#and my memory of the joy in becoming a well rounded person stays with me (as long as i don't get dementia)

[studentbyday]

y'know there are some things i think i've gotten over, but in (rather frequent) moments of insecurity, i realize i'm so not over them. the bite of their memory still frustrates me and makes me bitter and somehow, despite me having had *no control* over the outcome, makes me feel guilty and inadequate.

it's really stupid.

i'm hoping that writing this down will help me realize how ridiculous this is and that the fact that i did not get what i want and felt i deserved does not mean that i need to break myself even further to prove my worth.

guilt and feelings of inadequacy (and loneliness and dread and uncertainty/anxiety and anger and any other feeling that leaves me bitter) or a desire to prove myself worthy to others (which is smth i can't control) should not be my main motivator for getting ahead. my motivation should come from a place of gratitude for having the opportunity to do so. do it for the joy of expanding my brain, for the joy of a job well done, for the hope that doing something in line with my goals rather than nothing (since i clearly can't do everything) will change how i think and feel about myself for the better (no more depressive episodes! state changes!!!)

[lordprettyflackotara]

blue || masky

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. tw: this is really depressing angsty smut / this is the au/theorywhere masky isn’t a split personality but instead an alter ego tim created to cope with his new homicidal tendencies as a proxy

Masky stared at the outside of your house, the yellow illumination from your bedroom window signaling to him you were awake. As usual, you were always a night owl.

It had been four months since he had mysteriously disappeared. Tim Wright along with Brian Thomas both vanished into thin air exactly four months ago. Neither of the two had been seen since, the trail detectives followed leading to a dead end. Since then Masky couldn’t bring himself to recall the horrors he had been through. His brain had been fried to practical mush, his humanity and grasp of reality slipping away more and more each day. But even through it all, he couldn’t forget you. You were his first love, his one true love in this lifetime. Despite The Operator’s attempts to make him forget you and protest to him seeing you, Masky still made it to your back door.

He had been stalking you from a far in his spare time, reading your diary and making sure you were taken care of. He knew you kept a spare key in the plant by your back door, hoping he’d come to you. He dug in the shallow dirt, locating the key. He’d come back for you, one last time.

Masky had tried to live his life in black and white since becoming a proxy, but it still had the faintest tint of blue everytime he thought of you. He was only human after all. He unlocked your back door, slipping inside of your quiet house with ease. Your cat, Bee, rubbed against his leg, purring in delight. The white cat adored him, her satisfaction ensuing from his mere presence. Masky petted her gently, before chuckling as she brushed her long tail against his gloved hand. “Where’s my princess Bee? Take me to her,” He whispered. Sure, Masky could’ve made an educated guess, your television upstairs still playing whatever show you were binge watching. You usually did that, fall asleep while staying up late. Masky usually would tuck you in afterwards, making sure the ac was lowered and the tv was turned off. He wondered if he’d be able to do the same now, Bee’s collar jingling as she climbed upstairs.

Masky followed behind her, taking a deep breath as she pranced into your room. “Hi Bebe, come here,” You greeted. Masky took this as his cue to round the corner, taking off his mask. Your eyes widened, your body unable to move fast enough to scramble to get out of bed. You ran to your lover, throwing your arms around him in pure bliss. You soaked in his forest like scent, holding him close to you. “Tim, you’re back,” You cried, tears of joy forming in your eyes. Masky reluctantly hugged you back, patting your hair with one hand while the other held you close. “Hey there princess,” Masky greeted, the sweet nostalgic nick name sounding like pure honey. You nuzzled your face into his chest, afraid to loosen your grip. “I knew you’d come back to me,” You say. You weren’t able to hide the smile that danced across your lips. You looked up, your eyes brighter than Masky had seen them in months. “I’m not here to stay, i’m here to say goodbye,” He informed you. Your smile fell, as did your face. Your eyebrows furrowed, causing you to take a step back. “Goodbye? What happened to you? Are you out of your mind?” You asked, your voice cracking.

Masky took your hand guiding you over to the bed. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and began spilling his guts. He told you everything he could remember, most of his memory unreliable and spotty. He told you about Brian becoming Hoodie, The Operator, what his life been like the past four months. He watched your face shift from disbelief to pure horror. Tears had pricked in the corners of your eyes, your big eyes welling up uncontrollably. You tried to keep the hysterics inside, keeping a straight face as Masky told you everything. At first you hoped he was joking, that this was some sort of sick joke he was playing on you. The sorrow that laced each word told you that he was far from joking. His face had hardened drastically upon closer inspection, faint scars revealed through the illumination of your television on his neck. As he finished you both sat in silence, Bee rubbing against his leg. "Oh Tim...." You whispered. You threw your arms around him, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. Masky returned your hug, flashes of the gruesome murders he had committed flashing though his mind. "Tim died a long time ago princess, i'm what remains. My name is Masky," He whispered back. Unlike Hoodie who had developed a split personality, Tim created an alter homicidal ego to deflect the things he had done onto.

Timothy Wright died on the basement floor somewhere in the mansion, the ancient concrete bricks the last thing he had saw. The last thought he had though? Was of you. Your sweet smile, your laughter. He held you for a moment, listening to you softly cry into his jacket. He wondered if he should have even came. Maybe you would've been better off wondering what happened to him for the rest of your life. The ignorance would have been bliss. You pulled away slowly, your glassy eyes meeting his. "And there's no way out?" You asked softly. Masky shook his head, cupping your face with his hand. "I love you princess. I always have," He confessed. Your eyes flickered back and forth, searching for the Tim you once knew. The life had drained from Masky's face, all that remained being a moving body lacking a soul. You brought your lips to his, the salty tears trailing down your cheeks. "This is the last time i'm seeing you right?" You breathed, your lips not wanting to stray from his. Masky glanced down at your plump lips, before gazing into your doe eyes. "That's right," He murmured. You tilted your head to the side, licking your lips' "Give me something to remember you, something that I can miss the rest of my life," You pleaded.

The dark emotions placed a weight on your chest, the kind that one only feels when starting the grieving process. You weren't ready to grieve with the fact your lover was gone, even if he sat before you. Masky brought his lips back to yours, roughly kissing you. He guided you to lay back onto the mattress, his touch familiar but different. He was a bit rougher and more assertive. And more.... desperate? He shrugged his jacket off, tossing it aside. You wrapped your legs around his waist to bring him closer, before sliding your tongue on his bottom lip. He granted you access, the two of you quickly becoming intertwined underneath the comforter. The netflix show was forgotten, Masky shoving off his gloves. He wiped away your tears with his thumbs, before pulling at the hem of your oversized night shirt. He looked down, noticing it was an old Green Day shirt of his. A pang of hurt shot at his heart, the proxy shaking his head as he tossed it on your bedroom floor. He placed kisses on your neck, trailing down to your breast. You bucked your hips upwards, desperate to feel him closer. He kissed your breast, your nipples hardening from the cool night air.

You tried to focus on how good Masky made you feel, attempting to ward off the thoughts of sadness. He brought one of your nipples to his mouth, sucking harshly at the bud. You gasped at the sensation, his warm tongue swirling around the nipple. You grabbed a handful of his hair, groaning. "I fucking missed you," You groaned, his eager hands pulling down your pajama pants and panties in one swoop. He used his index and middle finger to toy with your other nipple, causing your back to arch off of the bed. He ran two fingers up your drenched slick, relishing in the feeling of your wet folds. The ones he had dreamt of feeling one more time. "I missed you too princess," He panted, releasing your nipple with a bop. You whimpered as he brought his fingers to your entrance, your walls clenching around him. "You've been a good girl, saving yourself for me?" Masky asked, his voice hoarse. You nodded frantically, asking to move your hips to make him go deeper. "I knew you'd come back for me. I haven't even touched myself," You confessed, your face flushing red. He shoved his fingers in deeper, curling them upwards. "That's my girl, so loyal and good for me," Masky huffed. Your gummy walls clung to his digits, his fingers curling upwards and going faster and faster.

You couldn't process the man fingering you wasn't the man you once knew. That the one with his fingers buried in your pussy wasn't the same one who used to play with your hair until you fell asleep. Your brain couldn't accept that he was gone and replaced with a homicidal carbon copy. You tried to focus on the pleasure, forcing yourself to pretend this was just another night. That Tim, the man you knew, was coming back and this wouldn't be the last time you saw what was left of him. You whined as his fingers abused your g spot, curses falling off of your lips involuntarily. Masky enjoyed the sight of ruining you, your face scrunched up in pleasure that only he could provide you. Maybe he was incredibly selfish, allowing his possessiveness result in you only able to love him and no one else. He felt your walls squeeze him tighter, your first orgasm on the rise. "Taking my fingers so well princess, why dont you go ahead and cum for me?" Masky asked. You wanted to moan Tim's name, tears flooding your waterline once you realized you couldn't. Masky couldn't fall off of your tongue, that couldn't be the way you remembered the man you were in love with. You swallowed as you cried out, your vision temporarily white as you released on his fingers.

Masky slowly pulled them out of you, sucking your juices off of his fingers. "I've missed the way you taste," He breathed, fiddling with his jeans. Through the dim lighting of the television you could make out scars all over his body, from his shoulders, hands, to chest. His undershirt covered most of his chest, but you could still see the scars peeking out over the material. He tapped the head of his cock against your folds, causing you to squirm. "So cute and desperate," Masky mumbled, pushing himself inside of you. The stretch was sudden and intense, having not touched yourself since he left. Masky grabbed your legs, bringing them over his shoulders as he bottomed out inside of you. He was so impossibly deep, pressing his forehead against yours as his cock brushed against your g spot. "This is how I wanna remember you," You whispered. Masky's chocolate eyes met yours, a chuckle escaping his throat. "With my cock buried inside of you?" He asked. You nodded, meeting his assertive gaze. "The way you make love to me makes me feel infinite and I want to remember that for the rest of my time on this Earth," You said breathlessly. Masky didn't take your confession lightly, his heart aching at the notion of leaving you. He grabbed your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as he began to move his hips. You tilted your head back, moaning as he fucked you.

There was something so desperate about his movements, as if they were made so deliberately. As if he were trying to make them as pleasurable as possible to give you something to remember him by. As if your entire relationship wasn't enough. It suddenly felt like a blur of the past, the savory memories you had not enough. Masky began to pick up the pace, fucking you with as much passion as he could muster. “You feel so fuckin tight, shit,” Masky groaned, abusing your cunt as he pleased. You dug your nails into his back, trying to hang on as he fucked you mercilessly. It felt like it wasn’t enough, your body hooked on the feeling he was providing you. All thoughts of grief had been pushed aside, your legs trembling as he fucked you into the mattress. “Fucking shit, Tim-” You cried out. The proxy wanted to correct you, to remind you that version of him was long gone. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it, instead placing his hand over your mouth to silence you. The breathing restriction only made you milk his cock harder, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you came. Masky wasn’t far behind you, his hips stuttering as he came inside of you.

You were both intertwined panting messes, Masky slowly pulling himself off of you. He began to redress himself, your small hand grabbing his arm. “Dont leave, not yet,” You whined. Masky looked down at you, cum dripping out of your cunt and face flushed. Yet your eyes were still centered on him, as if he were the center of your universe. “You know I can’t stay,” Masky whispered. You tried to ignore the pain in your chest, swallowing. “I know that. Just pretend to stay, just until I fall asleep,” You pleaded. Masky finished pulling up his pants, crawling back into bed beside you. You nuzzled up against his chest, soaking in his warmth. He began to stroke your hair, trying to do it the way he used to. You appreciated the effort, but you felt the difference. His touch was much rougher now, unintentionally. A single tear slid down your face as he wrapped you in his arms.

“It’s easier this way, pretending you’ll be here when I wake up.”

“I know.”

“I love you, I always will.”

“I love you too princess, I’ll never forget you.”

[reriart]

In Joy And Sorrow - Chapter Two: The Dinner

Plot: Returning to Whitestone doesn't seem so bad, thanks to Kiki. However, something inside seems out of place.

Tags (for whole fic, not only related to this chapter!): AFAB!Reader, first kiss, lovemaking, PiV, dancing Percy, non-canonical events, a lil bit of angst and slowburn, Kiki is reader’s best friend, depression.

(Please remember that English is not my native language - if you find mistakes, please send me a private message). Read it on AO3 too! Also, first chapter on Tumblr here. (Dividers by cafekitsune)

As predicted by the elf (who had taken her human form in the meantime), the castle was already crammed with people, many who had come from out of town and all glammed up for the event. In comparison, you were wearing the battered and even rather smelly armor. You were so embarrassed to be seen like that. Not that the others were any better tanned: Grog was practically naked, Scanlan would soon become one, and Vax looked like a bum. Typical Vox Machina style.

The only difference was in their smiles. For you, staying there was a nightmare. Beyond the endless annoying chattering in the background, the whole castle was screaming in agony. It was so overwhelming that you were out of breath. 

However, it was important to keep your secret safe. Kiki winked at you and created a small white flower around your arm, like a bracelet, and two other small ones around your neck, mimicking a necklace. 

Suddenly, the pain in your chest faded. “Did you enchanted them? Everything seems much less... loud.”

“Consider it an experiment. You deserve some quiet,” she said. “Especially now.”

“Now?”

The girl pointed to someone with her head, before turning on her heels and walking away whistling, making her copper-red hair sway. 

That someone turned out to be Percival. 

Holy shit.

“Hey, Percy! So, what a great job your sister Cassandra has been doing! By the way, where is she? She is in need of...”

The man's dark eyebrows arched, and for a split second, maybe due to a play of light, his complexion seemed less pale to you than usual. He was wearing a coat very similar to the one he wore daily, but with some gold embroidered details, including branches around the sleeves. His eyes immediately fell on the flowers around your body. 

“Hey-”

And, as if by magic, his sister, a little shorter than him but taller than you, appeared with impeccable timing.

“Cassandra! We were just talking about you!” you greeted her with a hug, trying to act like everyone else in the room and not like an unsociable person.

She smiled, adjusting her tight jacket. “Oh, I hope positively. My brother sometimes tends to be a little, you know, edgy.”

He tried to speak up, raising his hand to adjust his round glasses. “Actually, I don't...”

The woman's statement had caught your attention. “What do you mean?”

Cassandra's eyes lit up. In spite of the suffering related to the past, she was quite happy to talk about the fondest memories. A mocking smirk brightened her face.

“You must know that he was really awful. Not that he's better now! He was a real know-it-all as a kid, though!”

A laugh escaped you, and your eyes chained back to Percival's. They were so green. You wished you could have taken off his glasses, seen them more closely, but you just lost yourself in his gaze for a moment, before returning to reality and shifting your gaze to, well, anything but him.

Curiosity took hold of you. “And now ... what would you call him?"

Cassandra tapped her right index finger to her lips. “Mmmh. He's grown up. He's proud and a shithead, but he's got some good sides, too.”

Percival's eyebrow quivered. “Excuse me? ME? Shithead?”

The woman approached him and pressed a finger against his chest. “Oh yes, Percival Fredrickstein...”

Their comical bickering was interrupted by the limpid ringing of a few silver bells, waved in the crisp party air by what sounded like a waiter. 

“I kindly invite the ladies and gentlemen here to take a seat at the tables present in the next room. Dinner will soon be served.”

Your belly muttered a little. Kiki's flowers were working for real.

Lost among the many nobles, you walked toward the huge table, already familiar to you. Despite the inhibition of your senses, brushing against it caused you a vague sense of unease. Discomfort that deepened as Scanlan sat down next to you, accompanied by a guy significantly younger than him with caramel-colored skin and blue eyes. The two already seemed lost in their most vivid perversions (mental, for the moment). Between glances and a fleeting neck kiss, the bard already had his hands directed toward his dick-

“Oh gods.”

“Hmm? Would you like to join the party, my dear?” he asked, smirking as usual. “The more the merrier.”

“Huh, Scanlan,” you rolled your eyes. “I'm sorry, but I like tall men.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that the small barrel holds the good wine?” he whispered in your ear. “And I'm a whole wine shop...”

You were about to throw a boot at his head when the waiters began to serve the courses: plenty of meat, bread, wine, desserts. It had been a long time since you had had the opportunity to have such a filling meal. Better to take advantage of it. 

“I-I don't eat meat,” Keyleth murmured. “There are, ehhhm, vegetables?” whispered to Vex, beside her. The half-elf took a bite of a chicken leg. “I'm afraid not. I guess you'll have to settle for pudding.”

The druid puffed, crossing her arms. You laughed, noticing how Vex watched her sneakily, vaguely shielding himself with the chicken. As much as he was one of the strongest of the group, when it came to his (well known to all) crush, he suddenly became a dork.

Between that, Scanlan stretching out his hands in places where the sun surely shone very little (thankfully not on you), and Grog intent on flirting with a big woman as big as he was, you felt like you were home: your friends intent on doing what they did best, which was being dicks. On the one hand, though, you couldn't help but feel also ... lonely. Maybe you really wanted to join Scanlan's red-light festivities. Intrusive thoughts began to corrode you, until something pulled inside you, like a string.

[liv-andletdie]

So For Once in My Life (let me, let me, let me...)

Rating: General Audiences Category: F/M Pairing: Link/Zelda BotW Summary: She was his Princess. That was important. That was the most important thing. She… she was his Princess and she couldn’t be anything other than that. And no amount of wanting and yearning would ever change that. Written for the TP Zelink Truthers Secret Santa 2023. A Missing scene set before memory 15 "The Return of Calamity Ganon"

Read on Ao3 [x]

The weather was cold on Mount Lanayru. The cap caught in a perpetual storm of ice and snow more frigid than the furthest reaches of the Hebra Province. To journey up the mountain was difficult, but to stay at her peak was dangerous. Especially without the correct equipment. 

Link thought of this now, as he stood at the peak. Frozen flakes whipped through the air, stinging his cheeks, his nose, his hands. Any inch of exposed skin was subjected to ’Nayru’s Torment’. Only the wise were permitted a place upon the mountain, but only the foolhardy stayed there. 

But Zelda had been up here for hours. Standing waist deep in icy water, her head bowed low in silent and unending prayer. She had greeted the dawn that way, the two of them travelling through the night so that she may begin her worship on the clock’s final strike. (On her father’s insistence of course). Link had hoped that his Princess may have had the chance to actually celebrate her birth before being forced through yet another round of pointless devotionals. But no. Apparently suffering and heartache were preferred to joy. 

Couldn’t that man just give her one day to herself?

Link shook himself from his thoughts, focusing his eyes back on the mountain path they had taken to get here. He needed to remain calm and vigilant. Just because they were on holy ground did not mean that she was safe. And besides, who was he to question the wisdom of his king? 

Such thoughts like that… well they bordered on treason. A fact that Link found himself caring about less and less as the days drew on. The space in his heart for worry was quickly taken up with thoughts of Her. 

He spared a second to glance back at her, her back turned towards his. Her golden hair looked like silk as it draped across her shoulders. She looked so still, frozen solid, but even from this distance Link could tell that she was shivering. 

