-moving consumer goods. When facing capital and the market, how can they be in line with the public while not losing their authorial nature? Cheng Er said, "Good-looking art films are also good commodities, and excellent commercial films are also a kind of art."

When it comes to art, most people may think that art is highbrow, aloof, and far away from daily life. And this is not the case. Yu Hua said in the roadshow of "The Mistake by the River", what does it mean to understand? In fact, it is whether it can overlap with our own life experience. If there is overlap, you can understand it. If there is no overlap, you can't understand it. That's normal.

In this explanation, understanding or not understanding is not profound. And Cheng Er has always said that the audience should not be underestimated. People who watch movies are influenced by their own likes and dislikes. Whatever they feel is what they have. Whether they understand or not is not that important.

The audience should not be too demanding to understand, and the artist should also be down-to-earth. Art for the sake of art is not true art. "Hidden Blade" is not only a literary film, but also a literary footnote to Chinese films, because it truly expresses the cruelty of history but is still full of artistic beauty. Cheng Er is very familiar with the history of the Republic of China and knows the intricate relationships between characters.

"Hidden Blade" is composed of real historical details as fine as twists and turns. When I say I can’t understand it, I’m not expressing disdain, but living in China, it’s difficult to understand the history of 5,000 years of civilization, but there is absolutely no threshold for mastering the history of the Anti-Japanese War! It is understandable that one cannot appreciate the narrative technique due to aesthetic differences, but the Internet atrocities of selling one’s soul for five cents and tainting the theme of the film are unforgivable.

There is no universal set of aesthetic rules in the world, but artists try to legislate aesthetics. Every era has its own branded dogma, until the next generation of artists establishes their own profession. Therefore, Gombrich exorcized art and said, "There is no art, only artists." He hoped that the world would stop enshrining art in shrines and use mystery and sacredness to Feeling separates oneself from the work.

There is also a similar "death of the author theory" in the literary field, which means that the author is as if dead when the work is born, and the interpretation and evaluation of the work are left to the readers. That is, there are a thousand Hamlets for a thousand readers, and there is no standard answer.

Just like we cannot require every movie to go straight to the international film festival awards, but also to hit the hearts of the audience and be a classic that will be passed down forever. We cannot require every movie viewer to have high film literacy from the beginning, and to be able to get the spiritual resonance of the creative intention. The growth of movies, filmmakers, and movie audiences requires more tolerant soil and space.

Of course, there is really little space left for literary and artistic films in theaters now! No matter at home or abroad, when the public unanimously agrees that "artistic films deserve low box office", please understand that the industry should leave some room for exploration for artistic films. Allow them to be ignorant of the customs, and only on the soil of tolerance can viable artistic flowers bloom.

Social aesthetic value orientation︱The purpose and driving force of movies

"A lame dog walks through the bombed street scene." One day, Cheng Er took a pen filled with ink and wrote this sentence on the paper. At that time, no one, including himself, knew it, but it was becoming the starting point for a movie called "Hidden Blade," and this moment of brutal aesthetics became the famous scene of the movie.

Personal aesthetics are free, but social aesthetics has a paradigm. Education and social culture will influence and standardize aesthetics and shape aesthetic orientation. Different eras and different environments have different aesthetic orientations, and different aesthetic orientations make people make different value choices. That is to say, no matter how free the aesthetics and how diverse the values ​​are, as long as the rice is sown, it will never grow into tares.

Art and commerce are the two legs of movies. Art movies are full of vitality, and commercial movies are lively. When the leg of literature and art is lame, it is not unfair that Chinese films have been reduced from regulars on the awards podium at international film festivals to regulars on the red carpet.

Yes, there is indeed a "silver-like pewter tip" in the name of art. When artistic conscience is marginalized by desire, the so-called art becomes only a barren and pale flower shelf that cannot withstand scrutiny and argumentation. But "Hidden Blade" allows us to see how an exquisite literary film is polished and shaped, and even simple film layouts contain shooting skills.

Generally, it is the director's habit to record the scene first, then the actors perform, and the cameraman follows the camera movement, but this is not the case on Cheng Er's set. Wang Yibo once mentioned that the crew respects the actors very much. The filming scene is very quiet. Once the mood enters the state, the photographer shoots directly. After the scene is finished, the filming will be finished. The filming will never interrupt the actors' brewing emotions.

In the later stage, Cheng Er slept directly in the studio and only did one thing every day, cut, cut, cut! Thanks to his almost fanatical work status, Cheng Er didn't even get exposed to the sun last year! It took seven years to sharpen a sword, just for a different Chinese movie. Incorporate the main melody into genre movies, and use the language and audio-visual rhythm of genre movies to achieve innovative expression of the main melody theme.

"A truly good movie must be more commercial than commercial and more artistic than art. For me, what I have always wanted to do is to be more commercial than commercial and more artistic than artistic." Cheng Er said this and did the same.

Cheng Er's images are full of subtle metaphors. Puppet Manchukuo, Shanghai, and Hong Kong, the spiritual narrative about the city in "Hidden Blade" permeates the architectural language of Rongzhai, No. 76, No. 567 Xiafei Road, Central Market, and Man Mo Temple; it is hidden in Japanese, Shanghai dialect, The mixture of pidgin and Cantonese arouses emotional resonance and deep thinking in the audience.

The Puppet Manchukuo, which only exists in the dialogue between Watanabe and Mr. Ye, is like a ghost with the chill of a daydream; the isolated island in Shanghai, which occupies the main part of the film, exudes luxury and inconsistency in its exquisiteness; and Hong Kong, as the hub of the international anti-Japanese united front, is full of human fireworks, revealing a simple and soothing world.

Dark clouds are pressing down, devastation is everywhere, and at the end of the tunnel, the historical information in the image of the current situation is compressed into a minimalist narrative, waiting to be decompressed. Until the dark wormhole of the theater, the historical words in the spy war narrative rushed towards us...

The anti-Japanese drama consumes misery, the anti-war themes are reproduced in large numbers, and the massacres cause psychological discomfort... In the past, expressions of the history of national suffering often followed the rules of exposing cruelty, exposing blood, and even exchanging violence for violence. What is shocking about "Hidden Blade" is that it uses beauty to overcome ugliness. It is amazing: It turns out that suffering can be interpreted calmly, with warmth and depth! "You can't get involved in the frame," is the domineering determination of the man behind the scenes.

Light and heavy, cold and warm, it completes the unfinished soul judgment on a country's sin of aggression in reality. In the sense of cultural export, "Hidden Blade" integrates the isolated history of China's anti-Japanese resistance into the world narrative of the great history of World War II.

It is a message from the times to the times. In the theater, "Hidden Blade" makes us feel the power of literature and art. After walking out of the theater, you will naturally understand what the merits of the unknown are!

#wang yibo #hidden blade #hidden blade movie #accio victuuri translation #ITS TIME FOR HIDDEN BLADE REWATCH EVERYONE!!!!!! #i might as well play it while in working lol #THIS >>> they are killed by film placement rate. #THIS IS A LONG READ SO BE WARNED. ITS GOOD THO. i have a feeling WYB will dominate domestic literary film genre so yeah ~

[teecupangel]

okay i just rewatched Pacific Rim for the millionth time and, hear me out, a Modern Pacific Rim AU?

Like, the Masyaf Eagle having been originally piloted by the Al Sayf brothers but a nasty battle kills Kadar and takes Malik's arm so now Malik serves as an engineer/command center for the Eagle's new pilot Altair who is in search of a co-pilot. And the only one who can successfully drift (synchronize) with him is Desmond. (Altdes)

Ezio Auditore who inherited the Eden Assassin after his father and brother were killed in battle. Ezio who lost his co-pilot and dear friend Yusuf in a battle. Ezio who is trying to stop his sister from becoming his new co-pilot because he's so scared of losing her like he's lost everyone else.

Edward Kenway and Adewale being totally awesome troublemakers and pilots of the Jackdaw

Haytham and Shay being co-pilots of the Morrigan Revenge and having a ridiculous rivalry with Connor and Arno, pilots of the Phantom Aquila

Jacob and Evie co-piloting the Victorian Conqueror and setting records for fastest kaiju kills.

Bayek and Aya becoming pilots after losing Khemu during an attack and piloting the Hidden One.

Kassandra and Alexios being terrifying co-pilots of the Spartan Misthios

Totally out of left field co-pilots Eivor and Basim who seem so unlikely because they spend most of their free time arguing, but being badass pilots of the Raven Destroyer.

idk i just got really excited

Nooonnnnnyyyy!

You got me excited as well because I love mechas and kaijus! Pacific Rim is one of my most favorite movies ever! (Although, as a huge Del Toro fan, that’s not really surprising XD)

Making it AltDes makes me go jshdafjkhjbhsdasadg

Okay, okay.

I think Shaun and Rebecca could be K-Science Officers focused on why these Kaijus are attacking humans in particular. Now, I was thinking we can make Al Mualim the Marshal in charge of Altaïr and Desmond’s Division and we can keep him as a ‘good guy’ in this setup but, if you still want him to be ‘evil’, perhaps he’s secretly in charge of some kind of illegal project that uses Kaiju parts to create a new type of Jaeger.

Why are we making Al Mualim the Marshal?

Because we’ll make Desmond a second generation of Jaeger Pilots. His father, William Miles, was known as the hero who saved South Dakota from total annihilation so there was a lot of pressure for him to do well.

Hell, he didn’t even want to become a Jaeger Pilot and he had actually run away but he was called back after he got ‘visitors’ who insisted he needed to be escorted to a PPDC base where Altaïr is trying to find a co-pilot. They spar and found out they were compatible but their first few Drifts were so bad everyone starts to doubt that they were actually compatible and, honestly, Desmond and Altaïr didn’t understand why they’re being paired together.

They had nothing in common.

That’s when Al Mualim tells them that they have one thing in common that was clear to everyone during their Drift sessions.

They both had walls around themselves, keeping them from fully synchronizing.

And, surprisingly, it was Altaïr who pushes Desmond to talk to him, to try and understand one another.

Only to be surprised when Desmond asks him, “You’re doing this because Al Mualim told you, aren’t you?”

Later on, Altaïr corners him once more and asks back, “How’d you know?”

And that’s how Desmond realizes that their compatibility might stem from their similar upbringing because Al Mualim was Altaïr’s own William Miles.

Other Unorganized Notes:

The AltDes in this one would be more in line of ‘reluctant allies’ to friends to lovers… probably.

When they become lovers, everyone suffers because they're that kind of couple.

Masyaf Eagle mainly uses a one-hand sword but has a secret short blade on its left arm. It’s projectile weaponry is primarily throwing knives but it will get a gun upgrade on its right arm later on.

Ezio befriends Desmond easily and has a friendly rivalry with Altaïr. He also likes to joke about asking Desmond if he’d like to be his co-pilot instead which just makes Yusuf laugh. After Altaïr and Desmond get together, he makes the same jokes just to get a rise out of Altaïr. (Claudia is in a separate base for training and Ezio always finds the time to visit her or send her messages)

Eden Assassin is mostly known for being versatile, having both short and long-range capabilities. It’s also known for its left hand having a hook blade attachment.

Edward and Adéwalé are one of the oldest Jaeger pilots still on the field. Edward is also Haytham’s older brother and he worries about him a lot. Edward also likes to spoil his young nephew. A lot of people are actually curious how the two of them could be co-pilots considering their personalities but Adéwalé and Edward never answer any of their questions. It is clear that they are loyal to one another.

The Jackdaw has a chest blaster which blasts out four shots (as a reference to how Edward usually has four flintlock pistols on his chest harness). Jackdaw is primarily a ranged Jaeger and its main weapon is a twin pair of gunblades.

Haytham transferred to be Shay’s co-pilot after a huge disagreement between Shay’s old co-pilot erupted and ‘corrupted’ their Drifts too much that they could no longer operate Morrigan Revenge. Haytham usually just lets Shay lead but any time Haytham wants to take the lead, Shay backs down immediately and follows him. Haytham does not approve of Ratonhnhaké:ton being a Jaeger pilot.

Morrigan Revenge primarily uses a long one-handed sword and a short dagger. It also has a grenade launcher on its right shoulder. It’s mostly known for having a head that looks like a taco. (no, I’m not sorry, I will forever talk about Haytham’s taco hat)

Ratonhnhaké:ton and Arno are the youngest Jaeger pilots currently in the field. Ratonhnhaké:ton doesn’t have a good relationship with his father but he’s cordial to his uncle. Arno is the son of Charles Dorian who died in a Kaiju Battle piloting a Jaeger. He actually became a Jaeger pilot to follow his step-sister who pilots a different Jaeger.

Phantom Aquila is an experimental Jaeger and its main experiment is if it’s possible for a Jaeger to have two forms. A humanoid form and a quadrupedal form. It’s faster on its quadrupedal form and it usually takes that form when it’s providing support or distractions. Its humanoid form uses primarily a tomahawk-like weapon and has a crossbow on its left arm.

Victorian Conqueror has the highest record for the fastest Kaiju kills because Evie and Jacob actually cannot handle being drifted to one another for too long. Everyone is keeping it a secret and only their main engineers and support team (led by Jayadeep Mir) know about it. They believe the main reason for their low drift timeframe stems from Ethan Frye’s death… not that Evie and Jacob believe them.

Victorian Conqueror has a cane sword and a kukri-like blade. It also has invincibility capabilities but they’re still working out how to make it useable as it can only be activated if Victorian Conqueror does not move.

Aya and Bayek were actually retired Jaeger pilots. They returned to the field after their son’s death and still uses Hidden One which is one of the oldest Jaeger still on the field.

Hidden One has a lot of possible weaponry at its disposal but they primarily use either a shield and a one hand sword or twin short blades. Supposedly, Aya prefers the short blades while Bayek prefers the sword-and-shield combo.

Alexios and Kassandra are known for having lots of friends… with benefits… Sometimes the same friends even. They also came from a family of Jaeger pilots and are very close. On their time off, they usually go off base to visit their mother. Their step brother is also a Jaeger pilot while their step father is a Marshal for another base.

Spartan Misthios uses a sword and a short blade. The short blade is special as it actually came from an older Jaeger model named the “Spartan King”. Spartan King is legendary for protecting thousands of civilians against a horde of smaller but faster Kaijus, holding down the line as everyone escaped. By the time the Spartan King had been overwhelmed and both of its pilot died, everyone had managed to escape. One of the pilots was Kassandra and Alexios’ grandfather and Spartan Misthios is considered to be the Spartan King's successor.

Eivor and Basim have… very soap-opera level of drama. Raven Destroyer's original pilots were meant to be Eivor and Sigurd but Sigurd was discharged after just two Kaiju battles. Rumors say that he had been dishonorably discharged due to how he acts. Basim was transferred as one of the candidates for Eivor’s co-pilot and they didn’t exactly start well (Eivor punching Basim hard enough that he actually flew across the room may or may not be exaggerated). Still, they do work together whenever they’re in their Jaeger… only to go back to bickering afterward.

Raven Destroyer has a shield on its left arm. It switches from a hand axe or a pair of daggers at any given time and even its fighting style changes from pure brute force to hit-and-run tactics in a blink of an eye, making it a hard opponent to fight.

All Kaijus have codenames based on gods and goddesses.

#holy crap #did i just make desmond shinji??? #get in the fucking robot desmond #no usual tags because #altdes #ask and answer

[misaverawrites]

Upon The Night (Alucard x Reader) -Chapter Four

summary: The night creatures come and you try to fight to live another day with your family.

tags: Season 4 canon divergence, fainting, wounds, near-death experiences, Alucard saves you, night creatures, canon-typical violence, you get really injured

a/n: i love this series sm, i just rewatched season 4, this series makes me so happy omg i hope you guys are enjoying it.

In the evening sky, golden hues burn into orange as you return to Danesti. “We don’t have much time,” Alucard says, handing you a sword. Greta meets the two of you at the entrance of town, “We just have tonight,” She says, “Then we’ll be relocating the village into your castle.” Alucard nods. How could he just give up his home to strangers like that? It’s a bit shocking to you, but you have no time to think about that. “Greta, I’m going to go check on the elders, make sure that they and the children and hidden safely.” She nods, “Good idea, meet back with us when you’re all done.” You run off with her confirmation, making your way to a home with a cellar, you knock on it, and one of the older women in the village pops out of the cellar, a baby on her hip. “Thank goodness you’re back,” She says with a smile, “Edith has been worried sick about you.” You smile, “Tell her I'll be fine and to behave, alright? Is everyone else down there?” The woman nods, “Everyone is where they need to be, Greta has taken care of all of it, while you were gone with that young man. He’s very good-looking, isn’t he?” You roll your eyes at her obvious attempts of judging your attraction to Alucard, a dhampir you barely know in the slightest. “Go back in, make sure everyone stays quiet, alright?” She nods and when you confirm everything is locked, you run back to Greta.

Greta is talking to the village’s priest, a lanky man who holds a bucket of holy water. “Will this be enough?” You ask as the priest nods, “We have enough to last us the night, a little bit goes a long way with these night creatures. It also helps that these swords are silver.” The priest turns to face Alucard with a smile, “You are a good man, this kindness will not go unnoticed by our Lord. Despite some of our other misdoings.” Like killing his mother? Alucard seems to only nod and smile politely, bearing his own sword, it hums and comes to life at his own whim. “I am saying that I will need to use my powers and I am asking your permission to do that. Right now, before we begin this fight.” Greta simply nods, “As long as it is not against the village people, do what you must. You have been positive support to us already, alongside (Y/N).” You shoot your vampiric companion a small smile, as you get onto your knees to wet your blade with the holy water and then wipe it down a bit more with salt. The chittering of the forest that surrounds your village turns into growls and groans, night creatures.

