#and a painful feeling loves to embed itself amongst others

[halfpastdead]

sobbing internally to thank you by clairo at work

[yukiwrites]

Love Masked as Devotion

Thank you for the support, @pronislav! I had a blast writing this, I hope you like it! ^v^)b

Summary: Gilbert had pledged his allegiance to Byleth atop the Goddess Tower, three years ago. Over the course of the years, the seasoned knight watched over his new liege with a warmth in his smile that he hadn’t felt in over twenty years... but he wasn’t allowed to feel such happiness for he was an undeserving man. Or was he?

Commission info HERE and HERE!

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 During the first few years of his self-imposed exile, then-Gilbert refused to allow himself the simple pleasure of smiling. He had abandoned his allegiance, family and name -- he wasn't worthy of forgetting the suffering he inflicted on those he had left behind nor those he had failed to protect.

Smiling would mean that he was forgetting, that he was putting it all behind him to start anew. And he could never forget.

How could he, when the dead has smiled their last before his own failure as a knight? How could he, when the living he left behind truly smiled their last during the time they called themselves a true family?

No, there was too much at stake: too many regrets, too many ties wrapped around his wrists, little by little pulling him down to a murky darkness -- to a place he could never truly return from. Not as himself.

A self-imposed prison he would never set foot out of, the guilt so overpowering he couldn't even bring himself to say his own name without wanting to disappear in shame. Gustave had failed. He had let his King and fellow knights die -- he had scarred the Prince in a way that would never truly heal.

The disgrace of his true name followed him closely, heavier as the years passed, pulling him down. Pulling, strangling, drowning... Sometimes even his own voice failed, the deep, viscous darkness preventing him to even utter apologies to the ones he had left behind.

Other times, apologies were the only words he had left.

Four years he had ran. Ashamed, he had turned to faith to pray for salvation -- not his, mind, but for those he had failed to protect. If only they could be at peace, perhaps he, too, one day...

Five years more he had ran, the sin of losing his King's son adding to the burden he could never lift from his shoulders.

For nine long years Gilbert had prayed, dumping his worries unto the goddess in a vain attempt to lighten the burden -- if all of them were at least safe in the afterlife, perhaps he, too, one day...

"Praying won't help you atone." Byleth's words had felt like a slap on his face, said during such an otherwise uneventful night the now Archbishop had most likely forgotten it by now. "It's OK to hold on to the ghosts of your past, they are part of who you are. But you can't let them hold on to you and deprive you of your own life."

That right then, those wise words imparted from someone so young yet so burdened by the throes of duty... Gilbert quite literally and most certainly felt his whole world change. He could feel as though a strong gust of air had disheveled his air, the magnanimous force of nature imbuing his sight with the light he had lost almost a decade previous.

Had breathing always been that easy? He could feel the air fill his lungs vigorously, a new life -- or perhaps the acceptance of his old one -- running through his veins.

To allow yesterday to be done, and focus on tomorrow.

To learn from his mistakes and not let them drag him down -- to accept the importance of those he had lost to be able to focus on those he was afraid to lose. On those whose smiles he had robbed with his shameful departure.

On those whose smile he swore to protect.

His eyes fond, Gustave softly shook his head to dispel the thoughts of the past that crept inside his mind the moment he set foot inside the Archbishop's study.

The comforting yet worrying scene the knight witnessed might have been the reason to set his old brain off to nostalgia island: Byleth slept peacefully, a satisfied smile on his face, over a mountain of papers he was yet to sign.

Gustave worried for his new liege -- mostly about the terrible neck pain he was sure to have should he remain sleeping in that position -- though he couldn't help but want to watch the scene for a moment longer.

Byleth had always been someone any person could depend on. He would offer sound, thoughtful counsel as was also willing to lend an ear for his brothers-in-arms, his expression often serious or attentive.

Honestly, Gustave thought that the younger man tried a bit too hard to match those of... higher years than himself. Yet, Gustave himself had been on the receiving end of Byleth's kind, warm heart, so he hadn't the right to tell the Archbishop how he should or should not behave amongst his peers.

What he could do as his knight was give him a stern scolding for overworking himself, neglecting a proper, restful sleep and advise him to make more use of his own services. Gustave would happily burn the midnight oil alongside Byleth, for as long as these old bones of his allowed him to.

Still, Gustave's body betrayed the scolding his mind had prepared by simply procuring a blanket to place over Byleth's shoulder, not wanting him to catch a chill during the night.

"Mhm," Byleth groaned in his sleep, suddenly much more comfortable than before, his body sinking even deeper into the papers -- a perpetual ink stain attaching itself over his left cheek.

"Hah," Gustave chuckled lowly, daring to take a tuft of hair from Byleth's eyes, placing it behind his warm ear. "Let's get you away from there, shall we... Byleth?" He murmured as though he was saying something forbidden, the name of his new liege something he dared say very little lest he became much too used to the way it rolled around his tongue.

Carefully, the man bent down to pick the Archbishop up in his arms, making sure to put Byleth's head on his own shoulder so as not to wake him up. He weighed so little for a man who held the burden of the entire church on his shoulders! A slender, fragile-looking frame that hid such a bottomless strength of heart, soul and body.

Deep in his sleep, Byleth snuggled himself in the warmth of Gustave's chest, his serene smile growing as he mumbled incomprehensible sleep talk. Not to mention the smudged ink obviously marking his cheek.

Clearing his throat, Gustave tore his eyes away from the adorable sight, adjusting the younger man over his arms one last time before making his way to the Archbishop's chambers.

