(no subject)
Prompt: Ickle baby Kurogane
Series: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
The mistress of Suwa prays for her infant son long into the night. Thin hands clasp around healing herbs and the heavy weight of incense smoke as she chants and fine-tunes the wards, perfect priestess that she is, and weaves one more spell into the guarding wall. Born in the pitch dead of the night (and so they named him Kurogane), a healthy, splitting image of his father (and so she breathed a sigh of relief), the baby sleeps soundly with closed eyes and black hair flat again soft skin. A dozen nursemaids with capable hands and pinned hair keep careful watch as they kneel outside of the inner hall, arms filled with milk and blankets, and ears pricked for the first sounds of a cry. Past the gardens and the temple, her husband holds the next line of defense. Men at the ready in heavy armor, they follow their master as he holds the country against the onslaught of demons with his sword and his grin, still tainted with sake and proud well-wishes.
But no demons dare enter tonight, Suwa protected as it is with swords and wards and guards and ladies in waiting and children in the fields. Defenses circle dizzily inward as the villagers rejoice for their master and mistress - beautiful and balanced like the dragon and crescent moon, like red and black, and Suwa itself - holding guard as the world watches and prays and doesn't blink.
And the young master sleeps soundly.
Prompt: Statue time
Series: More Andymerrick knights!
Andy considered himself to be prepared for most things - sex and screaming damsel bitches and lion-headed serpents that ignited small castles in demonstrative fireballs, and all that shit. Most of life's lessons he'd learned by rote. Through the squire who'd shown him how to use a sword. Or his mother as she hurled bread at barefooted beggar bats that ran through the streets. Or when everything else went to hell, Merrick.
However, none of it helped as he quickly came to the realization that they were in England, 879 AD. And his fucking head hurt.
Merrick had been stomping up and down the Ivory Coast for a good hour, a speck of red on white as he cursed and flung his arrows into the swift breeze before chasing them down, picking them, up, and hurling them off again. Meanwhile, Andy frowned and gathered up their weaponry, strapping it in layers over his back in lieu of having a horse (Christ, of course their motherfucking horse was safe and fucking sound at home), as he slowly began his trudge down to the redhead, mailed boots kicking up bitter clumps of sand.
The base of his skull thrummed again, pounding in rough rhythm to Merrick's strings of insults against Alfred the Great's mother. Thinking back to the time just before the universe had decided to go fucking beserk and vomit them out in the middle of motherfucking Anglo-Saxon England, the only thing that he could really, honestly be sure of was that those angel statues were a bunch of turtlelicking, bitchass motherfuckers. Bitchass, motherfucking stones of all things, which carried the bonus concequence of being both obnoxious as fuck and impossible to kill. Lonely Assassins or what the fuck ever, clearly their real names were Fuckfaces because who else would take the time to dump them over five hundred years into the goddamn past, stuck with no way home. Of course it was the last part that pissed him off the most, he considered as he fumed and panted under the weight of flat steel, watching Merrick resign himself to merely beating his arrowheads repeatedly against the rocks. Stuck and stationary as all the good shit waited five hundred years to happen, and he stood in the middle of a god forsaken white beach without a horse.
Until the insane-looking redheaded monk-witch in white robes showed up, skidding across the sand in a roaring shack on wheels as he sang something about universes and cousins always getting into trouble.
Stones, Andy came to realize upon returning, were impossible to kill, but at least you could still hack their heads off.
Prompt: Gidgetnymspawns
Series: Post-BND
Three knocks on the door, and they were met by a blur of orange and blue as the thing was torn open, screeching back on its hinges. Gidget Litch glared impatiently. “What.”
Returning the expression with an equally nasty one of his own, Merrick rolled his eyes and brought a hand down on Anarchy's collar, grabbing a fistful of cotton and stopping the brat from bolting into the house and toward the kitchen. No sense in spending half an hour chasing after him if they were just here to turn around and go home. “Oh, is this a bad fucking time? Because we can leave if you want.”
Somewhere within the house, two very loud things began screaming in sync, compact fire engine wails that cut through the air and forced his brother to wince visibly, screwing up one eye and hissing through his teeth.
“God. Get in here... and keep your damn voices down.” With a jerk of his head, Gidget slid through the door once again, waiting a few moments before slamming the heavy wood behind them, scraping it against Andy's heels. With a frustrated sigh, he crossed his arms and began to lead them back toward the continuous wailing as the ginger-haired man muttered angrily under his breath. “You're not as stupid as you look, I suppose,” he snapped as they trudged across the room. “You waited to get yours until it stopped being so goddamn obnoxious.”