“You ready for our last night at home?” You ask Greta and she shakes her head, “My family has been here before Danesti, I wish I didn’t have to leave it, but, at least, should I fall, I will fall alongside you, a formidable ally and dear friend.” You pull her in and hug her tightly, “I should be grateful to fall at your side. If I do…?” You don’t want to finish your sentence and Greta knows what you’re asking, “I will take your sister in. I promise with my entire being.” You nod and turn to face the night, dark and dangerous. Night creatures begin to fly overhead, clicking all the while. You clutch your sword, tight in your grip. Your breath hitches in your throat, it’s shaky coming out. The way your heart beats out of your chest, you’re panicked, more than you’ve ever been in your entire life. You take only a moment to stop and breathe, you can only take a moment, otherwise, your sister loses her sister too. Suddenly, you come eye to eye with a night creature, pitch black with glowing blue eyes. It knocks you to the ground with its landing force, as well as back to reality. You exhale a strong breath and suddenly, the creature in front of you has you pinned, tightly against the ground, claws tightly clutching into your skin. Then suddenly, it loosens before finally going limp and allowing you out of its clutches. You look up, trying to regain any form of composure, and see Alucard with his widened amber eyes that are full of… worry? “Stay vigilant,” He says in his almost whisper-like voice, “If you freeze, I may not be able to save you next time as I said earlier, you have people you need to protect.” You nod, exhaling. At this moment, it is as if you are really seeing Alucard for the first time, his amber eyes glittering in the moonlight, his pale visage contrasting his darkened cloak with golden accents, and his hair is a beautiful blonde shade, like the woman’s hair in the photo you’d caught only a glimpse of back at his home. He lowers his hand to help you off of the ground and you take his hand almost without a second thought. When you’re standing straight up it’s as if everything has changed, the air between you and Alucard feels suffocating and tight as if you were in the night creature’s grasp once more. You turn to look around and it suddenly looks as though a war is in full force, you’re back to back with Alucard and at this moment you feel hopelessly, desperately outmatched against the creatures of the night.

You sigh, you know that you must fight so that way if you die it will have all been worth it. Sweat clings to your forehead, hot and uncomfortable, the heat from the night creatures as well as the movements you begin to make whilst fighting them all is nothing if not dizzying. Your hair clings to your skin, you feel burning sensations boil at your skin, and you look to see a mark, bloody and angry, pressed into your hip where the night creature had held you down, something to deal with later, you note to yourself. Your blade sings into the night air, as it burns through night creatures with mild ease. You finally have found a rhythm in the fight, as have many of those fighting alongside you, at least those who still stand to fight. You shake the thought that that could be you, the night creatures are not easy foes to fight against, any loss in your train of thought and that will be you. 

The sky begins, to your excitement, to change into a shade of light pink. The day will arrive soon, and you will find a new, safer home. You will get to enjoy some sleep as well as hopefully get some medicine on the wound on your hip, which aches and burns like a fire. Time moves fast, and when the day comes and the night creatures dissipate into nothingness with the morning you gasp, falling to the ground. Alucard is there before you fall, careful with your wound. He must have seen it when he saved you earlier. You feel woozy, the skin still burns and is now a bit blistered. What did that night creature do to me? “You have nice reflexes, Alucard.” You whisper, weakly. It feels as though all of the strength is being sapped away from your body, you quickly grow weaker at the moment. “A-Alucard… Don’t let my sister see this. Don’t let her see me die… Ple-ease.” It’s all you can do to focus on breathing right now, Alucard has you laid down on the dirt now, Greta standing next to him, her face full of worry. “I’m not going to let her see you die, because you’re not dying you stubborn woman.” He shakes his head as he whispers something to Greta, the last thing you see is her running off in some random direction. Your eyes feel heavy as you grasp onto Alucard’s hand, desperate for feeling as your body lets go. You fall asleep, your skin hot, “You’re going to be fine, you just need to rest.” Alucard says as you finally drift off into sleep, the feeling of something cold hitting your wound the last sensation you feel.

#alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard castlevania #castlevania #adrian tepes x reader #netflix castlevania #castlevania netflix #adrian tepes #adrian x reader #adrian fahrenheit tepes #alucard tepes

[missinghan]

countless skies upon me ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : fantasy; action; fluff; angst 

❖ word count : 16,5k.

❖ warnings : explicit language, mentions of blood + violence

❖ summary : when you stumble upon the notoriously skilled swordsman of Kalmburg, your heart finds itself wanting to get closer to his.

❖ a/n : this is the full extension of this blurb that I wrote impulsively after rewatching an old anime, please give swordsman minho a whole lot of love 🖤

prologue.

Minho’s wooden sword gets knocked out of his grasp, landing onto the floor with a loud series of clattering noises. The little boy widens his eyes when the tip of another wooden sword hovers over his stomach and he looks up to be met with the stoic gaze of his mentor. 

“What did I tell you yesterday, Minho?” 

“That I need to make more progress on improving my reaction time,” he answers grimly and rubs his forearm, head hanging low in shame. “I need to know the timing of the enemy like the back of my hand and use my own timing in which they don’t expect.”

His mentor retreats his sword swiftly, humming, “You got distracted, you weren’t observing my stance before I lunged at you. By narrating the enemy’s preparation, you can partially map out their movements, when and where they’re aiming for. That’s why you were taken aback and this allowed me to disarm you with little effort.”

“But master!” Minho pries stubbornly. “It’s not very fair if an opponent can’t fight with their sword, is it? A sword is supposed to be the coil of a swordsman’s strength. It’s all we’ll ever have.”

A fatherly smile dances on his mentor’s lips this time. “Strength is simply an illusion, there are far more important things,” he places a warm hand on Minho’s shoulder, speaking softly. 

“And it doesn’t matter if you still have your sword or not, fighting isn’t an obligation, it’s a choice. A choice whether you’re going to fight until the very end or not.”

one.

Market stalls crowd the route, selling sacks of nuts and dried fruit, grilled meat hanging on lines after lines of roasting skewers. Powdered spices lay in rust red and dusty yellow and bright green piles spill from sacks as large as feed bags. Mixed and familiar scents cut through thin air, people bumping into each other, toes trodden on. Lovers stroll hand in hand, casually browsing whilst housewives hustle and bustle, hollering over background noises for the best price.

Minho ends up walking through the entire market before getting to work that day with an apple in his stomach, silently like a phantom, blending into the sea of people effortlessly. 

To him, work is just like another day in the market for stallholders, another pile of weapons needed to be honed and repaired for blacksmiths and another batch of bread to bake early in the morning for bakers. 

Except his job is somewhat… questionable and considerably dangerous for a guy who looks nothing like a warrior. At least that’s what he’s been told. Rather pretty-looking eyes being hidden under his long fringe, a high and slim nose bridge, sharp philtrum. He’s not that tall either and doesn’t necessarily have as many muscles as he initially wanted. But the swordsman doesn’t listen to his muscles to fight, he listens to his mind and becomes one with his blade. 

There’s no need for a shield or armor, for he thinks they’re doing nothing but getting in his way and slowing him down during combats. Minho draws his sword with no more qualms than a middle-aged lady gossiping about her irritating neighbors and slashes his enemies while thinking about what he’ll be making himself for dinner that day. There’s no joy for him in violence, but he takes extreme pride in a good clean kill. He has a reputation to maintain and that reputation keeps him safe in this world. 

A man approaches Minho from behind, leaning himself flat against the wooden bench that the swordsman has situated himself on for the past hour. The guy never makes the first move, that’s what he’s been told. 

“Twenty thousand units,” the masked client speaks up, his voice mellow and slightly muffled. “If you can bring back the head of a shadow wolf that’s been lurking around the Dunst forest these days, I’ll double the price. Silver-white fur, brown eyes. Make it quick too, and you can have sixty in total. He’s been eating up one too many of our sheeps already.”

His lips twitch subtly and he crosses his legs, keeping his tone low but clear, “Shadow wolves can’t handle the cold that well, why would one roam around a place with such tremendous decrease in temperature at night?” The sound of coins crashing against each other in the leather pouch suddenly irritates him. 

“C’mon, Black Swordsman, how would I know these things? I’m just merely a guy who’s trying to get by in life,” the man chuckles lightheartedly but Minho isn’t finding anything funny. No one ever gets the upper hands in a deal with him. “Look, I heard you’re good at your job and you sure look like you know what you’re doing so why don’t you just take the mon—“

 Minho stuffs his hands into his pocket and sighs, “Don’t think so lowly of me, I don’t accept deposits. I’ll only get my money once I’m done with the job. Meet me here tomorrow at noon, sharp. And if I don’t show up, consider locking your sheeps inside.” And with a grin through his flat lips under the mask, the cryptic client leaves Minho alone by the bench, fully satisfied with his attitude and reactions. 

The brunet gazes at the space ahead for a good ten seconds, thinking rather deeply about this before waving his hand absentmindedly, calling out to the errand boy who’s been hiding behind the ugly tree. “You can come out now, Jeongin. Did you catch any of that?” he asks without turning around. 

“Every single word,” Jeongin cancels the spell that’s been his cover during their entire conversation before stepping out, pursing his lips together. “A guy who’s trying to get by in life but still has twenty thousand to pay you beforehand? Sounds absurd to me.”

“Enough with the brainless chatters, you know what to do,” Minho pushes himself off the bench when his muscles start growing sore on the hardened surface. “If you do a good job, I’ll treat you out for dinner. Now run along, Chaeryeong is probably looking for you, don’t be late to class.”

Jeongin holds him back by the sheath of his sword, “You’re still going to accept the job? I don’t think it’s worth the risk. He’s obviously setting you up.” 

“If anything, I might bring his head back instead of the wolf’s,” Minho replies monotonously, and Jeongin lets his hand fall to his side. The swordsman turns on his heels to see concern laced in the younger boy’s eyes, this prompts his voice to soften. “Don’t worry, a single wolf can’t hurt me,” he ruffles his hair before slipping into the crowd again, making his way towards the mountains to enter the Dunst forest. 

He wouldn’t mind dying alone, actually. It’s not like he has any regrets.

two.

The city of Kalmburg has it that no one has ever surpassed Lee Minho when it comes to the art of swordsmanship. 

“If you’re going to take on a guy who can parry a crossbow bolt with his sword as he’s contending against five other men, it’s time to re-evaluate the direction of your life—preferably while running away as fast as you can.”

The man walks up to the center of the town square every single day at the crack of dawn, his figure fully covered in a big black cloak, the hood thrown lazily over his head. All you can see is the strides he takes with his black combat boots. He almost belongs, but not quite. Kalmburg is known for its dashingly ornamental architecture — a white granite surface with serene spires can be seen from the castle at the top of the hill, soothing atmosphere and generically nice residents. Some say no beauty can be compared to its sunrise due to the dashing sight of a lake situated before the town square’s gate. 

Whereas, Lee Minho gives people a stark contrast with his dark aura and the black sword hung firmly on his back. He easily takes in everyone’s attention with a single sweep, his midnight orbs setting on nothing before he leaves as expressionless as he’s entered. His purposes and motives always remain hidden; hence the allure. Though it’s not hard to see how he’s making a good living on a daily basis. 

For one, he slays monsters; and for another, he deals with people. Outsiders might be surprised at how many units the Nobles are more than willing to pay him as long as he comes back alive, with the beast’s head limp in his hands. There were times when he’d come back covered in a sea monster’s gastric juice, other times he could barely walk back to the town because his spleens got severely damaged. But most of the time, he’d return as though he just got back from a stroll, outstretching his palm to collect the payment. 

Dealing with people is far more troublesome than those deadly creatures, Minho constantly tells himself so. It’s true, after all. Because when careless juveniles aren’t able to snatch their parents’ spare change on the dining table, they decide it’s a brilliant idea to challenge him for a duel. If they win, he’ll have to follow their request without receiving a single penny. But if things go the other way around, they will most likely come home crying for their mother. Such a nuisance. 

Today is no different. 

Moving into the morning dew is a shadow wolf. His paws kiss the earth not gracefully, but rather with evident difficulties and there’s a ray of exhaustion in that pair of bronzed eyes. The wolf has seen better days. His silver-white fur is thin and it clings to his frame like an old cloak in a gale. Even from several yards away, Minho can count each rib as they’re sticking out, he sees dejection in his movements as if he’s gonna let himself tumble to the ground any moment. 

Minho carefully inhales, pulling out a silver dart from the back of his belt. He raises his hand and aims precisely for the pine tree, just a strand of hair away from the wolf’s ear. When he exhales, the weapon comes flying past the creature before embedding itself to the wooden surface. 

The wolf whips his head towards the swordsman, locking eyes as he lets out a mere cry of pain, crimson dripping down on the side of his head. As Minho pulls his hood off of his face, slightly dubious that the creature of darkness will turn into a wisp of black smoke to take flight deeper into the forest, the wolf shakes his head before lying down on the soil, unable to coordinate his limbs. Then with his great grey head on his bloodied paws, he closes his eyes. He’s giving up on his life. 

“Something’s wrong. Shadow wolves’ blood isn’t supposed to be red,” Minho holds his breath in utter disbelief, taking a step backward. He’s got the wrong target. No, that client scammed him. 

A branch snaps. 

Minho reaches for his sword when the sound of thin air being ripped apart rings inside his eardrums, two blades coming in contact with each other and he has to squint slightly when tiny sparks of flame come to life between the weapons. Instead of looking at the raider, he quickly deflects their slash again. Hypothetically speaking, there are two possibilities: the first is that both swords are too weak to withstand the pressure of the blow, so they’ll simply break - in the exact same fashion. The second is in which case both blades are durable enough to field the contact, they will bounce right back. But his unwanted guest seems to detest him so much to the point they keep their sword grinding against his until their weapons slip against each other, creating a wave of grating shriek resonating through the woods, dust being thrown in the air. 

He stumbles backward, the sole of his shoes tearing the leaves below into bits. His vision shakes a little from the sudden attack before trying to focus on the figure before him. The first thing that he sees is the white wolf on the button of your silver-accent cloak. That’s the royal guards’ emblem.

“You,” the female voice catches him by surprise. “Lay another finger on that wolf now, I dare you.” You know all too well who this man is, and like hell you’re going to let him do what he wants just because of some cheap units.

Minho’s fully aware that his beating heart is thundering inside his chest, but he’s not sure if it’s because of the adrenaline flowing in his veins or those round eyes glaring at him from under the sunlight. He sees the grip on the hilt of your rapier being tightened and that’s when he regains his composure, taking in a deep breath. If he gave up now because of a pretty face with a deadly blade, he’d damn his reputation as a swordsman.

“Oh that wolf is all yours,” he smiles at you fakely, wiping the beads of sweat on his cheekbones away. “But you’re going to have to do better than snooping around on people.”

Minho steadies his grip on his sword, trying to keep himself together in the deafening silence, “So, who’s making the first move now?” The tonal mockery in his voice irks you and he seems to notice that too by the slight smirk tugging at his lips when the muscles on your face twitch. 

One. Breathe in.

You’re getting into your stance sideways, your blade eye level. This man doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. 

Two. Breathe out. 

Minho isn’t letting his guard down this time despite being slightly impressed with your skills. Usually, there aren’t many girls who take up sword fighting, at least not in his hometown so he thought you’d be sort of a novice. But your dexterity is beyond incredible, he can hardly see the tip of your sword. 

Three. “I am.”

You charge first by swinging your rapier at him from above, Minho receiving the clash with the flat of his blade. He circles away from you, keeping his sword in motion while constantly changing his stances and attacks. Rapiers aren’t very suitable for slashing or slicing since the blade is so long and thin, it can only allow its owner more speed, more precise stabs and thrusts but greatly lowers their defense. So if he can just catch you off guard…

When the tip of your sword grazes just above his clothed ribs, Minho’s reflexes kick in and his blade knocks yours away almost immediately. With the bewildered look on your face as a signal, he dodges as you attempt another stab at his left ear. This causes you to trip on your heels, your balance quivering the moment his sword slashes at the button of your cloak rather than your neck. To prevent yourself from falling, you jump and do a backflip safely, breath’s fraying as the piece of clothing is completely ditched by a tree. 

“You are strong, just like the rumors,” you breathe out a stoic comment, chest heaving up and down rapidly. 

“You aren’t too bad yourself either,” Minho grins; he hasn’t felt this much eagerness to fight someone other than monsters before. In other words, he’s never faced someone who knows what they’re doing with a sword as skilled as you are. 

You cock a brow at him, confused, “Why are you smiling?” 

“I don’t know, actually,” he shakes his head and hearty waves of laughter bubble up inside his stomach. The brunet sheaths his sword with a loud ‘clunk’, walking towards you to place a warm hand on your shoulder. “But good fight, you really know how to hold a sword.”

“Wait… aren’t we going to finish this?”

Minho picks up your cloak from the ground, outstretching his palm, “You seem like a person who knows what it takes so I don’t think that’d be necessary anymore. But I’d be glad to take you on again?”

