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moonfire0mermaid · 5 years ago

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‘I Am the Guy’ - Pt. 1

Author’s Notes: 1. I’m not totally sure what this is, if I’ll continue, etc., but it was inspired by the great #bourbon_neat’s “seducing your best friend’s dad” audios on Soundgasm - Part 1 and Part 2. While I took some creative liberties here, the events that happen in those audios make this story go, and I’ve indicated with an asterisk (*) in the text where they’d fit chronologically, should you want to have a multi-media experience. 2. I’m challenging myself to crank out content in an effort to just shake out the writer rust. This is super unpolished. 3. In the aforementioned audios that inspired this, you’re the main subject. In an effort to keep that immersive element in this drabble, I refer to the corresponding female character as She or Her in bold. It can get confusing, so I decided to go overboard with identification. 4. ENJOY!

________________________

It was the stray volleyball that did it, all those years ago. She was moving in, Kimmie Johnson was walking out, and Her ball fell out of the big box of sports supplies she was lugging into the new digs.

“You play?” Kimmie had asked.

“Yes,” she had said, beaming. “I’m trying out for the team once school starts.”

And that was that. Even though they were freshly 18 and met at a time where friendships fractured after graduation – and hell, She was new in town – the duo spent nearly every waking hour together. Sleepovers, post-volleyball yoga, college applications, just hanging with each other’s families.

She especially took a shine to Kimmie’s dad. His insights about life were interesting, she thought, and he was kind and funny. He asked good questions and seemed to care about her opinions. He was a good guy.

It was something She’d try and remind Kimmie during conversations about the Johnson’s seemingly strained marriage. Kimmie was frustrated that the obvious cracks in her parents’ relationships were brushed under the rug, and that she was kept in the dark on important family matters. As a result, Kimmie would routinely lament her parents and the frigid situation at home.

“Go easy on them. Your dad, especially. It seems like he’s trying,” She’d say.

“Yeah, you’re just saying that because you’ve got the hots for him,” Kimmie spat.

She would just blush. Kimmie was right; She had an awful crush on Kimmie’s handsome, thoughtful father. She hoped Mr. Johnson didn’t notice how often she stared.

___________________________

Soon after, life quickly changed for the girls. Both decided on a gap year, which they had planned to enjoy together. It was not to be.

A month before the end of summer, Kimmie was sad to learn that her friend’s mother became ill and her father was being relocated cross-country for work. As a result, She would be following her family to help around the house, giving them time to find quality in-home care. Then, She’d return back to town to go to the nearby university with Kimmie.

Meanwhile, Kimmie would work the long year of separation at the volleyball clinic, trying to make sense of the newly announced divorce of her parents alone.

Saying goodbye was worse than they anticipated.

“We’ll miss you, kiddo,” Mr. Johnson said when She came by Kimmie’s house to say goodbye. Crying, She’d spent the 15 seconds in his arms realizing that her sadness was not just about leaving Kimmie.

____________________________________

The year passed quickly*, and the two girls were thrilled to be finally reunited and starting their college career together. But the time apart had changed them, and Kimmie especially was disappointed to notice her friend was often distant, busy and distracted.

“I’m seeing someone,” She finally told Kimmie. “And I’m … it’s insane, this connection. He’s gorgeous and kind and thoughtful and wise – ”

“’Wise?’”

“— Yes, wise --- and the sex, I just –“ Her bashfulness kept her from continuing.

“What’s his name?” Kimmie asked.

“His name?” She hesitated. “RJ.”

Kimmie was both excited and wary about the developments, as only a friend who fears being replaced can.

___________________

Those fears were not completely unfounded.

“I’m pregnant and I’m keeping it,” She told Kimmie with wide eyes. She looked strange, her face a holograph; fear, exhilaration, delight, and embarrassment manifested there in turn.

Kimmie could barely hide her despair. It was only a month after the Her confession regarding the mysterious beau. So much for the future of their beloved friendship. Who was this guy? Kimmie hadn’t even met him. Their lives would diverge spectacularly.

“Congrats,” Kimmie said tersely, swallowing all her objections. She looked so happy, joy being the emotion that finally settled on her face. But that didn’t keep Kimmie from stewing. It just was three months to the day that they’d gotten back in town and less than a month from when She had told Kimmie about the existence of RJ. This had all happened so fast.

“He must be some guy,” Kimmie thought.

______________________

“Girl! When am I going to meet this RJ?? You are CARRYING his BABY and you’re nearly seven months along! How is it that your bestie still hasn’t met the father of your child?”

She looked down at her bump, cradled between her two dainty hands. It – along with the rest of her – was weirdly small for someone so far along in their pregnancy.

“I’m just – we’re taking it slow.”

Kimmie snorted, looking pointedly at the crest of Her stomach.

“I know. I guess – I’m enjoying this just being the two of us, for now. Everything got so hard core so suddenly, so I’m just trying to make everything else as uncomplicated as possible,” She replied.

“How is me meeting RJ complicated? I want to meet him. You’re my best friend. If our relationship is going to continue – and it will, it has to – I need to know the guy who knocked you up. It’s important to me.”

She bit her lip, thinking.

“Why does she look so nervous?” Kimmie wondered.