It was far too cold up here. 

He had tried to convince her to take it easy today, to be mindful of the weather and her health. To understand that she was more important than her prayers. But she was stubborn. She insisted on staying for as long as she could, running through multiple recitations and hymns. Doing everything she could to prove her devotion to Hylia and to her people. As if she had anything to prove. 

The sun climbed higher in the sky as he watched her, the light catching on the golden shackles around her wrists and throat. Her hands clasped together in front of her, arms shaking with the effort of holding them up for so long. If he tilted his head just so he knew that he would catch a glimpse of her face and see just how blue her lips had become. He would be able to watch as they formed the words to her prayers. 

O Merciful Nayru Mother of Wisdom Sister of Hylia, Farore, and Din Hear my Prayer And grant me the Wisdom I need

The same standard prayer said in Temples all across the country. Said by every kind of person, begging and demanding for every little thing. Said now by a Princess, a young woman, desperate to be heard. Just to have someone listen. 

Bile rose up in Link’s throat. It was unfair! It was so deeply unfair, and he felt like a child for thinking so. But it was cruel. She was standing here, giving everything to a faceless being who refused to speak back! The fire that burned within him was fueled by violent and blasphemous thoughts. He wanted to curse the Goddesses, his heavenly mothers who placed him on this path. He wanted to take the sacred blade across his shoulders and throw it off the mountain. He wanted to wade into the water, take Zelda into his arms and pull her to safety. He wanted to hold her like he had that night at the Spring of Power. He wanted… 

Link wanted a lot of things. 

He turned back to face the path. No one was coming. The other Champions waited at the foot, waited for any hint or sign that Hylia had finally granted mercy. That Zelda had awoken the gold that lay dormant in her veins. And, as much as Link had wanted to take her away from this place, he dreaded taking her back down the mountain. Dreaded seeing the disappointment in his fellow Champions' eyes. No matter how hard they tried to hide it. 

Urbosa hid it well, but Link could see the strain in her eyes each time. She loved Zelda like a daughter. She treated her as one should. 

It was around midday when Link heard movement behind him. The soft sounds of water, once still, lapping up against the ancient stone walls of the Spring. He turned to look as his Princess made her way towards him. The cold had turned her lips blue, just as he had predicted, and for a moment he was caught with the terrible desire to press his own against hers. If only to warm her up. 

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he reached down a hand to help her step up from the water. The fabric of her skirts was stuck to her knees and calves, the water trapped in the material splashing onto the floor. For a split second Link worried that she might slip, but then her hand found his. 

Her fingers were like ice against his skin, her nails almost purple. Together they lifted her the rest of the way out of the Spring and she came to stand directly in front of him. Link took the moment to look at her properly. Her long blonde hair, now drenched at the tips, was stuck to her back. Her dress clung awkwardly to her legs in a way that made her look smaller than she really was. Her skin was pale, her nose red, and her normally bright emerald eyes were dull and filled with tears that she had refused to shed. 

His Zelda. So stubborn. 

He thought back to the last time they had been this close, to the last time she had cried like this. Silent and stoic, like he could be, but with an emptiness that robbed her of everything. He thought back to the Spring of Power. 

The air in Akkala had been unseasonably warm and she had stood for hours under the moonlight. He had thrown his sword at the sound of her first heart wrenching sob, had thrown himself into the water to hold her. She had clung to him then, tighter than anyone had ever clung to him, and she had pressed her lips to his. 

Her kiss had been bruising and painful, frantic and animalistic in the way her teeth crashed against his lip. Unpracticed and new and salt salt stained. It had broken his heart. And when she pulled away he had followed. 

Link wanted a lot of things. 

It had been brief and messy and desperate and when they broke apart she had looked at him with grief in her eyes. She had apologised, had begged his forgiveness, and she had promised to never do it again. Neither of them slept that night for the ache of it. 

Here in the present Link squeezed her hand in his. The fierce need to pull it to his mouth and breathe warmth back into her fingers scared him. But he refrained. He remembered their stations afterall. He remembered just who she was. 

She was his Princess. That was important. That was the most important thing. She… she was his Princess and she couldn’t be anything other than that. And no amount of wanting and yearning would ever change that. A single kiss shared months ago didn’t change that. 

She looked up at him then. Her eyes still empty, her lips pulled into a carefully blank expression. She was distraught yet unsurprised. She knew what would come next. The walk back down the mountain, breaking the bad news, seeing everyone's faces drop and then watch as they tried to hide it. The empty words and platitudes and assurances that ”Next time, you’ll get it next time your Highness.”

Link dropped her hand for a moment to wrap his hood over her shoulders. It wouldn’t do much to keep the cold at bay but it was something he was allowed to do. A small act of comfort a knight could give his Princess. 

“I suppose we should set off now,” When she spoke her voice was small and hoarse, as if she had spent hours screaming instead of whispering. “The others will be waiting.” He watched as she pulled the hood tighter around herself, the collar coming up to cover her nose, as she began to step away. To start her return alone. And Link wanted… 

Link wanted a lot of things. 

He wanted to curse his Goddesses, his King, his Champions. He wanted to throw down the Master Sword, to break his vow, to run away. He wanted to pull Zelda close, to hide her from the world and it’s cruelties. He wanted to no longer be a knight, for Zelda to no longer be a Princess. He wanted a home for the two of them in Hateno or Lurline or somewhere no one knew them. Somewhere where he could cook for her and bake fruitcakes for dessert. Somewhere where she could study history and science and Sheikah Tech without fear or ridicule hanging over her head. His brave, smart, stubborn Princess. His Zelda. 

He reached his hand out, quick as lightning, and took a hold of her wrist. The metal of her cuff felt almost frozen to his skin but he didn’t care. He pulled her close, wrapping her in his arms, her head tucked under his chin. 

“L-Link? What-”

“Shh,” He pressed her tighter against him, willing the cold to leave her bones. Hoping that the fire that burned in his was enough to keep her warm as well. “Five minutes. They can wait for another five minutes.” 

She was still for a second, her body frozen by more than the snow around them. And then he felt her move, weak shaky arms coming up to wrap around him. The fabric of Champion’s Blues pulled into feeble fists, her breath fanning across his collar. Deep breaths becoming quite heavy sobs. 

The weather was cold on Mount Lanayru, but for those five minutes Link was the warmest he had ever been in his life. 

The End.

[beast-towers]

Meanwhile…

Once the teens had their rest, they quickly set off. Eleanor guiding the brothers and Ein through the metal halls, looking at the map as she pointed out: “Next stop, the… Eh? Am I looking at this right?…” She looked back to made sure to read what she was reading, causing one of the brothers to peak over her shoulder.

“Yep, Tickler.” Tobias said, making Eleanor very confused about this..

“Why that one? Isn’t that a bit too… well… invading personal space?” She shivered as she puts the map away. “I am uncomfortable if they try anything like that…”

“We can understand that Ellie. But if I remember, it aims to tickle ya until you smile. I swear to what ever god out there if they do that… wait-” Thomas had the realization as a small chuckle escaped. “Ha! Jokes on them, me and Toby are freaking bricks!”

“Oh yeah! I remember Abuela tried to playfully tickle us when we were six years old. To this day I can still feel that sadness.” Toby felt sad for his grandmother from that day. Yet happy memories did surfaced when his and Tom’s father was with them, how they had such a wonderful time… until…

Toby quickly snapped out of it as he felt Ein nuzzling his leg. “Hey, I’m good. Thanks for checking up on me bud! Ellie, is Ein always like this?”

“No, usually he’ll be on my side so people won’t distract him. I guess when we were taken, he’s been on guard.” She spoke, seeing Ein then walk up to Thomas. Who stopped and softly pinched the Shiba’s cheeks.

“I forgot how squishy and stretchy ya guys are!~ ¡Oh, es tan lindo!” Cooed Thomas, while Ein is being very patient and allowed Thomas to stretch his face. “Good doggy!~ Okay… Ellie, how far are we?” He looked up and saw it. Tickler section. Feeling a bit of fear for what they’re getting into.

“Round 2…. But this time, we can fight. Let’s roll.” Thomas spoke, as the four entered the next section. It wasn’t long enough before they heard machines humming and more developing advocates laughing. “Uuuggghh�� I hate this already…” Thomas shivered with unease.

“Same here bro…” Toby took a look into the cells, and yelped in shock as a woman crashed herself on the door. “GAAHH!!”

“You! Dog! You are a real dog, yes?!” She spoke, looking in a mix of herself and Marmalized. “Who is the owner of this Guardian?!”

“M-Me?….” Eleanor nervously spoke, causing Ein to get in front of her to protect Eleanor. “I’m his owner… He is my service and guard dog… are… are you-”

“I don’t have time! Neither do you four! Please take this! Hound, protect those who cannot protect themselves! Honor, Duty, Loyalty, Wisdom, Knowledge, Faith, Justice, and Brotherhood will forever be your weapons…” She dropped a beaded necklace outside of her prison, Eleanor quickly grabbing it and held onto it. “I’ve made sure to hold onto this family treasure. A heirloom! I and my family helped raised hounds to become Canine Warriors… Your Hound will fight until his time is up…. Now go! Run! They are coming!”

The group were confused, but on high alert now… and rightfully so, as Ein growled angrily and protectively as two MOJ guards appeared.

“Oh? Hey! Aren’t those the trouble makers? We didn’t expect all of you to be here! Please come along with us nicely!~” One happily spoke, causing the teens to back away from the two. While both Tom and Toby had their instruments out and ready.

“Oh don’t be scared!~ We won’t hurt any of you… Well… May be the Ministry’s Top bests in Marmalisation, but they won’t hurt you!~” the two began to walked forward, but noticed Ein. Now in front of the group as he delivered barks… but for the two guards, they’ve completely melted with Joy.

“AWW!!~ So! So! SO Cute!~ Hey there little guy! Oh my goodness!!~ I didn’t know a cute puppy was here!! Oh I hope you stay here to help make the world a happy place!”

“Look at his adorable face! Such a sweetheart! I must pinch those flexible cheeks!!~” Said the second Guard as he happily pinched Ein’s squishy cheeks.

The three and Woman were very dumbfounded, but Ein took this as an advantage and allowed the two men to touch him. He honestly hated it, but this was the teens’ chance. Toby and Tom noticed what Ein was doing as they whacked the two men on their heads, knocking them out cold.

“Huh…. I’m surprised you four are very prepared for this…” the Woman spoke with astonishment by their teamwork. “Still, you cannot stay here. And make sure your guardian keeps those beads with him…”

“Not… Not really…” Eleanor then looked over to the woman. “You look very familiar…. Before we go, may I know your name?…”

“I….I-I sadly can’t remember…hehehe…. They gave me a new one… Jovial… 64% from being Marmalized… kids, you must keep going….” A part of her was ready to laugh, but held it in, not wanting to scare them.

“We can at least free you! You are not going to rot away here!” Thomas spoke, pickpocketing the guards to find their key cards and keys. “You can still have the will to resist them. Jo, or whoever you are, this is your chance to rebel against them.” Thomas unlocked the door and opened it, seeing inside… he felt great sadness and fear… the woman was covered in scars and some blood, it looked like she just escaped from her binds. Looking further in the room, a machine that almost looks like it could be part of a car wash… “Is this… how they do it?…”

“Yes… but please, go… I don’t want to bring you all more harm… make sure your hound wears those beads… please be safe….” Jovial softly spoke, she was so tired, sick, and mentally falling apart. Causing Thomas, Tobias, and Eleanor looked at each other wish sadness.

“The door will be open. Just know this: The only one who is in control, is you and you alone. No one has the right to erase who you are, you have to keep going. No matter how painful it’ll be, show them why you kept fighting… Show them who you really are.” Thomas spoke to Jovial with a determination and given her a kind smile. She herself didn’t look, but she felt the kindness radiating off from the young man. “Please reconsider it. And thank you for giving Ein a gift. We will remember you.”

The group left to keep going, despite the horrors they’ll face… they had to march on to get their parents back. This made Jovial think deeply about her new choice… leave or stay. As she now looked at the wide open door…

To be continued…

[godslush]

This is going to sound contentious, but I’ve never enjoyed how social media has poisoned online friendships into being little more than “I’m spending all my time either complaining, or devouring an endless stream of the world’s consciousness across 5+ platforms, but I found this funny post that made me think of you for half a second, so I’m going to vomit it at your feet then go right back to gorging myself on a diet of 95% misery because that’s preferable to being in your presence.”

I know it’s just the RSD talking, and I’m guilty of it as well, but it’s more or less become an ubiquitous part of existing in an online space, and I hate it. Almost every seemingly-meaningful online friendship always seems to devolve into it; real communication being replaced by regurgitating material from feeds back and forth. Happy memories and dreams of a better future just get drowned in it, and it doesn’t make me want to be here. It makes me wish I could take a leaf out of [REDACTED]’s book and lobotomize my truly happy memories so I forget what it felt like to be happy because it’d make the pain of the present less pronounced by the contrast, and make fleeting moments of joy more meaningful before they're wiped from memory to stop goading me.

I get more life affirmation and positive reinforcement for existing and doing anything from my soul-crushing corporate retail job now than I do here online. My coworkers - who I only see at work and don’t connect with online because I don’t want to poison their image of me by seeing what a huge failure I am here - are the closest thing I have to reliable, supportive friends, who don't make promises that they have no intention of keeping just to shut me up, and always having an excuse ready to explain why they couldn't keep it. That’s really, really fucking sad.

It's fine. It's whatever. It's not like I haven't been in and out of the same ruts for 10+ years. The only difference is who I spend - or don't spend - the time in those ruts with. From the looks of it, nobody has the patience for it, and would rather leave me to crawl out of it myself with my own energy and assume I'd return to their side once I do. But if I do, I probably won't return. If people won't fight to keep me, I won't fight to stay. I only have enough energy to drag myself out of a rut, not crawl all the way back to the people who left me there in the first place.

This isn't the first time. But damn if it isn't getting closer and closer to being the last time... If only I could put into practice the things I learned from the consistent patterns of my experiences. Alas, the hopes that things will be better - or at least different in a slightly better-trending direction - will always win out, and lead to another round of disappointment when the pattern repeats.

I don't want to be alone. But in the end, that might be the safest option for me, and for anyone around me.

So if I don't come across as friendly, that's why.

I know more than anybody else that I am a difficult and high-maintenance person at my worst, and that I will always return to my worst; I'll only ever be a disappointment.

If you don't want to get your hands dirty digging me out of the dumpster, you're probably better off keeping your distance.

Don't give me hope if you can't follow through.

[staticscreenwriting]

A BEAUTIFUL SOMEWHERE II CHAPTER THREE

Series Masterlist x OBX Masterlist x Full Masterlist x Series Summary

Chapter Three — Vienna

Chapter Summary: Stevie and JJ help out her mother with a sweet favour and talk about the past ... and the future ... and the present.

“Holy shit”

JJ’s voice echoes through the entrance hall of Richard’s fancy Figure 8 home. Her mother’s home. It still feels weird and Stevie wonders if it will ever stop feeling weird. This is so different from everything she’s ever known. The house she grew up in would probably fit inside one of the 6 guest bathrooms. And while it is not resentment she feels, there is a certain disconnect gnawing at her. This is her mother’s new reality, her new life. What if there is no space left for something that isn’t perfect and polished? For someone that isn’t?

“Told you, full kook.”

“Nah, this is more than just full kook. This is ‘I hired a kook to clean my pool’ kinda rich.” 

“Yeaaah. But mom is happy so — “

“Yeah, she seems like it.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“Uh, we live in the same place? I see her all the time. We talk. I’m her favorite, remember?” 

Stevie does remember. Sometimes she wishes she didn’t remember all that much. That some memories would vanish and become part of the universe of forgotten things, like passwords to accounts you made at 14 or that genius idea for a new book you never bothered to write down because for sure you’ll remember later on and then you don’t.

Her mother has always held a soft spot for JJ. Maybe she can see the same magic in his eyes and the same vulnerability in his heart. Or maybe she is just so good at being a loving mother that it feels like a waste of love not to extend the sentiment to the boy who was never loved in the way he deserved.

“Oh, I remember. Every time we came home drunk after a party she gave me a disappointed look and you got a glass of water and an Advil.” 

“Well, it was always you who talked me into going to the parties in the first place so…” 

JJ can’t even finish the sentence without losing himself in a fit of laughter. It’s infectious. Radiant. As the harmony of their laughter sounds through the halls of this plastic palace, it feels like for a moment she is 16 again and life is easy and light. Laughing with JJ is a soothing kiss on the top of the head. It’s home.

“Stevie?” 

Her mother’s voice cuts through the haze of nostalgic joy and seconds later a smiling Leslie Collins rounds the corner. Her mother really does look happy. She’s wearing a flowy silk summer dress that must’ve been expensive. This, Stevie thinks, is the kind of person her mother always deserved to be. She has always been selfless and kind, soft and gentle but life never returned the favor. Not until now. All the shit she had to go through, all the fighting and the trying to stay afloat has finally paid off. Now she gets to live in a big house and wear nice expensive dresses and dance through life with a smile on her face. 

“Thank god you’re here. Oh and JJ you too! Even better. Two opinions I can count on, perfect.” 

Her mother embraces her then moves to JJ and pulls him into a hug. Back when they were kids JJ had a hard time accepting physical touches. When you always expect a slap to the face it must be hard to open up to a gentle stroke of the cheek. He has learned to trust them though, trust her and mom and his friends. And now, the man before her returns the hug with enthusiasm. 

“Mom, what are you talking about? Opinions on what exactly?” 

“The cake!” 

Seeing her mother’s expression, Stevie wonders for a second if she forgot about something. Was she supposed to pick up a cake? No that can't be right, the wedding is still quite a while away and she does remember her mom talking about narrowing down the selection but still not deciding on the actual flavor quite yet.

“The cake?”

“I love cake!” JJ chimes in which grants him another smile from Stevie’s mom.

“Yes, the cake. Richard and I were supposed to go sample our selections again and make a decision but now some of his family is in Charleston and we are going over to have lunch with them but we can’t reschedule the appointment with the bakery sooooo I need you, my sweet darling child, “ she explains and gives Stevie a teasing tap on the cheek, “and you JJ, to go and try the samples for me and make notes and help me with my decision. I have my favorites and so does Rich but we also want our guests to enjoy the cake so having some help with our decision would be great. You don’t have anything else planned, do you?” 

There is a nagging pain in the back of Stevie’s head, not a full-on headache but a sting, annoying and grueling. Mom isn’t to blame, it is true after all. Stevie has no plans. Nothing on her plate. Just time and time and time and nothing meaningful to fill them with. No jobs lined up. No ideas. Nothing. It still hurts when her mom says it so nonchalantly. 

“We’re so in! Trust me, Leslie we will give you a very detailed list of all our favorite flavors. I’ll try them several times even, just to make sure I give you the most accurate description.” 

