shadowborn.

canon div. marx as fought by hades

[thearkenstone]

‘Where now are the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?

Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?’

[sahdmadhi]

Visit Original Link

From the audio dump

[brothersword-blog]

                                  do i look lonely?  i see the shadows on my face                                       people have told me i don’t look the same.                                                        maybe i lost weight -                                      i’m playing hooky with the best of the best,                              put my heart on my chest, so that you can see it too.

[brothersword-blog]

            like or reblog - preferably the second - if you’d like to write with               a heavily canon divergent marx from fire emblem: fates; as fated               by yours truly, hades. i want to get this ol boy active again and                pay more attention to him.

              blog is under heavy construction for now. 

[cid9812759]

SO I wanted to draw Ryoma to commemorate getting him in Heroes and it was gonna be a simple doodle or something but it went off the scale fast and this happened;;

[diablisms-deactivated20190416]

—- @brothersword​ [ x ]

Void. He felt so incredibly void. He wasn’t sure what was going through is mind, especially when he moved closer to the still body of his mother. He knew she would be cold forevermore, and yet he knelt beside her for a moment. Not caring for the blood that would stain his clothes, Leo set the tome aside. He reached for her tainted hand, bringing her bloodied palm to his cheek. He had never known the warmth of a mother’s touch, and he found it to be ironic that the only ‘positive’ contact he has now would be when she was lifeless. He did not feel rage towards his older brother, the one he had been alienated from for as long as he could remember. He wasn’t sure what to feel about the actions taken.

Lowering her hand from his cheek, he cared not for the stain that had been made on his clothes– on himself. He set her hand back, soon rising from his knees. Wiping his hands on his clothes, his back remained to the crown prince. Her sins would carry on within him, until they were both in the ground. That knowledge was ingrained to him ever since his conception. 

Tenderly picking up his tome up, he tried his best to let hidden dismay break forth. His brother was without fault. He wasn’t to blame. He had long since separated from his mother ever since he figured out he was only her bargaining chip. He had only won her favor ever since he inherited that damned tome and it sickened him. He knew her time would come eventually, but he didn’t expect it from Marx. If she was nothing to him, then why was her death weighing on him? He could only grimace. She was the only thing he had in his life, bargaining chip or not. Their father would fill in the gaps, but Leo knew he was far from having a family life.

Trudging back to his brother, the very one he knew was riddled with the anxiety of being caught like this. Reaching for his hand, the prince coaxed a scarlet-stained hand open. His fingers would soon slip between his, ignoring the feeling of blood on his hand. Leo didn’t need Marx; he needed him. 

“This woman was never my mother to begin with.”

His voice was gentle– as if he were inanimate. He didn’t notice when, but his hand was holding much too tightly onto Marx’s.

[brothersword-blog]

               marx does not blame him for feeling that way about his mother.                 when a     MOTHER’S LOVE    that should be warm is icy hate                instead,  it serves to leave a bitter taste in one’s mouth.  leo is                one that deserves better than that. leo is like himself now, they                are both  MOTHERLESS  in this gods-forsaken petty fighting,                 all for something SUPERFICIAL as the place at the king’s side. 

               the crown prince  does not fight  the smaller, slender  hand with                piano worn pads and SCARRING from magic that is so different                from the    CALLOUSES    that have  formed from  his relentless                training when leo coaxes tight coiled fingers loose and entwining                the paladin’s fingers with his. 

               “ this world isn’t RIGHT, we should all be happy, but that is naive                of me to even ENTERTAIN the thought. “ he responds, noting how                 leo’s fingers curl against his skin, as if his world will COLLAPSE                  upon letting go. they are both bloodied with the sickening scarlet                 soaking into the carpet of the hall. the knife drops from his other                 hand and he wants to comfort his brother. it is DIFFICULT to think                 of some manner - how were siblings to act? he cannot recall.                                   “ how about we go and clean up. i’ll notify a maid and the body                 can be treated properly. she... she does deserve a funeral, at                  the very LEAST. “ his words taste bitter, bland and fake. he feels                 the way he does when he carries out his father’s orders, his                  FAVOURED pawn, because marx does not complain. he knows                  the horrors he could face.    

[bloodadorne-blog]

This is a new Saizo blog.  If you would please, Like or Reblog this post so I can check off who to follow you dig? Thanks!