“Ok. You’re right. Next week, let’s meet at that restaurant your dad always takes us to. The one with the great Rueben? I’ve been craving one like crazy.”

Kimmie smiled, relieved. “Portside. Sure! Next week. Text me the time that works for you. I’m excited.”

She, on the other hand, looked terrified.

_________________

Kimmie checked her phone again.

“Where is She?” Kimmie wondered. “She’s never – ”

Kimmie’s thoughts were obliterated by the sudden appearance of her best friend. At least, that’s who she thought it was.

It had been a week. Just seven days. And in that time, her friend’s body had completely bloomed. Being pregnant, that was hardly a total shock, but the swiftness of the change was startling – especially considering that She had, until recently, been carrying so small.

“Act normal,” Kimmie told herself, rearranging her face to as neutral an expression she could muster. It took effort, and Kimmie was glad She noticed her yet; it allowed Kimmie the extra time she needed to fully observe the extent of her friend’s transformation.

There was the belly, of course, which had popped so powerfully that Her spine curved to accommodate its girth. It had become so conspicuous that Kimmie wagered had she not known who this woman was, she would assume She was due any day. Indeed, Her hips, legs and ass had ballooned proportionate to Her core, demolishing the girl’s (once enviable) hourglass figure and replacing it with pronounced pear shape.

“She already looks like a mom,” Kimmie thought to herself.

Those weren’t the only changes, Kimmie noticed to her disappointment. Jutting out from the apex of her friend’s stomach was the outline of Her fully popped navel, thick and rubbery like a third nipple under Her swollen fingers.

Speaking of nipples, Her breasts had blossomed into massive, milky teats at least two cups bigger than her typical size. Even though Kimmie could see the outlines of a bra underneath Her clothes, it did little to conceal Her hulking nipples, newly elongated and stout like bottle caps on Her chest. There was an ache-y neediness about them; to Kimmie, they screamed, “suck me dry, they’re so heavy it HURTS.”

Her heavy waddle – which She did NOT have to resort to when Kimmie had seen her just those seven short days ago – was a co-conspirator with Her attire in making Her look completely wanton. Every jiggle of her massive tits; every breath that stretched her belly; every shake of her thigh and ass; every step of her swollen feet in strappy sandals; every line of her heavy-duty bra and tiny lacey thong was given a spotlight by the forward thrust of her gait and the skin-tight pencil dress that somehow made it up and over the collection of globes that was once Her body. It didn’t help that moving required the forward thrust of her monstrous core, requiring her to splay her hips forward and balance a hand on the small of her back, a swollen rudder for her ripened form.

“Why is she WEARING that?” Kimmie thought to herself, willing herself not to blush with the secondhand embarrassment.

It was then that She finally noticed Kimmie, her bloated face contorting into a nervous smile.

______________________

After having to move their seats from a booth to a table (She couldn’t fit), waiting through Her three bathroom runs, and ordering an ungodly amount of food (“I’m eating for two, you know,” She had wryly, with shy pat of her tummy), She and Kimmie were finally settled.

“So! I can’t wait to finally meet this guy. RJ! Finally!” Kimmie said, trying her best to normalize their conversation. She was met with silence.

“Um – you ok? Still glad you’re gonna be a baby momma? That dress sure doesn’t make it seem that way.”

“I know, right? RJ, he’s particular. He asked me to wear it today, otherwise I’d be in something elastic and stretchy and that lets me breatheeeee.” She laughed and rolled her eyes. “I mean, I’m huge now. It happened overnight. And it’s a strain on me, in a lot of ways, and the baby shit is happening quicker than I had planned. I mean, I’m a freshman in college, for fuck’s sake.”

She was babbling.

“But this guy – RJ – he’s the love of my life and Kimmie, I want you to know that I -- ”

Kimmie was suddenly distracted from Her ramblings by a familiar figure waving and quickly approaching the table.

“This must be him,” she thought, only to realize with surprise it was her father, Randy. He hadn’t told her he was ordering out for lunch today. “He could’ve at least asked me if I wanted anything!”

“Dad! Hey! What are you doing here?” Kmmie said with a smile. “I’m about to meet the boyfriend. The one who She’s having the baby with! I told you She was pregnant, remember?”

He grinned, sheepishly, taking a seat at the table.

“That’s why I’m here, actually.”

Randy’s hope that his daughter would put two and two together quickly was immediately dashed.

“Oh? You … know the guy, or …?”

He swallowed a nervous laugh as he reached out his hands – one to clasp Her’s, the other to place possessively on her ponderous belly.

“Kimmie honey, I am the guy,” he said.

#fpreg #pregnancy #oldermanyoungerwoman #series?#soundgasm #audio #bourbon_neat #pregnantbelly #pregnancyfetish

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minttoy · 5 years ago

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Daylight (Ch 3)

CHAPTER THREE

Summary: “She spent so much time counting her days. Finally, she sees her future clear as daylight.” - Linhardt helps Lysithea survive more than the war.

Pairings: Linhardt/Lysithea

Click here to read on FF.net.

Click here to read on AO3.

----------

Weeks later, she’s still flipping through the days. Some passages are easier to read and few of them trigger difficult memories. It’s a blessing she cannot recall most of the things written in these pages.