This man is baffling you, and not in a good way either. Nonetheless, you still slide your sword back into its sheath and accept his handshake. “So you’re gonna leave that wolf alone right?”

“Only if you tell me what happened to it,” Minho replies firmly, receiving a nod of approval from you. He actually seems like a solid person. Perhaps you can trust him. 

“That’s my brother, Chan.”

three.

The forest hums with life all around you. You lift your head ever so slightly when the sunlight slips through the green leaves and branches, lighting up the dirt path ahead decorated with outgrown roots and wildflowers. You gaze up at the fluffs of clouds, searching for the birds that are singing sweetly. Minho trudges on before you a couple of steps, finding the natural fragrance of the current surroundings rather soothing. It’s making his eyes droopy.

“What happened to him again?”

He stretches his limbs tiredly and yawns like there’s no tomorrow, making you scrunch your nose in disapproval. He’s not even paying attention to you. It’s been at least an hour since you’ve mounted an unconscious Chan on your horse — Noir and accepted this cryptic stranger as your guide for now. You’ve never been to this forest more than once so it’s best if you follow him—an experienced individual in order to get your brother back safely. 

You frown at him, giving the back of his neck a firm slap while your other hand is holding onto the rein. “Ow, what was that for?!” he yelps. 

“You weren’t listening, were you?” 

“Remotely,” he hums out a reply, “I didn’t sleep that well last night.” And that’s when you notice the dark spots under his eyes, the occasional tears whenever he squints his eyes under the sunlight. The job’s more draining and demanding than you thought. 

To be fair, slaying monsters and getting your hands bloodied might not be the best thing to do to a degree of morality but you really can’t judge him when you’ve only known him for a few hours. Minho’s far younger than you’d expected too. You’ve had your strolls downtown from time to time with your fellow royal guards and it’s not hard for rumors to fly. People were gasping and bouncing on the balls of their feet talking about this mysterious swordsman who’s dressed completely in black, a single one-handed sword, no shield, and no armor. They really had you thinking he was an old man in his forties who has no regrets, just trying to get by in life no matter what it takes. 

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him charming the moment you saw that handsome face under the big cloak. 

“He was recovering from a business trip so our mage decided to treat him with a special potion,” you nibble on your bottom lip, looking over at your worn out brother sideway in concern. You’ve wrapped his injuries up with some of the cloth that you’d packed before leaving this morning, he should be fine. “I guess something went wrong; hence, he’s magically turned into a wolf, panicked and bolted out of the castle. And you know how cruel people can be sometimes…”

“Oh, sorry about that,” Minho feels a big lump in his throat when you secretly toss a glare at his direction. “I should have known something was off the moment he started bleeding red.” He shakes his head, highly disappointed in himself for mistaking Chan as a shadow wolf. His professional etiquette forbids him ever repeat the same mistake. 

You stop dead in your track, cocking your head at him in confusion, “What do you mean?” 

Wait, no, something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong. It can’t be that simple. “You’re still going to accept the job? I don’t think it’s worth the risk. He’s obviously setting you up.” His steps come to a halt, only a few feet away from you and before you can even tap him out of it, Minho snaps his head back, grabbing you by the shoulders. “Tell me, when you first entered the forest, did you encounter any wolves? Even just one?”

“N-No, I don’t think so,” you stutter, slightly flustered at the sudden decrease in proximity. But you soon shake the heat on your cheekbones away when he lets go of you, pacing back and forth to think hard about something. “Uhh- what are you-”

“Shh shh..”

“Did you just shush me-” The wind whistles in your ears and you stumble backward when Minho draws his sword, the blade coming in contact with something hard and deflecting it successfully. Your jaw is locked at the sight of an arrow sticking to a tree not very far off. That could have been your head instead...He just saved your life.

“Someone’s coming, take cover.”

Minho carefully tugs your horse over to a nearby slope when you hop off the main pathway, waving him over to a big tree. You both get down on one knee as the sound of armors crashing against each other grows louder, dreadful footsteps becoming more detectable. Swiftly, Minho notices the color of your bright blue cloak can easily be detected right through the bush and clicks his tongue in annoyance. He unbuttons his black coat, silently draping it over your smaller figure. For a second there, you widen your eyes at him but soon ensconcing yourself obediently under the leather fabric. 

Stepping into your vision are two familiar faces, Minho’s breath almost hitches in his throat when he realizes they’re clothed in the same blue and white uniform as yours. Both equally emitting the same hostility and mettle—as expected from the astute royal guards. 

“Hyun-”

You stagger backward when Minho clasps a firm hand over your mouth, shaking his head while you’re giving him a ‘what are you doing?’ look. The moment you manage to peel yourself away from his grip, your fellow colleagues are nowhere to be seen. They must be looking for you since you left the castle this morning without a proper announcement. “What was that about?! They’re my friends, now if you’d excuse me-”

“They aren’t the most trust-worthy people right now,” he lets out a sigh. “Think about it. They’re parts of the few people who could possibly see Chan the day before he turned into a wolf. And I’m sure the royal mage wouldn’t have such a reason to spike the commander of the guards. I don’t see how it’d benefit her if Chan was to take a break from his position. On the other hand…”

Is he accusing one of your friends of harming your brother? And for what too? A higher rank in the team? Preposterous! “Why would I trust you then, Black Swordsman?” 

Minho cringes inwardly at the nickname because good gracious, it’s so unoriginal. He’s heard about plenty of Black Swordsmen before during his wandering all over the Continent. They’re basically cryptic-looking swordsmen dressed in black...people really need to come up with more colorful monikers.

“Because I just saved your life from those people whom you called ‘friends’,” he blinks at you bluntly and the hand resting on the hilt of your sword tenses up. 

You take in a deep breath, slowly considering his deductions. It’s not like he doesn’t have a point but you don’t understand as to why Hyunjin or Changbin would want to overtake your brother, they’ve only become a part of the royal guards four years ago. You might not grow up together but after going on plenty of adventures and living in the palace, you’re practically family.

Still, humans are made of greed after all.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you exhale. “You’re going to help me figure this out for throwing a dart at Chan’s ear. But if you even think about hurting him or make a single move that prompts me to think you’re doing something behind our back, I’m going to tear out your spine with my bare hands.”

Minho chuckles at your threatening tone, slightly scared for his life, “There’s no need to worry, miss…” You raise a brow at him when he trails off rather flusteredly. “Ma’am? No- uh, vice commander? What about lady…”

“The name’s Y/N,” you can’t help but break into a fit of giggles, amused at his sudden discomposure. Seems like this man has been chit-chatting with monsters more than having civil conversations with other human beings for his whole life. “And would you get your hands off me now? We don’t have to hide anymore.”

His chest swells a bit at that if he’s being honest.

four.

“Aren’t we supposed to be at the castle?” Minho looks at the log house before his eyes questioningly. Not that he’s complaining, he doesn’t think it’s the best idea for him to show up in front of royalties either. 

You pull off your hood and say, “No, the royal mage doesn’t live there.” After a few knocks with your knuckles on the wooden door, hurried footsteps are audible from inside the house—whoever’s in there must be dying to see you, Minho thinks. 

“Yeji, how are y—“ The door flies open and a figure thrashes against you faster than a lightning bolt, their arms wrapped around your torso, rubbing your back tenderly. You’re slightly taken aback but smile nonetheless knowing that your friend was worried sick like she’s always been. “Hello to you too, stupid.”

This prompts Minho to avert his gaze away awkwardly, the grip on Noir’s reign tightening evidently and your horse lets out a small neigh, nudging her nose against his side like she’s attempting to appease him. He murmurs a small ‘thank you’, hand reaching upward to brush through her shiny black coat. Shaking his head, he snickers at himself for talking to a horse. 

Yeji mumbles against your neck in relief, like someone’s just lifted a weight off her shoulders, “Good gracious, Y/N! Are you okay? You just left without saying anything. Changbin and Hyunjin said they couldn’t find you in the woods and Chan’s gone missing for a few days now and I got so worried I-”

“Slow down, Yeji,” you give her a firm squeeze in reassurance, chuckling. “It’s barely been a day. I did manage to find Chan, surprisingly, thanks to Minho, well, partly.”

“Who’s Minho?” she pulls away to get a good look at the man standing next to your horse, eyes widening in surprise. Dressed in black, one-handed sword, no shield, and armor. “Is that the Black Swordsman? Like the Lee Minho? He’s the real thing?”

You grit through a stiff smile, “As real as it can get.”

“Huh, and I thought he’d be some old, balding man in his forties,” Yeji comments while eyeing the swordsman up and down, making him somewhat uncomfortable. “He knows how to use a sword, is young and quite the looker too. Ohh I see what’s going on here..”

You warn her with a clap on her forearm, “You’re embarrassing me in front of that jerk.”

However, she ignores you and pushes the door open, motioning for Minho to carry Chan inside. “Move quickly now, Black Swordsman, I suppose Chan’s condition must be critical, his heartbeat and the blood flow in his veins is increasing at an alarming speed.”

Minho looks around in awe when he steps into the log house—there’s not much for him to say about the house. Furniture is self-explanatory enough: a single bed, a comfortable chair made with what seems to be one of the finest materials, a wooden shelf above the fireplace with an array of potions with different shades and colors, windows completely covered with curtains. It’s not much, but it does feel homey. He would be able to find a place like this with ease if he hadn’t wasted all of his money into information dealing and weapons trading.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? The house, I mean.” 

Yeji’s question snaps him out of it. And he looks over at the table where Chan’s lying, immobile and his bronzed eyes droopy and his breaths mingling. There’s a strange, bright light pulsing from the mage’s fingertips when she hovers her palm over Chan’s bloodied ear. Minho watches as the light flickers from a shade of white to blue, enveloping the open wound and heals it completely. He meets Yeji’s eyes before she pulls her hand back, her eyes glowing gold before turning back into a deep brown. The art of magic is truly fascinating. 

Minho manages to blurt, slightly flustered, “What?”

“You said the house’s nice, I simply agreed with that statement for it is true,” she briskly reaches for a flask, inside holds a soft green-colored liquid with golden specks floating around. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he frowns at her when she brings the rim of the flask to Chan’s mouth, pouring the odd-looking liquid down his throat. 

You speak up from behind her, arms crossed in front of your chest, “Yeji, stop reading people’s mind that’s creepy.”

“Okay I’ve got everything I need for the potion that’ll manage to turn Chan back into his human form,” Yeji tells you while rummaging through her wooden cabinets filled with bottles after bottles, grabbing some along the way as she comes back to the table. “But I’m missing some crystals. And I’m not talking about those fake ones that you see at the stores, the ones I need are way towards the north, in Drachens Hohle, on the Restless Cliffs.”

Minho hums, brows knitted together, thinking rather thoroughly about this. “Drachens Hohle is pretty far off, it might take us an entire day to get there, and then another day climbing those cliffs...we might need to pass by a store of a friend of mine to pack some stuff since I suppose you won’t be returning to the castle anytime soon. We’ll get moving as soon as possible,” he mumbles and nods to himself, satisfied with the plan. 

“Let me just make one thing clear here, Black Swordsman…”

He screws his eyes shut when air suddenly gets ripped apart, only opening them slowly after and almost flinches at the tip of a dagger pointed directly at his nose; one wrong move and his eye will be gone. Minho doesn’t know what should startle him more—the blade gleaming with a bright shade of yellow or the dark look in Yeji’s eyes when he meets them. He’s seen Chaeryeong do it many times before—incorporating magic with weapons, to better the damage output while maintaining the defensive factors. 

“If you lay just one single finger on my friend, I'm going to turn you into a mere, pathetic, little sparrow and lock you in a cage along with other pieces in my collection.”

Minho panics, feeling nauseous at the thought, “What collection?”

The mage withdraws her knife and laughs it off, “I was messing around with you, there’s no collection. Look after her for me, she can be quite clumsy sometimes.”

“The clumsy one here is you,” you mumble bitterly in the corner, extremely embarrassed for the sake of your friend. You might as well dig a hole and bury yourself in it.

Unexpectedly, the wooden door is once again pushed open, two men barging into the log house abruptly. You and Yeji remain still in your current positions while Minho touches the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it. “Don’t bother, they’re friends,” you wave at him absentmindedly before pushing yourself off the chair, walking over to the front door. 

“Y/N, where have you been?!” 

“Hello to you too, Bin.”

Changbin pushes past Hyunjin and jabs his index finger at you, eyes filled with both rage and concern. “What were you thinking? If you’re going to find Chan, we’re going with you. We’re a team and he’s our brother too! Don’t you remember? That was an irresponsible and childish action to do, you’d better have a good explanation for this. If you’re going to do something, at least act your role in the team more properly.”

Hyunjin pulls him back by the arm, shaking his head, “Changbin, stop. There’s no point in arguing. What’s most important is she’s gotten back safely.”

You eye both of your teammates back and forth, skepticism and uncertainty rising from the pit of your stomach. If what Minho said was true, then the culprit must be one of them. Or was he lying to you, trying to mess with your mind in order to achieve a personal goal of some sort? After all, you’ve only met him today yet you’ve known Changbin and Hyunjin for years now, why would you even hesitate to choose your friends over a total stranger? 

“I wasn’t alone.” Changbin pauses at your words. “He was with me, this is-”

“Lee Minho.” You gape at your friend in disbelief. 

Minho’s hand pulls away from his sword, a strange glint flashes in his eyes for a moment there. “It’s good to see you’re doing well, Changbin,” he says with difficulties, clearly not knowing how to act. 

“Why were you with her?” Hostility washes over the atmosphere when Changbin croaks out, fists clenching in anger. “Y/N, what were you doing with a scumbag like him? Haven’t you heard enough rumors about this guy? People like him only care about themselves, they’ll just end up hurting you in the end. There’s no good in letting him stick around.”

When you squint your eyes at him, Changbin takes long strides towards you, grabbing your wrist and attempting to pull you away. “Yeji, please take care of Chan for the time meaning and we’ll be heading back to the castle. Y/N can’t just leave when we need her the most.“

Minho tugs you back towards him and voices firmly, “I’m sorry, but your vice commander belongs to me now. I’ll be responsible completely for her security and escort her with all my respects. You’ll simply have to make do without her for some days.”

Changbin lunges for Minho’s collar, anguish seething inside his chest. “Insolent bastard! On what basis do you think you have the right to protect her? You might not be a threat, but you’d better stop pretending to be a hero.”

“A hero? Like you?” He shouldn’t have said that. 

Hyunjin looks rather concerned, rubbing his friend’s shoulders, “Changbin, we should go.”

“Seo Changbin, Hwang Hyunjin,” you step in between them in disquiet, shoving Changbin away. “As vice commander of the royal guards, I will be coming with Lee Minho in the next few days on an important trip and I stand by my own decision. If my absence causes the team any trouble, I’ll be more than happy to receive the punishment from our superiors. You two are to return to the castle until further notice, continuing on with your service for the king and queen.”

“As we should,” Hyunjin smiles at you sweetly before walking over to Chan, giving the wolf a small pat on the head. In return, Chan lets out a displeased growl but it’s too small to notice. Minho watches the guard from afar, suspecting the strange glint in his eyes. He decides to say nothing about it.

“I’ve already warned you about him, don’t come crying for me when things go wrong.” With that, both of the royal guards excuse themselves out of the log house—Changbin shutting the door angrily after Hyunjin bidding you goodbye with a hug. This makes your heart heavy for not being able to trust them. You still don’t understand as to why, but you have a sudden faith in Minho, your intuitions are telling you that you should trust him. 

Softly, you ask, “You know Changbin?”

“He’s an old friend, we haven’t talked in a while,” Minho shifts uncomfortably in his chair, finding the topic rather awkward to talk about. “We didn’t get along that well back then either. Glad to see nothing has changed.”

You shouldn’t have asked him in the first place. 

five.

A wide variety of shops lined the streets of downtown Kalmburg: antique and art stalls, jewelry, and accessory shops, luxury boutiques, souvenir kiosks and stores selling leather goods, all showcasing an array of the finest wares in the area. Tourists flock to them like fireflies to a lamp, enthusiasm accentuating their features. The silvery melody of the drawl of sightseers and the strong, distinct accents of the locals drift through your ears as they amble by. 

You follow Minho to the very end of the streets with your cloak draped over Chan’s limp body. No one needs to know why there’s an unconscious wolf on the back of your horse. Alas, you both arrive in front of an old wooden door, the mahogany color fading as a result of time. He told you that he needed to pass by a friend’s place but doesn’t this place look a bit fishy-

“Five hundred units for ten bags of Philenor powder, and you’re good to go!”

A blond-haired boy peeks out from a client behind the counter. “Well if it isn’t my least favorite customer,” he voices cheerfully. 

“That’s because I’m smart enough to not buy any of your shit, Jisung,” Minho walks in with a grin, pitifully eyeing the dreadful-looking man who’s taking heavy strides out of the shop. He’ll learn someday. “Still running your greedy business as usual I see.”

The dealer named Jisung returns the sarcastic remark with a gummy smile, bumping his fist against Minho’s in a brotherly way. “Don’t speak so ill of me, will you? This greedy business is housing you,” he retorts, “I suppose you’re going to hog my place tonight as you always do, Black Swordsman?” So turns out he spends his night slumbers in this old crusty shop, no wonder people think he sleeps in the woods since they’ve never run into him outside of the town square before.  