"May your sleep always be this peaceful, Byleth. I shall do everything in my power to protect this serenity." Gustave's low voice rumbled in his chest, making Byleth groggily nod at it.

Reaching the nearby chambers, Gustave struggled to open the door for a good five minutes, not wanting to move Byleth too much to open it with one of his hands but unable to muster the flexibility to do it with one foot.

After a while, the knight gave up, quietly pressing his shoulder -- protecting Byleth's body with his arm -- on the door so as to use one hand to turn the handle. It did so with a loud bang, slipping from his fingers since his grasp on it was weak.

Panicking, the knight flinched, quickly checking the status of Byleth's sleep.

"Mhm..." The Archbishop slightly moved in Gustave's arm, snuggling deeper into the older man's chest.

"Hahhh..." Gustave sighed in relief, now worried that his thunderous heartbeat could aid in waking Byleth up. "Being this clumsy at my age; what a disgrace," he snorted in spite of himself, making large, silent strides towards the bed.

He softly placed the Archbishop atop the mattress, careful and masterfully stripping him of his coat and boots before finally laying him down fully, finally covering him with the thick blanket.

Puffing his chest for a job well done, Gustave once again smiled at the sight of the vulnerable side of Byleth's only him could see. "Good night, my liege." He whispered before turning on his heel to leave, this time soundlessly closing the door behind him. "Sweet dreams, Byleth." He said to the dark wood, placing his forehead on its cool surface.

From inside the room, over the bed and under the blanket, Byleth covered his face with both hands, his face burning so much he teared up. "G-good night, Gustave."

The following morning, Byleth was unable to meet his knight's sight for more than ten seconds, quickly averting his gaze while blurtering this or that excuse.

"Have I done something to offend you, my liege?" Gustave approached the matter as Byleth knew he would, no later than early afternoon as they walked through the corridors towards the mess hall.

Flinching, Byleth cleared his throat. "I, uh, had a- a dream, yes. I had a dream last night." He mentally patted himself on the back for the smooth save, but somehow felt as though he could hear Sothis groaning in disgust at the back of his mind. Strange feeling, though, since he hadn't heard of her since she imparted her power on him, six years ago.

"A dream, Archbishop?" Gustave tilted his head downwards, his long braid dangling right into Byleth's point of view. "Is that related to me in any way? I have noticed you've yet to meet my gaze today..."

Byleth's eyes trailed away from Gustave, towards the opposing wall of the corridor. "Will you not call me by my name?" He said in a squeak so low it made Gustave squint as though he could understand by heightening his vision.

"Pardon?"

"I-" Byleth breathed deeply, trying to bring his usual inner peace. "I heard you call my name in my dream." He blurted out, proud that he managed to sound much more composed than he actually was.

"Oh." Gustave straightened his back, clearing his throat. "Did you now?"

"Strange, though," the Archbishop scratched his head, trying to play coy. "I never actually heard you call me by my name, but in my dream... it was so real."

"Must I have a talk with the Gustave of your dreams, my liege? To address someone of your stature with such familiarity is unthinkable."

Byleth mentally choked, his face exploding in embarrassment. He was glad he kept it away from the knight the entire time. "The 'Gustave of my dreams', huh?" he cleared his throat.

The realization of how suggestive that sounded made even the seasoned knight feel the heat rising to his cheeks, quickly dispelling it with a cough. "Why, was he not? If I never called you by your name, the only one who could have had done so was he."

"Silly," Byleth mumbled, hiding a tiny smile behind his hand. "Even though the Gustave of my dreams is right here."

"I wouldn't advise mumbling while looking away from someone, my liege. It shows a true lack of respect-"

Byleth turned to the corridor in front of them in a sudden, flashy movement, stealing the words from Gustave's lips. "I was saying that I simply wanted to hear the real Gustave, the one in front of me, to say my name, since the one in my dreams made me curious about it." He almost pouted, making the knight feel a twinge inside his chest.

"That I cannot do, my liege."

The reply was so readily given it made Byleth's heart fall faster than he was prepared to. "Because I am the Archbishop and you're a knight, so it would be disrespectful to?"

"Indeed." He nodded solemnly, his steps heavy beside Byleth's light ones.

Sighing, Byleth's shoulders hung slightly. "And if I weren't Archbishop? Before I even had any influence you still only called me 'Professor' even though you weren't my student."

Gustave hesitated for a beat. He knew the answer to that; of course he did.

But it wasn't one that he could give. It wasn't one he was allowed to give, not while he was still so unworthy of thinking about a happy future as he was.

Of course, it was because of Byleth that Gustave could even start thinking about the future without letting the past take the best of him, but... A decade of guilt wasn't so easily washed away. He wasn't going to be okay after only three years under Byleth's service; under his constant light and serenity.

He wasn't going to think himself worthy of being happy, not while he still hadn't repaid for the grief he had caused to the ones he loved -- to the ones he had left behind.

"I am simply giving respect where it is due, Archbishop." He replied after only taking a short breath, the torrent of thoughts, regrets and phantom feelings washing him over despite the lack of expression he showed.

"..." Byleth kept silent, the small slouch showing that he still wore a slight pout over his lips; not that Gustave could see them for he always walked a step behind his liege. To keep himself in his own place.

They reached the mess hall in silence, retiring to their usual spot at a corner. Byleth sat down as Gustave took it upon himself -- as always -- to go fetch their provisions.

Eating at the mess hall amongst all other residents of Garreg Mach monastery had always been one of the few pleasures Byleth managed to keep after becoming Archbishop. Well, it was under no shortage of grumbling from his knight, sure, but it was a hard fought win for the former professor, so he always held those precious moments close to his heart.