[krazehkai]

The last of the preorder sketches featuring Kaze, Lon’qu, F!Robin, and Xander~

I’ve sent all preorders! Thank you for being so patient with me. TT//w//TT

I spent the last 6 days packing preorders all by myself and became a vampire at some point. Although it took a lot of time, it was my joy to know that so many people supported my work~ So thank you again and I hope your packages arrive safely~ <3

[brothersword-blog]

His hand reaches for his brother's, but he falters. He knows the blood on his hands are not his. He has no words for Marx, but only a look that expresses sincere worry. Leo wasn't sure what to make of the situation, but his brother was innocent -- at least, that is how he chose to see it.

          marx stands stiff,   rigid as he stares at his little brother.           he is but a child, his father’s BASTARD that he doesn’t          know how to deal with.  for years, they have been kept          apart,   as if marx’s nursemaids did not wish their ward          to be tainted by the sin depicted in each of his younger          siblings. a body lies on the floor, one of the concubines          that was one of his siblings’ mothers. he does not care          who it had been,  who he just made motherless  -  she           had attacked him first, and the first thing on his mind is          to PROTECT himself, resulting in her death. 

          his hands are bare, soaked in crimson enough that the          wine droplets drip off and join the GROWING pool at           his boot clad feet. marx curls his ruby stained hands          as he looks at his brother, a heavy tome in his arms          like some sick SECURITY blanket. it was as if the from          the moment leo could CAST, he was made to be his          mother’s weapon. it is VERY delayed, but he glances          to the corpse that is nothing but blood and gore to          see dusky sunlit hair DYEING in the crimson. he turns         back to his baby brother. “ she was trying for my life. “         he explains, shakily. he remembers the love his own          mother, the warmth of it, and how she adored him and          treated him as if he was the most precious thing in the         world.  she lies six feet under now.  he is the first and        one of the few children of king garon to feel a mother’s        loving warmth. too many of his siblings do not know         it. his breath shakes, not because he killed one of his         father’s concubines,  but because he is looking down         at one of the siblings that he does not know how to         act around. 

       marx is so much older than leo, standing with the iron       knife in his hand, the blood dripping off of it slowly. he       feels the world tip and spin, anxiety working to choke        him and he moves to crack the knuckles of his free hand       with his thumb.    “ you are safe, you no longer have to       be tethered to her as her weapon. she can no longer HURT        YOU, leo. “ marx responds, voice soft and quiet, a sore        thumb compared to the crime he just committed. 

[word-stuck]

From Ancient Greek καλλίπυγος ‎(kallípugos; used to describe a famous statue of Venus)

[starrycelestialmusings-deactiva]

                I made a ρяøмıše to protect you

               I have to { ĸ e e p } that promise

            Even if I have to ＤＩＥ protecting you

[edenofelysium]

My muse has blood on their hands! Send your muse’s reaction!

[brothersword-blog]

5 TIMES THE LOVE

  i.

     marx watches as laslow practices, moonlight flashing        as it is reflected on his blade. it doesn’t look out of         place with his movements, blending his dance and         the art of the sword seamlessly. he knew it was an         effective style. he’s been against the man in spars,         and it always manages to make him feel slow and         clumsy, like a child picking up a sword for the first        time. watching laslow, however, marx just wants to        sit and stare, taking in every movement like its the          last time he will see the dancer’s practice. 

ii. 

        the crown prince tells him no, to sit and stay.         laslow does not heed the order, and it hurts         because marx is marching to his death, and he wants         laslow to live. he wants laslow to move on if             marx is not the winner of this fight                 and marx just wants to rest. 

iii. 

        they are both weary souls, veterans of too much that children        shouldn’t have had to do. marx should have been able to be         naive and come into adulthood like most teenagers. neither         of them had a childhood that had the feeling of childhood. no        child was born and told to pick up a sword and become a soldier.         marx finds peace in laslow, knowing he understands the weary look. 

iv. 

         the night is warm for nohr, it is quiet save for the celebratory music         that rings from the hall below. marx knows his siblings are down          mingling with the soldiers and nobles, enjoying life now that the          war is done. they have seen hell, but now they can start living. 

          marx tells himself he deserves to live too, and he knows he is not alone         on the balcony. 

          he spends the night dancing with laslow in his arms, under the light of          the stars as their only spectator.         

v. 

            marx smiles sadly, shaking his head because he cannot let             laslow continue his service, not when laslow is bedridden            with too many wounds that left him near death when the             healers found him. it is a miracle laslow is still with them.              marx is not fit to be his liege, he is not fit to be king. it is              a better mantle to be worn by leo. his little brother is             proud and strong, and leo believes in him. 

               marx can only get down on his knees at laslow’s bedside               and ask for forgiveness, offer a thousand apologies that               will never be enough. leo will be a better liege for him. 

                 he can’t look laslow in the eyes after, and he leaves                 before laslow can see the tears pooling in dark eyes.