“How selfless of you, JJ. Stevie, is that okay with you?” 

And how could she say no to that? How could she ever say no to her mom counting on her? Or JJ smiling at her like that? How could she ever say no to free cake?

“You know we could’ve just taken the car right?” 

JJ shakes his head as he walks down the little dock behind his house. It’s a cute house, small and homey and from the outside Stevie can tell that JJ has fixed up a lot of it himself. He lives here with John B. and Sarah. Not because he couldn’t afford to buy it for himself but because he doesn’t want to be alone. It breaks and mends her heart all at once to hear those words from him. And it makes her infinitely thankful for John B.

“Absolutely not! We are going to a cake tasting at the country club bakery. The same place we worked at years ago and had people treat us like shit. We’re going to arrive in style and they will fucking hate it.” 

“Okay, yeah. You have a point.” 

JJ leads her down the dock towards a small Fountain Sportfish Cruiser. All shiny blue and white and not unlike his father’s old Phantom. 

Stevie lets out a whistle as they approach the boat. “Look at that beauty.” 

“She’s my baby. Saved all my money after we opened the Shack and got her the moment I had enough. So let me introduce you to this jewel of the sea.” 

He always had a flair for the dramatic and in another life maybe JJ could’ve been an actor. He had that kind of unhinged theater kid vibe to him. But this was no other life, this was right here and now and so his eccentrics get channeled into his antics as he steps aboard the boat and holds out his hand to Stevie.

“Baby, this is Stevie, my wife.” 

Hearing those words will never fail to send a flurry of fireworks going off inside her. No matter if the days are numbered, Stevie takes a certain kind of pride in holding that title. She admits and acknowledges that the whole marriage was a silly little dream dreamt up by some silly little teenagers. Stupid, possibly. Irresponsibly, most definitely. But it felt right in that moment and she can’t blame her younger self for it. Being called JJ’s wife has a certain something to it. Still does.

“Stevie, this is Iris.” 

In a swirly font, dark blue on white it says “Iris” on the side of the boat and Stevie forgets how to breathe for a second.

JJ has that look on his face, that one that makes time stop. He’s waiting for her to say something, to acknowledge the roots of their past as they tangle themselves around the letters on the side of the boat. To see if she remembers. As if she could ever forget.

Suddenly images flood her mind. JJ and her, only much younger and with hearts less scarred. It’s a warm sunny day in that enchanted space somewhere between spring and summer where the world is still new but the air is heavy with the possibility of all the adventures yet to come. Stevie is in a pair of cut-off jeans and one of JJ’s sweaters. JJ’s hair is tousled and unkept and longer than usual. It was the year he tried to grow it out which only lasted a few weeks before he got annoyed with it and cut it shorter again. Stevie thought he looked like a Disney prince. 

“Mom says to tell you thanks for helping with the garden the other day.” 

The rays of sunshine feel warm against her skin as she lays on a blanket spread out in her backyard, JJ next to her.

“No problem. Garden looks great by the way, she did real good this year with all the flowers.” 

“Right? I think so too,” she lets her gaze wander around the yard, a kaleidoscope of colors. Pinks and Reds and Whites and Purples. “Which ones are your favorite?” 

JJ leans up on his elbows and surveys the yard for a moment. “Those purple and yellow ones”.

Stevie remembers so vividly the spark of warmth spreading through her heart as he said those words. 

“The Iris! That’s my favorite too!”

“Really, not the roses?” 

“No,  I mean I like roses, who doesn’t? But my mom has been planting Irises in our garden since I was little so they always remind me of home. I think — never mind.”

“Hey, uh-uh. What did you want to say?” 

“It’s stupid.”

But JJ never thought so and if he did he never let her notice. JJ always gave you the feeling of being the most interesting person on earth with the way he listened so intensely.

“Never. Come on, spill.” 

“I think I might want to call my future kid Iris. If I ever have a daughter that is.” 

He’s quiet for a second, contemplating, then scrunches his nose. “Nah. Doesn’t match with the last name.” 

“Iris Collins? You think that doesn’t match?” 

“Not Collins. Maybank.” 

“Maybank huh? You stealing my hypothetical future kid’s name now?” 

“Nah,” JJ replies and pulls Stevie into his arms. “Just think if we’re talking about hypothetical future kids — they might as well be ours. Because I’d really like to spend my hypothetical future with you. Marriage and kids and all.” 

It’s the first time they ever talked about this. Of course she wanted this, at 15 it feels like your love is all-consuming and everlasting. But this is the first time they truly ever mentioned it. The first time JJ ever mentioned it. And it means everything.

It meant everything then and it means everything now that she is stepping on a boat named after their silly little fantasy.

“That’s a beautiful name.” 

“Thanks. Named her after a dream I once had.” 

“I feel so bougie this is weird.” 

“But a good weird, right?” 

The patio of the country club is drenched in sunlight, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore mixes with the gentle hum of the jazz music coming from the overhead speakers as more and more cake slices get placed on the table in front of them. 

Stevie and JJ are both well familiar with the fancy white dishes with the silver trim around the edges. So many hours have been spent carrying plates to and from the tables, fake smiles plastered on their faces in order to hopefully get a little tip from the guests. It hardly ever worked. Tourists were the only ones who would tip them well, the local kooks just stuck up their noses, sometimes adding a mean comment to the mix for good measure. 

“Yeah, a good weird. If the kooks could see us now, they’d hate it so much. Kelce and Ruthie and all those assholes.” 

“Imagine if our younger selves could see us now, I don’t think they would believe it.” 

JJ takes a sip of the complementary champagne that was provided to them — actual champagne! Not sparkling wine or prosecco. Champagne! Though Stevie must admit she much prefers a can of ice-cold beer by the lake to this fizzy concoction. Still feels nice to be fancy for once. 

“Uh, yeah. I promised you one day we’d be the ones they’d serve fancy food to on fancy plates with their fancy bow ties and their fancy fizzy drinks. I always knew we’d end up here one day.” 

“When did you ever say that, JJ?” 

“It was right there,” he says and points to a bench by the side of the building a bit further away and outside of the few of the guests. “someone had just spilled red wine on you and made a stupid comment and you were crying and this close to quitting. And I said — “ 

“Oh, I remember! It was that bitch Abby who spilled her wine on me, on purpose.” 

“Right! Well, remember what I said?” 

“You said Pogues ain’t no quitters.”

“True.”

“And you said to let them talk because one day we’ll sit right there and drink champagne from crystal glasses and eat food out on the patio and they will hate it.”

“Mmh.”

“And if I remember correctly you said it might take until we’re in our 40s and your hair will be all gone and my boobs might be saggy by then.” 

JJ laughs before combing one hand through his golden sunkissed hair.

“Thank god I was wrong about the timing. Hair is still all intact and your boobs are still phenomenal.” 

Another plate is placed before them and a silent understanding passes as they both reach for one of the ridiculously tiny forks provided. An understanding that some things can stay unspoken. That sometimes life gives you moments that are all yours to feel. Where the younger version of you is watching from somewhere deep inside your heart and all you get to feel is pride and happiness.

“Holy shit, this raspberry and white chocolate one is amazing. That’s my favorite.” 

“JJ, it’s the first one you tried.” 

“Sometimes you know right away.” 

Yeah, she thinks looking into his eyes as they are filled with undiluted joy, sometimes you know all along.

“Are you ever sad we didn’t have this?” 

“Hmm?”

Stevie is looking up at JJ now, surprised by the change in tone. Where just seconds ago he was joking around now there is a sense of sincerity and vulnerability.

“You know, for our wedding. The whole big ass cake and invitations printed on thick paper and a real proper reception.” 

As most little girls do, Stevie had thought about what she wanted her wedding to be like from the moment she had first watched The Little Mermaid on VHS. Big poofy dress, a cake at least 4 layers high with little figurines on top resembling her and her husband, and maybe having it happen on a big ship wouldn’t have been too bad either. But those ideas changed as she got older, warped and vanished, and got replaced by different ones.

And then JJ shook it all up in the best and most unexpected way.

“I loved our wedding, JJ. It was perfect.”

“But did you not want this? More?”

“No. It was you and our friends and that’s all I needed. If anything I think I might have wanted my mom there and Syd.”

“Well, next time I’ll give you a big wedding and we’ll invite everyone we know.” 

“Nex time?”

“Yeah,” JJ says and nonchalantly shrugs his shoulder before stuffing his mouth with another bite of cake — carrot cake with vanilla buttercream. “I thought I was being obvious. I’m gonna make you fall head over heels back in love with me and then obviously we’re going to have to renew our vows. And now we actually have money to throw a big wedding soooo.” 

Leave it to JJ to say something earth-shattering like this that makes the earth stop spinning all while looking unbothered and sampling another piece of cake — lemon cake with lavender buttercream. “I don’t like this one. Tastes a bit soapy.” 

“JJ.”

“Huh?” 

“We — you can’t just say stuff like that.” 

“Sorry. Does taste soapy though, no offense to the baker I’m sure it’s on purpose.”

“Not that. The other thing!” 

“Oh,” he replies and wipes some crumbs from the corner of his mouth “Don’t freak out. I was just joking. Obviously.” 

He tries to underline his words with a smile, a shrug of the shoulders. But Stevie is not sure she believes him. Not sure if a joke was really all that was.

And she’s not sure why his words being a joke feels so damn devastating to her.

“Okay so top 3” 

“Raspberry and white chocolate”

“Yup.” 

“Key lime and coconut ”

“Agreed.” 

“and third is French Vanilla with Sea Salt Caramel” 

“Absolutely!”

The sun is about to dip behind the horizon painting the sky in vivid shades of orange and gold. Stevie always loved this time of day. It feels special. The heat of the day is cooling down just a little and the cicadas start to sing. 

Her back rests against the wooden swing on JJ’s porch. “Every porch obviously needs a porch swing, it’s science,” he told her. It makes perfect sense in every which way you want to look at it. 

“Your mom is going to be so proud of us we nailed this list. Everyone at the wedding is gonna be like ‘damn who chose those delicious cakes?’ And we’re gonna be like ‘It was us, you’re welcome’!”

Stevie takes a sip from the ice-cold beer clutched in her hand. There’s just something about sharing a beer with an old friend on a warm summer evening. An old friend who is also your husband and probably the love of your life? But those are feelings Stevie is not ready to face. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Well, least something she can be proud of me for.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Work has been going pretty shit lately. Mom made all these sacrifices to support my interests and send me to all these writing classes and everything. She believed in me and my talents and what do I have to show for myself? Fuck all. I want to write a book so badly but all my ideas get stuck somewhere between my head and my hands and end up in this endless nothingness. So I keep a roof over my head by writing about horoscopes and D-list celebrities for sketchy clickbait blogs. And oh I forgot the last thing I wrote was a quiz telling you what kind of cheese you are based on your favorite Taylor Swift album. So much for that great writing career, I was dreaming of.” 

“First of all, that quiz was great. I’m brie, if you’re curious.” 

“You did the quiz?” 

“Yeah,” he says and throws his empty beer can towards the trashcan by the door, missing by a mile. “I read everything you write. Just because you disappeared doesn’t mean I didn’t keep tabs on you even if all I got was clickbait articles and fun quizzes. Was enough for me to know you wrote it. I was always your biggest fan, that hasn’t changed.” 

Back when they were kids and Stevie started writing little nonsensical stories, JJ was always the first one who got to read them and he would give her actual feedback on them, always honest but never mean. JJ was her first fan, her first supporter, her first reader. 

“Thank you, JJ. It’s — It feels good to hear that.” 

“Sure. You always had my back, not sure I ever really told you how brilliant I think you are.” 

“Well at this point you are the only one thinking that, unfortunately” 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you of all people have to be reminded of what Billy Joel says.” 

“Huh?”

“You made me listen to Vienna ad nauseam and now you don’t remember the words? ‘Slow down, you're doing fine. You can't be everything you wanna be before your time'. Those words mean anything to you?” 

Stevie is unsure what surprises her more, his statement or the fact that he knows the term ad nauseam and how to use it correctly. Either way, him quoting Billy Joel to her sends tiny sparks up her back.

“I just feel so lost. What story do I possibly have to tell that the world needs to hear?”

“Us. You should write about us.” 

Stevie raises her eyebrow in confusion. “You and I?”

“No. Well, yes. But not just us. All of the Pogues. About our life here, our adventures, our family. I think it’s a story people would like to hear and who better to tell it than you? Princess Pogue herself?“

There’s nothing sexier, nothing more gut-wrenchingly wonderful than a person who believes in you entirely and irrevocably. Even when you don’t believe in yourself. Especially when you don’t believe in yourself.

“That’s — not a bad idea actually.” 

“I do have those occasionally. Now you have to dedicate the book to me though, you know that right? It’s important to me to hear you say that.” 

As if moving on autopilot, Stevie leans towards JJ and places a soft kiss against his cheek.

“I promise.” 

His words from earlier come swirling back through Stevie’s mind. “I’m gonna make you fall head over heal back in love with me” 

And for the first time since she’s back in the Outer Banks, Stevie allows herself to entertain that thought. Just for a second. And then one more and one more.

And she doesn’t stop thinking about it during her entire way back to the plastic palace.

And she still hears his voice as she closes her eyes and falls into a dreamless sleep.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you @eldritch-and-tired for commissioning this lil’ /Reader piece of @megalommi‘s Sans, Baggs. I will ALWAYS be a simp for this sexyman. Enjoy!!

Tw: injections, unwilling hypnosis/mind control

...

You giggled.

The light was so pretty. Swirling, undulating, cyan and magenta warping and shifting in and out of one another in an endless hypnotising rhythm. It made you think of a funfair... spirals everywhere, from the tops of the stalls to the decorations on the rides, to the signs leading you around to those huge lollipops that tasted tooth-meltingly sweet. Happy memories, carefree, far away and non-solid but still wonderful. What were you doing? You couldn’t remember anything. You liked blue and purple, they were everywhere, all around you, such pretty colours. 

Pretty, pretty...

“... there we go. easy now.”

... You didn’t realise he was even there until he (somewhat cautiously?) spoke. Your senses were just colours. The voice was odd and a bit disembodied at first but slowly, slowly, you became aware of its source- a face hovering just over you. The awareness spread to your body, too... you were bent at an odd angle with your feet just barely lifted off the floor, your back flat on a rather uncomfortable table, gravity pulling your hair and cheeks. And he... he was just a few inches over you, pinning you by one of your wrists.

...

A tight and tense, cutting smile, clear signs of stress around his face and shoulders making it obvious that this was the smile of a man on the edge and not one of any particular joy. Deep sockets, so wide they looked borderline painful, glaring down at you with so much intensity...

... You could feel his body heat. And his breath against your face. Your heartbeat, your slightly itchy nose, how tight he was holding your wrist.

“... Mh... Huh?” You said, ever-so articulately, vision spinning in the same direction as the swirls emanating from his left socket. A similar way to how the world rocked when you were dizzy... except for you, it never righted itself. It just kept spinning and spinning and spinning. Everything was so bright, as you fell under a pleasant fuzzy sensation burrowed into your chest and mind, blanketing your thoughts as if you were just in the middle of a nice dream where nothing much mattered.

“shh...” 

When he gently closed his gloved fingers around something you had gripped in your pinned hand, you put up no fuss, loosening your hold and allowing him to take it... when did you pick up a scalpel? What an odd thing to have. The back of your head hurt and your knuckles felt the telltale aches of having been tense a few moments ago, even though they were now just an unwound coil like the rest of you.

... Dr. Baggs let out a long slow, breath. You could feel it against your nose and neck, he was that close... his mouth open barely a crack, the magenta hue of his tongue glinting against his fangs. 

“... alright.” He said, voice silky, gentle on your thrumming ears and head, sockets easing around the edges as he calmed down. The bluish shadows of sleep deprivation under them became more apparent as the tension in the room, face and posture waned. “that’s better.”

... Yeah. You thought, relaxed and calm. It is.

... He gave you the bare minimum of personal space, leaning back and helping you to sit, lifting you with the perfect combination of gentle but firm as if he knew you’d immediately feel so dizzy when you became upright. Your hands moved up and held onto his shoulders to steady yourself- the fabric of his lab coat was surprisingly soft, it was very nice to touch. 

... He was so close. Supportive but strict hands on your elbows, your knees on either side of him, he smelled like... the artificial flavouring they added candy that just wasn’t quite natural. And a specific, scented brand of antiseptic; clean and sterile and prepared.

“... well.” He hummed, reaching out of sight for something with one hand. Your forehead would bump his collarbone if you leant forward any more. His voice was so soothing and calming, especially since you were only a few inches from his clavicle... you were getting pretty close to shutting your eyes at this point, but a prick in your arm kept you from completely nodding off- you barely noticed it, too busy studying the aesthetically pleasing purple trim to his coat and enjoying the funny fuzzy sensation in your chest and temples. Oh, he suddenly had a full syringe in his hand that he was putting a cap on... where did he get that? 

“i knew from the start you’d be uncooperative, but... not that kind of uncooperative.”

He held something up to your face. You opened your mouth, (wait, why am I opening my mouth...) and he quickly placed it on your tongue. You swallowed, again, without knowing why... it was like your body was following a list of instructions that you couldn’t see or hear. Someone else had taken the wheel; tugging the right strings to make the right parts of you move when they were needed. 

... You didn’t think about it much. No panic, no confusion, no considering the implications. The thoughts were disconnected... just ships in the night, sailing by your muffled brain. All you could really think about was how whatever he’d given you was very strange and bitter and ew, you cringed, an odd acrid taste lingering in the back of your throat.

... Another prick in your arm. That’s weird, he keeps pricking me. Oh well. This time, you looked just in time to see him removing a now-empty syringe; he wiped where he’d poked your forearm with something very cold, then placed a little circular red band-aid over it.

...

There were six other band-aids on that forearm. Two green, three navy, one black... and now the red one.

Hm... I feel like I should be alarmed by that...

Again, all you could think about was how nice you felt right now. Dizzy, warm, safe. Like you’d had a little too much to drink, but now you were laying out in the sun with your friends... I miss the sun...

“most of my ‘patients’ are at least... consistent.” Baggs hummed, continuining to hold you carefully by the elbows, predicting your post-jab swaying. He didn’t seem to realise he was talking aloud, just a scientist observing his experiment, and you weren’t really paying enough attention to what he was actually saying- too many words to process, boooring. “uncooperative awake, uncooperative under. you’re always displaying aggression toward me... and yet as soon as you have no control, there’s an obediency so immediate it’s borderline subconscious. rather fascinating.”

Instead, you...

“... Sexy voice.”

...

...

“... what?” 

Apparently, that was enough to finally break him out of his thoughts. You glanced up at Baggs’ face, still only a few inches away, you kept forgetting where things were around you... the cushion around your soul never wavered but for a moment there was a little blip in the swirls. A slight interruption.

“Mmmhm.”

...