Even at that moment, his head down and his gaze unwilling to meet Gustave's, he still cherished watching his knight's impeccable table manners from under his bangs.

It was foolish of him, perhaps even childish, to get his hopes up after a simple name-sharing, bed-placing sluggish night -- Gustave might as well have been treating him like he did Annette for all Byleth knew. Calling a younger person, although of higher bearing, by their name during a time they could not hear just to show how apart they were in maturity.

Or something.

Byleth groaned, resting his pounding forehead on the back of his hand which still held the fork. He knew Gustave. He wasn't like that. He wouldn't admonish someone because of their age!

But then, what did last night mean, if not a wish for something more to happen?

Was that all wishful thinking from Byleth's part? If he looked at the scene from a bystander's eyes, would he only see a proper knight caring for his liege? Byleth had had his share of knight-watching from his time as a teacher at the academy, and even more so during the war.

He had seen Dedue do almost the same thing with Dimitri -- trying and failing to carry him as he slept, making him food as he woke up, being always there for whichever need the Prince could have... Byleth had witnessed such undying display of loyalty many, many times.

Was it what that was? Loyalty? Duty?

Byleth wanted to paint the picture in a rosy hue, but even Gustave himself had so earnestly denied the matter mere moments ago. He shouldn't think too much into it. He shouldn't hope. His heart should not flutter like this with the memory of how good it felt to hear his name in Gustave's voice.

How warm and strong the knight's arms were, and how easily he was carried through the corridors. How caring Gustave had been during it all, even embarrassing himself in being uncharacteristically clumsy.

There was no way Byleth could forget, neither brush it off as simple loyalty! And yet... Gustave's readied denial made the Archbishop's heart fall every time his brain replayed the scene.

A warm hand over his own made Byleth pull away in panic, quickly lifting his head. "Hu-weh?" He blurted out, his face devoid of color.

Gustave immediately retracted his touch, fearing he had disgusted the poor Archbishop with his vain attempt of carefully calling for his attention.

"Forgive me for my rudeness, my liege." He bowed slightly, hand over his own chest. "But you've barely touched your food. Is there truly nothing more worrying you?"

Huffing, Byleth felt his vision split from how fast his heart was beating. For a moment he thought Gustave had seen through his deepest desires and accepted him. Or rejected him.

Byleth didn't know what would be worse for his heart.

"I'm... fine." He said after a while, twirling the fork between his fingers before holding it properly so as to finally eat. "But I have something to say once we go back to my office."

"I will listen to any of your commands, my liege." Gustave concurred gracefully, his expression stern as usual, though only a trained eye could notice how his brow flickered slightly at the mention of the talk.

They once again walked in silence through the halls as they headed back to Byleth's study.

"I believe there was something you wished to tell me?" Gustave crossed his arms behind his back, his posture erect and impeccable.

In contrast to Byleth's slight slouch. "I have, yes." He said as he entered the door Gustave promptly opened for him. "You should visit your family." He said after taking three steps inside, not bothering to look back.

Which had been a mistake on his part, for he missed the look of utter shock and loneliness that ran so quick across Gustave face it was as though it had never been there. "My liege...? Have I displeased you so deeply that you would send me away?"

"Oh, come now." Byleth forced a smile as he circled his desk so as to sit behind it. "You haven't gone in a while, right? Actually, I think you only went two or three times after you started serving me here, three years and a half ago, I believe? They must miss you so very dearly."

Gustave felt as though Byleth's words were shoving him back into his place; back into where he belonged. Where he should have put himself at with more energy.

Of course, thoughts of his family never left his mind. Why, just earlier today he remembered how much Annette and Allinda enjoyed a good cup of tea with honey before a meal to 'open up' their appetites, as they liked to say... But those were far-away thoughts, memories he could barely grasp with the tip of fingers.

They were always at the back of his mind, yes.

But Byleth had always been at the front, especially lately.

Hearing Byleth himself mention his family made Gustave feel as though he had been betraying someone, though he wasn't certain whom. Himself? Byleth? His wife, Allinda? Annette? King Lambert?

The list of people Gustave had to live for to repay his sins was as long as the years it would take him to do so, which made him only wish to be able to live that long to see it all done.

From a parent and estranged husband's standpoint, there was absolutely no reason to refuse Byleth's order. Why, he would be able to go back to see how much his homeland had changed under King Dimitri's rule and spend time with his family.

Yet, his heart refused, bickering within his chest as though it were a crying child wanting to be tended to. Gustave opened and closed his mouth, a bitter taste preventing him to speak for a moment of two, but quickly regaining his composure. "As I do them, Archbishop." He said in a clear voice, piercing Byleth's heart. "However, I cannot simply go and leave you unattended-"

"My duties will keep me here at the monastery for a good part of the semester, as you know." Byleth interrupted, wanting to hide from Gustave's sight lest he started wailing and begging for him to stay instead. "I promise I'll summon you once I'm in need of your services -- at the upcoming summit with the western church."

That meeting was scheduled to happen in five months! Byleth was truly sending Gustave away like that-

"We can meet in Fhirdiad, halfway to the Western-" the Archbishop continued, not giving the knight the luxury of even think straight.

"I must refuse." Gustave said immediately, finally remembering he could walk towards Byleth's desk.

"Gustave?" The Archbishop looked up to the approaching man, his heart racing. Why was he so intent on staying? He should be happy to see his family-

"I refuse meeting halfway, my liege. I will not allow you to leave Garreg Mach without my personal escort. It was because I agreed to meet King Lambert in Duscur that the tragedy happened. I will not allow it to happen again; not while I still draw enough breath to protect you."