Lysithea must look particularly haggard this morning, because Professor Hanneman waltzes into the room and starts the day with a peculiar joke.

“Are you and Linhardt married, by any chance?” he asks, a smirk dancing on his lips.

She’s tired and has no energy to vehemently deny it. “No.”

He’s hardly fazed. “Engaged, perhaps? Promised to one another?”

She shakes her head. “Neither.”

“Oh, but there’s something there, correct? The two of you seem to enjoy each other’s company.”

She does not remember Hanneman being this nosy. Perhaps Professor Manuela has been rubbing off him. “There is nothing between us,” she says, the words rolling lazily off her tongue. “We are not married, nor engaged, nor promised. We don’t talk about kids, or money, or growing old together. None of that.”

Poor logic at its finest, but she’s willing to admit it escapes her temporarily.

“Can I safely assume you two are not sleeping together?”

She startles, spilling a portion of her teacup as she brings it to her lips. “Excuse me?”

“Hmm.” He scratches his beard. “I suppose not.”

Lysithea hisses as she registers the burn from the still-hot tea water.

“Is there a point to this?” she inquires, holding back none of her irritation. With a sleeve, she wipes off a stain from the front of her shirt.

He shrugs loosely. “Perhaps.”

His response incites a harsh glare from the girl, but it does not last long. She reaches for her handkerchief across the table to pat down her skirt.

“This is highly inappropriate, especially from a man of your stature. I would appreciate if you were more respectful and unassuming of my relationships,” she says distractedly. “We share common goals and interests. There’s nothing beyond that.”

The suggestion was never meant to sound romantic, but she realizes in hindsight how it can be interpreted as such. Hanneman knows it too and raises her a brow.

“Linhardt is my apprentice and I know him very well,” he starts. “Believe me when I say I have never seen him more committed to anything than he is to you, my dear.”

She peers up at him briefly, and then back down to the soiled handkerchief in her hands. It’s easier to focus on other things when her face is flushed pink.

Hanneman continues, “I know what it takes to renounce one’s nobility – I’ve committed the act myself a long time ago. You give up almost everything. The people you call family, inheritance, prestige and status, the place you consider home, even a bit of yourself...” He shakes his head solemnly. “…it’s unfortunate. Despite all of that, at the end of the day, you are still the selfish one.”

Her gaze is trained to the wooden table, but she’s listening.

“My point is, I am certain Linhardt sacrificed much to be here.”

She blinks twice and looks up. “What are you insinuating?”

Her inquiry is blunt, but it’s not meant to accuse or invoke tension. The entire exchange has her squirming in her seat, even if he’s only protecting him.

“I am simply curious of his motivations,” the older man explains, meeting her gaze. “That boy is difficult to inspire and persuade, and I’ve seen it firsthand. I thought maybe you’ve done something to fuel his sudden ambition.”

She narrows her eyes. “I always assumed he took this up on his own volition, but I’m also willing to admit it’s a little far-fetched. If you’re wondering about monetary incentives, I’m not paying him or doing him any favours.”

“I never even wondered such a thing.”

She considers the idea once more. “…is it something I should be thinking about?”

“Heavens I hope not, or I would be sorely disappointed,” he scoffs.

“So what is it then?”

“You tell me.” Hanneman arches a single brow and presses further, “You said yourself the nature of your relationship is strictly business. Nothing personal beyond your collegiate partnership. Isn’t that right?”

Lysithea processes the complicated thought and attempts understanding for herself, wondering why this conversation keeps circling back on itself. The reason she keeps finding herself here.

Why do I feel like running.

She crumbles underneath his sharper gaze. “…that’s right.”

He leans back in his seat. “What’s your take on it?”

The question lingers.

“I don’t know,” she tells honestly, after a pause.

Silence envelopes them briefly.

“My apologies, child. I don’t mean to push you.” His gloved hand goes to her shoulder, and when she chances a second glance, his gaze is visibly softer. “It just warms this old man’s heart to see two of his students here at the monastery. There hasn’t been this much excitement since…well, a long time.”

She sighs, “Do you have to be so meddlesome?”

He feigns an affronted expression. “Can you blame a researcher for inquiring? I was simply…stating my observations, if you will. Did it come off as imposing? Forgive me.” His lips tug to a small smirk under his moustache. Unapologetic, despite what he says. “I admit. Occasionally I delight in wishful thinking. You see, Linhardt reminds me of my younger self. Fascinated with crestology, how it shapes the world’s foundation and transforms the individuals within it. Regrettably, I missed things because of it. The more I devoted myself to research, the more other dreams slipped further from my reach.”

Lysithea frowns and raises a brow.

“Before I pass from this world, it would give me great gratification to know he pursued such dreams. This applies for you as well, actually. Chase your ambitions, but don’t skip on life. You should get married, take care of each other, and have children. Research is its own reward, but I believe there are greater, more joyful things in life. Take this as advice from your old teacher and mentor.”

“Your advice is oddly specific,” she points out.

He laughs, characteristically barky, but jolly nonetheless. “I expect an invitation to your wedding when it comes.”

She breathes a lengthy exhale and loses her patience. Hasty, she downs the remainder of the hot tea and gathers her papers in her arms.

“That’s enough. I am done indulging in your strange and improbable fantasies–”

“Improbable? I beg to differ.”