... His expression sort of... well, ‘melted’ was the wrong word. It was more akin to the sun peeking out from between two clouds. The detached, observational, scientific air to him thinned and began to evaporate... revealing something a little more warm.

The razor and unfriendly edges of his smile were rounding into something organic. Perhaps even, daresay, resembling forward. 

“my.” He purred. “how forward of you.”

“S’very nice. Very smooth...” Your tongue felt... eh. And your arm, where he’d poked you, was starting to itch. “And you have a nice face too... handsome man. I think so.”

...

His smile started growing even more, and he leaned back an inch or two as if to look at all of you and make sure you were really the same person he’d brought into this examination room less than an hour ago. “... oh really?”

“Yeah...” ... Your hands had been just holding onto his coat... but, spurred on by your sudden drunken confidence, you properly looped them around his neck.

... He blinked, but he only let himself appear taken aback for a moment or two. Despite how ominously his magenta eyelights glowed in his dark, shadowed sockets... you could tell he was enjoying himself, and this sudden turn of events. “i’m flattered.”

You laid your head on his chest. It was getting kinda hard to stay upright. 

... Your nose scrunched.

“Funky smell, though.”

That was enough to get an actual laugh out of him- albeit shortlived, his skull cocking like a curious mirthful bird. “are you... genuinely telling me that i smell, darling?”

“Yeah. Because it’s true. You’re gremlin.”

 “i’m... gremlin?”

“Mhm.”

“stars. i wish i could tell pap about this.”

Your body shifted, enough to make you lightly squeak- things were spinning so much that it took you a minute to realise Baggs had picked you up, an arm hooked under your legs and another around your back.

“you’re all done for the day, pet.” His eyelights had become a thrumming, almost amethyst colour as he looked at you, a far gentler shade of purple than his previous headache-inducing magenta. You weren’t sure what’d caused that but you weren’t complaining. You weren’t sure what’d caused him to carry you either, considering he usually just brought someone to collect his ‘patients’ for him... but, again, not complaining. “it’s time to get back to your room.”

“I feel funny.” You mumbled.

“that’s normal.”

He started walking. The halls all looked the same, as he moved through them, blending into one another... white and sterile, a few doors dotted inbetween if you were lucky but mostly just the exact same tiles and patterns and lack of anything that would clue you into the fact that people had actually (at some point) existed in this area. 

“Hm... is this where you work...?”

A little chuckle. He was sounding further and further away. “yes. this is my job, dear.”

“It’s so g... ug-ly.”

“oh? you think so?” Baggs’ tone had become... light? Perhaps a little teasing. 

“Jus... put up some nice posters, or something.” Your head was so heavy. Since when was it this heavy? You had to rest it against his chest, feeling that nice fabric against your cheek, hearing an equally nice humming sound from inside his ribcage. “Paint the walls. It’s so... white. Clini... ...clinicic... Calic...” 

“clinical?”

“... Yeah.Tthat.”

A gloved phalange touched your arm. It was probably an attempt at a comforting gesture- stroking the skin. “good to know. i’ll make sure to pass that eloquent advice along to the decorating team.”

“Good.”

He brought you to a cell-like room. It was... vaguely familiar? A bed with one pillow, thin white sheets... some strange posters and a window with bars over it. You felt like you’d spent a long time in there, but it was impossible to think straight enough to actually muster up any memories.

Baggs laid you down on the bed, slowly, handling you like you’d fall apart at any moment. You made a little noise- it wasn’t a very soft bed... but it was good enough. And your body felt so strange and tired that any soft surface honestly was nice enough to lay down on forever.

“comfy?” He asked. Since when did he inquire if you were comfy?

“M... no. S’whatever.”

...

You peeked at him, crouched by your bed... and you reached out, pressing your inexplicably heavy finger against the top of his nasal cavity in a booping motion. You mumbled a little victorious “Silly skeleton.” 

...

He took your hand in his gloved one, gently, before it could go limp and flop down. You couldn’t really make out his expression at this point.

“don’t tell the other subjects...” He murmured... he sounded amused, at least. “but i think you’ve become my favourite.”

“Course.” You shut your eyes. “I’m... m’amazing.”

“... yes. course.” 

A feeling, like a kiss on your hand, before he placed it by your side.

“... go to sleep.”

...

And just like that, your body obeyed him before your head could even process what he’d said, and you were asleep.

[stargazingthenightaway]

See Something You Like? Part 1

Pairing: Rebels Rex x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Warning: NSFW 18+ Sexual tension, dirty thoughts, praise kink, size kink, Oral (female receiving) unwanted attention (not from main character) Dom!Rex

A/N: So I’ve decided to write a few, but what I thought would be a one shot has turned into this monster, so I’ve decided to break it down. Not sure how long it’ll be, but I get the feeling it’ll be at least 3 parts. This is inspired by @samrubio art especially her Rex pieces, go check it out! Also, if I missed any warning tags, let me know :)

It was a rarity for the firing range to be this empty. Usually it was crammed to the walls with training drills for new recruits, post mission vent sessions with the faceless targets or if you were unlucky, the cocky fly-boys trying to one-up each other, seeing who had the better ‘blaster’. If you were really unlucky, instead of leaving, their attention would turn to whoever they thought would enjoy their company, which consisted of what barely passed as a conversation before leading to the real objective, servicing the dangly bit between their legs. Their limp pick up line “I’ve got another blaster you can handle sweet cheeks” was in just as much need of an overhaul as their piloting skills. Sadly, you’ve been on the receiving end of these lack-lustre ‘invitations’ far too often and are quick to shut them down. It’s become so repetitive you can time it to the second when they make their appearance. All these boys are the same, give them a flight suit, a ship and they think they’re the Maker’s gift to the galaxy. 

‘They’re just so immature’ you think to yourself, a scowl on your face. Your last rebuffed fly-boy hasn’t gotten the memo that you’re not interested and continues to pester you. As if you’d want to spend 30 seconds listening to a dying bantha grunt into your ear, fumbling to get himself off and counting down until you’re smothered in dissatisfaction. Hard. Pass.

The only reason you have some peace is because they’re out on a mission, but you will take the reprieve. It’s a joy to have an opportunity to fit in some blaster practice without an audience. While you weren’t the worst shot in the rebellion, you certainly weren’t the best, but with enough practice you hope you’ll be placed on some off-planet missions. 

Sliding into an empty booth, you pick up one of the safety helmets, placing it on your head and type in one of the easier simulation codes on the keypad on the side of the wall. As the program calibrates, you remove the blaster from its holster on your thigh, flicking off the safety and settling into your stance. Breathe in, breathe out, shoot. This mantra helps get a rhythm going and soon you’re oblivious to everything around you except your target. The steady stream of blaster fire rings out, mixed with the sounds of high tings for each successful hit and clunky thunks with each miss. It’s pleasing to note that with each round there are more tings than there are thunks. Soon you’re drifting off with the repetitive movements, your thoughts going through your encounters with him.

Captain Rex, member of the Ghost crew and key participant of the rebellion. A legend in his own right. You had first seen him in passing, bringing up some data pads needed for a debrief and you just happened to look in his direction as you were leaving, and stars did you look. He was thick everywhere. His armour did nothing to hide his size as your gaze travelled from his barrel chest, to his thick waist, finally ending at his powerful thighs. Rex has the kind of body that makes you want to rub yourself all over him like a nexu in heat. As he spoke with Agent Fulcrum, Rex crossed his arms over his chest, pulling his shirt tight over his biceps, and your mouth watered. You were so busy ogling that Rex had finished his conversation and looked over your way.

Seeing you staring he gives you a small smirk and a wink before mouthing “see something you like?” You swear he flexed his arms a bit as he did that.

The smirk on his face grows as you feel your face heat up, hightailing it out of the debriefing room and making your way back to your office. It’s quite a while before your blush goes away, and more than one person asks if you’re feeling well. 

The next time you saw him was a bit more hands-on and it still makes you clench your thighs together when you recall this particular memory. You’d been paired as sparring partners, and if you thought Rex looked good in his armour, he was downright edible stripped down to a simple training shirt and grey sweatpants. The shirt stretched in all the right places and the pants were loose enough to provide movement where it was needed, but just snug enough to tease you about what he was packing.

You were so distracted that he easily put you on your back, repeatedly. Each time he knocked you over his thighs would bracket your own, your hands pinned by your head and the rest of his body caging you in. How in the Sith hells were you supposed to concentrate if this was exactly where you wanted to be! You clawed at whatever self-restraint you still possessed to not rub up against him, but maker he made it difficult. 

After the final throw Rex settled on your thighs and smirked down at you “What’s the matter mesh’la?” He took in your flushed cheeks, “You seem distracted, I didn’t think you’d take everything I gave you so easily.” 

Your face was on fire, your brain traitorously giving you ideas of what else you’d take from him, and how well you’d enjoy it.

“Surely you can get me on my back.” You eyes snapped up to his, “all you need to do is use your hips and thrust.”

Fuck.

You felt yourself get wet as a throb built up between your legs from just his voice alone. You needed to finish whatever this had become so you could finish your own needs, preferably in the privacy of your own bunk. With a strength that surprised even you, you took Rex’s advice to thrust your hips up, bracing you leg to provide enough leverage to push him over. The look of surprise on his face that you took his words to heart was something you would never forget. 

As you settled over his waist, his hands came up to your sides, sliding down to rest on your hips, keeping you in place. 

“Knew you could do it” His surprise had turned into a beatific smile, looking up at you as his hands squeezed your hips. “Good girl.”

The triumphant words die on your lips as you look down at him and see exactly how you’re positioned. Your hands are braced on his chest and your thighs have splayed out to the sides to fit over his waist. There is a pleasant ache along your inner thighs from the stretch. If anyone saw the suggestive scene of the pair of you right now, the gossip hotline would be buzzing for months. You made a motion to move but Rex’s hands keep you snug against himself. His thumbs had made their way under the edge of your shirt and traced light circles over your skin. Arousal flooded your veins and you felt your slick starting to soak your panties. 

You look back up to Rex’s face and he tightens his grip “See something you like mesh’la?”

Before you could answer the door burst open, causing the two of you to startle, zoning back in to the present. Chatter filled the room as Wolffe and Gregor brought in the next group of ‘shinies’ for sparring practice. The bubble of intimacy had burst and you hurriedly got off Rex, babbling some thanks about the advice before bolting out of the room. That was six weeks ago, the Ghost having left on a mission, taking Rex with them.

The buzzer in your booth goes off, signalling the end of the simulation. You’re not ready to head back to the responsibilities of intelligence just yet, so you up the intensity of another exercise and when you’re happy with your rhythm, let your thoughts turn back to Rex. 

He’d become the prominent figure in all your fantasies. Before that, neither your toys or your hands would work to get you off, leaving you frustrated and horny. In a fit of desperation you thought back to your spar, but instead of sitting on Rex’s waist you were sitting on his face.

You imagined how his arms would wrap around your thighs, muscles flexing to make sure you stay exactly where he wants you to, and that’s on his tongue. Moans fill the room as he slowly eats you out, long licks up your folds to harsh sucks on your clit. The vibrations from his groans sending you spiralling to the edge, only for him to back off when you’re so close, leaving you sobbing and trembling with need. He’d leave little nibbles and bites along your inner thighs as he waits for the trembling to stop, and his beard, fuck. Rex would nuzzle the side of his face along your legs, leaving more marks that you were his. Letting you know that he was the only one that could give you the satisfaction you craved. You’d squirm, just to feel him tighten his hold, knowing that he controlled your pleasure. 

“Look at me,” he’d growl before licking up your slit, drinking you down, “want you to keep your eyes on me when you cum on my tongue.” This sends another rush of slick from your core, the feeling in your belly coiled tight, waiting to snap. You yelp as there’s a sharp bite to your thigh.

“You like it when I tell you to watch” Rex grins from between your thighs, and you can see the evidence of your arousal glistening on his beard. Stars that is hot. There is a feral look in his golden eyes “Next time I’ll make sure to fuck you in front of a mirror, show you how wet you get for me.”

Your needy whine of approval turns into a lascivious moan as Rex plunges his tongue into your heat, rapidly bringing your orgasm back to the edge, but this time he doesn’t stop. His tongue speeds up, alternating between fluttering around your opening and pushing in as far as he can, nose pressed into your clit. All too soon you’re flying over the edge into sweet oblivion.

With a choked scream you cum, legs clamped tight around Rex’s head, his arms pulling you closer as his tongue working furiously to collect everything that you give him. He groans in delight and that sets off another small orgasm which has you seeing white. When you finally come down from your high you look back down at Rex, a blissed out expression on your face. 

Rex has to practically lift you off him, moving you down so that you’re straddling his waist and conveniently nestling his cock between your folds, and that’s another part of him you’re all too eager to get to know. 

As you bask in the afterglow of your orgasm, Rex puts a hand around the back of your neck, pulling your closer. You don’t need to be force sensitive to feel how smug he is, it’s written all over his face and the possessive arm draped around your waist. 

He nuzzles your nose when you’re close enough, before whispering two devastating words “Good girl.”

A blaring sound yanks you out of your daydream, and you realize that you’ve stopped shooting at the targets. The noise is the warning alarm that the simulation will shut off after 30 more seconds of inactivity. What it is is an inconvenience. You slam the pause button a little more forcefully than you need to, too riled up from your own fantasy simulation. It seems to have worked a little too well, judging by ache between your legs. 

Putting the safety back on your blaster, you drop it onto the shelf in front of the booth opening. Thinking back, there was something in Rex’s eyes as he called you “good girl”  that you can’t quite put your finger on. Discovering that you enjoyed being praised was one thing, but it seemed that Rex was holding something back, something that had to do with that phrase. Not knowing what it was set you on edge, that it could be something about you and that feeling didn’t sit well. 

There was just something about him that makes you crave his attention, wanting to please him so he’d call you “good girl” again. You shiver as you think about how he looked between your thighs, how wide you had to stretch to fit him between you legs. 

You groan to yourself, knowing you’re well and truly gone on this man, and that you’d let him do whatever he wanted, just as long as you could be his good girl. You lean forward against the small shelf, burying your head in your arms.

“Fuuuuck me.” 

“Am I interrupting something, mesh’la?”

To be continued

[nightingaelic]

could you do Fallout New Vegas companion’s reactions to a Courier Six who is also the Lone Wanderer telling their stories from their time in DC? (bonus points for Arcade’s reaction to them hating the enclave, and if that would make him decide to keep his past hidden even longer, or if he would still tell them?)

The logistics and implications of this make my head spin. This is also super long, honestly I should just quit writing reacts and start writing fics OH WAIT

Getting the courier talking was a tough thing to do, but on nights where the moon was full and the coyotes' howls were miles away or at least behind some stout walls, on nights where they were a few beers in and they hadn't seen another living soul in a few days, that Mojave Express deliverer started to reminisce. That wasn't really the surprising part, though. No, the surprising part was what they would remember, fondly or not-so-fondly: A world apart from the desert, a continent away on another coast, and stories of life in a vault, a missing father, pure water and a Brotherhood divided.

Arcade Gannon: Arcade didn't mind these moods, at least when they first cropped up. He nodded along as the courier talked about living in their father's shadow, about feeling cornered by their own family's legacy. He hung on their words about living in the cradle of America's history, about Project Purity, all of the gritty details of modifying a GECK to bring water to a devastated wasteland.

Eventually though, the courier's memories soured, with the arrival of Enclave remnants in their life. Arcade folded into himself with every harsh word, every jolt of plasma that had disrupted his friend's world relived in horrific detail. They gestured angrily as they described their newfound purpose, their battle for power with the fractured Brotherhood of Steel at their back, and their smug satisfaction at the moments they were able to crack open Raven Rock and the Enclave's mobile base crawler and lay waste to their tormentors.

It took a few rounds of these stories before the courier noticed he shrank and grew quiet whenever they neared the end of their story about breaking into another vault to find the GECK. They stopped abruptly one night. "What's up with you?"

"Um..." Arcade scratched the back of his neck and looked away. "Nothing. Nothing, I just... have some personal experience with the Enclave, myself."

The courier sighed. "Yeah, there's a few people walking around the West Coast that have similar stories to mine. Arroyo's full of them, for one. Is it something like that?"

Arcade took a deep breath. "I feel... well, it's a lot closer to home, for me. Close enough to raise questions, so I don't talk about it much."

"Close enough to..." The courier twisted their face up in confusion for a moment, before realization set in and their eyes grew large. "You were... your... oh."

"Mmm-hm."

"Well, fuck me." The courier smiled and popped a cap off of another beer. "I've been doing all the talking, haven't I? Let's hear your story about working with the guys in power armor who ruined my life, right after dad did."

Craig Boone: Whenever the courier started up like this, Boone couldn't help but notice a familiar twinge of regret and self-doubt in their voice. It shone through most clearly when they spoke about their time with the Brotherhood of Steel, the men and women they'd fought alongside and lost during their struggle against the remnants of the Enclave. It was there, too, in their story about returning to the vault they grew up in, setting the chaos that had arisen in their wake to rest, but not being able to go back to the way things were.

Boone didn't pry. He knew that feeling well. Instead, he cracked open bottles of beer, liquor, soda, whatever they had on hand during their nights in the desert, and just listened. He'd done the same for Carla, when they were younger and new to each other and he couldn't get enough of her voice and how it flowed endlessly, easily, the way his never could. He absorbed it all now as he did then: The joy, the pain, the loss, the fear, the triumphs and falls and abandoned dreams that filled the courier up and drove them to travel west, beyond anything they had ever known.

That last part stumped Boone a bit, though. "Why didn't you stay?" he finally asked one night.

They looked surprised. "Stay? Stay where? I didn't have a home anymore."

Boone shook his head. "With the Brotherhood. Or some other settlement."

"Like Megaton?" The courier sighed. "I thought about it. Close to the vault, friendly people, easy work... I guess I just didn't want to wind up... stuck."

They flushed red and looked away from him. Boone knew why they were embarrassed, but he also knew the truth in their words.

Sometimes the courier cried after they had finished, though they did their best to hide it. Boone pretended not to notice. He was pretty sure they knew he was pretending, but he was also pretty sure that pointing it out would be worse than just letting it be an open secret between them. The silence between them endured, but something grew inside it and flourished. Some kind of deeper understanding.

Lily Bowen: The more the courier spoke, the more Lily made connections in her muddled mind. Of course they knew the basic layout of most vaults, they had grown up in one. Of course they were extra-sensitive to the Mojave heat, they had come to the desert from the cooler of the two coasts. Of course they'd been extra-wary around the super mutants or nightkin of Jacobstown, they had only known angry super mutants looking to grow their own numbers through any means necessary.

Their shared experience of growing up inside a vault reminded Lily of happier days, and she often asked questions about Vault 101 during the courier's stories. "Were you sweet on anyone inside your old home?" she asked, with a big smile befitting a proud grandma.

The courier blushed. "That's not very polite, Lily."