Blinking, Byleth felt elated and disappointed at the same time -- happy to be held in such high regard by Gustave, but sad that the other man wasn't saying he would rather not leave altogether.

"... Very well," he looked down to the papers on his desk, already neatly organized after this morning's meetings. "Then I shall grant you leave to be with your family, but I want you to return fifteen days prior to my departure to the Western Church. That should be enough time to let you in on all formations and details. Is that acceptable?"

Gustave bowed deeply, one hand over his chest. "It is, my liege. It's most magnanimous of you to take my family in consideration during such a turbulent time of your new post." He straightened his back swiftly, his serious gaze almost piercing through Byleth's regretful one. "Then I shall take my leave to prepare for the trip. I shall send a letter to precede my arrival, as well."

Byleth simply nodded, lowering his head so he wouldn't see the knight leaving. His heart was heavy enough with only listening to the strong steps becoming more and more distant, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

Gustave left the room with a renewed sense of guilt -- how dare he get complacent in his thoughts of atonement! How dare he start to enjoy his time at the monastery while there were people he had hurt waiting for his return so he could pay for his sins?

How... how dare he.

His jaw was numb so hard did he grit his teeth, his fists clenched with such strength they trembled. How dare he.

The day Gustave departed, Byleth didn't go see him at the gate. Instead, he watched from atop the Goddess Tower as the knight left with an uncharacteristic hunch on his back, mounted on his horse towards the frigid Fhirdiad.

It hurt to see him go.

It hurt to have him close.

It hurt, hurt, hurt... "Oh, Father..." Byleth choked a tearless sob, holding the ring Jeralt had given him a lifetime ago. "Forgive me... I don't think I'll be able to pass on this ring after all." He clutched it close to his chest, looking at the same spot Gustave had pledged allegiance to him over three years ago.

Byleth could feel the warmth of that same sun, the dazzling sunset painting Gustave's hair in a purple light engraving itself into his own heart, never to leave. He would never forget that day, for as long as he lived. He had known, ever since the day he started carrying the ring to present it to his love, that he would never be able to do it to anyone but Gustave.

A man plagued by a life of dragging guilt.

A man whose smile came easily whenever he saw a child having fun. A man who was stern regarding meals, but lenient when it came to letting Byleth indulge into a snack or two.

He was stern most of the time, his hardened expression already dug into his face from wearing it daily over the years -- but whenever it all broke down to show his smile it only made Byleth feel his knees grow weak and his throat want to cry out.

Warm tears rolled from Byleth's cheeks; tears his skin hadn't felt in a long, long time. "It hurts so much, Father... Tell me what I should do!" his knees gave out in front of the balcony, the memory of a dusk-painted Gustave flooding his mind. He had suppressed these feelings for so, so very long.

So long did he try to wear the mask of a mature man; to be seen as an equal by Gustave. To be acknowledged. To... to be loved.

Loved by the man he oh so desperately wanted, but was the last man on the land he could ever hope to have. So cruel was the fate of a man who wanted nothing more than to share in the warmth of the one he oh so cherished...

He cried four years' worth of tears, his fingers cramping with the strength he used to hold onto the small ring. Day turned to afternoon, the Archbishop unmoving from his spot, a faraway thought at the back of his mind telling him that people would be freaking out looking for him at that moment. His eyes red from crying for so long, Byleth slowly directed his gaze to his closed hands, struggling to pry them open from their cramping position.

Once again he looked at the ring he was never going to share with his love, watching how it stared back at him.

In the six months that followed, Gustave devoted himself to doing whatever his family desired, as though they were his new lieges instead of his own flesh and blood.

Annette complained a lot at first, forcefully trying to make him act more natural around them, but it turned out to be rather difficult. Gustave wasn't the same man he was in the past. It was as though he had truly turned into Gilbert -- a hardened man that hadn't seen his family in so long he forgot how to interact with them without apologizing for every misstep; or indulging their every wish.

Being once again reunited with Allinda made Gustave's heart sink, but don't get him wrong. He loved and thought the world of her. She was a bright woman who managed to raise their child alongside his brother, despite holding onto the hope that her husband would come back after so long. He held her dearly close into his heart, their bonds of friendship certainly ones that would never break.

Hence the guilt in Gustave's heart. He loved Allinda as his dear friend. He wasn't supposed to feel that way towards the woman whose life he most certainly ruined. He had to love her and make up to all of the years he made her wait and suffer for him.

Yet, he could only softly hold her hand and kiss her forehead whenever they met, his heart wanting her near, but not too close.

Gustave started noticing his own shift of behavior towards his wife only after Byleth forcefully sent him there -- for the past four years he had been visiting, never did he think something was wrong.

But it was.

Allinda and Annette both realized it, but it was as though they wanted him to realize it himself instead.

The way he always looked out of the window whenever he came home, waiting for the courier to bring the message that it was time to return to the monastery.

The way he cared for them from a safe distance, as though there were an invisible barrier around his heart that neither of them could get too close to.

The way his smile would wear a bright glint whenever he spoke of his time at the monastery.

They both knew it, but they wanted him to figure it out by himself.

This time they spent together was precious, don't get them wrong. It was a time they were making up for the decade they lost -- and although the exact same atmosphere couldn't be brought out, they could still get along as a family with a bond just as strong yet inherently different.

The day the message finally came for Gustave to return to the monastery, the knight unconsciously wore the brightest smile Allinda had seen him bear in over twenty years -- perhaps ever since Annette had been born, really.