[anotherrpmemeblog]

Send "I've been bitten." for your muse to turn into a vampire. Send "You look pale." for my muse to turn into a vampire.

[sorrcerii-moved]

@brothersword was hit by outlawed magic

His lungs were burning. His heart felt like it would burst from his chest any moment. Leo had done a lot of running while on the streets. Gods, he was pretty damned sure his cardio was one of his better skills. But even years of running from the law - from running from other street urchins - could not help him outrun a horse.

He glanced behind him, taking note of the black stallion and it’s rider closing in on him. He held the back of his cape in his hand, trying to keep it close so it could not be grabbed. In his other hand was a tome, one he prayed would not have to be used. 

Not on him.

Leo knew the streets better than his pursuer. He’d been there longer after all. Another turned corner. A climb up a wall. A few leaps from rooftops. Leo took in a breath of air as he finally lost track of the man and his horse. He knelt down, trying to regain his composure.

Suddenly he heard the horse’s hooves against the ground and knew it was over.

“Marx.”

[brothersword-blog]

         marx  HATES  this,  he  hates  that he  has to  follow father’s orders          and tear through STREET after STREET on the back of his beloved           mare  after his  baby brother.  it  BURNS,  the  fact  that  he  helped           leo  flee  the  influences  of  their  shared  parent,  yet  he  has  had           to  put on his stony  mask of  daddy’s perfect little toy soldier  once           word had spread to  king garon and he had enough of leo’s games. 

         garon   wanted   leo  put  down, and  marx  hates  that  he  has been           ENTRUSTED     with the task of finding him and sentencing his little          brother  to  the  only  fate  given to  those deemed  traitorous by the           king - death.  it shakes him  to his core,  marx can only let the same           mantra he  used for  years cycle through  his mind -  let my heart be          hardened  ;  and  never mind how high the cost may grow  -  he has          to  be  as  harsh  and  cold  as  nohr  itself is.  he has to be what all           assume nohrians to be - RUTHLESS and unforgiving ; as much as           it kills him so.   even if he has to hunt down his brother like a DOG. 

        “ leo. “  his voice holds no respect, it is a  D R Y  and  REHEARSED          tone reserved  for when  his  anxiety  E A T S  at  him from the inside          out, devouring him in a  S I C K E N I N G  rot. his stomach twists as           everything   brings  him  back  to  when  he  was  just  a  B O Y  who           wanted   NOTHING   but  to  have  the  love  of  his  father  and  his           mother,  but  his mother was   DEAD, COLD and BURIED.  the best          marx  had  were the concubines that his father LOST himself in, the           whores  that  bore  his  siblings that all were their mothers’ pawns to           seek attention from the king, and killed no matter what compensation          garon  sought  to  placate them with.  the same siblings he killed in a           pitiful fight to live.  hilarious to see that he NEVER escaped that time          where the heir  had to hunt  his  bastard  siblings down to end them          like    WHELPS   that had no home.      “ if you come  without  fuss,           i      PROMISE      it’ll     be     over     QUICKLY.   “  he calls to him.

         he PRAYS leo comes without  a fight,   that it is easy to guide him          somewhere, somewhere marx can act as if he has killed the mage          but yet  again let  him slip,  but he KNOWS that it is leo’s life or his          own   if   king   garon  hears   word  that  marx  let  him  free  again.        

[thedancingblade-blog]

@brothersword – cont’d from here.

         “ aye, milord…you know my history. or an extent of it – i’ve seen enough war to last three lifetimes. ” he sounds vaguely miserable when he speaks, eyeing marx from across the room. he stands at post beside the crown prince’s door, arms folded gently. “ i’m rambling,mostly. pay me no mind. ”

[brothersword-blog]

         marx sighs. “ RAMBLING OR NOT, you and i seem to share that          trait.   we are  BOTH  old souls in bodies that do not match. you          know  of  the  fighting  my  siblings  participated  in - and  i do not          mean the war’s battle.     no,  i’ve been my father’s pawn for much          more  than  just  border  skirmishes. “     the  crown  prince  meets          the  mercenary’s  gaze.    “ i bear  wounds  on my flesh from those          fights, and  their  blood  stains  my  hands.   i never  wish  to  have          my siblings’ deaths be caused by me again. it was terrible enough.          the  first  time, when  all  i wanted  was  my  father and my siblings,          even      if      they      were      all      bastards      to     the     throne.   “ 

[brothersword-blog]

“ it’s not reasonable to love people who are only going to die. ”

                the emotion laslow holds in his tone should have concerned him,                yet all he can do is nod his head in agreement.  “ that sounds like                something  one  who  is  experienced  in  the  loss  of  loved  ones. “