"Oh, I'm sorry, dearie."

"No, no it's okay." The courier smiled. "There was a boy who picked on me a lot, but I never figured out whether he did it because he hated me or liked me. His name was Butch. And there was Amata, my childhood friend. She was the daughter of the Overseer."

"Daughter of the Overseer?" Lily grinned. "I'm sure she was a lovely young woman."

The courier looked a little misty. "Yeah. She was. Probably still is."

Lily pulled a handkerchief that used to be a small tablecloth from inside her overalls and handed it over. "Maybe we can go back there together, pumpkin," she offered. "I always wanted to travel to the capital. We can visit your friends, see the sights."

"Yeah, maybe someday." The courier accepted the gift and blew their nose. "I've got some things I need to finish up here before I even think about wandering back east, though."

"Then let's make a list and do our chores," Lily said happily. "Number one?"

"Ohhhh, man." The courier smiled up at her. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul got a faint smile on his face whenever the courier started up like this, as if their memories reminded him of another place he had come from, another time. While they couldn't have more different backgrounds, pasts- hell, he had several hundred years on the courier, even if they shared the same road today- there was something in the description of the other roads they had walked that made him feel warm on a cold night.

"What's on your mind?" The courier asked him one night, when Raul's smile grew larger than usual.

"Nada, boss," he reassured them. "You're just a good reminder that I can change my mind about the future anytime I'd like. Tell me the one about that radio DJ again."

"Again?" The courier rolled their eyes. "Why? I could tell you a million stories about Underworld and all the ghouls that lived there, but all you want to hear about is Three Dog. You'd probably have more in common with the Underworld folks, honestly."

Raul nodded noncommittally. "Sí, but my favorite stories are about people who had to rise above bad situations and become someone uncommon. Anyone who's able to do that is either fighting for something great or running from something terrible. Sometimes both."

The courier shot him a skeptical look. "Three Dog's holed up in his radio station 24/7, he's not running from anything or out fighting for anything. All that stuff about 'the good fight' is a load of bull."

"Now, now, Six," Raul chastised. "Just because he looks like your average pendejo doesn't mean he isn't doing his part. You even told me his radio show is inspirational for the Capital Wasteland folks."

The courier held their hands up in the air and bobbled them, as if balancing an invisible scale. "The duality of man. Being an average pendejo, or convincing everyone around you that you aren't actually an average pendejo and can pull off miracles."

Raul laughed. "And which one are you, boss?"

"Eh, I'm still figuring it out."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Cass was never one for fixating on her own past, but she couldn't help but sympathize with the courier whenever they deigned to add onto their unbelievable story. It was hard enough for her to navigate her own damn life: She couldn't imagine being called upon to steer an entire area's destiny.

After another night of recalling their life inside a vault with their dad, then their unexpected loss of him right after being reunited on the surface, the courier stopped suddenly. "I'm sorry," they said.

Cass paused her swig of precious whiskey. "What?"

"I keep going on and on about my dad, and here you are not knowing what happened to yours."

"Eh." Cass took her drink and waved her hand around until the burning swallow made its way down. "S'loads of people in the wasteland without a clue what happened to their pops. I'm not special. In fact, I'd say it probably hurts a bit more, what happened with yours."

"Well, all the same." The courier sank deeper into their seat and examined their own bottle of spirits. "I feel like an open book, tonight. Anything you want to know about where I came from that I haven't already spilled?"

Cass thought for a moment. "Tribals."

"What about them?"

"Does the East Coast have them? You're not the first traveler I've met from there, but none of you have so much as mentioned any tribals out east."

"Mmm." The courier looked thoughtful. "I guess we do have them, though maybe not in the traditional sense. There's a mess of them in Point Lookout for sure, and at least one tribal group in the Capital Wasteland outright, but beyond that things are more... loose. Fewer intact families, fewer intact homes."

"Huh." Cass took another drink. "Maybe that's where my dad went."

She let the courier stew in the awkward silence for a bit before she grinned and reached out to smack them. "Just kidding. Keep going. I want to hear about that giant robot again."

Veronica Santangelo: Veronica usually sat and listened, spellbound, picturing a chapter of her order that had realized the very thing she kept trying to tell the Elders and made the ultimate sacrifice to follow their hearts anyway.

Well, maybe Elder Owyn Lyons hadn't come to the same realization as her, but he had had a change of heart that split his company and cut them off from almost everyone they had ever known. It had been five years since the High Elders had instituted radio silence toward their East Coast chapter, and so far there had been no attempts to re-establish contact.

Veronica prodded the courier for any info she could get about the Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel. The courier let slip pretty early in their friendship that Elder Owyn Lyons had passed away, which wasn't unexpected. The man was 76 years old, after all. She learned on one particularly emotional night that his daughter, Elder Sarah Lyons, was also dead, something she wasn't sure even the Western Elders were aware of. That memory was clearly painful for the courier though, so Veronica didn't press for details.

"And the Enclave?" the Scribe asked one night, arms wrapped around her knees. "Are they completely gone?"

The courier grew cold. "Yes. I made sure of it."

"Right." Veronica nodded. "So the Brotherhood took over the air force base they were at. It must have been chock-full of tech and resources, if it was the Enclave's last stand."

"It was." The courier sighed and shifted in their seat. "And it woke up some of our brothers and sisters to their original mission in the Capital Wasteland. I thought maybe that selfishness had died with Liberty Prime, but... well, I didn't like it, so I left."

"Mmm, yeah." Veronica nodded again, sympathetically this time. "I know how you feel. Felt."

"Feel," the courier agreed. "I just wish there was more I could've done. Maybe there wasn't anything else, short of seizing power."

"You'd definitely get pushback for that in the Brotherhood," Veronica agreed. "But you might get that chance out here in the broader Mojave."

ED-E: At first, ED-E enjoyed the stories, trumpeting and cooing various beeps at the appropriate moments for emphasis. The one time the courier began badmouthing the Enclave, however, the eyebot waited until they had finished before playing back the first tape that Dr. Whitley had recorded before its trip.

The courier listened to the scientist's words from years ago, deflating slightly as it played out. When the tape had finished, they stood up and checked the eyebot over. "He sent you toward Navarro, huh?"

ED-E beeped affirmation, and the courier sighed. "But Navarro was already gone. I'm sorry. I guess I'm... well, me and the Brotherhood of Steel back east are responsible for your previous master's decision to send you away. Might be responsible for more, too."

ED-E beeped sadly. The courier pressed their forehead against the eyebot's metal dome in apology.

Rex: Well, surprising for most. Rex was not most. As soon as the courier got really into their recollections, Rex usually yawned and went to sleep. He stirred when he felt their hand reach down to scratch the ruff of his neck, or pat the glass dome that held his brain.

"Good dog," the courier said, through the veil of sleep. "You remind me of another pup that used to follow me around."

[ijustwant2write]

Brought Together-George Weasley x Reader

(GIF credit to @tanrininsonteki​)

(I’ve written loads about Fred, George needed some love too!)

Summary: Who ever gets over the death of their brother? The death of their son? A friend? (Y/N) and the twins were always together, as if joined at the hip (or hips rather). But once the trio became a duo, one person had to become stronger than the other, pushing down their emotions and feelings to help the person they loved; because when things are put in perspective, it’s so obvious who their soulmate should be. 

Characters: George Weasley x Reader, Weasley family x Reader (platonic), mentions of Fred Weasley

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Lots and lots of fluff, death, mourning, suppressed feelings/emotions

                                            *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My body was numb. Whether it was from exhaustion, shock, trauma, fear or the wounds scattered across my body, it didn’t matter to me, I couldn’t bring myself to move. With my knees hunched up to my chest, my hand tightly gripped onto my wand, showing how much I was shaking. A shadow cast over me, but I didn’t move my head. In my peripheral vision, I saw someone sit next to me, gently taking my wand away before I snapped it in half.

“You haven’t moved. It’s over now (Y/N).” 

George saddled up to me, slowly put an arm around my shoulders. I leaned into him, letting him rest his chin on top of my head. My hand grabbed his free one, guiding it to wrap it around my waist, pulling him close for a hug. It felt relieving to have human contact, to feel someone else’s heartbeat, knowing that they were alive here with me. There was too much blood, too much crying, too many friends lying dead or unconscious on the stone floor. Although fear had been pulsing through my body throughout the entire time we were fighting, my mind wouldn’t accept the concept of anyone dying; yet here I sat, having watch the life drained away from one of my best friends.

“George?” I suddenly gasped, pulling away from him.

His eyes widened at my movement.“What?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? George, please don’t tell me I’m imagining you?!” my voice raised as I panicked, and George tried to shush me. I was disrupting the first sign of peace.

“Yes, yes, (Y/N) I’m here. I’m real,” tears started rolling down his cheeks, but he attempted a smile,“I’m not leaving you. I won’t ever leave you.”

I groaned as I picked up another box, feeling the pain in my back. At ‘Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes’, we were re-stocking for the beginning of the Christmas season, changing around the shop to give it a fresh look. George was rolling up his sleeves, stepping back from the display he created. I approached him, standing with my arms crossed as I admired his work.

“I like it.” I simply said.

“Just like?” George nudged me with his elbow.

I smiled, rolling my eyes.“You know what I meant.”

“Come on, I’ll help you with the last boxes.”

“You don’t have to George. Have a break.”

He walked past me.“Nonsense. We’ve got places to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Drinks after work of course. Seeing as it’s just us today, I thought we could head to the Three Broomsticks, like we used to.”

I blushed, happy that he turned away from me to not see it. Following after him, I tried not to stare too much as he decided how we should set out the certain product. When he was engulfed in his work, something that he was so passionate about, it was like I was seeing the old George, the cheeky chap from school (not that he wasn’t cheeky anymore). These small moments were captured in my memories, pushing back the old, terrible ones. He deserved to be happy, especially when all he wanted to do was make other people laugh with the jokes and pranks they sold.

We managed to finish the new displays within the next hour, meaning it was time for us to relax with a good drink. It wasn’t going to be a night of getting drunk, just two...friends enjoying each other’s company. Wrapping up warm, George locked up, holding out his arm to me as we hurried to the pub, wanting to be out of the cold as soon as possible. Once at the Three Broomsticks, we were easily able to find a table, being served instantly as it wasn’t busy, only a few locals filled the space.

“Actually,” George started after setting his drink down,“I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

There was that blush again. It seemed that words didn’t want to form.“Hm?”

“Well, obviously you’re always welcome round mine. But I was wondering if you wanted to come over for Christmas? Not the actual day cause I know you’ll be with your family, but just before-”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“What?”

He chuckled.“That didn’t take much persuasion, did it?”

“I love your family. You didn’t even need to ask. But you sounded nervous.”

“Did I?”

I nodded, taking a sip of my drink. 

“W-well, I...I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he looked everywhere except in my direction.“You ever seen me nervous?”

I giggled.“You don’t remember asking me to the Yule Ball-”

He waved his hands dismissively, which only made me laugh harder.“We said to never speak of that again, remember?”

I shrugged, a grin still on my face.“I still think it was more cute than nervous.”

Now it was his turn to tease me.“You think I’m cute?”

“Thought, I thought the whole idea was cute. But you can’t deny that it wasn’t a good night.”

“No, that was fun.” we were both in thought.“You looked beautiful in that dress.”

I waited for a snarky remark, but nothing came.“But?”

“What do you mean, ‘but’?”

“Oh, usually you just...never mind.” 

“Anyway,” George cleared his throat,“you know mum wouldn’t take no for an answer, so you’ll have to pack a bag to stay a few nights.”

I laughed.“I would expect nothing less. Gosh, what to get all you Weasley’s for Christmas?”

“Don’t be daft. You don’t need to get everyone presents.”

“Of course I do!”

“Tell you what, why don’t we join up for presents? Buy them together.”

“You know what George, that’s probably the best idea you’ve had for a while.” I smirked.

He scoffed a laugh.“Right, I know I offered to buy the drinks, but that stops now!”

We had a few weeks before my time at the Weasley’s, meaning we were able to think and buy everyone’s presents. During lunch breaks or on days off, we would scour the shops, coming out of them with bags and bags hanging off our arms. I was always excited to see my second family, and Christmas was a fun, special time of year for everyone. The night before we were set to visit them, I stayed with George as we had to set off early the next morning. It was lovely when we stayed with each other.

"I know you only clean this place up when I come round, just admit it!" I giggled as we laid in bed facing the other, discarded chocolate wrappings scattered between us. 

George laughed with me, rolling onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. As we calmed down, I bundled up into a tight ball, feeling a slight chill, which George noticed. He said nothing as he leaned his upper body off of the bed, grabbing a blanket from who knows where before wrapping it around me. My gaze remained on him as he tucked me in, enjoying the small amount of attention. Feeling hands on me made butterflies emerge in my stomach, and the caring side to him was the sweetest thing I had ever seen. 

"I will admit, I did buy that blanket just for you. You complained about being cold enough to drive me mad." he smirked. 

I clutched onto the soft fabric."Well, if you're going to speak to me like that, then I guess I'll just leave." 

He tucked his arms beneath his head, closing his eyes slowly."Go on then. See you later." 

When neither of us moved, we tried to contain our laughter, both failing miserably as our cackles rang out in his bedroom. It was like our sleepovers we had when we were much younger, they stopped as we...changed at a certain age. 

“Are you sure everyone will like their presents?" I wondered. 

He sighed lightly."We've been over this. You could pick up a weed from our own garden and they would fawn over it. It's not the gift they want, it's you." 

My mouth open, prepared to protest against him as he teased me again, but I was stuck for words."George...that's a lovely thing to say." 

His head lolled to face me, his face scrunching up in disgust."I take it back." 

"No!" I quickly said."You can't pretend you didn't say that!" 

"Say what?" he teased.

"George!" 

Carrying everyone’s presents in our arms, George and I prepared ourselves for the onslaught of hugs and kisses we would be attacked with before we could even set down any of the presents or our bags. We were still a few steps away from the door when it was fiercely pulled open, Molly squealing and throwing her arms up in joy.

“Oh, you’re here! Arthur, they’re here!” she was beaming.

She hastily took the presents from George’s arms, impatiently ushering him inside as Arthur (who was a bit more reserved) took my presents, before I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as a greeting. Once all of our belongings were set down, proper hugs were given, just as bone crushing as they usually were.

“Oh, it’s so lovely to have you over dear.” Molly gushed.

“Mum, she was here a month ago.” George said.

“Well, it wouldn’t matter if it was just a day, I would miss her the same amount.” 

I smiled at her.“Thank you Molly. See George, maybe you should be as kind as your mum.”

“I see you everyday, that’s almost too much for me.”

“Well, Ginny and Harry should be arriving tonight, Ron is already here, I think Hermione is supposed to be coming tonight too, but I’m not sure when, Bill and Fleur-”

Molly continued explaining the plan for the next couple of days, but I was distracted by George talking to his dad. Their voices were hushed, they kept side glancing at us as they spoke, before a shy smile emerged on George’s face. I somehow went back to Molly’s explanation, pretending that I had heard everything she said. Politely nodding, I was relieved that she started asking me about myself, changing the topic of conversation, even though my mind was occupied with someone else.

Everyone had arrived as the evening came, squeezing into the house and around the long table. As we sat down to eat, I noticed an empty chair besides George, realising who should have been there. My breath got caught in my throat at the sight, not hearing George call my name until he placed his hand on top of mine. 

“You OK?” he whispered.

“Um...” my head slowly turned to face him.“Yeah, sorry. I’m fine.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it? What I mean is, it’s weird to think he’s...he’s not here.”

I squeezed his hand, but before I could say anything, Arthur stood, preparing to make a speech. Keeping my hand in George’s, I listened just like everyone else, trying to push away the flashes of Fred filling my mind.

“Well, I know it’s a bit early to be celebrating Christmas, but we know that you all have your own plans for this year, now that you’re grown up. But it is important to ensure that we get together, especially during this season about love, giving gifts, drinking, eating, and spending time with family and friends, because...because you never know what the future holds. And I think...no, I know that the last year has taught us all that.”

People were either getting teary eyes, already crying, or had a solemn look on their faces. Glances towards the empty seat were common. I didn’t wince as George’s grip tightened, strongly pinching my skin. Keeping my head down, I suppressed any tears, taking in a deep breath as Arthur managed to carry on.

“I just want you all to know, that I love you, your mother and I love you. And for those extended family, (Y/N), Harry, Hermione, Fleur, Audrey, we love you just as much. You’re our family too. We need to make every moment count, make every moment special. So, with that being said, let’s have some fun tonight!”

We raised our glasses, clinking them all together before drinking. I took a big gulp, and then another as the chatter built up again. Once we were done with food and the conversations afterwards, we were going to start playing games, lifting up the atmosphere in the room. Before it started, I excused myself, not that anyone took much notice. Scurrying upstairs, I tried to slow down my breathing as I shut myself in my designated room, covering my mouth to silence my cries. I collapsed back onto the bed, head in my hands as I felt tears try to stream down my face. My shoulders shook as I forced myself to make no noise. The door opened, causing me to flinch back, even though it was George.

“(Y/N)? Why are you crying?” he panicked, immediately kneeling in front of me.

I shook my head that was back hiding in my hands.

“Hey, come on, you can talk to me. Did someone say something?”

I sniffled, looking away from him.“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be crying, it’s not fair.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just seeing Fred’s chair...without him in it, it was heartbreaking. And, and I know you and your family have to deal with that every day for the rest of your lives but...but I miss him so much George!”

“It’s alright. Hey, I’m here.” he moved to sit beside me, holding my close. 

“I’ve always wanted to make sure you were happy, and I knew that if I started crying like this then it would make things worse. He was your twin brother. What right do I have to be like this?”

“Listen to yourself,” he softly said, gently pushing me away so that I would look him in the eyes,“you’ve never mourned properly. You heard my dad downstairs, you’re family. Fred loved you, you loved him, we were the best of friends us three! The fact that you’ve not let out all of this makes me worried. It’s not healthy.”

“I know, I just couldn’t stand to see you upset anymore. I wanted to make you happy.”

“You do make me happy (Y/N). You make me extremely happy by just being with me, by just being you. You’re right, all those times I saw your smile, I smiled. Making you laugh is one of the best things in the world, and the fact that I can see you everyday, well, I couldn’t ask for anything more. I just wished that you had been able to talk to me about this, you know I’m always here for you.”

“I should have, I realised that now. But when you would start to let everything out to me, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything, I felt like I was adding to your trauma and making it about myself. And after relentless weeks of nightmares, nightmares that involved you dying alongside Fred, it would all disappear from my mind once I saw you.”

His hand pushed away the hair stuck to my wet face, sadly smiling.“I understand. Promise me that you’ll tell me about these sort of things?”

I nodded.“I promise. I’m sorry that I didn’t speak to you sooner.”

“Don’t apologise. You have nothing to apologise for.”