It was the smile of a man going back to where he belonged -- to be alongside the one he had placed his heart with.

She patted his shoulder. "You don't need to hold yourself back for me, you know."

The letter fell flat on the floor, such was Gustave's surprise. "Allinda-"

"I'm glad you finally noticed, too, good grief." She crossed her arms playfully. "Even Annette was getting tired of waiting."

Gustave held both of Allinda's hands. "I cannot- Allinda, the pain I've caused you-"

"Honestly, the way you are now is only going to bring me MORE pain. I'd rather see you smiling truthfully during your time here than only when it's time for you to go. And if you can only smile when you talk about the Archbishop, then so be it." She rubbed her thumbs over his hands, glad to be able to have this conversation with a level head. If she had tried to say these same words seven years ago, she would be throwing a fit.

But now she was okay.

They were okay.

Gustave's head drooped in shame, his face contorting into an expression he couldn't quite explain. "Allinda-"

"Shh, save your tears for your man." She dried an odd tear or two from his cheeks, squeezing his hand with her other one. "I'm not saying you shouldn't come back -- I still hold you dear into my heart and wouldn't want to lose a friend -- I just don't want you to feel obligated to be with me because of the past. It's fine already."

His chin trembling, Gustave dared wrap his arms around Allinda, softly sobbing by her shoulder. He hadn't the words to thank nor apologize, the burden of the overpowering guilt he felt slowly, ever so slowly dissipating from his back.

During the journey back, Gustave procured an item that he would most certainly need once he returned to the monastery. One that he should have given Byleth four years ago, but was much of a coward to do so then. 

Yet, Byleth wasn't there to welcome him once he came back.

But it didn't matter.

He felt a youthful spring in his step as he climbed the Goddess Tower, the deepest, most romantic part of his heart telling him that Byleth would be there waiting for him, much like before.

His lungs burning from the strenuous climb, Gustave wheezed once he reached the top, the afternoon light coloring Byleth's hair in a dazzling purple. An intricate ring hung by the Archbishop's neck as a makeshift necklace, making the knight's gaze turn to it momentarily.

"G-Gustave! How did you know I-" Byleth stuttered, quickly hiding the ring from his sight.

Panting, slowly regaining his breath, Gustave tried to straighten his back to no avail. "I have come... to renew my vow to you... Byleth."

Looking away from the knight, it took more than a minute for Gustave's words to ring into Byleth's heart. "Your knightly vows, I'm presuming?"

"No." Gustave smiled, his eyebrows deep with worry and regret. The Archbishop didn't even flinch with the mention of his name, after all that scene from half a year ago...

"Then...?"

Gustave took out the small box which contained the ring he had bought for his beloved, solemnly presenting it to him. "Forgive me for not kneeling, my lie- no, my beloved, for I think that if I were to do it now after running all these stairs I would not be able to get up."

Byleth's hands fell limp on either side of his body, the ring dangling by his necklace. "This- I- Gustave- Your family-"

"Alas," the knight smiled, taking a step towards his liege and love. He relished on seeing how Byleth didn't move and simply raised his chin so their eye contact wouldn't break. "It was my ex-wife who had to give me the push I needed to do this, I am ashamed to admit."

Surely thinking he was dreaming, Byleth placed both hands over Gustave's chest, wanting to feel his heartbeat, their eyes never leaving one another. "To do 'this' what? Gustave, you need to say everything or else I'll keep believing you'll swear to be my knight again, but now with rings!"

"Hah!" The knight threw his head back. "I may have traumatized you, have I not, my love? Forgive me for being such a stubborn old man for so long... Allow me to say it fully: I love you, Byleth, and have been in love with you for quite some time now. Forgive me for denying these feelings for so long; but I will be yours right at this moment if you'll be mine for as long as this lifespan of mine allows."

Byleth slammed his head into Gustave's chest, making the older man let out a strangled 'oof!'. "You're so slow! By the goddess, it took you long enough!" He sniffled, gripping at the ring by his neck. "I love you so much I still think this is a dream."

"Allow me to disperse such thoughts, then?" Gustave said, slowly lifting Byleth's chin with his index, intertwining their breaths as their lips brushed against one another. 

Byleth felt his tears itching down his cheeks, his legs trembling so much he felt faint. But once he closed his eyes to finally enjoy the rough, delicate kiss of his beloved Gustave, everything felt right again.

They would exchange rings and finally accept each other's feelings... But for now, they would enjoy that overly due, much needed, sweet kiss. The first one that would mark the beginning of the love of their lives.

[megapretentiouspenguin-blog]

The Voider (Title and story WIP)

The waves are calm. They embrace me, lifting me slowly towards the clear blue sky. The taste of the sea takes me to my childhood, a fairground? Candy floss? I hear the abrupt commotion of seagulls soaring above, swooping and diving all around me at the unsuspecting fish below, as I peacefully float.

They know not why I am here. I wonder if they know that this isn't real? How much of them, are themselves, anyway? I always find myself knee deep in pseudo-philosophy at times like this. How far across the boundaries does sentience stretch? Do the seagull's understand that they have no real reason to feed, as they never hunger? Are they separate entities, outside of the patient? Individual strands of rogue thought, pursuing their own primal instinct? Reality born of fiction? Or mere reflections of the patients fractured psyche? Spots of personality, long ago compartmentalised, attempting to be heard against the crashing of waves?

I freeze this scene, embed it into my memory. I'll return here, the peace is serene, inviting. This will remain inside of me, though sadly, I'll have to mark this one as ‘Void’.