“Actually, I won’t be in town for tonight,” Minho’s answer catches Jisung off guard. “I’m heading north, to the Restless Cliffs.”

“Another life-risking business trip huh. You’re going to need warm clothes, some supplement, and probably some medicine too,” Jisung hums to himself. “Hey, Felix! Get your butt over here and sharpen a sword!”

You detach your rapier from your belt and take a few steps forward before placing it onto the counter. “Uhh, can you perhaps do the same thing for my sword? I’m coming with him,” you try to appear as friendly, not wanting to startle him. 

But to your dismay, “Y-You’re one of the th-the royal guards!”

The younger boy looks over at you, utterly bewildered when he sees the emblem on your uniform. His eyes look like they’re about to pop out of their socket any second now. As if to fuel the fire, Minho jerks his head towards the direction of Noir, speaking casually, “Also, ask Chaeryeong to take care of the wolf and the horse for me. Tell her to be gentle too, the wolf is hurt and confused. Don’t let him drink potions that aren’t tested beforehand.”

“You brought injured animals to my shop?!”

“One more thing, I need to see Jeong-”

Jisung has to manually shut him up by swinging an arm over his neck, forcing his friend to tumble over the wooden counter, their cheeks pressed against each other. He’s practically spitting into Minho’s face at this point. “What in the world is an outcast, stubborn-headed of a loner like you doing out here with a royal guard?! Didn’t you say that having other people coming along would only get in the way? I thought you worked alone! What’s the deal man?”

“Ahaha, it’s a long story. You see-”

“Excuse my discourtesy for I haven’t introduced myself properly yet,” Jisung stops and averts his gaze over to you, soon letting go of Minho when you flash him a crooked smile. “My name is Y/N, second in command of the royal guards and I’ll be stuck with this dimwit for a while, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Jisung reciprocates your bow, the look in his eyes softening a bit, “And I’m Han Jisung, freelance dealer, single, I’m looking for a—“ Minho finds it irksome how his friend is already out and about, starting a proper conversation without almost getting killed by you so his fist moves on its own, jabbing against the blond’s stomach, forcing air out of his mouth with a low grunt. 

“Don’t mind him,” he turns sideways to reassure you, holding back the twitching muscles on his face. “He’s a decent person, despite how creepy he can be sometimes.” Jisung then elbows him harshly as a payback, making a scene when they start wrestling with each other like a bunch of toddlers. This makes you snort involuntarily, the Black Swordsman isn’t as fully-fledged as what’s been told around the public.

“Kids, that’s enough,” you tell them after making a grab for one of your pouches on Noir’s back. “Minho, why don’t you go meet up with the blacksmith? And Jisung, do you perhaps have a kitchen that I can borrow?”

While Minho’s mumbling something under his breath, hugging both of his and your sword to his chest to make his way behind the counter, Jisung nods at you, lifting a curtain next to a shelf full of weapons, gems, crystals, and potions that leads you down a dark, narrow hallway. “It’s not much,” he says and lights a candle so none of you would trip over each other. “But I hope it helps.”

“Don’t even, doing all of this for a stranger like me is incredibly generous of you,” you say humbly, not wanting to take anything for granted. “I’ll definitely return the favor when I come back.”

Jisung stops walking all of a sudden, causing you to almost bump into his back. “Is that so? Then, uhh…” he scratches the nape of his neck sheepishly. “How do I say this..? I know Minho can be irrational sometimes, loves pretending like he doesn’t care, and always runs into fire. So please..” His throat starts growing dry as he lowers his head a bit, attempting to bow at you.

“Take care of him for me, will you?”

You smile at the blond-haired boy, warmth flaring through your rib cage like butterflies, “I assure you he’s in good hands.”

six.

That night, you and Minho spend the whole night, the next morning, and the afternoon walking barefooted from Kalmburg to a small village at the base of the Restless Cliffs called Drachens Hohle. And it’s anything but Kalmburg. Rustic cabins dot the grassy hills as trees stand up like spikes, zigzagging the border of brick roads and unpolished homes. Rivers stream through deep valleys. The town is as complex as the heart, the streets are the veins, paved with red stones and the people are the heart. They look like they don’t own much, but are willing to share everything and anything. It’s the smiles on their faces, the way they greet each other, the sound of weapons and breastplates being pounded into shape that shows you just how alive this small community can be.

The motel Minho chooses looks like one of those places where men with beer guts would be snooping around with their neighbor’s wife, paying by the hour; a place where random hookers and drug-dealers would thrive. There are external wooden stairs that lead to a second floor, the second row of doors, that looks like the building inspector was either bribed to pass it or drunk on the job. You insist on finding a better place than this rat-hole but Minho said you don’t have to waste a couple of extra pennies just so the beds can be softer.

After dinner, you both receive your own keys before going upstairs to your respective rooms. A dingy place like this isn’t able to provide much when it comes to furniture anyway so there’s only a plain bed with pillows and a blanket, a nightstand with a pitch of water, and a small candle beside it. You sigh while casting your eyes around the room one last time. It’s just for one night.

“Y/N,” Minho gives your door a few knocks. “Are you asleep yet? I have something to tell you.”

You’re still halfway done with unpacking your stuff so you try to yell back without turning on your heels, “Not yet, just come in. I didn’t lock the door.”

He hums as a response before pushing against the wooden surface, closing it with a small ‘click’ after. “I just ran into the mayor downstairs,” Minho starts speaking and that’s when you finish putting your sword away, turning to look at him. And your cheeks inevitably grow hot since the first thing you have to lay your poor eyes on is his collarbones. This bastard really has the audacity to keep his buttons anywhere but a degree of appropriation. 

“Hey, focus,” he snaps his fingers as an attempt to knock you out of your trance, not noticing how he’s obviously the distraction. “It took an hour for him after rambling about his childhood and his love for the village to finally spill something about the kind of crystal that we need. At least pretend like you’re paying attention, will you?”

“I was paying attention,” you mumble loud enough for yourself to hear it. What a white lie. 

Minho quirks a brow and leans himself against the wall, looking amused, “Hmm, sure you did. Now, where were we? Ah! The mayor said those things aren't very hard to find, the only problem is that the field where they grow is right in front of a dragon’s den. No one has ever made it back in one piece. Chances are there might be other random monsters on the way…” 

Suddenly he stops talking, confusing you. “What’s wrong-“

The stiff look on his face seals your lips almost immediately. Faster than a lightning bolt, Minho turns the doorknob and rushes outside. “Who’s there?!” he snaps at the hooded figure running towards the end of the dark hallway, reaching for the sword on his back only to realize it’s not there. “Shit, this isn’t good.”

“Someone was eavesdropping. We’ve got ourselves a spy.” You close the door again after Minho walks inside, facepalming himself onto your bed dreadfully. 

He supports himself upward on his forearms and runs a hand through his hair, “Look, I’m not saying this because I’m doubting your abilities, I just want to guarantee your safety as much as I can. Their motives and patterns are getting pretty much unpredictable.” When he looks straight into your eyes with his warm, brown ones, your heart dips ever so gently. “Would you mind if I were to spend the night in your room?”

Your lips grow agape, your jaw almost drops to the floor. No one has ever asked to spend the night in the same room as you, not even Ryujin—your closest friend out of all the royal guards. Heck, you’ve barely known this man for a good three days yet why is it that your heart didn’t even hesitate? Are you scared? Most definitely not. Then what is it? What’s this weird, fuzzy feeling that’s been stirring inside your stomach for who knows how long?

“.....fine, but don’t try anything.”

Your heart is being weak again.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

You place your hands on either side of your hip when Minho comes back from his room with his pillows and blanket scattered all over the floor, organizing them neatly with his sword leaning against your nightstand. He flickers his eyes upward to look at your judgmental ones, slightly shaking from the cold and nervousness. “I’m getting comfortable?” he tells you, blinking innocently. 

Shaking your head at Minho, you snatch the pillow from his hands and situate it on your bed, right beside your own. “Hurry up now before I change my mind,” you decide after some time of consideration. The floor doesn’t look necessarily clean, and it’s not like Jisung would pack any extra clothes for him to change into. You’re just being nice like any normal, civil human being would. You’re sharing a bed with a stranger, nothing out of the ordinary. 

“Oh, I’m good,” Minho scratches his head with a sheepish smile. “The floor is fine for me.” Although the cheap material of the mattress does look more convincing than the hard, cement surface. 

You squint your eyes at him skeptically, “Are you sure?” He then puts his hands up in defeat as though you’re pointing a knife at his throat and motions for you to scoot over with a wave of his hand. You both shuffle around after he slips into the blanket with you, shifting until you’re facing the wall while Minho’s staring awkwardly at the front door. Well, this is kinda nice, he thinks to himself when your back brushes over his every now and then. 

“Uhh, sleep tight, I guess?” Minho says before leaning over the nightstand to blow out the candle. 

“Goodnight to you too,” you spew out your last words of the day, deciding to keep your lips close before you embarrass yourself any further. Okay...maybe one last thing before you completely pass out. “Uhm, Minho?”

He replies softly, “Yeah?” Seems like he can’t fall asleep either. 

Minho tosses himself over the moment you move your body and this causes your faces to be inches apart, his warm breath fanning your cheeks. Although you can’t see him clearly due to the limited source of light, those round eyes are definitely piercing right through you, leaving your heart pounding faster than usual. 

“Can you tell me…” you nibble on your bottom lip hesitantly. “What happened between you and Changbin? You guys weren’t being very civil for old friends.”

When he shifts slightly again to face the ceiling, his arm brushes against yours but he does nothing about it. He likes the lingering warmth from the tips of your fingers. 

You watch in awe as Minho stares up at nothing, broken bits of sadness floating softly inside his irises like an unwanted scar from his past; it’s tragically beautiful. “It was years ago when this whole monster hunting thing started,” he starts calmly, finding it hard to not look at you. “I wasn’t alone, Changbin was there with me too.”

Then, he continues, not knowing that you’re widening your eyes at him, “We were in an assault team, traveling all over the Continent and making a living out of slaying those creatures. We didn’t have much back then, but we had each other. Unfortunately, everyone has their own secrets despite our promise of not hiding anything from each other. Changbin was planning on leaving the group to go on a different path, and I...I would secretly sneak out alone every night, throwing myself into danger, thinking that I wasn’t good enough…Truth is, I was just being selfish.” His voice trails off, trembling as if each word pains him, like a thousand arrow wounds straight into his heart.

Bitter. Unforgiving. Pain. 

“I knew that I was lying to them, that I should just leave without saying anything,” Minho swallows hard like someone’s stepping on him, forcing air out of his lungs mercilessly. 

“But I never belonged anywhere, they were all that I had—my only family. I longed for that warmth, that feeling of being at ease so I just, I couldn’t leave. One day, we were hired to clear out a dungeon through an anonymous letter. It raised some skepticisms in my head since I’ve gone there before, there was nothing, no monsters, no nothing. Even so, I was held back by my own cowardice, I was afraid they might question me. I didn’t stop them when they accepted the job, it was good money.”

Your voice fails you when you open your mouth to say something, so you wordlessly slips your hand into his, hoping that you’ll be able to convey some of your heat to his cold fingers. As if feeling encouraged by your action, he doesn’t push you away and regains his composure. 

“Turns out, my intuitions were right, we got scammed,” Minho says. “A group full of criminals attacked, wanting to keep all of our money for their own. We cooperated and gave them everything, yet that wasn’t enough. They needed to seal our lips for good….Only Changbin and I made it out alive, three mobsters from the gang died under my blade that day. I confessed to Changbin later on, he didn’t forgive me. I couldn’t forgive myself either, the only family I’d ever have was gone, my arrogance and pride killed them.”

Silently, you pull him towards you, caressing the back of his head like he’s gonna fall apart the moment you let him go. Minho’s breath hitches in his throat as he sees you wear a smile on your face, your starry eyes twinkling when moonlight slips through the crack of the wood-lined window, pieces of glass chipping off on the edges. You’re breathtaking, unearthly. 

“I’m not going to die, I know that you’ll protect me just fine.” There’s a wide-eyed expression on his face, his lips falling open but his words die in his throat. A tear unknowingly rolls down on his cheek, consequently blurring his vision with waves of sadness that only the broken would encounter. You let him nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck, his fists grabbing at your shirt until his knuckles turn white. 

Minho cries into your chest unceasingly, “I don’t have any real strength. Without my sword, without the anonymity that has been casting terror and curiosity on people, I’m just Lee Minho, the coward who only ever knows how to run away and hide behind the shadow of the Black Swordsman. Changbin was right, I don’t have any right to even think about protecting you.”

“My father used to tell me,” you stroke his hair gently as choked sobs punch through him, pulling him back from the opening arms of his grief. “Strength is simply an illusion, there are far more important things.” 

He stops for a moment, nostalgia hurling him back to the memories of two decades ago when he was still just a boy, training hard with his wooden sword while someone watched him from afar, a pleased look lingering on their lips. Tears pool in his eyes again when that person’s face flashes inside his mind but the hollow space inside his heart isn’t the same, there’s a ray of joy that’s managed to make its way through a crack of his walls. 

“And I don’t care if you’re the Black Swordsman or not, I only know the cryptic-looking guy who crossed swords with me and wasn’t willing to back down that day. I knew, I just knew that even without a sword, you could have beaten me. Because fighting isn’t an obligation, it’s a choice. A choice whether you’re going to fight until the very end or not.”

His tears can’t extinguish what has happened, yet only carry him forward until a time comes when that searing pain is distant enough to forget rather than remembering. And maybe one day, it might erase itself from his conscience for good. So perhaps it’s not much of an oddity to thank the salty liquid streaming down on his cheekbones. They’re a living proof for his morality, a barrier to save him from becoming a monster—indifferent to suffering and sorrow. 

Minho sees the fatherly smile on his mentor’s face, just like the old days. And then he sees you through his blurred vision, momentarily breathless at how close you are. 

“After all, I have a promise to keep,” you tell him but it comes out more like a reminder for yourself. “I won’t let you die even when I’m no longer capable of picking up my sword and I mean it. As vice commander of the royal guards, you have my words, Lee Minho.”

An ignited desire wells up at the bottom of his heart, and it baffles him. Lee Minho, a coward who’s willing to turn his back on everyone just so he alone can exist. A bastard who betrayed his only friends, who didn’t even try to plead for forgiveness, who coldly walked away from those painful memories. Such a self-absorbed being like him doesn’t deserve a simple ally, let alone something much more intimate than that.

Then he starts to remember why he’s here, with you. Your smile. Your voice. Memories are flooding back into his head about this girl who made her way into his life abruptly yet so easily. And before he knows it, she’s all that’s on his mind. 

So instead of giving in to his nightmares like he would every other night, Minho stops reminiscing his bloodied past, surrendering under the sense of familiarity radiating off your touch.

seven.

You both stand in awe as the great mountains loom before your eyes, cold grey crevices holding the blood of the fallen. While the lower passes wear a cloak of greenery, the peaks are crowned with a headdress of ice. As though the earth has a pulse, it rises through the mountains, creating their bold silhouette. From carved rocky outcrops, waterfalls drifting like skeins of white lawn, and in the fields, you can see the amber glint of the rivers and the occasional mirror-like flash of the lake. 

The mountains soar upward like they wish to plant a soft kiss on heaven, wanting to have a taste of the horizon all around. The path ahead winds as effortlessly as a blanket laid on a bed, yet each step feels heavier than the previous one, draining your energy. It only gets steeper and narrower as you make your way closer to the top, but giving up is not an option. You’re willing to go to the other side of the world barefooted, searching for every corner, every edge of this planet if it means bringing your brother back. 

A gust of wind howls in the distance, piling up snow in drifts, blinding your eyesight with ice-white dust. You try walking, bending over against the cold, protecting your eyes with your clothed forearms. Everything looms into your vision before vanishing completely, swallowed in white. “Minho?” you call out to him after a few minutes of not looking forward, waving one of your hands around until it can feel something. 

Another hand reaches for yours, and you snap out of your daze when the coldness on the tips of his fingers is clasped against your palm. “You’re as slow as a baby turtle,” he comments lamely while staring ahead, not letting you see the coral shade scattered across his cheeks. “Let’s just hurry up and get back, I’m hungry.” 

Breath pale against the numbing air, you blink thoughtfully while gazing down at the sight of his fingers being intertwined with yours as the frost patiently kisses your face. He’s still wearing the same old pair of fingerless gloves, no wonder his hands are freezing. But you suppose it’s because he doesn’t want the grip on his sword to slip. 

“Oh, I actually have something for us to eat,” you retract your hand to fish it inside your bag, already missing his warmth. “I guess we should have lunch, either way, we’ve been walking before the sun even rose.”

Minho makes a noise of confusion before bringing his steps to a halt, turning his head to see you pull out something being wrapped neatly in paper, giving it a slight jerk towards his direction when he continues to stare at you blankly. Wordlessly, he takes it and sighs, eyes widening when the smell of grilled meat invaded his nostrils. Inside the wrapper is a sandwich made from thinly sliced bread, generously stuffed with meat and vegetables. The peppery aroma inevitably makes his stomach rumble and without another word, Minho chomps on his lunch portion like a hungry child; the sandwich is long gone before he realizes it. 

“It’s...good,” he licks his lips to clean up the remaining sauce in the corners of his mouth. It doesn’t look any different from the ones he’s seen inside restaurants but the taste is what reminds him of something he ate as a kid, he almost teared up while inhaling it. “Where did you buy this? I’ll make sure to pass by the place when we get back.”