Strangely, we both leaned in towards each other, quickly kissing. We didn’t pull away a lot, kissing once again, though this one was firmer and more confident. It wasn’t leading to anything, it was something we both wanted but knew tonight wasn’t the right time to go too deep into this. After a few seconds apart, I couldn’t help it, I had to kiss him again.

“My dad asked about us earlier. After hearing that we bought presents together and stayed with each other, he was wondering if something had finally happened.”

“Glad he’s not the only one wanting something to happen between us.”

“We’ll definitely talk about this tomorrow. But just so you know, I enjoyed that.” George said.

“I did too.” I mumbled, suddenly becoming shy.“And thank you for always being there George. I will get better at expressing my feelings in the moment.”

“I just hope you know that it doesn’t matter how you’re feeling; happy, sad, excited, annoyed, you can tell me anything. And also, if Fred was here, he would have certainly burst in and ruined the moment.”

I giggled.“You’re not wrong there. Perhaps he’s watching down on us know, wishing he could have put some sort of plan into action to embarrass us.”

“I bet he is. But I know he would have also been happy.”

“And we’ll be happy too. We are happy.”

“Yes, now that I’ve got you, I’m going to cherish every moment, just as dad said to.”

I hugged him close.“Don’t ever leave me George.”

“I won’t, not ever.”

[pridewhatpride]

Do you have any gx rival shipping fanfic recs?

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for far too long. Prepare to get linked to half the Manjoume/Judai tag on Ao3 (FF.net is impossible to navigate and most of the works there are... questionable?).

I'll try to make this organised in some way...

My absolute favourite on Ao3 is Sour Candy by Aamalysstuff. Chapters: 1 Word count: 23,522 Reasoning: It's just... nice. It captures an aspect of teen romance that I just love- the awkwardness of sharing a room with someone you think you could never get along with just to find yourself wishing to never be apart from said roommate. And they share candy and music- what more can you want?

Moving on, there's Colour Theory by Sophisticated_Adult. Chapters: 1 Word count: 1,850 Reasoning: Well, I am a sucker for soulmate AUs and honestly? This is genius. This is the instance in which the only colours you can see before touching your soulmate are their eye and hair colour. So imagine poor Judai only seeing in greyscale and thinking he doesn't have one at all. Also this author is just great in general, in my humble opinion.

Another soulmate AU! All the King's Men by Souless_Robot. Chapters: 1 Word count: 2,434 Reasoning: Do you like pain? Do you want to see Manjoume suffer? Well, I do. So take the sweet promise of soulmates and flip it on its head by making Haou Manjoume's soulmate, while Judai is happily paired up with Johan. Don't we all love unrequited GX Rivalshipping?

A 2020 special: A Man in Uniform by Draconicmaw. Chapters: 1 Word count: 3,011 Reasoning: Has quarantine made you starved for interaction? Do you love platonic Manjoume-Asuka? Great! This fic has Asuka acting as the best wingman to Manjoume, who is the world's most disastrous bisexual. Judai is the sweaty and buff UPS man.

There's also Jun's (questionable) guide on how to go out with your crush by SheepySeconds. Chapters: 1 Word count: 9,567 Summary: In which Juudai stays at Jun's stupid apartment, keeps on getting injured in increasingly stupid ways, looks at Jun with those stupidly pretty eyes, and is stupidly impossible not to ask out, because Jun never claimed to have good taste or anything.

The last one-shot! parallel. by kaibaboy. Chapters: 1 Word count: 13,754 Summary: judai has never really had a 'special summer memory', and he finds himself wanting nothing more than to be able to understand the feelings of joy and euphoria surrounding the warmest season. manjoume ends up getting roped into his scheme, as always, but he finds himself going on yet another journey with judai — except this time, it doesn't end with them going in circles. this time, they finally meet at the intersection, and summer becomes sweeter than it had ever been before.

On to multi-chapter fics. Now. I haven't finished some of these (and some are even just on my to read list but deserve to be mentioned regardless), so I'll give you a summary instead of my own silly commentary (I also sometimes just don't have much to say ;;;;).

Straying by 111 (Insert). Chapters: 27 Word count: 219,653 Summary: The next time Manjoume saw him, Judai had a head full of spirits and a desperation that almost showed through. (I am recommending this just because a friend said it's good, honestly. I have yet to start reading it...)

Crushed by 111 (Insert). Chapters: 19 Word count: 150,973 Summary: Manjoume Jun should be dead, but he's not. The guard who throws the cell door open shouts a title different than the name running through his head over and over again. "The Supreme King has requested your presence." (Again, if Haou is mentioned, you know you're in for some fun pain.)

Take me home where I belong by space_lace. Chapters: 32 Word count: 43,668 Summary: For as much as Jun knew his brothers hated him, he never would have thought that they would be so willing to kill him. (In case you didn't hate Chosaku and Shouji enough- also, Manjoume struggles to live working as a cashier.)

Soul Reversal by Sophisticated_Adult. Chapters: 12 (Ongoing) Word count: 22,458 Summary: The roleswap AU no one asked for, featuring clueless rich boy Judai and bitter Very Much Not Rich Manjoume. Behold as two idiots with equal social skills just kind of flail around at each other. (This is just a dream come true. I love this author lol.)

Bonus Round! I'm now throwing unfinished stuff and pwp at you. Also two fics I just want you to read.

Saving You Saves Me by Osidiano. Chapters: 15 (Unfinished) Word count: 67,169 Reasoning: You see, this one has Manjoume as an actual believer. The Society of Light was not just brainwashing. The Darkness in Judai is also... strong. There is a lot of violence, but it's just... worth reading. I'm devastated it was never finished. It's honestly so so interesting.

Pentadic by spellcastersjudgement. Chapters: 1 Word count: 7,458 Reasoning: ... Technically it's Misawa centric. It's Misawa watching porn, which just so happens to be a camshow by Judai and Manjoume. It's honestly very fun to read. Misawa is very horny. Manjoume is a victim.

Super Stud by Hambone. Chapters: 1 Word count: 3,708 Reasoning: Manjoume is a people pleaser and he just so happens to encounter a horny fan whose name is Reginald Van Howell III. But Ulri! That isn't GX Rivalshipping!!! Listen. It's funny as fuck and Manjoume has an undying crush on Judai in it. I will die defending this fic. It's not my fault Jun is a hoe.

haven't you people ever heard of using the goddamn door by chancellorxofxtrash. Chapters: 1 Word count: 2,187 Reasoning: When I say that the polyamorous relationship Edo-Manjoume-Judai is amazing, this is what I'm talking about. This fic. It's godly. Nobody can touch this fic and get away with it. I will personally come and murder you Edo style.

The last entry is some shit user pridewhatpride has written. Don't actually read it, it's bad. Anyways, the new work in the series is coming out soon, so... Yeah, no skip this one. Unless you want your eyes to bleed. Bad fic boys. Nothing to see here. The first work is called Playing Rivals, but like... really. Don't.

Please read my shitty drabbles.

[aprilsrant]

When I kissed the teacher | Oliver Wood x Slytherin!Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: (Y/N) and Oliver finally accept their feelings for each other.

WORD COUNT: 2,065.

WARNINGS: a kiss, (?), a few curse words.

A/N: English is not my first language, if there are any mistakes, let me know! This part wasn’t supposed to be here so soon because I was working on the other fics, but this actually took some of my writer’s block away so here it is. 

This is the final part of the mini series, but I think I’ll do some blurbs about Oliver and this particular reader in the future, like dates, life after Hogwarts, and more.

Please like, reblog or comment if you want!

PREVIOUS PARTS:

Lay all your love on me. (Part 1)

Honey Honey! (Part 2).

MASTERLIST. / WORK IN PROGRESS.

The poor Slytherin girl had been trying to hide her feelings towards Quidditch’s rising star and Gryffindor’s Team Captain, for a little more than a year and a half. It wasn’t necessarily difficult at first since they barely saw or talked to each other, only sharing a few classes and having one friend in common —that was more of an acquaintance to him, which made things easier for a few months—. But then, her friend’s conspiracy to get them together interfered with a plan of her own named “avoiding Oliver Wood for the rest of my school days”. 

Many tutoring sessions followed the first one, Oliver was improving a lot faster than they had expected. “All your work, of course”, he would say with a thick, scottish accent that made (Y/N) nearly faint every time he’d utter a single word. This was actually one of the reasons why she tried to convince him of calling off their meetings, —that and the fact that it was getting harder to conceal her sweaty hands, the fidgeting, the occasional stuttering, the evident stares and, of course, that the girl was unable to look him in the eyes for more than three seconds—. 

Oliver thought differently, he energetically insisted about needing her as tutor more than ever now that he was catching up with Potions and Transfiguration. And once more, incapable of saying no, she agreed, accepting to tutor him for the rest of the year ‘just in case’.

Dorian almost had her head when she talked about the conversation and her desire to stop helping Oliver. He couldn’t comprehend her reasoning, not when his friend was finally getting what she wanted for so long. Ethan and Isla didn’t take his side this time, instead, they supported (Y/N), sympathizing with her logic. 

“If it’s becoming a burden for you, maybe you should tell him,” the Ravenclaw boy advised, concentrating on beating Isla on the game of Exploding Snap in front of him.

“It’s not a burden, it’s just…,” (Y/N) started, the lack of words interrupting her sentence, “I don’t know how to explain it.”

The only Gryffindor in the Multicolour Quartet —horrible name indeed and his idea— kept quiet. He wanted (Y/N) to be happy, so why was she giving up her chance to actually be happy with the boy she liked for more than a year?

No one spoke about Oliver again that Wednesday afternoon on the Courtyard, a pact to keep quiet about the subject forming silently between them. 

By the group’s seventh, and last, year at Hogwarts, Oliver Wood and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) were official friends —something Dorian took full credit of and something no one in the school had foreseen, except for her friends and the Gryffindor Quidditch Team (why was their Captain, Oliver obsessive Wood, postponing practices all of a sudden?)—. Not long after she tried to end their tutoring sessions, Oliver asked her if she minded to spend some time with him outside of their “study dates”. 

Since then, she and Oliver could be seeing together round Hogwarts. Sometimes (Y/N)’s friends joining them because of the boy invitating the Quartet, or rest of it at least, to Hogsmeade, making up silly excuses to leave them alone or telling Oliver all the embarrassing things (Y/N)’d succeeded to do, most of them narrated by Dorian, —how could he know so many stupid stories when he joined the group not that long ago?—, who loved laughing at the angry faces she did until her elbow hit his ribs. 

While (Y/N)’s feelings kept growing without restraint, Oliver’s were blooming slowly, at first unnoticed, but strong. His heart jumping whenever he saw her smiling, or talking about a subject she was passionate about. His body going still momentarily if she was too close to him, showing him how to cut ingredients, or the order they went in, or how to move his hands to perform a spell correctly. 

He realised during the fifth month of the school term. It wasn’t romantic nor beautiful. It felt like taking a Bludger to the head —believe or not, he had experience with that—, you weren’t prepared for the hit and the consequences it would bring. Ruining their friendship was the last thing Oliver wanted, so he kept quiet about his discovery and acted normal, begging no one, especially not (Y/N), would notice.

Reckless, and sometimes irresponsible, they were, but not fools. So of course the experts on the matter of ‘friends being complete idiots and denying their feelings’, Dorian, Isla and Ethan knew exactly what was going on when they noticed Oliver’s change of attitude towards their Slytherin friend. How he seemed more nervous around her; the way would look for her before a Quidditch match; how he would ask easy questions about the assignments, claiming he was going to die without her help, and how he put more effort on his appearance whenever they were going to hang out. 

The three friends couldn’t believe their luck. First, (Y/N), the smartest person they knew and yet, at the same time, the most oblivious and ignorant. Then, Oliver, the boy their friend had a crush on, now seemed to reciprocate her feelings but was trying to push them aside. 

“How can someone be so daft?,” Isla whispered to the boys beside her while watching (Y/N) and Oliver leave Zonko’s and starting to walk slowly towards the Three Broomsticks, “you know, we could make them smell Amortentia and admit their feelings once and for all.”

“You are actually onto something there, Islandic,” Dorian said, beginning to follow the pair in front of them. The Gryffindor snickered after Isla hit him on the head because of the recent nickname he’d given her. 

“Oh no, we’re not doing that,” they heard Ethan from behind them. 

“Why not?”

“Why not?,” Ethan repeated before letting out a scoff, ”because you two are going to make me brew the potion and I’m not brewing Amortentia.” Isla and Dorian gazed at each other, trying to conceal their smiles, knowing their other friend was right. 

They’d started to follow (Y/N) and Oliver in silence when Dorian talked again.

“Why don’t you want to brew Amortentia?” The noise of the village almost drowning the suspicious tone in his voice. “Are you trying to evade something, maybe?”

“Shut up,” he responded, tightening the dark blue coat closer to his body, and unknowingly giving Dorian the answer he hoped for, “and come on, don’t just stand there. We’re going to lose them.”

Their continuing attempts were a failure, nothing they did made the Slytherin or the Gryffindor confess. Fortunately, these thoughts were starting to appear more frequently in the latest’s mind. 

|||

It was the first Saturday after the Easter Holidays and the whole school, including the professors, was waiting impatiently for the last Quidditch match of the season, Slytherin versus Gryffindor for the Inter-House Quidditch Cup. 

With Slytherin leading the championship with more than two hundred points, Oliver’s team needed a massive win if they wanted to get their hands on the Cup.

(Y/N) made her way up to the stands alongside her friends, all of them hoping for Gryffindor to win the match. Even as a Slytherin, she wished for him, and the whole team of course, to crush her House’s Quidditch Team. Marcus Flint was everything but kind and a fair player, his tactics consisted purely of hurting his rivals, not caring about the damage the injuries could cost. (Y/N)’d have supported her own House if they weren’t cheating bastards. 

A few of the students looked at her weirdly before starting to whisper when she sat down on her seat beside Dorian, who went full on Gryffindor pride. Yes, she was wearing a green blouse —she should have accepted Dorian’s offer on using one of his red t-shirts—, but that didn’t mean anything. She was on the Gryffindor stands, so she was supporting Gryffindor, and for a good reason… 

The first ten points went to the lion’s house thanks to Angelina Johnson, but the cries of joy transformed quickly into shoutings and insults directed to the Slytherin Captain for nearly knocking her off her broom after smashing into the Chaser. Fred Weasley reacted by throwing his beater’s bat at the back of Flint’s head. 

The rest of the match followed pretty much the same way. Slytherin played using dirty tactics and attacking the Gryffindors, which resulted in them answering their violence with, well, more violence. 

“Harry spotted the Snitch,” shouted Dorian while raising his arm, pointing towards the third year boy. Before the Gryffindor Seeker could grab the shiny, golden ball, Malfoy grabbed the end of his broom and pulled it back.

“Not the fucking Firebolt, you twat,” (Y/N) thought of hearing her best friend Isla, seating on her right side, said. Everyone started screeching insults at the Slytherin Seeker, even (Y/N) and some of the professors. 

Finally, after more penalties, Harry Potter caught the Snitch, handing his House the Quidditch Cup. 

Students from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff roared in excitement, quickly leaving the stands and flooding the Pitch, running to congratulate the winning team. 

Three of the four members of the Multicolour Quartet stayed a few feet away from the crowd, Dorian celebrating in the middle with Oliver, who was carrying the Cup, on his shoulders. Isla grabbed her arm and carried her to where the Gryffindor Captain was, a memory of Dorian doing the same thing a year ago entered her mind. 

Looking up at Oliver, (Y/N) noticed his rosy cheeks and some drops of sweat forming on his forehead, but his brown eyes and smile were what captivated her the most, his enthusiasm turning contagious. 

“Congratulations, I guess,” the girl said, a serious expression on her face while rolling her eyes exaggeratedly to show him she was teasing. (Y/N) extended her arm, still acting, but was taken by surprise when Oliver grabbed it and pulled her towards him, engulfing each other in a hug. She giggled near his ear and whispered, “I’m so proud of you.”

The Gryffindor glanced down at her, bodies still close to each other, neither of them wanting to let go, eyes thrilled because of his team’s victory and something more she couldn’t figure out. Slowly, his face approached her’s, staring back to the other’s eyes, asking themselves internally if this was the moment. 

“Fuck it,” Oliver mumbled before closing the distance between them and planting a chaste kiss on her mouth. 

They stood motionless for a couple of seconds, arms still wrapped around each other and the whole school watching them silently, waiting for her reaction. From the corner of her eye, she saw Fred Weasley giving his twin, George, some sickles, a grim look on his face for losing what she assumed was a bet on them.

(Y/N)’s attention went back to the boy in front of her, one with a desperate expression. Standing on her toes, she pulled her hands away from Oliver’s torso, directing one towards the back of his neck and the other to his cheek, caressing the skin tenderly. She smiled, unable to stop another giggle, and pressed their lips together for the second time, hoping it wouldn’t be the last one. 

The crowd around the pair roared again, making them laugh between the kiss, lips separating and then reuniting. Her heart almost jumping out of her chest from how fast it was beating, her necessity to breath becoming more prominent with each second her mouth was against he’s. Ignoring it, (Y/N) continued on kissing Oliver, whose hands were now on either side of her head, trying to bring her impossibly closer. Biting her bottom lip, his tongue rushing through her mouth. The hand on his neck pressuring now with more force, bringing him down so her feet could touch the ground.

A hand on each of Oliver’s shoulders forced them apart. 

“Okay, I’m really happy you two finally stopped the painful yearning for each other, but this is my best friend you’re snogging, Oliver, so try to do that privately,” a voice that could only belong to Dorian came from behind the Gryffindor boy. 

(Y/N) crossed her arms, one of them pressing into Oliver’s side, and looked at her friend before speaking.

“Are you going to tell…”

“Yeah, I am,” he interrupted her mid sentence, “I bloody told you so.”

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[the-chick-of-the-air]

Hello my lovelies!

Wow ok I’m sorry I know it’s been a while- I kinda got into a writing slump that wouldn’t let me out, however I’m feeling like I’m getting back into things! Yay!

I want to thank all of you for your continued support in my writing adventures, I seriously can’t describe how much it means to me when I get feedback and love on my work, one of my favorite things to do is make people happy- or really just feel anything- with my writing and I love hearing about it so thank you thank you THANK YOU!!! 🥰❤️

So, now I’m back with a gift! A very long fic that took me way to long to get around to finishing but I wanna share! So here, have this!!

Sorry if the length is too, well, lengthy 😅 I do so hope you enjoy it!

Edit: have added a cut due to length, read below!🥰❤️

Some Wicked Type of Love

Cardan stared down at the vial he held carefully, the greenish liquid sparkled as it sloshed around with the subtle shakes he gave it. This. This would fix everything.

“So, he just has to drink that? Nothing else?” Rhyia asked, unnerved. That unnerved Cardan, his elder sister was hardly ever shaken, so seeing her nervous about something didn’t sit well.