“–I have little time as it is! We need to get back to work.”

He smirks at her attempt at scolding. Young, impulsive and puppy-like. A coping mechanism, he realizes. He indulges her anyway, gathering a portion of her file and adjusting his monocle.

“As you wish, my dear.”

----------

Lysithea is in the middle of bookmarking old texts when she hears it. A small gasp, barely even an audible breath, in the midst of the crest analyzer’s machinal sounds. She peers to the side to investigate the small commotion, observing the subtleties in Linhardt’s bare expression.

“What is it?”

He swallows hard and stares with furrowed brows. “This sample, it’s…crestless.”

His lack of energy casts a measure of doubt, but she strides over anyway. Wordlessly, he hands her the glass slide containing a drop of her blood and she runs it through the analyzer herself.

She waits.

Nothing.

No symbols appears before her.

No Charon.

No Gloucester.

No crest.

The blood is pure.

She feels her stomach drop. Her knees grow weak. She pans over to green-haired man, who jots down notes with a nonchalant flair. For someone who just reached his first real breakthrough, he is severely lacking in enthusiasm. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion.

“What does this mean?” she asks.

“It means we’re moving in the right direction,” he says blandly, not looking up.

She blinks at his aloofness, wondering what goes on in that tired and brilliant mind.

Linhardt finishes writing, flips the book shut and yawns into his hand. He finds her muddled expression.

“I’m not satisfied just yet,” he explains quietly. “On the bright side, it seems the formula I used on this particular sample yields promising results. I’m willing to test it on others to ensure it has the same effectiveness.”

He’s withholding himself, it seems. Saving the joy until the work is finished.

“I could draw more blood,” she offers, matching his tone.

He gives her a sheepish frown. She hides bruised arms under her sleeves.

“Please and thank you.”

She turns on her heel, and he catches her wrist when he realizes what she’s doing.

“It can wait until later. You’re tired,” he says. “I have to compound the serum again anyway, which will take time.”

He offers her a smile and she returns it.

----------

The three of them continue to work on this breakthrough. Linhardt, after studying the entirety of her file, is approaching the research with a medical lens. It’s apparent her crests were introduced like toxins to the bloodstream. She either rejected the virus and died, or survived the implants, forcing her crests to co-exist in one body. He intends to remove it the same way, coming up with a formula to dissolve her crests, akin to an antibiotic treating bacteria and disease.

Hanneman almost forgets he’s a proficient healer, well-versed in medicine and its properties.

That’s how they got here. Linhardt sitting on a chair, visibly pale and nauseous, hesitating to offer his arm. He was the one who suggested it – he and Hanneman offering their own blood to the cause, and hoping the recipe can eliminate their crests as well.

“I’m ready. Give me your arm,” she says.

“Please be gentle. The sight of blood makes me uncomfortable.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’ve been working with blood for several months now.”

“That’s different. I dislike watching it spill from the body, especially my own. I should add that needles are frightening as well.”

She gives him an annoyed look, hoping it’s enough to get her message across.

“Do you want the sample or not?”

“I do.”

“Then get over it. It would have been done by now if you stopped whining.”

He takes another deep breath, closes his eyes and finally stretches his arm. As she rolls his sleeves up, another thought flashes and he whips back the limb.

“Linhardt!”

“I’m sorry. Please don’t poke hard. I’m lightheaded as it is.”

He’s pouting, the most childish he’s become as of late.

“If you stay still, it won’t hurt as much.”

He gives her a suspicious eye.

She decides to change tack, softens her gaze and bends down so they’re at eye level. “Hey, I’m good at this, remember? It’ll be quick. You can trust me. I’ve done it on myself several times already.”

The reminder is stinging and leaves with him little choice and room to complain. This time, he offers his arm without another word.

The process is seamless and efficient, just as she promised. His veins stand out against his pale skin and he doesn’t tense when she rubs alcohol on it. He looks away and holds his breath when she punctures his skin. For him, it seems like an eternity until the needle is finally removed, and replaced with the pressure of her fingers. He lets out a long sigh of relief, and sinks down in his seat as if he’s been through a terrible ordeal.

He finally has the courage to look up and finds a smirk on her face.

“What?” he asks.

She removes her gloves and pats his head like she’s proud of him. “Such a good boy. I knew you could do it.”

He scoffs, “I am not a child.”

She laughs, and tips her head to a box on the nearby table. “I got you sweet pastries from town as a reward. Do you want it or not?”

He lights up, betraying himself. He doesn’t think he’s enjoyed her company more. “Yes, please.”

----------

The next step is obvious: a trial.

They’ve agreed to everything so far, but now there are three branches of thought.

Linhardt prefers to experiment with other crest-containing blood samples, reasoning they lack a sample size worthy of definite conclusion.

Hanneman insists on keeping the research between the three of them. This experiment will not be approved in the eyes of people in power, except maybe Edelgard herself.

Lysithea is growing increasingly impatient. Many months have passed since she’s made the monastery her second home and she pushes for the trial herself.

After much hesitation and few heated debates, they agree to one trial. The infirmary is turned upside down. It takes an entire day to prepare the room and concoct the mixture. Beds are moved, shelves restocked and the space is nearly emptied. A plan is devised if things go awry and her body rejects the serum. They don’t have the luxury of test subjects, Lysithea being the only one.