“I didn’t buy it,” you stride ahead of him to hide the giddiness in your stomach. “I made it yesterday at Jisung’s place. That’s why the bread got a little soggy if you couldn’t tell already.”

Minho fixes his collar and his hearty laughs echoes through your eardrums, stirring up feelings inside your stomach unabating. “You would make a fortune out of these,” he tells you while trying to catch up, following your steps in a hassle. “But now that I‘m thinking about it again, you shouldn’t do that, I’d hate to see people getting to enjoy the same food as me with some cheap units.”

You blush (out of anger) at his statement and attempt to cover it up by stepping onto his toes. This causes him to yelp while stumbling backward, almost falling onto his bottom. “Why did you feel the need to do that?!”

“I can just make you more if you like it that much, you jerk,” you murmur mostly to yourself but he hears it nonetheless. 

A smile makes its way to his lips, and a fuzzy feeling bubbles up inside his stomach. He’s not sure what it is, but he’s not complaining, really. It’d be nice if he could have the same delicious meals when he’d retired, dozing off while watching the sunset with his significant other and his own kids in his arms. It’d be nice if he could have a place to come back to when he needs a break, a shoulder to lean on and someone to tuck him into bed. It’d be nice if… He looks at you again after those shameless thoughts and immediately, embarrassment dusts his cheeks pink. His face feels hot despite the puffs of cold air escaping his lips. 

“Hey,” Minho pulls you to a stop by the hand, suddenly giving it a squeeze. “I just wanted to say thank you…” A glint of anticipation gleams in your gaze when you both lock eyes, prompting him to look away. “Thank you, for...the meal, it was nice. I might as well bother you a little longer to eat more good food.” Lee Minho you coward. 

“Do you only think about your stomach?“ you almost gawk at him, raising your hand to give him a slap in the face but Minho grabs your hand before you can do so. The next thing you know, his other hand is on the top of your head, ruffling your hair in a playful manner. 

He tells you and trudges on, grinning to himself, “Let’s get moving, we’re wasting time.”

“....Minho?”

“Hmm?” he turns around with a lovesick smile on his face but that’s not what you’re paying attention to.

“You might want to look out for that…”

“For what-“ 

Minho swallows heavily when he sees an enormous figure overhanging his shadow on the white snow. Slowly, his gaze follows the sound of faint yet sturdy footsteps and he holds his breath, eyes twice as white as before. 

“Just to be clear…” he asks breathlessly. “Dragons are nocturnal, right?”

“Correct,” you subconsciously take a step back. “And we might have woken it up.”

Minho takes notice in the thick stripe of black streaking down on one of its claws, and his face morphs into a frown when his surroundings reek off the smell of fresh blood. “No, someone else did.”

The dragon’s scales gleam dashingly in the sunlight, they are its pride and delight, violet streaks blending into a deep blue at the end. Its teeth so cold and sharp like icicles, they can easily rip any armors into mere ribbons of skin and bones. In its chest holds a hearth of ever flickering flame although the remorseless heart remains rime. Eyes with a shade of crimson as deep as the liquid that’s coursing through your veins, nourishing you; those eyes are seemingly endless pools of wisdom and intelligence.

But once those red pupils dilate and focus on the two mundane mortals before themselves, a glint of gold is suddenly evident, almost alarmed. The dragon takes off into the air with its wings stretched leathery like a bat, sending a small snowstorm flying towards the both of you. Minho squints his eyes hard while you’re shielding your vision with your forearms, coats fluttering as wind whistles into your ears.

Minho calmly takes a step forward, flashing you a smile sideways. What is he doing? 

Then, he spares you one last glance before drawing his sword. As though triggered by the sound of metal scraping against the leather sheath, the dragon flaps its majestic wings and inhales, heaps of glowing embers come swirling in midair, twirling towards Minho with a fiery dance. He’s just simply there, feet planted firmly on the ground as though challenging the creature’s deadly breath. 

“Minho, what are you doing?!” you yell at him, trying to keep your balance as the ground begins to tremble. “Get out of there!!”

Pretending not to listen to your warnings, Minho gets into his stance, blade angling low with his knees. What happens next downright baffles you. The blade of his sword glimmers with a shade of purple, his feet taking off towards the plume of fire that soon engulfs his figure completely in your vision. 

You squeeze your eyes shut not just because of the heat but also because you can’t bring yourself to see it. Once the air around you cools off, your eyes flutter open again to see Minho angling his head over his shoulder, throwing you a wink in the process. Did he just counter a dragon’s breath with his sword?

“Chaeryeong taught me that. Neat trick, isn’t it?” he says with a grin while you’re blinking at him in utter shock; he looks almost proud of successfully deflecting that breath attack. “I use magic more often than you’d think. Nothing major, only the basic things. Enough to keep me alive.”

“I still think we need to run first.”

Minho looks at you dejectedly, “Don’t you have a better plan?”

With a howl as loud as any sky-born thunder, the dragon flaps its wings more vigorously this time, flinging the layer of snow under your feet into a blizzard—a swirling storm of screaming silver, a primal force than conquers until its core explodes. Everything around you is almost white-out as you bat your hands around helplessly in the middle of this snowstorm. After a while, you can no longer feel your legs, it’s like the storm just sweeps you off your feet. You’re not sure if it’s because of the cold or-

What the…?

You widen your eyes in a panic; you’re falling. Your perception of time distorts, your surroundings slow down until there’s nothing, only you, the sky above, and a hole that’s only a few hundred feet away from where you were standing previously. Your hand reaches out to the canvas above, grasping the endless crevasse of blue. 

Everything’s a blur, a blur that swirls out of existence. Suspended in the air for a few seconds, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, letting your tense muscles relax. You won’t die from the fall since there’s a likelihood that snow’s already covered the pit. But you can’t just let yourself fall freely, that would cause minor, unnecessary injuries. So you reach for your sword, planning to jab it against the rocky surface as an attempt to go against gravity. 

Once the metal comes in contact with the side of the pit, tiny flares of fire flutter in the air as if the sword is being sharpened by a blacksmith, an ear-piercing sound hisses against your eardrums. The stab is strong enough to slow gravity down from pulling you downward any faster but it’s not enough to make you stop completely. 

Chan, you think while screwing your eyes shut, every cell inside your body is shaking, every muscle is aching. You can’t give up now, not when you’re still in one piece, and Chan’s hanging on the edge of not getting his old life back. You can’t give up not knowing who’s the culprit, not just yet. 

And you’d rather be cursed than making out of this place alive and leaving Minho behind. Your conscience won’t ever forgive you. 

When that thought crosses your mind, you grit your teeth and suddenly the sword stops sliding down, leaving you dangling midair on one arm. The rapier is too slender, it won’t hold on for long, and it’s not like you can climb all the way up to the top. 

A mighty, fearsome roar blares through your brain like wildfire so you flutter your eyes upward to see the dragon with its wings folded on both sides, diving at an immaculate speed into the hole, in your direction. 

There’s my ride. 

eight.

Once the blizzard settles down, the setting sun comes with a sky of fire, the orange of every wintry hearth. The color stretches far and wide along the horizon like a reflection of the dawn that comes after the velvety night. 

That’s when Minho sees them. 

The crystals have grown as something alive may do, thriving over the ages, through many generations. As such they become a rainbow sea made of perfect rocks, the shoreline ever-present and still with colors that shine in the brilliant light of a richness that only nature can bring. Minho might feel bad when he snaps off a piece, it’s like cutting a single, healthy rose in the middle of the thorny garden. But if it’s for Chan, he’s certain that you’d do anything at any cost. 

Minho sheaths his sword and sighs, turning around, “Y/N are you okay?” All that he’s met with is a muffled silence, the cold wind whistling into his ears, the hollow space before his eyes white-out and empty.

“Y/N?” Nothing. 

“Y/N!!” No one answers. “Y/N!!!”

No, he lets out a choked whimper. No, no, no.

His legs tremble inside his boots, his lips quivering, his fists clenched, his fingers turning cold. And the thing that terrifies him most? His heart feels like someone is grasping on it so tightly as though they’re going to crush it with their bare hands. 

A seed of fear suddenly grows inside his rib cage, thriving at an abrupt pace, branching out, gripping onto every cell, every muscle inside his body. He can’t breathe. This can’t be it, he tells himself, tumbling backward a bit. He promised not to let this happen. He swore. Yet his biggest nightmare is only one step away from becoming a reality. 

Minho wants to cry your name aloud over and over again until his vocal cords are torn apart, he wants to be vulnerable for once and let himself fall. How is he going to face Chan? And Changbin? And his own conscience? He might as well run his own sword through his heart because what would be the point in living if you’re no longer here?

All of this was a grave mistake. If only he didn’t throw the dart. If only you didn’t come with him. None of this would have happened. None of this would have happened if he didn’t accept that damned offer. He could have easily flipped you off the second that duel was finished and gone on this trip by himself. And face the scythe of Death alone, by himself, like he always does. He should have died alone, he deserves to die alone. 

But this time, he didn’t make the right decision and the consequences are horrendous. He gave in because of your stubbornness, your determination, your bossy nature. He let you in and his walls came down tumbling one by one, his stern and trained facade shredded into pieces. His head is a mess whenever he sees your smile, his heart can permit you to tread on his boring life. And because of those merely unguarded moments, he’s killed another person that he truly cares about other than himself.

Wait, something clicks inside his head. He almost forgets the most important thing of all. The culprit. 

Minho regains his composure and snaps his head back towards the crystals. The sun might be going down but its limited source of light is more than adequate to cast a shadow onto the snowy white surface. The shadow of a person, a person that’s not you. The shadow that sets a silent inferno inside his chest, the flame spreading by the ticking second. 

“I have been waiting for you,” he turns on his heels, reaching for the hilt of his sword. “Hwang Hyunjin.”

The shadow visibly flinches before stepping out, a hand outstretching from the black cloak to pull down the hood. When Hyunjin’s face comes into view, Minho’s muscles tense up, anguish making his head a little dizzy. But he maintains his cold front, not letting his opponent see how much this is affecting him. 

“I’ve got a feeling that you’d already figured it out the moment I visited the cabin,” Hyunjin says slyly, his facial expression rather relaxed. “And I was so close to silencing you little errand boy for good too, but I’ll admit, the little brat is well trained, he ran off before I could catch him. So tell me, Black Swordsman, where did I slip?”

“Your eyes,” Minho grits. “They weren’t staring at Chan with what’s supposed to be concern or relief. You were looking at him like a predator watching its prey from afar. If I weren’t keeping an eye on you, who knows what you would have done to him. He didn’t sound pleased when you touched him either.”

Hyunjin drops his cloak to the ground, laughing under his breath, “You are sharper than I’d expected.” He takes a few steps closer forward, craning his neck tiredly before drawing his sword, causing Minho to do the same. “Now, now, vice commander, an innocent man is about to be killed because of you.”

Minho can only snicker at the statement, “I’m not planning on going down easily.”

“So am I,” Hyunjin gets ready in his stance, glaring at his opponent. “I wasn’t really planning on dealing with you. I would rather end her and let you take the blame. Actually, that sounds like a better plan! Don’t you agree? No one would put their trust in you—a low, damned being who lives off the upper classes’ bloodied pennies.”

With his blood boiling hot, Minho inhales and exhales deeply to keep his voice calm. “End her?” he repeats after the guard. End her. Hyunjin hasn’t made a single move yet he feels like someone just stabbed him in the gut. How could he?! You trusted Hyunjin, you went through so much with him, you trained him. And now he’s just going to turn around and bite the hand that fed him? Traitor. “Over my dead body.” 

Hyunjin lunges forward, his feet sprinting quickly and he brings his blade up from a lower angle while Minho attempts to clash him from the head down. Both of their swords get knocked away on different sides from the harsh contact. Before Hyunjin can raise his weapon again, Minho sword slices at him sideways but he luckily deflects it in time—the reflexes and muscle memories from his training are kicking in. 

“Why are you doing this? Aren’t you her friend?”

Minho’s sword aims for his head once again; however, Hyunjin steps to the side and makes a grab for his hand, holding his weapon down. This makes Minho lose his balance for a few seconds while Hyunjin tries to cleave his neck. He stumbles on his heels at the last second, only getting away with a small cut on his cheekbone. The pain isn’t even there, he’s been beaten up ten times worse before, this is nothing. He’s practically numb by now. 

“Friend?” Hyunjin drags his sword against the ground before bringing it up to stop a slash at his chest, throwing snow into Minho’s eyes. He groans agonizingly when the white matters’ coldness burns his skin, blurring his vision. “She and Chan only care about themselves! They are the ones who get all the praises and recognition after a mission. Little rumps like me and Changbin?”

He angrily tightens the grip on his weapon, dragging a long slice downward, “We didn’t have any title, we’re merely just two faces amongst a hundred of the other guards. We get treated like we don’t even exist!”

“Did Y/N ever treat you that way? And Chan too?” Minho heaves after dodging the blow by rolling on the ground. He’s circling around the guard, trying to keep his mind clear. “From what I’ve seen, she seems to care about you and Changbin as much as she does about her brother. 

Hyunjin swings his sword at him, and Minho receives the hit with the edge of his blade. The sound of metal scraping against each other is pricking at his eardrums but he can care less, he won’t be dying today. “So you can break my soul,” Minho pants before both of them stagger backward, switching their initial position. “Take everything away from me.”

“Beat me up.” Another blocked blow. 

“Tear me into pieces.” Anger almost tears through his mind again. Anger towards Hyunjin for betraying Chan, you, and his entire team. Anger for falling into his trap. Anger for not being able to keep you safe. He wishes he could just unleash all of his hatred and rage on the guard. But what can he do? He’s one to blame too, after all. 

“Or kill me, even.”

Hyunjin catches up to Minho when he starts sprinting away to regain his vision, the two of them running side by side, in between the lined up crystals. Thrusting his sword at Minho in various directions, Hyunjin’s stabs are getting messy because of the limited amount of space. 

“But I will tell you something, you’d better listen to me and listen to me for good.” Minho’s sword strikes at him but he blocks it in time, their faces inches apart and their weapons threatening to snap each other into half. 

“Touch Y/N.” A low grunt escapes Hyunjin’s lips when Minho jabs his fist against his stomach, forcing air out from his lungs. “And I am going to give you a taste of hell. I have been there before, and you know what? You would be begging me for a painless death by then.”

When the guard falls onto his knees, his weapon dropping by his side with a loud clangor, Minho directs the tip of his sword on top of Hyunjin’s head. “Think about it again, do you think that all of this is really worth it?”

A sinister laugh echoed through his ears and Minho’s eyes grow alarmed when the blood trickled down on his cheek starts to harden a little. No, something’s wrong. “You spoke too soon,” Hyunjin tells him with a devilish tone, the corners of his lips being tugged up into a smirk. 

What is this? On the tip of his fingers reveals a dark shade of blue, it almost reminds him of the royal guards’ uniform. Suddenly his body collapses, he can’t feel his muscles, he can do nothing. His sword is so far away from his grip, he can’t even move his fingers. Paralytic poison. “You bastard!”

Hyunjin pushes himself off the ground, holding his sword by the hilt when the tip is faced downward. “I suppose this is the end. Our encounter is rather short but it was a pleasure to cross swords with the infamous Black Swordsman,” he raises it, chuckling. “Goodbye, Lee Minho.”

Minho locks his jaw, his muscles tense but he can’t move, his eyes are shut while he braces himself for the contact. But it never comes. A growl as loud and frightening as a clap of thunder rumbles through the sky and that’s when Minho opens his eyes to see the shadow of a dragon flying not too high above. Next thing he knows, a figure jumps off, falling rapidly like a lightning bolt. 

Your foot slams onto Hyunjin’s shoulder, causing him to fall back while you land on the ground safely. Before he can register the situation, your rapier is drawn to yank his long sword away. “Hyunjin?” you grit with tears brimming in your eyes. “Why?”

Hyunjin doesn’t respond, instead, he takes a few strides towards you wordlessly. You don’t raise your weapon nor retreat it, simply keeping it limp by your side. But he lifts the blade of your sword with his hands and swiftly runs it through his stomach, blood splattering everywhere. His arms are weak, yet he still tries to put one of them around your back, pulling you closer and leaning his head on your shoulder. “Congratulations, vice commander,” he taunts into your ear. 

“You’re a murderer.”

nine.

Chan finds himself waking up on a plain bed, a white blanket draped over him, and a cold towel on his head. All the mayhem from the past week comes crashing down on him like a tsunami, banging against his temple. He tries to push himself up but his limbs are too wobbly—it feels foreign, it’s like he’s inside someone else’s body and not his own. With every move, his head pulses in agony, and his muscles ache.

The pain stops when he sees you sleeping soundly against his bed, your head rested on your forearms. Another figure is present too, on the couch staring blankly at the flickering fireplace. Opening his mouth to speak, Chan scrunches his nose in pain as he accidentally strains his vocal cords but no words come out, only incoherent sounds. 

“...Chan?” you rub the sleep away from your eyes, yawning tiredly. 

“Ah..ah..ah,” Chan can only lift his arms, calling out to you in desperation. His eyes grow stingy at the sound of your voice and before he knows it, tears are already rolling down in his cheeks relentlessly. 