The imp with golden skin smiled thinly. Despite her obvious skepticism, he was the one Rhyia had told Cardan about, the one that could fix his problem, rid him of his ailment.

“That is all.”

Rhyia’s eyes narrowed into slits, “And it won’t hurt him?” Despite how she, along with the rest of his siblings, chose to brush him off more often than not, she did care for him on a certain level. It was why Cardan had approached her in the first place. He trusted her alone to follow through with this task.

“The young Prince shall remain whole and hale. It is to my understanding that he is now indebted to me?”

Cardan was about to protest when Rhyia spoke first, “I will take on his debt to you. When you need a favor, come to me.”

The imp’s smile widened, “Oh it is not a favor I seek in return. Simply bring him back to me once the… effects of the cure have taken hold.”

Cardan didn’t like how ominous that sounded. Nonetheless he nodded to his sister and they moved to leave.

Once they had turned away, they missed how the Imp’s smile grew impossibly wider and a silent laugh fell from his lips.

~.~

“Are you sure about this?”

Her constant questioning was beginning to grate on Cardan’s nerves as they trekked back to Hallow Hall. “For the last time, yes. I am profoundly certain in my decision. Will you let it alone now?”

Rhyia hummed and stopped walking. When Cardan realized she was no longer beside him, he stopped as well and turned to face her. She was staring at him with an expression he couldn’t puzzle out.

“Having the love of a mortal is-”

Cardan turned away sharply and began walking again, “I do not have the love of a mortal! One simply plagues my thoughts, and this is the only way to cure it.”

Rhyia jogged to catch up with him. She linked her arm through his, “All I was going to say was that…being in love with, or having the love of a mortal, is no reason to feel shame. Many of us have loved them, dearly so. The General, our father. Even I have known the affections of one.”

Cardan stopped short. That couldn’t be right. Yes, there were some Folk who took mortals as consorts and lovers- they were good for cultivating many children. The General’s love, he knew, had ended in tragedy. One that produced the very person he so sorely wished to be rid of. His father had an affinity for many a thing unusual, and having Val Moren at his side was just that. Cardan had just always assumed it was out of need for a seneschal who had an undying loyalty to him. But Rhyia?

He glanced at her sideways and she held her chin up higher, “As I said. I am not ashamed of who I have come to adore. Many think them beneath us, I find that to be wholly untrue. They are born, they live vibrant, beautiful lives, and they die, just as we do.”

Cardan shook his head, “They are dirt. A fleeting thing made of dust and water, gone before they can live fully if they do not stay here. They are beneath us.” A practiced excuse, and his sister knew it.

“You feel the need to run from what you do not understand. Do not want to feel. The choice is yours but know this: You are a prince. You may love whoever you see fit to love. Mortals may be weaker than we are, but their ability to love is stronger even than our own. When they find someone fit to adore, they put their entire existence into loving them. They feel it deeply and should you find yourself the object of their affection, there will be nothing they will not do for you,” She looked at him pointedly, “It is an honor to be loved by a mortal.”

Cardan was silent for a moment as her words sank in. The vial in his pocket felt heavier, somehow.

An honor. Cardan had never been granted anything akin to honor before. And as thoughts of auburn hair and rounded ears flashed through his mind, he realized he never would be granted such a thing. He shook his head,

“Even if that were true, my issue does not stem from running from the affections of a mortal.”

Rhyia smiled carefully at her brother, “Of course not. Simply from the possibility that she will not love you as you love her.”

He balked and tugged his arm from her hold, stalking the rest of the way home on his own. He did not love a mortal. He just couldn’t get thoughts of her out of his mind. Her name played on an indestructible loop in his brain, carefully preserved memories of her every sneer and glare followed him into his dreams and emerged with him in his waking hours. She wouldn’t leave him alone.

The liquid in that vial would fix it. It would erase her very essence from each corner of his brain, every fold she inhabited, like a sprite infestation of the mind. He would be rid of every thought, every memory, every feeling he had ever had for her.

Without any further pondering, he lifted the vial from his pocket and uncorked it.

Before he even got inside Hallow Hall, he brought it to his lips.

He threw back the potion and blessedly forgot Jude Duarte.

~.~

Lessons had never been a source of joy for Cardan. In fact, he would go as far to say they were a bane of his existence. Knowledge and learning, taking precious time to become scholarly when he could have been lounging about instead.

An odd absence in his chest pulled at him. He felt as if there was something about lessons that should have- usually would have- brought him some level of entertainment, of satisfaction. Looking around, his comrades by his side as they set up their blankets and baskets on the great lawn for the day, there was nothing amiss.

And yet there was something…

“Here they come.” Locke muttered conspiratorially, looking at someone approaching over Cardan’s shoulder. Valerian leered and Nicasia glanced in that direction before scoffing and looking elsewhere.

Had they all met someone at a revel recently? Someone worthy of their torment? Surely, they would have told him had that been the case.

Either way, he wanted to be included, so he turned as well.

When he caught sight of her, he lost his right to breathe.

There were two mortal girls, they were linked at the arm and looked exactly alike. Twins, highly uncommon amongst the Folk, though it happened often enough for the term to be familiar.

Despite there being two of them, his eyes immediately caught on the one to the right.

She was gorgeous.

Her auburn hair was twisted into a knot at the top of her head, a golden net holding it in place along with a few decorative pins. She was wearing a simple tunic with a crest across her chest that he instantly recognized. The family crest of General Madoc. He had mortal charges?

She clutched her basket in one hand and clutched her sister’s arm even closer. She was whispering something to the other girl and when she glanced up, she locked gazes with him.

It felt as if time had frozen.

She stared at him for a moment, brown eyes boring into his. It was the most beautiful color he had ever had the privilege of seeing. What a shame she shared a face with the girl next to her, her beauty was so striking that it deserved to be all her own. Even so, she was- as far as he was concerned- far more breathtaking than her twin.

She was alarmingly attractive. Distressingly beautiful. The product of tortuous, glorifying nightmares. He needed to know her, needed to speak to her. What did her voice sound like? Was she bold or soft spoken? How long had she been in Elfahme and why had he never encountered her before?

This ethereal creature… he could feel his heart beating so quickly it was growing painful, he had to force himself to take a breath least he pass out from lack of oxygen.

“Who is that?” He knew his voice was little more than a strained whisper as he continued to stare at her.

As soon as his mouth moved, it seemed to shatter some hold that had settled over her. Her eyes narrowed and she gave him a glare so delightfully heated that he could feel it burning his very blood. She was a fiery one.

Her lips pulled into a sneer and he immediately wanted to know what she would taste like. Some strange, horrid concoction of bitter and sweet, no doubt. He had to know.

He could see Nicasia looking at him strangely from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze from the mortal as she moved to an empty area on the grass with her twin in tow. He watched as they spread out their blankets and settled down.

“The Duarte twins? Madoc’s filthy mortal brats? Cardan, are you feeling well?” She asked, rare concern lacing her voice.

He would wager he’d never felt better in his life. He felt something in his chest- the previously empty and wounded area- light up as though something finally came to life in him, as though he were finally whole.

“What’s her name, the one on the right?” He ignored the strange looks his friends gave him, never looking away from the Duarte twin that had enraptured his attention, though she kept throwing disgusted sneers his way every time she looked up to find him still staring.

“Jude?” Locke inquired, glancing gleefully between the twins and the prince.

Something in his mind snapped into place, and he finally understood what had been missing, Jude.

Her name looped around his thoughts, over and over.

Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude…

He needed her. He felt it, he…

Cardan Greenbriar was in love.

~.~

Waiting for lessons to end was nearly unbearable, the only consolation Cardan got was from staring at the object of his affections throughout the day.

Each time she caught him staring, she would glare and turn away sharply, as though his gaze had branded her. Each time it sent a thrill through him, something he had never felt before, even with previous lovers. Even with Nicasia, who was sitting right next to him through the whole day.

It was perhaps hasty on his part, this whole bodied acceptance of his feelings, but Cardan was never one to curb his indulgences. After all, when the Folk fell in love, it was often that it happened deeply and all at once. This was nothing out of the ordinary, and the prince looked forward to trying to shower this lovely fiend in affections as soon as he could speak with her.

As soon as they were released for the day, he issued Locke to distract her twin, having seen how they stole glances at one another during their lessons. The fox like faerie was all too happy to oblige and Cardan found himself trailing his new love off the palace grounds and into the forest, glad she hadn’t bothered to wait for her twin.

It took about two minutes for her to stop, once they were out of sight of the palace behind them. She turned and her gaze locked onto him.

He continued forward until he was a mere foot away from her. He said nothing and simply stood there, watching, waiting for her to speak first.

“What do you want?” Oh, how delightfully sharp her voice was! Even drenched in irritation, it was soothing as a balm to his aching head after listening to Nicasia’s grating prattle all day. She looked momentarily surprised at herself, as though she were normally much milder. Though she quickly shook it off and continued to glare at him.

He decided to forego beating around the bush, she seemed like the type of person who enjoyed being direct, getting straight to the point. That spot in his chest she now occupied throbbed a bit, “You’ve captured my attention. You’re quite alluring, Jude. That is your name, correct?”

A completely logical question, but she looked at him as though he had two heads. Actually no- there was at least one two headed faerie out there- she looked at him as though he had just asked her to shoot him through with an arrow, like he was an idiot in need of mental help.

“Is this some kind of trick?” Her voice was dripping disgust and her hand twitched as though she wanted to reach for something but thought better of it at the last moment. Her eyes narrowed further and he found himself wishing she would look at him normally so he could see her eyes fully. They must be exquisite this close up.

He shook his head, shifting towards her, she took a step back, “No trick. I know I’m being forward, but I find you most enchanting, perhaps we can walk together?” he smirked at her. He knew how to be charming, had won a few hearts that way. However, she sneered at him as though she were completely immune to it- even better!

“’Perhaps we’… What are you doing, Cardan?” she nearly growled his name and he found he quite liked the way it sounded coming out of her mouth.

“Expressing my interest in you,” he stepped closer and grabbed one of her hands gently, tried not to laugh when she casually pulled it away and unsheathed a small dagger at her hip, “As I said, you have my attention.”

She looked confused a moment, even slightly concerned. It vanished quickly and she held the dagger a little higher. Outright threatening him. Yes, he was definitely in love!

“What has gotten into you? Some sort of sickness the Folk get? Have you been drinking already?”

Already. For some reason that stuck in his head. ‘Have you been..’ it sounded as though she knew of his habits. Granted it was no secret that he preferred various wines over most other beverages any day, but only those who paid attention to him knew that. He was under the distinct impression they had never met before.

That spot in his heart throbbed again, painfully.

“You…” He took a step towards her and she backed up several paces, her blade gleaming between them.

“If this is some new way of trying to get me to back down, you can drop it. It’s not going to work. You’ve managed to pit Taryn against me already, and as long as you leave her alone, we have an understanding but that’s it. I won’t hesitate to hurt you if you touch either one of us. Now leave me alone.”

Cardan didn’t understand half of what she was talking about. Who was Taryn? Her twin perhaps? He hadn’t bothered with her name. How did Jude figure he had pit them against one another? And how had he and Jude come to an agreement of sorts if he had never met her before?

As she backed away, dagger still held offensively as though she expected him to lunge for her, he realized he was going to need answers to his growing list of questions before he tried to pursue her further.

He held up his hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture, watching as she continued to move away before she was far enough to turn and hastily make her way from him. He gazed after her a moment, wishing that had gone differently, then turned and started to trek his way home, suddenly in a somber mood.

~.~

Jude huffed out a breath of frustration as she re-sheathed her dagger, trying to figure out what on earth had just passed between her and Cardan.

You have my attention. That was normally a bad thing, but the way he had been gazing at her…she could feel her blood heating and it wasn’t all due to hate.

So wrapped up in trying to figure out what had just happened with Cardan, Jude didn’t realize someone else was following her until it was too late.

She jumped an embarrassingly high distance into the air when Princess Rhyia appeared beside her.

“Oh! Uh, your highness.” Jude muttered, dropping into a low curtsy.

She tried to keep her wits about her when the princess gripped her arm and looped her own through it. She smiled warmly at Jude, something she found slightly disconcerting, and said, “Walk with me.”

Her tone was gentle, but Jude understood a command when she heard one, and Rhyia was all but physically dragging her by the arm, so she really had little choice in the matter.

“Tell me, young Jude. What do you think of my brother?”

Jude didn’t bother asking for clarification. If Rhyia had followed her all this way, it was likely she had just seen whatever it was that had transpired between Cardan and herself. She was about to blurt out “I hate him, as he does me” when she stopped herself. It probably wasn’t wise to badmouth him to his sibling. Not to mention it felt…odd, to say that all of a sudden.

The princess caught her hesitation and squeezed her arm gently, “Please, speak freely.”

Well then, “Um…we don’t…we don’t see eye to eye.” A huge understatement, though Rhyia simply nodded, keeping quiet as she waited for Jude to go on. “I take it you know why he was acting so strangely back there?”

For a startling moment, the princess looked upset. She schooled her features quickly, though. “Usually, I would feel it is not my place to meddle. But Cardan… it is no excuse, I know, but… he doesn’t always understand his own feelings.”

Jude bit the inside of her own cheek. She had quite a bit to say when it came to Cardan and feelings. She kept quiet as his sister went on.

“I shouldn’t be the one to reveal all the details, but I can tell you that he feels very strongly for you. So strongly in fact, that he went to extremes to stop feeling for you. It would appear his plan backfired.”

Strong feelings? Backfired? What? “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Cardan approached me yesterday, asking if I knew of a way to rid him of feelings he couldn’t stand to feel. I took him to an imp I know of, who gave him a potion, a…cure, he called it. It would erase the thing that ails one from their memory.”

Jude was putting the pieces together now. For an inexplicable reason, something tugged at her chest, dark and ugly. “He…wanted to forget me?” She asked carefully.

Rhyia smiled, obviously happy Jude was understanding, “You were haunting him. He couldn’t cease thinking of you and it was driving him quite mad. So, he sought a solution.”

“A solution?” Jude scoffed, the hurt in her chest growing, “So rather than…than talk to me, he decided to erase me from his memory?!” She couldn’t fathom why this truth hurt, why she even cared-

“Well, he tried. I’ve been watching him today. It seems that, if anything, his feelings for you are much clearer now.” She nodded to herself, as if this was a completely logical situation.

Jude felt like she couldn’t breathe. Cardan, he felt something for her? Something other than hate?

She thought back to a piece of paper, her name dashed out over and over and over, like he was trying to immortalize her, pen her down on paper so she should never be forgotten.

Suddenly, she was recounting every interaction they had ever had, every weighted look and spiteful word. Each trick and torment and barb thrown at one another. The way they relentlessly targeted one another, trading blows in every form one could think of. She recalled the way Taryn begged her to let it go, to quit this twisted game but she couldn’t. She would not forfeit. She didn’t want to stop.

And he was just as guilty. Each time they went toe to toe, he wouldn’t back down, wouldn’t leave her alone, almost as if he needed this game they played just as much as she did, just to feel... and each time, there was an air of something heavier behind it all, something unspoken and deadly and mutual.

Something like obsession. A twisted kind of heart-breaking. A tragic back and forth dance. Evil, heated, something intense, some…

Some wicked type of love.

She didn’t realize she had stopped moving until Rhyia pulled her arm from Jude’s. They were nearing Madoc’s estate, but Jude found she didn’t want to go home just yet.

“He…We, uh…” Great, at a loss for words in front of royalty. But Rhyia just smiled wider.

“I heard there is a way to bring back memory stolen by a potion, a kiss of true love or something of that nature. But you didn’t hear it from me.” The princess leaned in and placed a sisterly kiss on Jude’s cheek before she winked and walked away.

Jude stood there, stupidly staring at nothing just off the edge of Madoc’s estate for far longer than she would have liked to admit.

She… she loved him? She wanted to be wrong, but it felt like she had just discovered the answer to everything she never realized she was questioning. Her chest ached, she had to get to him. What had Rhyia said? ‘kiss of true love’? Like from a story book? Ridiculous. And exactly the kind of thing that would happen to her.

Jude squared her shoulders, resigning herself to her decision.

Without giving herself a chance to reconsider, she turned on her heel and started to backtrack to Hallow Hall.

~.~

Cardan was only slightly surprised when Jude traipsed through his open balcony doors an hour later. He wasn’t sure what she had against using the front door like a normal person but epic declarations of love were often much more, well, epic when preceded by dramatic entrances.

He liked her flair.

“Somehow I knew you would show up.” He was genuinely glad to see her, though if she was here to tell him off again, he wasn’t sure how he would manage. He would find a way, though, for her.

“Shame on me for being predictable.” She muttered, moving further into the room. She regarded him coolly, “You really don’t remember me?”

Cardan held up a finger and moved to his desk. He picked up an empty vial that was sitting atop. He held it out to her.

“I assumed I was at a revel last night and that was why I couldn’t recall anything, however today’s events are making that hard to believe.”

Jude took the vial from him, careful not to touch him as she did so. She examined the glass, rolled it over in her hands a few times. She glanced back up at him and he was happy to find her eyes open wide. He was right, a gorgeous color.

“I assume you don’t know what this is.” She shook the vial.

He shook his head, “I figure it’s the cause of my lapse in memory. Now I wonder what was in it and why I needed it,” He looked her over carefully, head to toe and back up again, “And why it seems tied to you.”

She pocketed the vial, though he wasn’t sure why she would want it, “Have you spoken with Rhyia today?”

Rhyia? “What does my sister have to do with this?”

“She accompanied me home, don’t give me that look- she snuck up on me. She told me that yesterday you asked for her assistance in acquiring something. A cure, of sorts.”

Cardan ignored the jealousy he felt against his sister-how unfair that she got to walk Jude home- and mused over Jude’s words. A cure… “I don’t recall being ill before last night.” He crossed his arms, watching her. Even the way she just stood there was astounding. He could look at her forever and it still wouldn’t be long enough to give her the attention she deserved.

“Well, you weren’t sick, exactly. You…wanted someone erased from your memory.” Her voice went quiet. Odd, from what he knew of her thus far, that seemed extremely out of character for her.

“That would explain the memory loss.” Horrible attempt at a quip, though her mouth quirked up at the corner, he got her to smile! Despite her obvious upset, his chest warmed. He wanted to see her grinning, to hear her laugh. Perhaps he would, one day.

“Yeah, well, it definitely did its job.”

It hit him, then. He had wanted to forget someone, his comrades had displayed obvious distaste for the Duarte twins even though Cardan could not recall ever meeting them. Rhyia had gone to Jude after their…talk in the woods, and Cardan hardly believed it had been Jude’s twin he had wanted to forget.

“You.” He said quietly, watching her shift her weight from one foot to the other, “I wanted to forget you?” He hardly thought it possible, she was a delight! He had never known what the missing piece of his entire existence had been until he laid eyes on her for the first time- ok, not first time, rather the first time he remembers. All the same, looking upon her beautiful countenance now, he could quite confidently declare his past self absolutely mad for attempting to purge her from his thoughts.