For all the irony in the world, the procedure is alike to blood reconstruction surgery itself. Linhardt admits he took inspiration from the mages to devise the method.

“If you have discomfort, I need to know. You have a penchant for acting stronger than you feel,” he says rather bitterly.

She stops poking around her arm for a vein and glances at the green-haired scholar. Unusually tight-lipped, rigid features on his face and posture incredibly stiff. He’s handling his instruments with a chaotic energy, revealing a side of him that hardly surfaces. He’s irritable and exasperated, which is far from his usually lax demeanor. She’s only seen it a handful of times.

“You agreed to this,” she reminds, matching his tone.

He still cannot look her in the eye. “Not willingly.”

“Don’t start with me,” she warns, keeping her voice low. “We fought about this already.”

He shrugs with nonchalance, and from her perspective, it’s kind of infuriating.

“Hmm. I still think we should wait,” he says, just for the sake of reminding her.

She tries to smile, but it comes off sarcastic and phony. She wonders how apparent it is how much she wants to pull her hair out right now.

“Too late,” she says, knowing how petty it sounds. “It’s happening today.”

“You can still back down. I won’t blame you,” he offers again.

She shakes her head and counters with a firm and decisive, “No. I won’t do that.”

He heaves with frustration and finally looks down at her. She meets his intense blue glare with as much defiance she can muster.

“You’re being impossible. I’m starting wonder if you’re doing this to spite me,” he delivers harshly, in a way he’ll probably regret later. Afterwards, he mutters some excuse about retrieving something from the lab and leaves the room in a matter of seconds.

In the deafening silence that follows, she stares down at the floor, heart suddenly weak and eyes glassy. Her breath is shaky as it comes out. Just as she expects, the feeling of scorn quickly fades into nothing, leaving a pained and bleak disposition in its place. She rubs her eyes before she crumples into a sobbing mess. These recent spats all end the same way. Her coming up empty, instead of angry.

“This will mean nothing later,” Hanneman reassures, suddenly beside her. “Both of you are stubborn. You only fight because you care for each other. If it helps, try to remember what got you here in the first place.”

Her breaths even out slowly. “…I don’t want to fight anymore.”

He shrugs. “You have to work it out somehow. Waiting is safe, but there’s no use dallying and delaying progress either.”

“Am I being unreasonable?” she asks in a whisper.

Hanneman sucks in a breath, and contemplates for a moment.

“It’s…difficult to say. I’m sorry, child. I don’t have all the answers.”

They resume in silence. She tries to pretend it never happened and connects herself to the machine. Linhardt returns a few minutes later, all traces of hardness on his face gone.

She tries not to look his way, except when he stands in front of her.

Their expressions mirror each other; remorseful and apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers first.

She shakes her head. “It’s my fault. I’m the one pushing you.”

He dismisses it with a shrug. “We’re in this together.”

It eases few of her worries, enough to breathe easy. He gestures for her to take a seat so he can prime the infusion. She obliges without complaint.

“Tell me if you feel anything.”

“I will.”

After what seems like an eternity, it finally starts running. Linhardt gives her a quick onceover before taking the seat beside the professor, opening his book for notetaking.

Somehow, it feels like her last day on earth. She’s waited and dreamed of this since being told her days were numbered. Lysithea shakes her head, tries to throw off the memories.

Fifteen minutes in, there’s a sting in her arm where the needle is located. She tries not to hiss at the pain, but it becomes difficult to hide.

Hanneman sits up, the first to notice. “What’s wrong?”

She grits her teeth. “My arm is sore, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Linhardt stands, puts away his notebook. “We should stop it.”

“No! I can take it. This is–”

She stops as an abrupt, sharp pain sears the nerves up to her shoulder. It’s burning all of a sudden, and flaring with heat and spasm. Lysithea doesn’t scream, just a gasp and a choked-off cry, but somehow that makes it worse. She winces and folds in on herself.

He stops the machine and disconnects the tubing. That alone eliminates the sharp edge of the burn, but leaves a throbbing cramp in its wake. She collapses backwards in her seat, arm splayed limp beside her.

He’s giving her a look or reprimand, but as far as admonishments go, it’s a gentle one.

“Lysithea. This isn’t about being brave or strong. We only have one shot. If something happens to you, all of this would be for nothing,” he lectures softly, bending down to inspect for bruising or damage.

Hanneman hums in agreement and rises to stretch his arms. “The boy is right. Do not feel inclined to work beyond your limits. Our situation is risky enough as it is.”

She has no reason to get defensive. As far as she’s concerned, this is what she needs to hear. Beside her, she spies the faint glow of light. His magic is familiar to her now. She knows the feel of it: languid, light and listless. It induces a drowsy aftermath and she’s passed out from it before. It’s the work of his crest. Before she succumbs to its effects, she peers down at her partner.

“I really thought it would work,” she whispers, fighting the wave of exhaustion casted by the spell.

His gaze is surprisingly soft. “We’ll have to rework the formula,” he says quietly. Biting his lip, he casts his gaze down to her arm. “There’s a caustic burn on your skin. I’ll heal the nerves as best as I can, but I’m not sure about the scarring…”

She shrugs loosely. “It doesn’t matter.”