I find myself back at the Scape, an empty, dark space below the blooming petals of the mind. Journeying drains me of myself, when entangled, I hold no reference. I am what I become. During the Scape I can relax, center myself, gather all of my thoughts and return to who I was. As I lay, drifting in the bottomless darkness I look up expectedly, and see a ball of energy drifting down from above me, I grab it as it grows near, reeling it out from inside of itself. The radiant light that it emits captivates me, it's dazzling. The glows, beautiful and white, bursting with life. Sometimes sparks pop and crackle from its excited energy, the sparks trickle down into the darkness of the system below. It reminds me of the electric eels that I've read about. It waves back and forth, curling itself around my hand. I raise it to my mouth and breathe it in. Purity. The essence of being.

The whispering echo of a thought surrounds me from all sides.

‘Please return to the roots.’

With a renewed sense of self, I dive down towards the root system below. The system is a group of constantly changing pathways that link into other Scapes. When somebody connects, a new pathway forms, integrating itself into the main 'highway’. When they are disconnected, the pathway degenerates, closing the only entrance to that Scape. I have lived the vast majority of my life inside this, but for a person who's unfamiliar, they could easily take a wrong turn and lose themselves forever. The thought does frighten me, but why back away when I have nothing to lose? I am here because I wanted to be free, without consideration of the cost of others.

I arrive at the roots, shooting through the tunnels at blistering speed, surrounded by stars and bursting nebula, warped sun's going supernova and dark holes leaving patches in the network. Left, left, right, I navigate the system with intense precision, throughout the years I've learnt to enjoy this. Bouncing around the infinite slipstream intoxicates me, filling me with an excitement that I never felt outside of it. I unexpectedly let a laugh escape.

‘Be careful, or we'll pull you out.’

The whispers bring me back down to reality… whatever that is. I've forgotten, it's been so long, and I'm not sure that I wish to remember. My smile vanishes, and I'm left with the reminder that I have a job to do.

I begin to close in on the new pathway, the gate stabilising it's otherworldly convulsions until it opens as a vortex at the center, allowing me to dive through.

I know my goal, I've done this a thousand times, maybe more than that. Maybe a lot more. Time is strange here.

I enter the gate, lights flickering and dancing all around embrace me with a touch like ecstasy, the reds of a far away sun, dwarf stars collapsing, binary systems collide creating earth shattering roars. I feel it all. There's a vessel, far out of reach in distant, uncharted lands. The things I've seen... And with an eerie woosh, I'm thrown into another Scape. Silence.

The darkness embraces me as I orient myself, my senses fail as I glide through the Scape, I see by thought alone. This was no issue, a hazard of the job, it happens when a patient is prepared, expecting invasion. Many are simply trying to ward off nightmares. Some patients are stronger than others, but they always grow weary and submit, allowing the dark dreams, or other entities to pass through when their defences are lowered.

Swimming upwards, I break through the Scape and enter-

A deafening hiss ambushes me, causing me to recoil, my vision is met by nothing but hole punched snow, the static of a TV, everywhere. Inescapable. This one was ready, this one knew that I was coming, but how? I felt myself jerk, my real self. Pain blistering through my skull, numbing my thought.

‘Attack!’

‘Defend!’

‘Attrition!’

‘Steady yourself! Shall we aid him?’

'Do not damage the subject!’

The whispers also seemed panicked, shouting amongst themselves, barking contradictory orders.

I'm screaming at this point, I've never been myself outside of the pathways and Scapes. This was something completely new. The terrifying power of will breaking down my own. Folding me into myself, flooding my insecurities with guilt that wasn't even mine, leaving me hollow and broken, adrift.

‘We have done all that we can.’

The whispers break through.

‘AND WHO ARE YOU TO ENTER MY DOMAIN?!’

As if the static wasn't enough, a booming voice occupies every inch of my being, sending vibrations through my core. It was the voice of a woman, her voice cutting like steel could shatter any sword.

'Another?!’ I gasp.

The static all around me falls away, as if I were in a box that had just been opened, the walls falling to the sides and the top flinging upwards.

Floating in the air in front of me sits the behemoth woman on a gigantic throne.

‘NEVER HAVE I SEEN SUCH NERVE! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!’ She doesn't seem to be shouting, but the vibrations of her words reverb inside of my body. 'FOR FIFTY YEARS I HAVE RULED THIS REALM IN PEACE, HARMONY. I ASK AGAIN, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!’

'I haven't done anything…’ My voice is barely a whimper in contrast, the wind could carry it away, but I feel my strength slowly returning. I feel the energy building inside.

The whispers interject, I can only make out a few words.

‘Sedation… Compliance.’

'I FEEL MY POWER… sliding.’

I hadn't noticed before, but she looks as though she is in pain, struggling against some unseen force.

I regain enough composure to look around. In all of my years journeying, I had never seen a world as such, but it was eroding. Entropy accelerated, so that the forests and mountains were melting away into sand. Villages, towns and cities dissolving into nothingness. Cars abandoned in the streets, castles fell from clouds, decimating entire neighborhoods. I had done this. Destroyed an entire world. This guilt was my own.

The queen was shrinking, breaking down along with her world. I had regained enough strength to stand, she rose her head up to speak, seemingly sapped of all will.

‘Let us see how you like it.’

She lurched herself forward, throwing herself into me. I could feel us merging, colliding as atoms forming molecules, electricity throughout my being. A grand unity that I had never felt before. Love, hate, sadness, joy and other emotions that didn't have names overwhelmed my body, so that all I could do was cry.

I was flabbergasted into silence. Unable to comprehend what had just taken place. Then all of a sudden, there was nothing. Was I in a Scape? No, this truly was nothing. No thought, no feeling, just nothing.