“Chan, it’s alright,” you hush him softly, slipping your arms around him and holding him tight. “Everything’s fine now, you’re safe. You’ve done enough.” You bury your face into the crook of his neck, that way he won’t be able to see your glassy eyes. This isn’t the time to cry in front of him. 

The door closes with a sharp thud.

Chan only convinces himself that he’s still alive, and back to his human form, not being buried six feet under the ground somewhere when your fingers graze the dull lines that his tears leave behind. A sense of relief washes over him the moment he sees your smile, though insomnia has been carved into your features over time. You’re safe, he closes his eyes. You’re not hurt. 

That’s all that matters. 

“Wait for me here, I’ll call Yeji in,” you give his hands one last squeeze. Chan pulls you back for a second there, a faint frown adorns his face. “Just leave the rest to me, we’re going to be alright.” 

With Chan’s weak smile as an approval, you dash outside, finding Minho standing like a soulless being at the front door of the cabin. He can’t bring himself to face you after what he did. His body is tired, his mind is a mess, and his heart is filled with sorrow. Even his sword seems too heavy for his existence, it’s weighing him down, making him not be able to move. 

“This was all my fault, wasn’t it?”

You don’t answer him and instead outstretch your hand, letting your fingers tug at the sheath of his sword. “Minho, it’s no one’s fault,” you mumble with your head hung low. “I dragged you into this. If anything, I’m the one to blame.”

“No!” His sudden outburst makes you flinch; hence you pull your hand back with a wide-eyed expression on your face. “If I hadn’t thrown that dart, we wouldn’t have met. If you hadn’t followed me on the trip, nothing would have happened! None of this would have happened! You almost died back there, Y/N. Do you know how much it scared me?”

“So you’re just going to leave me like this?” you raise your voice, trying not to snap at him. “After everything, you’re still going to turn away from me? Just like how you did to everyone else?”

“I-“ 

“Lee Minho, if you claimed to care about me so much-”

“I should stay away from you, I will only cause you more trouble. Even worse, I will get you in danger. I won’t forgive myself if anything happens to you.” His heart clenches at his own words as his shoulders shake, arms tense on his sides. 

You reach for his hand, and huff in determination, “Stick to your words and protect me then.”

ten.

It’s been a week since the incident happened. Hyunjin has managed to live after the fight, yet he wants to keep his lips sealed for a while as to why he intended to harm the commander of his team in the first place. For now, he’s being kept in the dungeon while the king and queen permit you to do whatever. After all, he didn’t cause the kingdom any trouble. And if you were being honest, you would forgive Hyunjin without a second thought just so things can be normal again. It’s not as easy as you’d hoped. 

Minho, on the other hand, has been praised tremendously by everyone in court for what he did. His name has been cleansed and every flighty rumor or gossip about him has been cleared out. He doesn’t like this at all, journalists are starting to snoop around Jisung’s place, leaving him no choice but to stay at Yeji’s log house for some time. His reputation was what used to keep him safe, now everything’s being flipped upside down. 

He stares at his own reflection in the mirror from across the room. Minho can’t tell if it’s because he’s only worn the color black for the longest time or he’s being irrational, but he thinks the white loose shirt and matching pants that the mage brought back last night from the castle just don’t look right. Is his own moniker messing with his head? Probably. 

Glancing sideways to catch a glimpse of his sword on his bed, he exhales dejectedly. I look like a joke, Minho thinks to himself. 

“I never knew the Black Swordsman would look this dashing in white,” Chan enters his room with a dimpled smile on his face, Changbin following him suit. He’s recovering from the past week of living his life as a wolf, it’s still quite hard for Chan to walk so Yeji forced him to use a wheelchair for the time being. 

“Don’t you guys have any clothes that aren’t so flashy?” Minho cracks a crooked smile, feeling unfamiliar being dressed in such a bright color. “I look ridiculous.”

Chan chuckles wholeheartedly and shakes his head, “Actually, that’s one of our less flashy ones. Don’t worry, you look great.”

“Why are you here, anyway?” Minho’s question isn’t necessarily directed towards Chan, but rather the person standing behind him. “If you want to curse me for the things I’ve done, then fine, I accept it. I will leave Kalmburg and move to the other side of the Continent. You’ll never have to see me again.”

Changbin steps forward, and with a deep breath, he says, “Thank you, Minho.” 

Minho can’t believe his ears, did he just—

“Thank you,” Changbin says again; this time more firmly, and the look in his eyes softening. In those brown orbs, Minho can once again see the look he used to be met with five years ago, no hatred or anger, just warmth. He missed this. A ‘thank you’ has never sounded so nerve-calming before. It’s genuine, it’s real. Heartwarming, almost. 

“When you told me that you would protect her,” Changbin continues, gaze cast downward. “I almost believed you, I knew you weren’t lying. It felt like that day after we both got out of the dungeon all over again. My anger always got the best of me and I just burst. I never gave you the chance to explain yourself, I never got to know your reasons. I am sorry because I didn’t care about you enough, as a friend.”

“I am sorry too,” Minho rises from his seat on the bed, suppressing the happiness inside his ribcage. “I’m sorry I bailed on you that day, I think about it all the time.”

He pauses for a moment and sees Changbin outstretching his hand, the familiar broad smile dancing on his lips. Minho accepts his friend’s warm handshake and reciprocates his grin. “You’d better stay alive first before apologizing.”

Minho widens his eyes, “Of course I am alive!”

“No, I mean,” Changbin waves his hand dismissively. “I was going to ask you to join us since there’s a good chance that His Majesty won’t turn you down, but then I’d figure, you’re too reckless for us to handle either way. So if you’re planning on going out here and throwing yourself at monsters, you’d better stay safe or I wouldn’t forgive you again. And Y/N would never forgive herself.”

Chan eyes the small box sitting neatly on Minho’s nightstand, and teases, “Speaking of Y/N, when will you tell her?”

Minho scratches the nape of his neck with glowing cheeks, he can physically feel the pink tint darkening by the second. “I don’t know, but soon. I still need to have his permission first,” he leans over to take the box in his palm, opening it carefully. 

The sight of the silver band resting nicely inside makes his chest swell, his beating heart doing its best to not implode from joy. It might be too early, but he’s scared that if he doesn’t do this now, fate is going to be one step ahead and take you away from him forever. 

“Minho!” Yeji calls out to him from behind the door. “Y/N’s here!”

“I wish the best of luck for you then,” Chan tosses a wink in his direction.

eleven.

“No one asked you to come, Han.” Is the first thing Minho spats out when he closes the front door with his bag slung over his shoulder. Jisung’s welcoming grin falls flat on his face at his friend’s cold remark. He really should have got used to these things by now. 

“I did,” you tell him with crossed arms, releasing your grip on Noir’s reign. “Yeji said she’s running low on some herbs so I introduced her to Jisung’s place.”

Minho rolls his eyes to the moon. “Aren’t there more trust-worthy stores for the royal mage? Why would you refer her to that dingy dumpster?” And this statement prompts Jisung to give his knee a harsh kick followed by a mere glare from the younger boy. 

“I actually like his place, it’s cute,” you scoff. He’s just acting out since Jisung always shows up unannounced. 

“Why? It’s a rip-off.”

“Minho, you were living there for free!”

“I’m going to leave you two love birds alone now,” Jisung pushes past you to shoot Minho a mischievous smirk, patting his friend on the shoulder. “Don’t do anything weird to her or Chan is going to cut your arms off.” Actually, you’re fully capable of cutting his arms off yourself if he dared think about doing something damned. The swordsmanship runs in the family after all. 

Your face morphs into a frown when Jisung finally enters the cabin, your head tilted to the side in confusion. “What is he talking about?” you ask but brush it off nonetheless; it’s Jisung, you can’t expect anything less from him. “Forget it, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Minho answers while petting Noir, your horse nudges her nose against his face in return—she’s always been keen on seeing him since day one. “How is your father these days? Last time I’d asked, you told me that he’d retired.”

You nod, resting your palm on the hilt of your sword, “He’s good. He said he’s already too old to train soldiers and he’d rather stay at home. Though he’s getting bored these days since there’s not much to do anymore. He’ll find a new hobby soon enough, he will need to take a break from everything eventually. Father has never let himself rest after our mother passed away, constant work distracts him.”

Minho hears you let out a small sigh and takes another step, his hands finding their way towards yours, collecting your fingers between his, giving them a firm squeeze. 

You give in after a few moments to face him completely, concern is flashing in his eyes while a small smile blooms on his lips. He looks a little tired, probably didn’t get any sleep for the past few days while you’re resolving all the problems in court. Minho never fails to stun you nonetheless, from the curve of his lips to the fullness of his eyelashes and the adoration in his warm eyes for you and only you; they make you feel at ease. 

“Like father, like daughter,” he brushes a strand of hair away from your face and jokes. “You’d better be eating well and getting enough sleep, vice commander.”

You snicker, “Speak for yourself, Black Swordsman, you look terrible.” That’s a lie, he looks absolutely wondrous it’s unfair. 

“I like this color on you,” you giggle after noticing his appearance today. They really don’t have any dark-colored pieces of clothing in the castle. “Look, we’re matching. You’re just not matching with your sword anymore.”

“Y/N.” The merry tone in his voice suddenly drops and Minho looks away, his muscles loosening. “Can I ask you something? But I don’t want you to get mad at me.”

You’re suddenly worried. “What’s wrong?”

“On the day that the incident happened….,” he trails off nervously. “Why didn’t you run away? You could have just left me there and got home safely. There will always be another way to help Chan. The chances of surviving that fight were too slim, there’s no telling what would happen. Why would you—”

“Lee Minho, are you even hearing yourself right now?” you cup his cheeks so that he’ll look at you. “Are you assuming I’m some sort of lowly being who will run away while their partner is in danger? I’d rather die with someone than let that person die in front of my eyes. Especially when it’s you! I would never forgive myself if I ever did that to you. So why are you saying such things?”

Minho reaches for your hand and melts into your touch, exhaling heavily. 

“I don’t know...I’m sorry I think I’m losing my mind. After everything, I’m scared that I might lose you. All I want to do is run away with you, from all of this, from everything. We can live together in someplace far away, where no one can find us,” he clenches his eyes shut. 

“I just- I don’t want you to be in love with someone who always has hell hanging by his doorstep, who gets his hands bloodied for a living, who—“

You place your index finger on his lips and shake your head. “Do you even know who I am in love with? Hm?” you question. 

“I’m in love with the most caring, kindhearted man that the world could ever ask for. Whose heart is so warm and fragile, he’s afraid to let anyone in because of his tough past. Whose will is so unwavering he didn’t even think twice about fighting off a dragon alone. But what makes me fall so stupidly for him, is the fact that despite his wounds and scars, he’d always prioritize other people’s needs before his own. Because he’d rather believe and regret than doubt and regret.”

“Y-You’re in love with me?” he studies your delicate feature in the daylight, his heart going on a rampage. 

You chuckle to yourself, “Yes, more than I should be because you’re a pain in the-“

Minho presses his lips against yours and inhales every word, sealing the nagging in until you respond to the kiss. Your hands find their way up to his soft hair, weaving themselves into the dark locks and dropping to caress his face after. He latches his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush against his so he can have more control of your movements. You’re drowning in his existence as he tugs and nibs at your bottom lip, trailing small kisses down your jawline before pulling away completely. 

“I guess this means you’re in love with me too?” you ask to distract yourself from the heat that’s flaring through your nostrils, setting your heart on fire. 

Your question has him stop for less than a moment, realizing that maybe he is in love with you as much as you are with him. And maybe you want him just as much as he wants you too. 

 He nods curtly, breath shaking, “Yes, yes I am.”

For the longest time, Minho used to forbid himself to cry, smile, and laugh like any sane human being would, as he thinks expressing his emotions is being strong, is protecting himself. But in reality, he’s just running away from his own problems instead of finding ways to solve them. 

Now, he will let himself fall, he will let himself cripple, he will let his tears run freely for strength is simply an illusion, there are far more important things. He will fight for what he believes in, protect what he cares about and run on his bare feet through the entire galaxy if it means he gets to see you at the end of it, if it means you can dive into his arms, safe and sound. 

Then, Minho thinks of what’s inside the little box, making the thing thundering inside his chest skip a beat. “Will you stay by my side forever?” he blinks. 

“Is that even a question?” you convey between labored pants. “Even if fate pulls you to the other side of the universe, I will find you, do you hear me? I will find you and fall in love with you all over again.”

“Very well then,” he holds you by the shoulders; the eagerness in his eyes lights up a curiosity inside you. “Y/N, let’s..” But it’s gone before you can even register. “Let’s get going, we’re going to be late.” It’s not quite the right time yet. He still needs to meet someone before tying you up with him for eternity. 

Because Minho too, will always find you and fall in love with you all over again. If fate has a problem with that, then he won’t be giving a damn. 

#stayshub #skzwritersclub #inkidz #stray kids fluff #stray kids lee know #stray kids scenarios #lee know imagines #stray kids imagines #lee know scenarios #stray kids fantasy au #stray kids fanfic #stray kids angst #lino fic #lee minho #minho fantasy au #lee know fantasy au

[felassan]

Solas’ ritual

Some more detailed thoughts & speculation on it and related matters.

[cut for spoilers]

He doesn’t know what the end result will be. He has an idea but isn’t 100% sure.

The ritual site has surely gotta be somewhere the Veil is thin or weak. The Veil is almost certainly thinner/weaker in areas which have experienced or feature extensive bloodshed, death or use of magic. Callback implies that it is also thinner/weaker in areas which have born witness to many significant/important events in a general sense. Known places in the lore where it is thin or weak include the Brecilian Forest, where the bloodshed of many battles weakened it beyond repair, and Skyhold, which has seen more than its share of “ripples”. Both of these locations are in the south, and we’re heading north. In addition I doubt doing a years-long ritual would go unnoticed at Skyhold, although it would still be reasonable to posit that the location he has to go to and use to tear the Veil down has to be the same place as where he erected it (which we know Skyhold to be). In Tevinter Nights we learn the Veil is thin in Arlathan Forest, and thinner in such a way as to be different to the way it is thin in other places. The Forest is wracked by ancient lingering elven magic, which is is slick, dangerous, heavy, leaping, and comes to mages easily and with little resistance. “Something else” also lurks at the edges of mages’ awareness there, sensing them pulling at threads of magic when they cast spells. You can hear the whispers and breaths of something huge just out of view. Since the Veil was made to imprison the Evanuris, maybe this is Evanuris lurking on the other side and the Forest is the site of their prison? Perhaps it was Andruil specifically, as the Forest is noted by Strife as being hers specifically. In any event, the Forest is in the north, and it would be easier to go unnoticed doing a long ritual deep in the woods. For one there is tree cover, for another not many people go in there, believing it to be haunted. Arlathan Forest therefore seems like a good candidate for the ritual site.

It’s possible that he doesn’t yet have the idol. There are grains of untruths in both the Carta dwarf’s tale and the death mage’s. It stands to reason the same goes for Solas’ story, or else the whole thing was a straight-up fabrication. In this scenario, the last known location of the idol therefore is with the Nevarran Mortalitasi/noble’s son, who stole and made off with it at the end of the death mage’s story and fled into Tevinter. I think it’s more interesting if Solas truly did find the idol though. The stakes are already super-high, sure (in a “He is already OP how will we defeat him??” kinda way), and “stop him finding the idol” is less intense!!!1/stressful than “stop him doing the ritual”, but we already know we will have a few years to try to stop him in since the ritual will take a few years to finish, and that’s enough ‘leeway’ for me as it is without extra ‘finding’ time added on. TN also implies world-shaking showdown-y events will happen “a year later”, when nations will stand and tremble. Sure sounds like he already has it and has begun the ritual. I therefore proceed under the assumption that he already has it.

The idol reacts to the presence of other lyrium. I agree with the Mortalitasi’s speculation the ritual also requires lyrium. The death mages drank lyrium before commencing their attempted ritual. Also, lyrium and the Fade are linked, with it existing in both worlds and somehow bridging the gap between them. Consumption increases a mage’s connection to the Fade. The Chantry believe it to be the emerald waters of the Fade, the very substance of creation itself, from whence the Maker fashioned the world. This harks to the “sea of dreams” and “threatening of all creation” Solas refers to. I suspect Solas needed to use lyrium to fashion the Veil in the first place, the ancient elves sure were mining it from Titans for one thing (and remember, the Chantry believe it was the Maker who made the Veil). In an ancient Tevinter ritual which ripped the Veil open, unimaginable, inordinate amounts of lyrium was required to do so, over two thirds of all lyrium in the entire Imperium actually. Similarly, Solas’ ritual could also require inordinate amounts of the substance. The over-two-thirds sheer amount thing has never been accomplished again, but the Time is nigh! And I’m worried - the Voshai used to come across the Volca Sea to trade for lyrium at Laysh, which they were obsessively interested in acquiring, to the point they were completely uninterested in anything else. For a long time, they stopped coming, until a few ships came again with tales of a “massive cataclysm” in their land. Did they try and do whatever they were gathering all that lyrium for, and it went to shit?