He says nothing back, watching as she enters a trance, wilting and slowly yielding to slumber.

“Can you be here when I wake up?” she asks, fighting off another yawn and blinking heavy eyelids.

He tilts his head to one side at the inquiry.

“Okay.”

It’s the last thing she hears before her vision goes blank.

----------

She’s plagued by nightmares, not waking until she’s seeing red and a silent scream is somehow working its way up her throat.

She lunges up from her bed, clutches the material in front of her chest and finds herself breathless. Her back is drenched with sweat and her hands are shaking. She stares blank at the window pane, catching sight of clouds filtering the light of the stars and moon. It casts a dark shadow upon the monastery and the surrounding forests. Slowly, the nightmare leaves her.

After that, she sighs. Lysithea looks down at her arms, one of them sporting an ugly reddened bruise and the other hooked up to a tube. Her gaze lazily flits upwards, finding herself linked to an assortment of fluids. Her head throbs wildly, more so than the fresh burn she acquired from the trial.

She’s alone, but hears the soft whirring of machinery across the hall. Mustering the strength to go, she drags the pole along with her and stops at the front of Hanneman’s office.

“You shouldn’t read in the dark,” she pipes up quietly. “It hurts your eyes.”

Linhardt startles and jerks lightly in the dim candlelight. He inhales deeply, and snaps his book shut.

“You should go back to sleep.”

She shakes her head. “Maybe later.”

He eyes her curiously, a long blue stare. “A nightmare, then.”

She shudders, and then absently presses her fingers against her throat where there’s a pulse. A cold shiver runs up her spine. Linhardt watches idly, staring into her eyes with question.

“It’s odd. I used to have nightmares about ghosts in my room, showing up late for class, or losing my teeth,” Lysithea starts softly, ignoring the constant thrumming in her head. “Nowadays, they’re more about feeling lonely, or losing control, or dying.”

He raises a brow. “Are you scared of dying?”

“I guess so,” she says, mild annoyance seeping through. She purses her lips, then shifts her gaze to the bookshelves. “It’s strange. I was going to die in those dungeons, and the only reason I didn’t was because I was so determined to see what life I could have outside of it, even if it meant surviving my crests. Gosh, I wanted to live so much, and still ended up dying.”

She says it with a hollow lightness, as if the whole thing can be a laughing matter. And then she’s shaking her head and rubbing her face.

“I’ve been counting my days ever since, and I’m sick of it. I’m so hopeless, and bitter, and lonely, and yet…I am still so, so terribly scared.”

Linhardt gazes with a rare tenderness. No words come to mind, so he says nothing.

Inevitably, there’s a long pause.

She drops her arms and unclenches her fists. Her expression is weary. “Do you have nightmares?”

He nods. “Occasionally. Mostly they are bloody visions of war – I wake up thinking I’m still in the throes of battle. To cheer myself up, I imagine myself lying down on a field of grass, in a place where I’m free to sleep, fish, or eat sweets whenever I please.”

She chuckles softly, “That sounds just like you.”

“Does your head hurt? I can help.”

“No, not right now. That magic of yours is like a sedative, and I…” She inhales and picks at her fingers, unsure how to say it. “I’d rather we just…stay, even for a short time.”

The air is so quiet and delicate she wants to bask in it. The lighting is dark, atmosphere thick but not stilted, and the whirring machinery drums like white noise. It’s just the two of them, but the silence is easy and comforting. They’ve let go of their posturing a long time ago. This is the most peace she’s felt in months.

This is what she means to say, even if he doesn’t get it.

He nods, and she’s grateful. Moving her metal pole in front of the sofa, she settles herself comfortably beside him and curls her legs underneath. He brushes off her earlier protest and picks up his book again, reading against the dim candlelight. Eventually she caves and tugs at his sleeve. Wordlessly, he settles the book in the middle so she can read for herself. The rest of the night is filled with silence.

He understands enough.

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#fire emblem #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fe3h #linhardt von hevring #linhardt #lysithea von ordelia #lysithea #post-war #post-canon #post-game #fire emblem fanfiction

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evnoweb · 6 years ago

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Who said that? Teacher’s Edition

Earlier this week, I had written a post and pulled a number of comments from this blog. It was fun to look through and grab them. I never figured that I’d write this post so I didn’t formally keep track of who said what when I copy/pasted them although I think I know. I do have someone who is only happy to correct anything I do so I went back and made sure that I got things right. Where the commenter had a website or blog listed beside them, I’ve included a link back if their comment inspires you to read their blogging.

Some folks recognized their writing and responded but there was a request for the answers. So, here goes.

Looking back at 2018, I smile at some of the wonderful comments that have appeared on this blog in response to some of my posts.

Do you see yourself in there? Do you see others?