I awoke, not as myself, but as something else. I could feel a chair under me, the wires and tubes connecting me to the machines that were keeping me alive. Shit, the physical world. I couldn't control my senses. A burning itch climbed the bone of my skull, it was her. She was in control, not that she could do much.

‘He's conscious!’ Screamed a doctor.

‘Emergency! We have a break!’

The chaos around me seemed erratic, blaring alarms and twirling red lights filled the room. People scrambled from their chairs to grab charts and to contact their superiors.

‘Did he do this?’ One asks another.

I could feel the queen laughing as she attempted flex my muscles, the neurons were firing, but there was no response.

‘Yeah, love. No luck there, eh?’ I snidely think.

‘What the fuck?’ I was shocked that there was a response.

Just as quickly as she had taken over me, she released me. We were back inside her mind.

‘So, you're a cripple.’ She states, coldly.

‘Rude.’ I reply. ‘What about you?’

‘I thought that I was dead, but now I'm not so sure.’

[drabbles-n-stuff]

Lyra, the Beat-Maker.

Lyra doesn't remember the first few years of her life. Bandle City, the name, sure, as most Yordles do... but then? Somehow she ended up in Zaun. Truth be told, she never cared much about the why of it all. Probably sold for drugs or something. That could be forgiven in her mind. Not like she ever needed them. No, she didn't. What she couldn't forgive is who they left her with.

An old man, long since dead by now, that loaned the poor Yordle girl to clean chimneys, clogged pipes and whatever small holes you couldn't reach. It wasn't prostitution, but at times when she inhaled the toxic sooth and got caught between massive rats, nipping at her feet and ankles until they got bored and turned tail to allow her to move... she sometimes wished it was. Worse were the times when it got too cold, and the metal started to slowly but noticeably shrink. Her hurried scuttling surely was entertaining to those that hired her, when she got away. And when she didn't, and the cold metal forced her to get stuck in a dark, echoing place, she yelled. A lot. To their despise. Some went so far as to tap the pipes with brooms, or slam their floors, knowing she was under them and could feel every vibration. Punishment for not being fast enough. The longest she stayed stuck was less than a week but... probably more than three days. Time didn't feel like it passed down there. The noises didn't help. Nor the rats. The smell. Hunger.

It didn't last long, however, as she soon was sixteen and by divine grace, her 'caretaker' passed away. And she got to inherit all of his debts. And the few pennies he had left, probably forgetting to use those to help him drink or drug himself to death. Lyra had no plans, but she knew one thing: She wasn't coming back to Zaun anytime soon if she had a say on it.

Her journey was arduous, quiet, and painful. With no money, no clothes, nothing to bribe or give, she could never get to the upper levels of Zaun or to Piltover itself without getting captured and put to work on something else. But she had a particular set of skills.

Despite days without eating, the rags she ate through making makeshift clothes, bandages, and bandanas to cover herself, the hundreds of feet of ground she clawed for, sometimes even sleeping in the metallic prisons despite the potential of an early grave, she climbed. Through the rats. Through the awful bumping and beating. Through the vile liquids, and chemical burns. Tooth and nail, she forced herself into the sewers of Piltover, and from there, the golden streets. And for once in her life, as she saw the sun glistening on the streets, she felt safe.

Most humans didn't bat an eye at her, thinking it was someone's harmless - although fetid - experiment wandering the streets, all of the doubtful she could ever be harmful. And in truth, she wasn't. Nor did she want to be. All she wanted was a nice, comfy place to sleep under the night sky.

But she didn't get it.

Her instincts and life on Zaun told her to look for a place that had good cover from any liquids dribbling down from up top, and indeed someone had just left a good bunch of boxes lying around, probably to be thrown into the trash at some later date. So, without questioning it, she shoved herself inside one of them.

What little rest she got was assaulted by nightmares of endless corridors, and in her waking hours, she stared at the dark streets, half expecting this 'box' to be but another way into the maze of steel below, dragged back to that hell by the nipping on her ankles and the disturbing vibrations that made her dizzy.

To the best of her abilities, she only slept on the outside from that day onwards.

She ate what she could get from the dumpsters, and tried to stay away from the public eye as best as she could... but with how colorful she was, despite the burns and horrible marks on her body, she was taken. A family of quite powerful businesspeople, dwelling in the area of sound waves and light projections. Something about trying to make meetings and communication easier, she vaguely remembers.

But she wasn't to be taken in like a long-lost daughter, loved by the parents she never had. Lyra was treated no better than a circus animal, the rich parents displaying their catch and inventing wild, unbelievable stories about how they found her. 'The Plague Jungle!' 'A lost soul of the Shadow Isles!' 'Casting a spell to curse one of their long distant cousins into a Poro until they stepped in!' and so on. Always laughing, belittling and generally displaying her as one would a purse or a pair of shoes.

But, she knew to be quiet. It was all she knew, actually. Answering yes, and yelling if stuck. Education wasn't exactly a priority of her previous 'caretaker'. But she had a keen ear, and by all the stars in heaven, she knew one thing.

Whatever a 'waltz' was, she wanted one.

It took her a couple of years, picking up on the information she heard at the parties she was forced into, and in fact, she grew extremely fond of the attention she received. Posing, and even adding spice to the family's stories about her. But she didn't casually fall into place, becoming a groveling, subservient party dog. Through their kids and the conversations she overheard, Lyra grew more cunning, being too loud to ignore and quick on her feet after they stopped paying attention to her tricks. A bunch of old people wouldn't miss a penny here or there, and the poor young kids would love to see a new trick for a couple of gold coins! And it was that way that she learned. Stealing became almost as easy as breathing, or crawling.