Series: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
The mistress of Suwa prays for her infant son long into the night. Thin hands clasp around healing herbs and the heavy weight of incense smoke as she chants and fine-tunes the wards, perfect priestess that she is, and weaves one more spell into the guarding wall. Born in the pitch dead of the night (and so they named him Kurogane), a healthy, splitting image of his father (and so she breathed a sigh of relief), the baby sleeps soundly with closed eyes and black hair flat again soft skin. A dozen nursemaids with capable hands and pinned hair keep careful watch as they kneel outside of the inner hall, arms filled with milk and blankets, and ears pricked for the first sounds of a cry. Past the gardens and the temple, her husband holds the next line of defense. Men at the ready in heavy armor, they follow their master as he holds the country against the onslaught of demons with his sword and his grin, still tainted with sake and proud well-wishes.
But no demons dare enter tonight, Suwa protected as it is with swords and wards and guards and ladies in waiting and children in the fields. Defenses circle dizzily inward as the villagers rejoice for their master and mistress - beautiful and balanced like the dragon and crescent moon, like red and black, and Suwa itself - holding guard as the world watches and prays and doesn't blink.
And the young master sleeps soundly.
Prompt: Statue time
Series: More Andymerrick knights!
Andy considered himself to be prepared for most things - sex and screaming damsel bitches and lion-headed serpents that ignited small castles in demonstrative fireballs, and all that shit. Most of life's lessons he'd learned by rote. Through the squire who'd shown him how to use a sword. Or his mother as she hurled bread at barefooted beggar bats that ran through the streets. Or when everything else went to hell, Merrick.
However, none of it helped as he quickly came to the realization that they were in England, 879 AD. And his fucking head hurt.
Merrick had been stomping up and down the Ivory Coast for a good hour, a speck of red on white as he cursed and flung his arrows into the swift breeze before chasing them down, picking them, up, and hurling them off again. Meanwhile, Andy frowned and gathered up their weaponry, strapping it in layers over his back in lieu of having a horse (Christ, of course their motherfucking horse was safe and fucking sound at home), as he slowly began his trudge down to the redhead, mailed boots kicking up bitter clumps of sand.
The base of his skull thrummed again, pounding in rough rhythm to Merrick's strings of insults against Alfred the Great's mother. Thinking back to the time just before the universe had decided to go fucking beserk and vomit them out in the middle of motherfucking Anglo-Saxon England, the only thing that he could really, honestly be sure of was that those angel statues were a bunch of turtlelicking, bitchass motherfuckers. Bitchass, motherfucking stones of all things, which carried the bonus concequence of being both obnoxious as fuck and impossible to kill. Lonely Assassins or what the fuck ever, clearly their real names were Fuckfaces because who else would take the time to dump them over five hundred years into the goddamn past, stuck with no way home. Of course it was the last part that pissed him off the most, he considered as he fumed and panted under the weight of flat steel, watching Merrick resign himself to merely beating his arrowheads repeatedly against the rocks. Stuck and stationary as all the good shit waited five hundred years to happen, and he stood in the middle of a god forsaken white beach without a horse.
Until the insane-looking redheaded monk-witch in white robes showed up, skidding across the sand in a roaring shack on wheels as he sang something about universes and cousins always getting into trouble.
Stones, Andy came to realize upon returning, were impossible to kill, but at least you could still hack their heads off.
Prompt: Gidgetnymspawns
Series: Post-BND
Three knocks on the door, and they were met by a blur of orange and blue as the thing was torn open, screeching back on its hinges. Gidget Litch glared impatiently. “What.”
Returning the expression with an equally nasty one of his own, Merrick rolled his eyes and brought a hand down on Anarchy's collar, grabbing a fistful of cotton and stopping the brat from bolting into the house and toward the kitchen. No sense in spending half an hour chasing after him if they were just here to turn around and go home. “Oh, is this a bad fucking time? Because we can leave if you want.”
Somewhere within the house, two very loud things began screaming in sync, compact fire engine wails that cut through the air and forced his brother to wince visibly, screwing up one eye and hissing through his teeth.
“God. Get in here... and keep your damn voices down.” With a jerk of his head, Gidget slid through the door once again, waiting a few moments before slamming the heavy wood behind them, scraping it against Andy's heels. With a frustrated sigh, he crossed his arms and began to lead them back toward the continuous wailing as the ginger-haired man muttered angrily under his breath. “You're not as stupid as you look, I suppose,” he snapped as they trudged across the room. “You waited to get yours until it stopped being so goddamn obnoxious.”