1 I had forgotten about that commercial! Thanks for the umm… blast from the past, Doug! I was surprised that it did have a “violent” part. That part didn’t stick in my memory, but the “blue” light did! Sorry to hear of your incident! Here’s to more uneventful walks with the dog.. I had a good smile with Andrew’s comment too. I have searched youtube to confirm quotes and lines from TV shows and movies as well… just to be sure A recent attempt was: “It’s cold enough out there to freeze your Winnebago!” Like Aviva, I have always wondered about how graphic a message needs to be to stick. I worry that it goes too far at times, especially in consideration of young children. I guess there might be individual differences in regards to what will “hit home”, but…

Sheila Stewart – sheilaspeaking.wordpress.com

2 Oh, going to have to try this one out – looks like a lot of fun! (and I will suggest it to some people I know, since I don’t have a classroom to play in right now). Thanks, as ever!

Lisa Noble – madamenoble.wordpress.com

3 Thanks for including me Doug. Still fighting that bug, but class back up to 65%! Listened to the show (twioe) last night…awesome as always. Got a chuckle over Stephen’s mention of “the Good Room” and all the banter between you, as always. Keep on keeping on!

Ramona Meharg –mymonkeysmycircussite.wordpress.com

4 Love the post. It made me think about what my role is. Probably a lot more Bluesman than thought leader I guess. But really I started to think that is just important to do what I can do and let other people think about labels. I’m just a teacher with opinions and a blog. That’s good enough for me I think.

Alfred Thompson –http://blog.acthompson.net

5 Hi Doug, and all:) Here is my addition – if I ever hear the word Wheelhouse again it will be too soon. Also I will probably get in trouble for this but I don’t like all the Like a Pirate business. For heaven’s sake. Pirates are real. They steal and murder people. I am working on another blog post, a more thoughtful consideration of the word “modern” – which really has an existing definition and has been co-opted more recently to mean “contemporary.” I know, I am so fussy:)

Anne Shillolo

6 I like Broadway http://fontsgeek.com/fonts/Broadway-Regular, but I have a weakness for art deco fonts. It’s too decorative to read though, but good for posters and titles. For reading I usually go for arial but recently have been preferring Trebuchet https://www.myfonts.com/fonts/microsoft/trebuchet/?gclid=Cj0KCQiAiKrUBRD6ARIsADS2OLn1B3-UN6EjbTMRsPmw2xTQWIwFrCXNtyTxAmFoh7p_XYxWjXX_lzYaAlJVEALw_wcBit’s nice and clean. Oddly, if I’m going for a computer styled font I use something like Courier which is a web friendly way to imitate those old fixed width fonts https://www.myfonts.com/fonts/microsoft/courier-new/?gclid=Cj0KCQiAiKrUBRD6ARIsADS2OLnfMx1LblHmfXsmRm32zv_x9kHDMf5_ySTNErPWQ_7GmrGvY-qQCsMaApnbEALw_wcB If you’ve never messed around with fonts, you’re missing something.

Tim King-plus.google.com/+TimothyKing

7 My teaching partner and I used to do ‘a theme’, back when themes were a thing in kindergarten, around EGGS at Easter time. We did different experiments with eggs each day – how many books can we stack on a raw egg before it breaks, what happens when you soak an egg in vinegar, sinking and floating eggs, spinning eggs (raw eggs wobble, hard cooked eggs spin) and so on. We read lots of books about animals that hatch from eggs. My favourite was always “Chickens aren’t the only ones” by Ruth Heller. Like you, many of our children didn’t celebrate Easter but they were seeing eggs and bunnies everywhere in stores and on TV.

Lisa Cranston – educationandinspirationblog.com

8 Thank you for capturing two days of amazing learning and connecting for us Doug. It was a pleasure to finally have some conversation time with you and I am glad Steven Hurley didn’t beam us up with his modern day transcorder. Appreciate the power that comes in building bridges in this business and you sir are a bridge builder. Looking forward to our next conversation. W

Will Gourley –escheweducationalist.wordpress.com

9 Our mornings begin with the fragrance of espresso filling the air. Milk is heated, the espresso is added to the hot milk and voilà, the magic potion is ready. When we go out, we seldom stop to buy coffee anywhere. We caddy thermos cups of our home brew. If we run out of the elixir…tea it is. When we have friends join us for a formal meal, we usually end the meal with a demitasse of espresso…except for the tea drinkers. We like it that espresso has a lower caffeine content than drip coffee: https://recipes.howstuffworks.com/question645.htm Of course, current science might draw different conclusions.

Noeline Laccetti – nlaccetti.wordpress.comx

10 … that look of betrayal on my wife’s face when I mentioned that I am trying to quit with coffee. She, up to several years ago, hated the stuff. Hated the smell, the taste, the satisfied look on my face as relaxed through my second or third cup in the morning. I guess it was my fault. Someway somehow, she now can’t start her day without it. My attempt at scaling back my caffeine consumption has put my life is in danger. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I shouldn’t have even written this post. If my blog goes dark for a while its because I am in hiding. Tell my wife, I was wrong … oh so wrong …

Chris Cluff

11 Hi Doug, thanks for sharing your learning from the Ontario Summit. To add to this already great resource, here is a link to all of the presenter’s resources from the weekend: https://edtech.team/OntarioResources18 – Lots more goodies there!

Emily Fitzpatrick

12 I saw this presentation at SIGCSE and left with mixed feelings. The session was pitched as ML for CS teachers with little CS knowledge. The pizza app is cool but I left thinking that there was a big missing piece which was the actual under the hood ML. It looks great as a tool where the teacher is already knowledgeable but I don’t know how much serious mileage a class will get out of it beyond being a cool demo if the teacher doesn’t already know the subject.