Speaking of the Magisters Sidereal, their ritual also required inordinate amounts of blood in addition to the lyrium, the blood of countless sacrificed slaves. So much so that it took 100 acolytes to gather this resource. One codex entry says several hundred slaves were sacrificed. In the present day, the Tevinter mage needed to use blood magic from sacrificed slaves in his attempted ritual to like power himself and the idol up, unlock the hidden blade-like part of the idol and progress. When he slashed his hand, everyone fell to the ground and their minds at least were pulled into the Fade. I don’t wanna say “Solas’ ritual is definitely going to require blood/blood magic/sacrifice”, because it’s probably more complicated than that, and the writers enjoy making us think one thing only to ‘psych!’ us with another, but we all know the inherent power of blood in this setting, how blood magic can fuel spellcasting and how it was used before to open the Veil. I find it interesting how blood magic users don’t touch the Fade when using it to cast spells, and also find it a lot harder to enter the Fade. Especially since a blood magic ritual once allowed people entry. Everything is so connected to the Veil and the Fade.

I don’t really enjoy thinking about the possibility, but Solas’ followers are elves. His first plan, to use the foci orb, has failed. The ritual with the red lyrium idol is the second best option, or the only other option he can think of. He’s desperate, and really truly believes that A) he has no choice and B) what he is doing will save the world. He takes no joy in it, and he is compassionate, but he has been shown to be a pragmatist who will do what is needed, even ugly work that leaves bloody hands or removing his own forces if necessary. We know that elven blood is particularly potent when it comes to blood magic attempts to tear down the Veil, due to their ties to the Fade and the magic that lives within their blood, even in the case of modern elves. He has also been known to omit/obfuscate the truth/lie (point of view depending), so he may not be telling his followers the full truth of what will be required. Alternatively, some of his followers, at least, seem like fanatical cultists. Not all of them, but some. They seem willing to do or give anything in order for their People to reclaim what was once theirs and restore the glory of the true People, even giving up their lives (death before capture). In this way those particular ones (not all of em) are kinda opposites, in a way, to the Venatori, who were like “our lives for the glory of Tevinter reborn”. In this scenario Solas has willing volunteers not unwilling/unknowing victims - martyrs for the cause, essentially. We know he has several dozen followers at least. I can see there being up to a few hundred. Solas doesn’t disapprove of blood magic itself; his view is “magic is magic, mattering only in how it’s used”. He says it is fine as long as it remains a tool, not a crutch or passion. He knows it’s extremely powerful. He doesn’t know blood magic but I don’t see why he couldn’t or wouldn’t learn it if that was going to be what his plans took, even if it would blunt his connection to the Fade. (Interestingly, if his ritual requires blood magic so he has to learn it, that could be one way through which we could avoid being killed in our sleep - if blood magic blunts his connection somewhat maybe he’s less capable of a dream-walker/dreamer). Also about sacrifice, the idol essentially seems to magically extend like a Swiss army knife to become a ritual-blade. A ritual-blade with which to do what?? :| tying back to the possibility of sacrifice here..

The ritual may also require his own death. Din’anshiral and all that. It’s just that maybe, the death of one individual, even an ancient god-like individual, isn’t enough to bring down the Veil alone.

The ritual could also require some further means of amplifying power, like the use of the bound spirits in the dead in the Necropolis ritual attempt. In Solas’ this could involve further artifacts or the assistance of spirits (probably willing).

What’s different about Solas’ Veil-removal ritual compared to the Breach, the Second Sin and Cory’s modern-day Fade-entering plan? Perhaps the conclusion of his ritual will set off a gradual change that will make the transition more incrementally. Like maybe the 2 worlds need time to be allowed to sort of gradually meld back together, like the knitting flesh of a healing wound. There will still probably be lots of fire/destruction/adverse effects etc, but it’s not the same as violently tearing it down all at once and physically entering the Fade. Like instead of just jarringly ripping off a band-aid off a gaping wound and calling it a day you should perform delicate surgery. The difference is in the details. In the finesse? At Adamant he’s amazed that the party survived coming through a rift. He says he never thought to find himself there in the Fade physically. It seems like that’s not what he intends to do with his ritual.

Rewatching that scene again, when he says “There! The Black City. Almost close enough to touch.” He’s staring at it and sounds almost... desperate. Like he’s been trying to get there all along. Makes sense considering I reckon The Black City (The Eternal City) is where the Evanuris are imprisoned. But wait, didn’t I say above that’s Arlathan Forest...? That’s the location in the physical world. It corresponds to the location in the Fade. At the moment the two worlds mirror one another, albeit in weird ways (well more specifically the Fade ‘reflects’ the waking world), and the Fade is like an overlay placed over a map. It’s not explicitly known but it’s presumable that Arlathan Forest was once the site of Arlathan itself, Elvhenan’s greatest city, where elves lived in palaces in and above the trees. It’s eponymous. It’s also right on the coast, and some elven lore holds when Arlathan fell it sank into the sea. That’s part of why there’s such magic in the air there and why the spirits there remember what was, they are remembering the glory of Arlathan and how the world used to be. Arlathan was once golden, a la The Golden City, but became black when it became the prison of the Evanuris. Tainted or corrupted by their Blighted/red lyrium-corrupted presence (see the Balrog Theory), most like. That’s why it was already black when Cory and co got there. There is an element of either ‘specifically letting the Evanuris out specifically is necessary to complete things because their presence has an impact’ or ‘letting the Evanuris out is an unwanted consequence of opening the door but I need to open it because I need to get to the center of the Black City to do something there to complete things’.

One of Corypheus’ memories has him call the Temple of Mythal “the place where regret dwells”. That’s interesting, considering the Regret demon in Callback.

A parallel: in the red lyrium future, the Elder One commands an army of demons. In the Mortalitasi’s tale, the Dread Wolf commands an army of spirits.

A word on why some of Solas’ agents are doing unspeakable things: I am neither trying to be critical nor be an apologist here, merely present ideas/possibilities. One is that as a pragmatist, he feels it needs to be done in order to achieve his ends. Like Cory sowing chaos in the south to make his invasion easier, like the Qunari Dragon’s Breath plot, like how the agent in that story wants to cause the chaos by implicating a Vint in the bombing of Qunari Kont-aar thereby causing war. The chaos is a way to distract and throw off the anti-Solas war efforts, to thwart those who would seek to stop him. He refers to causing confusion in his ‘how to be a more effective Red Jenny organization’ banters with Sera; vanish, harass, strike when they’re weak etc. In this reading I don’t really feel it’s OOC given what we know of him. The other is that he doesn’t have direct control and ultimate oversight of his agents. He notes in that same banter some forces like to cause disruption and cause harm for the sake of it. There could be extremists among his numbers or even rogue agents/rogue cells. The bomber agent sounds pretty darn extreme. We already have examples of his agents doing things he would not approve of - Gaius traded away the much-desired idol for information. He would never have signed off on that, per WoG. This second possibility can be divided into 3 sub possibilities - a simple lack of micro-managing direct oversight whereupon well-meaning agents of his still manage to bungle things badly (Gaius); some of his agents just want to cause chaos and disruption for the sake of it since they enjoy it (Sera banter); some of his agents truly are like super extremist to the point that they’re rogue. I think the Gaius-style mixup is most likely followed by the chaos-revelers. PW in reference to the Qunari attack in Trespasser said they considered having it be a rogue cell of Qunari, but after reflection they decided to go all in with it and just own the fact in the narrative that the whole Qunari really did launch an attack. I feel like the same attitude would most likely pervade when it comes to Solas’ agents. And ultimately, Solas is ultimately responsible for what his followers do.

The sum effect of the ritual on elves and the world is intended to be like a combination of the Synthesis Ending in Mass Effect 3 (people becoming part synthetic and gaining enhanced sentience and new abilities as a result is an analogy for elves being restored to themselves/their immortality/their species-wide inherent magic/spirity-ness), and leaving the portals to the spirit world open in Avatar: The Legend of Korra (thus drawing the mortal worlds and spirit worlds closer once again like they were and ending their straight-up separation). I say intended because that’s his intention, that’s what it’s supposed to do, that’s his goal, but given his track record it’s not necessarily what the outcome would be if he succeeded (unforeseen circumstances abound). His idea is that then the spirits can once again enter and go freely, living alongside non-spirits again the way they did in Vir Dirthara codexes, like a regular part of nature. In this vision the natural state of the world is restored and the Fade goes back to being like, the sky. Here the mortal world and spirit world aren’t physically separated by a hard wall anymore but blend in to one another like two colors on a spectrum swatch, or the way land gives way to the sea as the ocean deepens. That’s why we have codexes like “The Deepest Fade”. There is an element of reshaping reality to the ritual/endgame. With the Fade brought back “here”, and when imagination can define reality again, he can reshape reality and restore society to how it used to be, restore the wonders that depended on the existence of the Fade like the library, etc. TN highlights Mortalitasi “true” mages commanding the magical forces that underlie the world’s fabric, and guiding the course of the ‘river’ of the Fade which flows behind places where the Veil is thin, to influence the world to their will, for a reason. Ironically they’re kind of doing what he wants to do himself but in like, reverse? Is that why he considers it unsafe (beyond the obvious he hates the binding of spirits)? It’s like against the natural order of things. Same goes for the Vint mage’s attempt to use Fade denizens to change the waking world, highlighted for a reason.

The problem is that this supposed utopia, for the average modern Thedosian I suppose, is that will only come about with a side order of a lot of fire/death/destruction, for whatever reason, as well as the probable loss of at least 3 of the 4 modern races, and the unleashing of the insane/cruel/angry Evanuris. I totally believe he has sensible plans re: this last, I’m just not sure how it would pan out.

The ‘would the modern elves survive it’ thing still feels up in the air..? The phrasing in the book is really odd. I feel like PW meant it to be ambiguous still on purpose to prolong that debate. “And those like you—the elves who still remain.” Who still remain? Huh? Will some of the modern elves not remain? Why not just tell her “And elves will remain”, “You guys will live/survive it” lol?? If some of them won’t remain, is that because some will just naturally lose their lives in the initial fire/chaos, or is it because only some modern elves will be able to attune to the new world, because of something innate or something..? Are modern elves who are “the furthest from what they’re meant to be” and the most “apart from themselves” the ones most likely to not be able to ‘attune’? Consider how he talks to Sera about how she is. Or maybe that’s just a hint Charter was an ancient all along who happened to not know the DW’s face? I also feel like there are some modern elves among Solas’ followers who are willing/desire his endgame even if it means they won’t survive it. Like that it’s worth it for what was, or their race/People as a whole. Some Dalish for example are (completely understandably) very interested in/taken with the past.

#dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #dragon age #bioware #solas #tevinter nights #tevinter nights spoilers #tevinter nights spoiler #spoilers #spoiler #mj meta #strife

[contentforthecrystal]

Romantic SkekMal headcanons

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous; hopefully this is what you were expecting. I might add more later when I rewatch the series.)

- Okay let’s be real skekmal isn’t romantic; he’s a coolblooded butcher who barely has a heart and has only truly been interested in slaughtering things and collecting them as trophies. You were almost met with the same fate when you came across him while trekking deep within a forest.

- You hadn’t been paying attention to your surroundings, not noticing the sounds all around you although that isn’t exactly your fault; even if you were trying to listen for something you probably wouldn’t even hear him. All of a sudden you saw a streak colors and you were thrown to the floor; you scrambled, crawling backwards while looking at the attacker who loomed wickedly over you. You had heard stories of him; everyone had, but none of them compared to the real thing.

- His eyes ran over you; not Gelfling, Podling, definitely not Gruenak, so what then? Had he been hidden among the trees for so long that a new species was created right under his nose? He took a calculated step forward and you crawled back some more, nervous, afraid-no... terrified, oh how fun.

- You had pleaded then, hands shooting up, halting him even though he’d usually ignore such pathetic gestures. It was interesting hearing you speak, voice soft, a tremor running through your words. You had a family, like he cared? Did you really think that would stop him, the only thing stopping him was your intriguing appearance.

- It’s because you’re so interesting that he decides to “keep you”. You find yourself being dragged to your feet and hoisted over his shoulder as he makes his way back to his campsite. 

- You’re practically his trophy pet, a beautifully interesting capture of his that proves his excellence and skills. So basically you’re a prisoner kept locked away from the rest of the world and always in his line of sight to make sure you can’t escape. And for a while that’s all you are; that is until he begins to find you more and more attractive.

- He begins taking note of different qualities of yours he enjoys as well as the seemingly pointless yet endearing hobbies you’ve been able to keep up with while being with him. Soon enough he sees you as more of a companion then a trophy.

- He won’t outright make it clear that you’re now together but chances are he’s snuck in some Skeksis courting rituals while interacting with you; none of which you understand nor pay any mind to, so in his eyes since you hadn’t objected and just obliviously went along with them you are now his.

- Even though he doesn’t make your relationship clear he will get fiercely angry if you show interest in another or if he’s ever been around to see someone attempt to flirt with you. You’ve almost gotten a few people killed before you realized that SkekMal was trying to or had already been courting you without your knowledge.

- Chances are you were made fully aware of the predicament you were in because of his jealously. Someone had been flirting with you while you passed through a town with him which you were quite enjoying until Skekmal nearly tore their limbs from their body. When you rightfully got upset by his reaction and demanded an explanation for his behavior while he roughly dragged you away he had roared about all that he viewed as you accepting his courtship.

“YOU AGREED! YOU SLEPT IN THE BED! YOU USED THE DAGGER! YOU ARE MINE!” (I’m improvising, perhaps I’ll make a skeksis courting rituals headcanons later)

- You’re stunned into silence and he snaps his mouth shut as he studies your oddly quiet behavior, his head tilting to the side. He’s quite confused as to why you’re suddenly not attempting to yell at him.

“I’ve... I’ve agreed to be yours?” You all but whisper.

“...indeed.” And a silence falls over you two, fairly uncharacteristic for the violent creature before you.

- From then on you have a sort of unspoken relationship.

- He’s fairly temperamental; one moment he’s calm, might even tough you gently, nuzzle his face into your neck, the next he’s a flash of red hot anger or a swirl of confusion and mixed emotions, storming off and disappearing for hours.

- He gets aggravated without your presence. He never would have imagined that he would rely on another being in any way but whenever you’re gone he realizes just how much he genuinely craves your company or just being able to come back to you after hunting.

- You’re probably the one to introduce him to actual good tasting food, like homie survives on jerky and mud water 90% of the time so anything you make is delicious compared to his usual meals.

- Rough grips around your wrist, whether it be to bring you somewhere or pull you close to speak into your ear. His touch by nature is not gentle so really any time his hands are on you it’s going to be rough.

- He watches you while you sleep and once he knows you’ve fallen into a deep slumber he’ll sometimes stalks towards the bed and sit on the edge, inspecting you more closely. Occasionally he’ll drag his hands across your skin and marvel at the smoothness or curl up next to you listening to your breathing; not quite cuddling with you but not too far from you.

- Jealousy and possessiveness obviously, you’re his trophy, you’re his and his alone. Thra have mercy on anyone who dares even think about taking you away from him.

- He’ll often mark you to show his territory to others whether it be with a nip or scratch of his claws. Rumors spread and soon enough its well known that the Hunters “wife/husband” will have a certain mark on them. This also ensures you aren’t very welcome in any city if you ever try to run from him. 

- Of course you don’t look like a Skeksis so many are very confused as to why SkekMal has seemingly claimed you, particularly the other Skeksis when they find out. They can’t deny you’re interesting but they would never imagine courting something so “lowly”.

- Obviously he likes a good hunt so just try to run from him or storm off when you’re angry or fed up, it won’t take him long to find you again and when he does he’ll certainly be quite excited/amused. 

- Occasionally you’ll just play an innocent game of hide and seek just to “warm him up” when he’s about to go off on a serious hunt.

- You receive little trinkets or gifts often bones or weapons, things like that. He’s heard that you’re supposed to give your significant other gifts and even though he doesn’t quite understand the sentiment he gives it a try. He’s never around when you find the gifts  but you can be sure he’s watching you from somewhere you can’t see. 

- He gets a swell of pride he can’t exactly explain when he sees that you like said gift or finds it placed somewhere special.

- Sometimes he just picks you up and carries you under his arm when he feels like you’re moving too slow for his tastes or won’t comply with his decisions.

- Quiet campfires; he doesn’t speak very often unless you ask him something and even then he will sometimes not answer deciding to leave you guessing. Occasionally you’ll manage to get him to tell some of the stories of his hunts and you can watch him a bit nervously as he animatedly describes a fairly horrendous series of events that include gruesome murders.

-You have to have a tough stomach if you’re going to be around him, he’s a savage and gruesome killer. He finds no reason for you to be disgusted in seeing guts or entrails and he certainly wont understand why you’re acting so squeamish but if you are more weak hearted then he’ll make an effort not to turn up to your camp covered with or carrying somethings insides.

- Hes not great at accepting compliments that don’t pertain to his hunting skills, he’ll most likely tell you to keep quiet all the while his heart slowly begins to stir inside his chest.

- He’ll silently patch you up whenever you get hurt. It’s interesting seeing him so focused and quiet; no telling you how foolish you’ve been or anything, just his rough yet attempted gentle touch. 

- Hearing the incessant sharpening of his blades especially when he’s in a mood. Occasionally he’ll let you hold his weapons usually after some persuading on your side. His face softens while he observes you although you’re usually too focused on the blade in your hand to notice. If you’re lucky you’ll look up just in time to notice, if you ask him why he’s looking at you like that he’ll just shake his head and look away.