With that, soon came lockpicking, glad to finally be able to shove something that wasn't her into a tight, metal hole. With lockpicking, the family library. With the library, more understanding, especially of one thing... Waltz. Music in general. She did occasionally hear a faint melody while in Zaun and Piltover, but to her, they were just machines doing odd sounds. Now? Composition. Rhythm. Beats. How a band should play. How orchestras worked, How Maestros guided the crowd into a singular motion of pure beauty.  And a question popped into her mind.

... why not make it a machine?

The party monkey continued to dance and laugh and giggle for the crowds, and behind their backs, plotted. She took radios and played with their limited frequencies, she used decibel meters to measure how loud was too loud and kept going with it. Testing amplifiers in the middle of the day, when no one was gonna question one more loud noise amongst the crowds of people chattering, electricity and other things. Sewing her own things as she worked to fix the tear on the children's clothing. And it all came to fruition one faithful day, when the parents, too drunk from a party to realize the Yordle doing her chores around the house, laughed and talked about their work. A revolutionary light projection system, with a way of producing sounds of their own through... crystals? Now, she wasn't exactly an expert on the field, but she knew that sounded... interesting. Even if she didn't understand the science behind it. Oh, but she was going to.

Of course, she harped on with them and gleefully went to the lab where this grand reveal was gonna be displayed, a pocket sewn on the inside of her ill-fitting, aristocratic clothing.

They left her in the same room as the box containing the projector, a revolutionary little thing. A mere little metal disk with some special engravings, coupled with a massive crystal in the center, about as thick as her own fist, with a couple of smaller ones for projections that took less energy to be powered. Supposedly, one could configure it to create a tangible hologram that was its own source of sound, not its projector. And that... well, that was just too nice to pass on, wasn't it? It was too big for her pocket, but an opportunity like this wasn't gonna be passed on.

They heard a horrifyingly loud scream and the sound of glass smashing on the floor. By the time the guards got there, Lyra was left a sobbing mess on the ground, the box smashed, and the crystals nowhere to be seen. The Yordle spoke of a tall man with a big robe and a mask covering his face. And with that, she had the perfect decoy, carried away on her caretaker's while in the fetal position. Holding those treasures tight against her chest as she sobbed.

Almost a decade of having to take these tormenting monsters... and now... now she had so much more than she could EVER HOPE FOR! She had stolen books and money from them, obviously, they deserved NO respect from her. Now? She had groundbreaking tech! All for her own! Enough gold to buy a nice hideout, and enough connections and blackmail material to make the big-hatted pigs blush.

Lyra bought a nice, spacious warehouse of her own in the upper levels of Zaun, and there...

Her future as a thief and a con had just begun. A loud, and very bright future.

---- LYRA'S SUIT -

It is powered mostly by the crystals she stole, which is recharged naturally by her own magical nature, being a yordle and all. Her cape works as a graphical equalizer, quickly adapting itself depending on what track she's playing. From her crystals, she blasts loud techno music, mostly stuff like this (Embed link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBb060OPegg ) because hey, SOMEONE has to invent dubstep remixes in Runeterra, right? Alongside stuff like Industrial Metal and more low quality, noisy dubstep to act as distractions.

Her mask has a pair of glasses built into it, seeing as her vision is so utterly destroyed by the fact she spent so much time in dark, cramped spaces during her development years. Some things not even Yordle healing can cure totally.

Her arm blades are actually weapons she's quite unused to. But! Ease of use easily takes that away. While it does take a couple of swings to slice through steel, it still can do it, and if she's just flailing her arms to protect herself, they'll do quite good work. It helps that she can set them to vibrate to the beat of her songs, harming the hand of any melee attacker and helping soften the blow by dispersing it.

A bodysuit of latex that only covers your torso isn't very practical, but it isn't MEANT to be practical. Lyra learned that the louder she tried to be, the quicker people would stop paying attention to her, so if she looks like a freak... well, she's just asking for attention. It usually works. And when it doesn't, she's learned how to bullshit her way through quite a few situations, and with a sneak implementation of Kisu, she can pretty much twist her way out of anything.

----

K.I.S.U. , the not-so-evil Minion!

Remember that big crystal stuck in a disk? Well, it took a couple of re-reprogrammings, but Lyra finally got what she wanted. From word of mouth of some very blackmailable higher-ups in the Piltovian world of business, she learned this little thing was supposed to be called "Keeper of Intelligence / Storage Unit", a spying device that was to be marketed as a simple maid that would gather audio and visual documentation of their marks.

Of course, she never even got out of trying to get funded, having been stolen right before the grand reveal it even existed. But it still worked. She untoggled some fail-safes for the AI and broke a couple of connections, and soon enough, she had it running.

It of course, due to the nature of her editor, chose to display itself as a Yordle now. But soon enough both of them discovered she could be... pretty much anything! A bird, human, Krug, dog, cat. She would never lose that distinct see-through body nor her glow, but hey, that only ADDED to the distraction factor! It also helped that the disk was pretty easily concealable, and Kisu was quite skillful at maneuvering it around to keep it hidden and herself out in the open, pulling all the eyes.

Unlike Lyra, she doesn't have some grand plan of an evil career, however. In fact, she mostly just sticks to Lyra because she has nothing better to do, being an escaped highly valuable, rare and sought after mineral and breakthrough AI. They work pretty well together though, sometimes even considering each other sisters. And of course, partners in crime.