Mike Zemansky – https://cestlaz.github.io

13 I love to sew, but hardly have the time. I go by feel when choosing fabric for any project or any “already made” clothes. I don’t care what it’s called – I only care about how it feels and how well it will wash. I do not remember the fabric you’re talking about, though I feel as if I should. My mom used to see for me, so I likely had many things made from it.

Lisa Corbett –alotalot.wordpress.comx

14 Morning Doug, this brought to mind attendance tracking of students and how if they are going to leave or walk out consequnces mean nothing. The reason you give them to stay is far more powerful. I think folks need to understand the purpose but more importantly if you leave the impression, regardless of this is it’s purpose that people’s whereabouts are what we are starting with and not the culture of a welcoming, inclusive and non intrusive learning environment, the same thing will happen as it does in a secondary school…they opt out as it is no longer about the them but the system they exist within.

Kelly @thebeastedu

15 Good morning Doug! (and Jamie) I’m glad you guys keep your eyes open when you’re out for your walks. There’s no doubt that keeping an eye out for other vehicles, cyclists, and pedestrians (and dogs) is a critical responsibility for motor vehicle drivers. I was pleased to read your “exit, stage left“ quote, And even happier when I saw that you had included a picture of SnagglePuss. You are smarter than the average bear.

Andrew Forgrave

16 I don’t remember exactly when Chrome came out, but I do for Gmail. I went straight to eBay and bought an invitation so I could join. It cost me $5. The invitation also included another new Google service. Do you remember what it was?

Peter Beens –beens.org

17 I noticed this too when watching cartoons with my nephews. There also seemed to be a whole lot of yelling. Okay now I’m sounding like the old guy who just wants the kids to get off his lawn. I loved the old Hanna-Barbara cartoons from the mid-60’s. Space Ghost, Frankenstein Jr. and The Impossibles, the original Scooby-Doo, Dastardly and Muttley in Their Flying Machines, The Herculoids, The Banana Splits Adventure Hour – that one was pretty weird, but I did teach some of my grade 6’s the theme song, Jonny Quest and the Jetsons. I kind of thought we’d be living like the Jetsons by now. At least I thought they would have finished repairing all the roads.

Colin Harris –plus.google.com/+ColinHarrisdigitalnative

18 Hey Doug, As always your posts seem so timely. Today on my way home from church I noticed a few trees in the neighbourhood who have started to show your beautiful fall colors. I couldn’t help but recall several projects that I had to complete as a child where we would go out into the neighbourhood and find several fall leaves. We then needed to place the leaves in between two pieces of wax paper and iron them . To be honest, I don’t recall what the intended learning outcome was… But what I do remember was that it was a project that my mom and I needed to do together (hot irons and safety) . Sometimes it is those unintended outcomes (special time with a parent) which are just as meaningful as the curriculum outcomes.

Sue Bruyns –susanbruyns.com

19 I have never heard of Qwant until you mentioned it. I also gave it a try and I must admit that it is a very impressive search engine. I used the Brave web browser in the past; I had no issues with it. In my case, I utilise the Google Chrome web browser, because I use certain extensions. The Brave web browser loads quickly.

Renard Moreau –renardsworld.wordpress.com

20 Hey! This is the fourth time visiting now and I personally just wanted to say I truley enjoy reading your blog site. I’ve decided to bookmark it at reddit.com with the title: %BLOGTITLE% and your Web address: %BLOGURL%. I hope this is alright with you, I’m trying to give your great blog a bit more coverage. Be back shortly.

superstar femme orange (Trick question – this is from spam caught and someone who doesn’t know how to use their software – notice the spam format of the message. I won’t share the URL that they claim to be from)

21 Do you worry about free services going away after a while? = Sometimes. I’m still wounded about the closing of Bitstrips for Schools (which I liked waaaaaay better than Pixton – sorry, Pixton). It went so fast that I couldn’t collect all the old comics I wanted to archive (so Jacob, if you are reading this, please let us grab our files for a quick, one week period, please!) What is your contingency plans in case that happens? = Wish I had one! Do you backup your online presence in case it goes away? = I print my blogs as a birthday gift to myself once a year. I did a Twournal for the first part of my tweeting, but I’d love to back up all my Tweets in a print format. Now you’ve got me paranoid Doug!

Diana Maliszewski –mondaymollymusings.blogspot.ca

Thanks to those who took time to share a comment throughout 2018. I hope that I can write on topics that will continue the efforts in 2019.

So, how many did you get right the first time?

Who said that? Teacher’s Edition published first on https://medium.com/@DigitalDLCourse

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evnoweb · 6 years ago

Text

Who said that?

Looking back at 2018, I smile at some of the wonderful comments that have appeared on this blog in response to some of my posts.

Do you see yourself in there? Do you see others?

2 Oh, going to have to try this one out – looks like a lot of fun! (and I will suggest it to some people I know, since I don’t have a classroom to play in right now). Thanks, as ever!

Thanks to those who took time to share a comment throughout 2018. I hope that I can write on topics that will continue the efforts in 2019.

Who said that? published first on https://medium.com/@DigitalDLCourse

0 notes