#skekmal #skekmal imagine #skekmal headcanons #skekmal headcanon #the dark crystal #the dark crystal age of resistance #the dark crystal age of resistance headcanon #the dark crystal headcanon #dark crystal headcanons #the dark crystal imagine #the hunter #the hunter imagine #the hunter headcanons #the hunter headcanon

[ghoulishmadi]

Bellamy Blake x Plus size reader

Request: No 

words: 2373

Plot: You are good friends with Octavia and she shows you a place she found and you get injured and Bellamy helps you. 

(This takes place in season 1 since I've been rewatching the series)

You had been one of the hundred, your crime was that you to break into the medical room in the night and steal some antibiotics for your sick mother and of course they picked you up right away and arrested you.

You had sorta kept in the background of everything that has happened since you guys landed but it seemed like someone was determined to be your friend and that was Octavia since you were one of the few people who paid no mind who the hell she was and why she was in jail.

You were sitting against the ship and was sharpening a blade with a stone when someone walked up to you "Hey, (Y/n)?" You looked up and it was Octavia, she was looking down at you and you gave one glance at her then back to your blade "Yes." She then sat down next to you, a little to close in your opinion since normally people bitch at you saying you take up to much space "Great! I wanted to talk to you." "And what is it this time O?" You guys had become somewhat friends so you call her by her nickname which only Bellamy calls her. Bellamy normally doesn't let people be friends with her which you have never figured out the reason why yet since he doesn't really talk to you probably thinks you look hideous. "Well ms grumpy I want you to take a walk with me? I want to show you something?" You looked at her with a raised eyebrow "And does Bellamy know about this?" She smirked "No and he doesn't know and doesn't need to know or find out." You couldn't help but smile "Oh? And what will you tell him why you were gone for a while?" "Oh I won't tell him anything, you will." She said while getting up you couldn't help but follow her "What? Why would I tell him?" She ducked under the opening in the wall and you followed "Because he listens to you because he likes you." You stopped "What did you just say O?" You heard her giggle and turn around and looked at you "I said that he likes you." She motioned to follow her which you did "No he doesn't trust me, I'm not his type." "Says who? Have you not seen how he looks at you?" "What? No, I try not to look at him or anyone also he never talks to me." "Because he knows your way smarter than him and he will make himself look like an idiot." She ran a little ahead so you ran after her "Yeah now you must be joking. O? Where are you going..." As soon as you caught up with her you couldn't help but stare, she was standing next to a small lake (A/n: Not the one with the sea creature, it's more like a small spring) "Wow O, how did you find this?" "I just explored and came across it and thought I should show it to my best friend." "Best friend?" You looked dumbfounded and she couldn't help but laugh "Yes, of course, you're the only one who sees me for me and not what I know for or who my family is, plus your just a hardcore babe!" You couldn't help but laugh and shake your head. "Well don't just stare there and gawk come and join me for a dip, I already tested to make sure there were no monsters were in there." You were shocked "Wait you want me to get in there?" "Yeah!" She started to undress until she as down to her underwear, you normally weren't a self-conscious person but seeing her with her toned body and skinny legs and arms make you felt self-conscious about your own body since it was bigger and rounder (A/n: Everybody is beautiful and everyone should learn to love how you look!!) "(Y/n) come on, don't be shy, you are gorgeous, and hey its just me." She was sitting on the edge with her feet in the water "Ok...you win." You said as you began to get undressed "Yes! Woah ho!" you couldn't help but laugh and was honestly thankful the underwear you had were black, old but black. You walked over and sat on the edge with her and you both slid in at the same time. The water was luck warm and it felt like heaven to you guys, the water wasn't too deep so you guys could stand and have it reached just below your guy's chest  "Wow this feels amazing!" You said as you walked around "Wow (Y/n) I've never seen this excited." You couldn't help but giggle "So are you going to talk to Bellamy now that you know he likes you." "Nope." "Well, why not you like him and likes you it works." You shook your head "No...it won't work out, trust me..." Octavia sighed and was about to say something but another voice rang out as a yell and then before you knew what happened you felt a sharp pain in your shoulder and fell back into the water feeling a sharp pain in your head. "(Y/N)!" You heard Octavia say before things went black

3rd person P.O.V:

As soon as (Y/n) fell back into the water Octavia screamed her name and ducked into the water to hide she grabbed (Y/n) so her head was above the surface so she could breathe. She watched slightly above the water as the two figures ran way. She then dragged (Y/n) out of the water the best she could, covered her with her clothes to keep her warm and got dressed "Shit, shit." Octavia said to herself "Ok (Y/n) I'm getting Clarke and Bellamy, I...I can't carry you, I'll be back as soon as I can." She dragged (Y/n) to be more hidden in the bushes and ran to the camp.

As soon as she got there she was still damp from the water and started calling out for Clarke and Bellamy who both came running "Octavia whats wrong?" Clarke asked, Bellamy, looked pissed "Where the hell where you?!" "Ok don't yell at me right now (Y/n) is hurt grounders shot her in the shoulder and she is knocked out, I can't carry her here." Bellamys face dropped as of hearing this "Take me to her. Clarke grab your med kit." she nodded and ran to get quickly. As soon as she came back they all ran to where (Y/n) was.

As soon as they got there Clarke knelled down and examined her "How is she?" Bellamy asked while watching the area "Looks like it hit her right shoulder and thankfully didn't hit anything to kill her but looks like she hit her head on something and might have a concussion. We need to get he back to camp I need to take the arrow out but it's going to be difficult." Bellamy nodded handing Octavia his weapon "Hold and watch out for grounders." He bent down and carried (Y/n) bridal style back to camp.

When they got they put (Y/n) inside the ship away from everyone else, Bellamy gently set her down. "Ok I need you to roll her on her side so I can saw the tip of the arrow off, we need to remove it as smoothy as possible so it won't damage anything else and cause more problems." he nodded and did so. After Clarke got it off he rolled (Y/n) back. "Ok I need you to hold her down, she might be unconscious but the pain might wake her up, this arrow is long and will still hurt to take out." Bellamy took a deep breath and held (Y/n) down as Clarke pulled out the arrow slowly out, (Y/n) groaned and screamed out trying to move but Bellamy held her down "Can't you take it out any faster! She's in pain!" "I can't they might have more spikes on the arrow and I don't want it to cause more problems! Trust me I'm not happy she is in pain." After a few more seconds of screaming (Y/n) stopped and stopped moving "Is she ok?" "Yes, she just passed out again." Then the arrow finally came out it was almost 16 inches long. "Ok, I'm going to stitch her up and clean her wounds." He nodded and went out to see Octavia who was waiting impatiently "Is she ok?" "Yes no thanks to you, what the fuck were you thinking?" "I wanted to show her something amazing I never meant for this to happen." "Yes well it happened and (Y/n) could have died and you could I died, I have no clue I would do if both of you died!" "You know you should just tell her how you feel, she thinks she isn't pretty enough for you and she is nothing. Make her stop feeling like nothing and someone who is beautiful and is worthy of someone." Octavia walked off into the ship to help Clarke.

Your P.O.V:

You awoke with a throbbing pain in your head and as you opened your eyes you quickly went to cover your eyes but gasped at the sharp pain in your right shoulder. "Hey don't more please, here let me help you sit up." Clarke said as she rushed to your side and helped you sit up "What happened..." "Well, Octavia said a grounder shot you and you fell back and must have hit your head on a rock so you were knocked off, Octavia ran back here and got me and Bellamy to get you back here." You saw a blanket over you and noticed you were still only in your underwear which meant Bellamy saw you and carried you, 'God he must think of me as a pig now..' "Um Clarke where are my clothes?" "Oh they're drying they were soaking wet when we found you." "Oh ok, thanks." You brought the blanket closer to your chest "Your head and arm will hurt for a while but please just take it easy and try not to move your shoulder too much and no sudden movements for your head." You smiled and thanked her for her help. She nodded and left to let you rest some more.

After a few minutes, someone came walking through and it was Bellamy carrying some clothes, you brought the blankets even closer to your chest "Hi Bellamy." 

He smiled and honestly it seemed genuine "Hey (Y/n) how are you feeling?" He came and sat on the edge of your cot "Um..I've been better but I guess but I'm grateful for you guys saving me." "Of course (Y/n) I-we would never leave you to die." You looked down at the blanket and playing with your hands "Well that's not true some people here think I'm just a waste of space and resources.." You saw Bellamy's large hand place on top of yours "(Y/n) look at me." you looked at him, his brown eyes seemed to look right into your (e/c) ones "You have just as much right to be here as those idiots here, hell even more so." You gave a soft smile and nodded "Thanks, Bellamy...um are those my clothes?" you pointed to the clothes on his lap, he chuckled and took his hand off yours "Yeah it is sorry, here you go." he stood up and set them on the side of the cot and got up to leave. You went to grab a shit but groaned and grabbed your shoulder. He turned and saw you holding your shoulder "Why don't I help you get dressed, you might hurt your shoulder more." You bit your lip and nodded still keeping the blanket close to your chest as you turn to get up "Hey don't be shy, I had to carry you back here, I saw your underwear." You blushed at his bluntness "Sorry if I was too heavy..." he looked confused "What? You weren't heavy at all (Y/n)." He walked over to you and helped you stand up and took the blanket from you and looked at your almost naked body, he gently caressed your arms and stepped closer "You are perfect, sure you might be bigger than some of the other girls but I don't see that I see a woman who has more for me to love." He stepped even closer you could feel his breath on you, he gently put one hit on your waist and the other cupping your cheek "I see how strong and brave you are and your so kind even when you try not to show it, you don't care what some of these people do and you still help them and you've made O so happy to have a friend she can confined into. You're the most amazing girl in the world." He gently pulled you closer and kissed you. At first, you were stunned but quickly kissed back, you could feel him smile into the kiss, you were about to wrap your arms around his neck but he pulled back "Ah ah ah nope you'll hurt your shoulder and we can't have that." you blushed and rolled your eyes "I'll be fine Bellamy." He chuckled "Don't worry we will have a lot of time to do that and other things later." You blushed, even more, you were sure you were red as a tomato "Come one let's get you dressed and back to rest so you heal faster so we can have some more fun." You looked away and shoved him slightly with your good arm and he chuckled "You know you love me." He said while helping you into your jeans "Yeah your right I do. I really do love you." He grinned at you and kissed you softly and then went to help you with your shirt. "Can you two finish soon so I can talk to my best friend! I mean I love that you guys finally are together but you can't hog her all the time Bellamy!" Octavia said from behind the curtain. You two couldn't help but laugh.

#bellamy blake #the 100 #the hundred #bellamy x reader #bellamy x plus size reader #x plus size reader #plus size reader #the 100 x reader #the hundred x reader #x reader

[ionica01]

How to make good character designs?

Character designs have fascinated me for a while now, in that they're more than just pretty: they convey a lot about a character's personality and his role in the story. For today, I thought I ought to pay omage to a series that masters character designs: Voltron. From the first episode, these get you hooked: and it's not just simple designs either; it's about color symbolism and connections made between parties and arcs through colors, which I find a feat! So, whithout further ado, I'll discuss the characters in the order they appear (accent on the 5 main paladins) and what their desins convey. First off, we have Lance, whose main color is blue: blue jeans, blue hem of the shirt. Now blue symbolises peace and loyality, but it can also be associated with water, which is a form of being free. All if these hypothisis are confirmed by the animated series: Lance is a free and fun spirit (from the way he always keeps his coat open, even if he is cold, to the way he nonchalantly walks), but he's also one to be trusted. You may argue that if he was so free, he wouldn't wear a coat: however, he is bound by his insecurities, from which he wants to escape. As such, he is a pillar of Voltron: the leg. One more important aspect of his design is how good he looks, which is a testiment to the fact that he always takes care of outer appearance. Then we have Hunk: from the first look, we can tell he's a bit... Round. His chubby aspect conveys his love for food, whereas the orange headband of his means joyfulness. His whole figure is covered in earthy clothes, which make his aspect pleasant and endearing. The favct that he's chubby and that his main color is yellow (joy) conveys his trustworthy attitude and positive outlook on life. Even so, yellow also means fear, which does indeed characterise Hunk: he'd rather fleet than fight (once again, the chubby figure helps convey this), but he's there when most needed, being the other leg to Voltron. Pidge has a very compelling appearance: it's hard to tell her gender. She looks like a teenage boy who doesn't care about their looks (unlike Lance), wearing baggy clothes and a messy hairstyle. Her glasses tells us she's tech-oriented and that she probably prefers the indoors (her clothes aren't that practical for outdoors). Once you find out she's a girl, though, her looks starts taking on new meanings: a girl being so negligent about her looks is unique, even more so when she doesn't even need to wear glasses (she never does when she pilots her lion). It all make sense if you link it to the picture in the first episode: she takes on the look of her brother. Right now, it clicks: her clothes are borrowed, the hairstyle copied: she doesn't care about looks enough to want to be girly, her family has priority! This is how design can tell us more about a character's personality than anything else. Also, note that Pidge's color is green, symbolizing growth (befitting for her petite stature) and freshness, also a fitting as she is the only female paladin. Another link can be to nature, which often is related to knowledge: Pidge's definitive thirst. Another intersting aspect is that Pidge is the only one in the group who doesn't wear any type of blazer: that's because she's honest and always in the open, not hiding anything. When she tries to hide her gender, everyone finds her out, because she is like an open book. Now come the most intersting designs: Keith wears layers of clothing, just like his layered personality. He wears a red jacket, symbolizing danger and anger. He does indeed have a quick temper and he is danger (as proben by his past), but it's interesting that his coat has two yellow stripes, meaning that he can be joyful, just be aware that he can revert to his angry state very fast (shown by the lines surrounded by red). Another aspect to his design is that underneath the surface, he wears black. This translates to inaccesibility and danger, a hidden, misterious past he won't show anyone. The fact that his outfit is so practical and battle-oriented tells a lot about him, too. Moreover, his attitude is one to convey much: he is usually defensive, crossing his hands in front of him as to form a wall. With time, he gets more familiar with the team and slowly drops his guard, only to put it up again after the meeting with the blade of Marmora. Also, the use of red, an opposing color from the cool, relaxed blue witn its intensity and passion depicts a great rivarly between Lance and Keith. See, we have the couple figured out just from colors! The last character I want to talk about is Shiro. Now this is a character with a lot of contradictions. His name means white in Japanese (and note it's the only Japanese name in the whole series), yet he mostly dresses in black. Of course, there's a reason for that: Much like Keith, Shiro has a past he hides. Unlike the former, though, who doesn't know what the pasts holds for him, Shiro does. He remembers little by little, realising he is more and more bound to the Golra. Even so, stained with black (which happens to be his color), Shiro is still pure. Maybe only a lock of his hair holds the color white, but his whole soul is pure and Shiro is he one who wants to defeat Golra the most (after Allura, who is whole white). The contrast between black and white in Shiro's design exteriorises the fight between his inner good self and his Golra bits. But he quickly learns to accept who he is: the fact that he has a Golra arm is meant to convey that. Here, the color black also tells us hat Shiro is confident and calm (also look at how he always holds himself straight) and how he is the leader. Being the most muscular and well-built one, one look at the group is enough to tell who leads Voltron. His scarred face tells us he's been through a lot, but he's always looking forward, as a true leader should. I now want to turn my attention to the lions, which have the same main color and personality as their paladin: the blue lion is fun and loyal; the yellow line is trustworthy and reliable; the green lion seeks knowledge and is intelligent; the red lion is agil but stubborn and short-tempered; the black lion has no element to relate to, like the others do: he's a leader and was born from all of them. The color black is what you get when you mix all the other colors, a color able to not be influenced but to influence everything. This is proven by how Shiro works with every member of the group!Despite that, you'll see that during the opening sequence, the black lion is surrounded by purple and that its interior is the same color. As we all know, violet is associated with Golra and Zarkon. The Golra empire is filled with shades of red, grey, black and violet, which creates a sense of danger, but also establishes connections with the paladins: Keith's color is red, and he is half-Golra, whereas the black lion is violet on the inside, since Zarkon was its original paladin. This establishes the bonds Althea used to have with Galra, and also the fact that Shiro has to defeat Zarkon. Another impressing feat about the design is that the black lion isn't jut black, but has traces of every color on its design: the red and yellow stripes, the blue and green emblem when formun Voltron. Another reaccuring color is white, which characterises the paladins and Allura and Coran by representing the good, innocent and faithful side of the battle. Why I bring this up is because I want to make you realise you subconciously knew it: you knew Keith was more than his appearance, you knew Lance was insecure and you knew Shiro had a dark side. You also knew Voltron fought for the good of the universe, you just had a gut feeling. That gut feeling is induced by good character designs, that make you go: "aha" when rewatching. What makes a good design? It's foreshadowing. It's knowing exactly who your characters are and what they have been through and potraing that in a way that isn't obvious, but subtle. What makes a character design stand out isn't only how cool it is, but how fitting it is in the context and how it portrais that character. It may be a contrast like with Shiro or it may hide a weaker persona, like with Lance, it may surround a character with mystery like Keith, or just make him overall likeable, like Hunk or simply give his personality away like Pidge. As long as the desing doesn't stray from the character's personality, it's a good design. Throw in some well thought metaphores and you have yourself a stellar design like Voltron's. @bookstvseriesandanimes @paperrabbit13 have I missed or misinterpreted anything?

#voltron #charcater design #keith #lance #shiro #pidge #hunk #mine #personal #writer