Jude shrugged and stepped closer, “I guess I was haunting you. And you don’t like knowing there is something out there that you can’t have.”

His heart plummeted. He wished it to soar at the obvious fact that she seemed to know him so well, however her words crushed the fragile hope that had been budding within him since he left her alone in the woods, “And I can’t? Have you?”

Her gaze was intense and piercing when it landed on his own. Again, he marveled at the color. The rich hues of brown one found upon the forest floor, the cracked deck of a mighty ship, all the copper and wood and soil of the earth blending together to solidify themselves in the alluring shade of her eyes. He couldn’t breathe.

She forewent answering his question, “Your sister told me there is a way to restore your memory, if you would have it.”

“Yes.” He found himself breathing, already enticed at the prospect of remembering this wicked girl before him. Obviously, his past self had been an idiot for trying to forget her. He cleared his throat, “What is it?”

She took another step, then another, stopping only when they were so close he had to tilt his head down to meet her eyes.

“I’m not sure it will work, but I know you’ll find it entertaining.”

Gently, he reached up to wrap a lock of her hair around his finger. She didn’t seem to mind as he asked again, “Is there a chance? That I could have you?” He’d never had anything solely his, never won affections simply because someone had cared for him. He knew if she could be that for him, he’d want for nothing more in his life ever again.

Slowly, she lifted a hand to his cheek. He found himself leaning into it readily as she pulled his face closer to hers.

She seemed to hesitate, considering something before she answered, “So long as I could have you.”

He would have answered, ‘Anything, you can have anything you want’ had she not closed the distance and pressed her lips to his.

~.~

The memories came rushing back all at once and they nearly knocked his breath out of his chest. But he only gave his history with his gorgeous villain a passing thought as more pressing matters settled themselves in the forefront of his mind.

Namely, the fact that Jude was kissing him. Jude. As everything he knew about her, about them fell into place he had to wonder if he was dreaming. But no. He’d imagined this very moment before and… It had all his hopes, his expectations paling in comparison to the actual sensation. She was warm and her mouth was soft even as she roughly slanted it against his own. Even when showing affection, she felt the need to be in control and he lent it to her willingly.

In the back of his mind, he recalled having always assumed that their first kiss would be intoxicating and drenched in delirium- why else would either of them fall into the other without a fight, if not for the moment being brought about by emotions stronger than they could contend with? And while it definitely lived up to that expectation, he had also always assumed it would be over rather quickly. That she would pull away abruptly, muttering about mistakes and small, ironic acts of vengeance.

That is where the likeness between imagination and reality broke away.

In reality, as soon as her mouth met his and she gave him a moment to feel the onslaught of memories, she stepped closer, forcing him to bend slightly to accommodate their height difference. The hand that had been resting on his face slid up, over the pointed tip of his ear and into his hair while her other arm fastened tightly around his shoulders, pulling him flush against her.

He fumbled for a moment- which was really something wasn’t it? Wasn’t he the more experienced of the two? How thoroughly she had undone him already!

Once his bearings were back intact, he slipped his arms around her waist, molding himself to her. He marveled at how seamlessly they seemed to fit together. A lock and- wait, no. No Locke. Two pieces of the same puzzle finally snapping into place.

His mind gave over to a blank sort of haze, melting along to the backdrop of her name looping around his thoughts, Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude and for a bare moment he understood again why he had forced her out of his mind, for she was the only thing in the universe that had the power to drive him into pure madness.

He would happily crash into insanity now, with her wrapped around him, teeth tugging at his bottom lip demandingly. He obliged to her wishes, would cater to her every twisted whim if she would have it. One of his hands snaked into her hair as he deepened their kiss, he felt her fingers dig into his back harshly in response. He felt that should he die now, he would leave this existence fulfilled and whole.

Once the need for oxygen became unrelenting, he pressed his mouth firmly against hers, once more, and pulled away.

Again, his imaginings of this moment ended here or before, with her pulling away, that beautiful scowl etched across her perfect face, muttering foul and soul wrenching words like mistake and useless.

And again, reality outshone even the darkest parts of his mind. As soon as he pulled back, she stayed near a moment, waiting to see if he would come back. When he didn’t, she sighed through her nose, the sound almost content and she peered up at him.

His eyes locked on hers as she let her hands explore the breadth of his shoulders, the column of his neck which she glanced at briefly before her gaze snapped back to his own, full of something like longing.

When he didn’t move, said nothing, she tilted her head to the side as she tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. “Well?” was all she said.

It took him a moment to register what her meaning was. She wanted to know if he remembered her, their history. He blinked, “I…remember.” He stated cautiously. He couldn’t lie of course, but he almost wanted to. So terrified was he of what that knowledge would mean for them, for what had just transpired between them. His imaginings never prepared him for this.

Or for what she did next.

A smirk, more of a small smile, really, bloomed across her features. That in itself was jarring but since this was Jude and ambition was what drove her out of bed in the morning, of course she took it further than simply jarring. She leaned in again, placing a kiss to his cheek, along his jaw, his nose even, before she finally claimed his lips again. It was past shocking. Had he known memory loss would lead to this he would have sought out his sister for help much sooner.

Though really, why was she even doing this? Just yesterday she had been scowling at him every time they glanced at each other, just an hour ago she had been threating his life, warning him to back off. What had changed?

This, while thrilling, wasn’t ideal. Insecurity was not something Cardan was overly familiar with these days, not when it came to her. This information is what had him puling away gently, looking at her in earnest.

“Why the sudden interest?” He debated throwing a quip or scathing remark of some sort her way, a sudden and desperate need to get back to their malicious bantering washing over him, though he shoved the thought away. He was genuinely curious as to what changed her mind.

She shook her head as she finally left his embrace, “I had just been thinking and realized that somewhere along the way, strong feelings of hate had shifted into strong feelings of…something else.”

She looked put out at the thought that she had developed any sort of emotion for him other than contempt, but he had to agree with her sentiment. He bristled to think that that potion hadn’t done its job right, but it had done something. Before, he had been content to half-lie to himself, to convince himself so profoundly that he was not enchanted, mind and body and soul by this girl before him.

What was it Rhyia had said? It is an honor to be loved by a mortal.

Cardan felt that maybe there was honor in loving one, too.

He bit the inside of his cheek before asking, “And you meant what you said, before?”

So long as I could have you.

“Yes.” She sounded so sure. He liked to believe she wasn’t lying. She rubbed at the missing tip of her finger as she watched him, “So, where does that leave us?”

Bring him back to me when the effects of the… cure have taken hold. He’d gotten more than he had bargained for. He held out his hand to Jude.

She reached for it instantly and he tried not to let it show how deeply that affected him, his head already wanting to go fuzzy with nothing but the thought of her.

“I owe a visit to a certain imp.”

Fin

And that is that! Please let me know your thoughts! And I am so excited to be sharing again and looking forward to what I plan to write in the future☺️ (jeez it is so long I’m so sorry for everyone who has to scroll all this way😬😅)

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[ally-127]

Since it's a "kiss day" in Korea could you please write a fluff of jeonghan asking a kiss from you

june 14th

pairing: dad!jeonghan x mum!reader word count: 1.7k warnings: swearing, a little bit of marking, suggestive material music: ‘stay gold’ by bts a/n: THERE’S A MINI JEONGHAN IN THIS i’m sobbing i don’t know how how i came up with it but meet yoon jooyoung, jeonghan’s kid.

“mum! i’m going to be late!”

you groaned at your son’s voice. you loved him to bits but sometimes things could get a little rough on your end.

“yes i know, i’m sorry,” you told your seven-year-old son, jooyoung, who wobbled out of his bedroom with his bright yellow backpack already slung around his little shoulders.

“my friends are going to be mad at me,” his pink lips formed a pout, closely resembling that of his father. “i’m gonna go now,” he vanished past your front door.

“wait for me!” you quickly threw on a coat and grabbed your phone before the little man could dash out of the apartment alone.

you bumped into your neighbour in the hallway—you believed his name was hoseok—a kind man about your age and found that your son had his tiny fingers clasped onto his hand. it seemed hoseok didn’t seem to mind, a lively smile stretched across his face from the boy’s sudden gesture.

“ah, i’m so sorry,” you murmured to the man and quickly tried to pry your son away, but he grumbled and almost threw a fit. you staggered backwards, taken aback.

“this guy told me he’s going for a sleepover at his buddy‘s house nearby,” your neighbour looked down at your son, an endearing look on his face. “i can take him there, if you don’t mind. i’m about to head to the grocery store anyways.”

“mum’s always busy,” the pout remained on his face, sulky personality inherited right from his father like a copy-and-pasted text except it was his array of genes.

you sighed. “i’m not busy today, i can take you. no need to trouble ahjusshi.”

“but mum,” jooyoung whined, throwing his hands up and bottom lip trembling.

“what is it?” you crouched downwards so you were in level with him. you took his free hand in yours, wrapping your fingers around his small ones.

to your huge surprise, he leaned in and pressed the biggest, sloppiest kiss on your cheek.

“happy kiss day, mum.”

at this point he was a direct clone of his father. the fact that even his cheeky grin looked like your husband made you melt into a puddle on the concrete floor.

he giggled. “hang out with dad when he comes back, mum. you’re always at the work and you never hang out with him when he’s here anymore,” he then pulled you in closer so he could whisper, “give dad a kiss today.”

at that you turned bright red, heat crawling up your neck. your son had just indirectly told you that you did not show enough affection to his dad—your husband—and it left you a lot of questions.

mind you, he was only seven.

in addition to that, your neighbour had just witnessed this entire notion.

“did i just hear the word ‘kiss day’?” a familiar voice questioned from behind you.

it was all too familiar to the point that you felt relieved, sometimes longing, upon hearing it.

“dad!”

you rose up from your crouching position, watching jooyoung unwrap his hand from hoseok’s to run into his father’s arms.

jeonghan let out a laugh, only filled with warmth and joy from seeing his son after a month of being away, as he lifted jooyoung off the ground and cradled his son in his arms.

“hey, son,” jeonghan’s dark hair swept across his brow as he looked at his son, eyes sparkling as he did.

“i missed you,” the boy gave his father a tight hug.

“i know, i did too. more than you know.”

for once, you were third-wheeling jeonghan and jooyoung. hoseok was too. but he remained unbothered, face like a blooming sunflower as he witnessed a father and son reunion.

“where are you going, buddy?” jeonghan eyed the boy’s backpack as he finally let him down

“sleepover,” he grinned. “at my friend’s house.”

“which friend?”

“i’m not telling you,” like a typical seven-year-old, jooyoung snickered.

finally, your husband looked at you. however, it was not in the form of greeting. it was rather in the form of confirmation that your son would be okay in this arrangement of a sort.

you nodded, jerking your chin at hoseok, silently telling jeonghan he’s going to be the one taking him there.

“why aren’t you the one taking him?”

“because—“

“it’s a secret!” your son yelled and tugged on his dad’s sleeve.

getting the signal jeonghan bent sideways so jooyoung could whisper in his ear just like he did with you.

it was almost comical, the way a grown man’s expression could change because of a few words a little boy had whispered into his ear. jeonghan was now smiling ear-to-ear, the signature scrunch of his nose prominent, pretty eyes now fixated on you instead.

“okay.”

“yay!” jooyoung scuffled back to hoseok, but before that he gave you a hug, as big as a seven-year-old could give. “see you later, mum.”

“ready to go?” the kind man asked him.

“yup,” he took hoseok’s hand and they disappeared into the corner where the elevators were.

that left you alone with jeonghan. you two remained standing six feet apart from each other, suddenly feeling nervous as if it was your first date.

he smiled at you, at your flustered state.

“hi.”

it was all jeonghan needed to say to have you falling into his arms the way your son did earlier.

“fuck, i missed you,” he buried his nose in your hair as you threw your arms around his neck.

“i can say the same,” you murmured, drowning in the musky scent of his cologne, a deeply personal scent you’ve gotten used to and a part of jeonghan you missed dearly whenever he was away.

”let’s head inside, shall we?” jeonghan said, minty breath brushing against your ear.

you hummed in agreement, heading over to unlock your front door and hold it open so jeonghan could drag his suitcase in.

“thanks,” he pushed it to the side and let the door fall shut behind him.

his eyes were still designated on you, the expression behind them expecting as he watched you take off your coat and hang it beside the door.

golden sunlight, warm and buttery, slipped through the blinds of your apartment. it highlighted the refreshed glow from within his skin. whether it was from happiness or an updated skin care routine, you didn’t know but he looked better than ever.

“are you hungry?” you swerved his gaze, wanting to know how long you could draw this out. there was a game you wanted to play, and jeonghan knew it extremely well.

your feet padded into the kitchen before you could stop them, increasing the distance between you and your husband.

jeonghan shook his head in response, leaning his hip against the kitchen island to watch you grab both him and yourself a glass of water. he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, exposing the stretch of muscles on his forearms.

tension was very well present in the air and you both were aware of it. regardless of that you two chose to ignore it.

“how was tour?” you asked, setting the glass down in front of him.

“it was fine,” vague. like the answers he would give you whenever you didn’t give him something he desperately wanted.

you chuckled. “jooyoung is exactly like you.”

“what do you mean?” the smirk that quirked by his lips showed that he knew exactly what you meant.

“you give me unsatisfactory answers when i don’t give you what you want.”

you round the kitchen island, toward him. you circled your arms around his neck once again, clasping your hands together. his invigorating smile mirrored yours, his hands reflexively shifting to support the small of your back. you tipped your head up to meet his eyes.

“so tell me, yoon jeonghan, what is it can i do for you?”

“kiss me,” he mumbled after a moment. “you heard our son, it’s the national kiss day today and—”

you cut him off with your lips, his words muffled by them. a grunt left his lips from the impact, jolts of electricity running up his spine. he spun you around without breaking the kiss pressing your lower back against the hard edge of the island. jeonghan braced his hands on the hard surface of it and trapped you with his body.

“do you know what jooyoung told me?” you told him once he pulled away for air.

“what?” he grinned at the sound of your son’s name from your lips.

“he said i should hang out with you today,” you recalled the words your little boy whispered into your ear. “and told me to give you a kiss.”

“you don’t do that enough,” jeonghan teased and kissed the tip of your nose.

“which?”

“both,” gently, he moved down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“i don’t kiss you enough?” you raised a sceptical eyebrow along with the corner of your lip.

“twelve years and i’ll still never have enough of it,” his mouth tackled yours once again.

it didn’t take him a second for the curvature of his lips to mould into yours. the shape of yours was imprinted onto it, a muscle memory claimed by you and you only.

the air around you grew warmer, his breath now becoming yours with each kiss. one arm around your waist and the other under your jaw, he held you close to him.

his tongue, like the tease that he was, swiped across your bottom lip. with one arm he hoisted you up onto the kitchen island so he could stand in between your legs. his hand reached behind to cup your ass and you gasped into his mouth.

“hannie, what are you doing?” you held him back with hands on his shoulders.

“kissing you,” he shrugged like it was nothing. “what else?”

“liar.”

“i can’t kiss with tongue now?” he’s pouting and god did he look like jooyoung.

“you can,” you pecked him once, twice. “i just forgot that we’ve got no one watching us now.”

“it’s daddy’s day off,” he tilted his head to your neck, beginning to suck marks of purple and red on your skin. his fingers toyed with the hem of your shorts. “it’s time to make you feel good.”

you arched into him, digits tugging on his hair to lure out a low, desperate growl from his lips. wetness pooled in your panties from the sound alone, and you wondered how you were going to be able to handle the rest of him.

“shall we make jooyoung another sibling?”

[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.3]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 7.7k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

Chapter 03: Ties That Bind

Where war, and joy, and terror Have all at times held away; Where both delight and horror Have had their fitful day.

The happiest under heaven A king of powerful mind; A company so proven Would now be hard to find

Gawain put on a good cheer. ‘Why should I hesitate?’ He said. ‘Kind or severe, We must engage our Fate.’

[Sir Gawain and the Green Knight]

    „Breathe,“ Hanneman says for the third time. At every tap of his pen against the table, you flinch as if someone is knocking right against the inside of your skull. “You have to feel the Crest, become one with it. Don’t think of it as an addition; see it as an extension of your very self.”

    You exhale but it’s hard to focus after you’ve been sitting in the same position for nearly two hours and your legs keep falling asleep.

    “Focus on it,” Hanneman continues. He starts to gesture with his free hand, an indicator that he’s just as frustrated with your lack of progress as you are. “Focus on the feeling that took hold of you when you fought the bandits. Imagine what you want. Ask yourself what it is you really want, and take hold of that picture.”

    Well, first of all, you really want a sandwich.

    For the past few weeks, you’ve been waking up before sunrise to attend private lessons with Hanneman to get a hold of your Crest’s power. Now the end of the month approaches, and still your body refuses to get accustomed to work at such an early hour, and more importantly without eating first. An hour ago, your stomach started growling, but Professor Hanneman has proved again and again to be very successful in ignoring factors that disturb his lessons. You continue breathing through what you consider hunger pains instead of the raise of new powers, but with the sound of screaming students outside and the occasional flapping of wings as Pegasus Knights fly by on their patrol, it’s anything but successful.

    “Focus!” Hanneman chides again as if he can read your mind and knows exactly you’re thinking of the pheasant roast with berry sauce on the menu today.

    “I’m trying,” you groan and slump into the chair, defeated. “But I don’t feel anything.”

    “Hmm hmmm,” Hanneman hums and looks at you like you were supposed to understand what he’s conveying with that sound. “Maybe we’re looking at it the wrong way,” he says once you don’t follow up on his inexplicable sound. “Maybe we should stop thinking of it as a common Crest, but approach it like it is something entirely different.” He quickly notes something on his paper, then proceeds to flip through the open books he’s splayed out on his desk. “There is so little we know about the Crest of the Herald. I am much frustrated no one thought of studying it a thousand years ago!”

    “I don’t understand. How can it be different?” Your first lesson solely focused on Crests. How they are thought to be power incarnate, bestowed upon humans by the Goddess countless ages ago. Today those who are descendants of Fódlan’s Ten Elites and Four Saints, who fought during the War of Heroes beside Saint Seiros, wear Crests, a sign of wealth and nobility.

    “Well, one possible explanation could be that for whatever reason, the first Herald was different from his fellow warriors, the Ten Elites,” Hanneman offers, leaning back into his chair and looking a lot more interested in the conversation now. “The Goddess must have found him worthy of her power just as she found Saint Seiros worthy.”

    “Then why wasn’t he a Saint?” you wonder. From your understanding, the Four Saints were special comrades of Saint Seiros, just as guided by the Goddess as their leader. What had made the Herald from back then different? “According to everything you told me, he sounds a lot like this Macuil person. Focusing on strategy and all that.”

    “Saint Macuil,” Hanneman corrects you, but there’s no bite in his voice. “And yes, perhaps he was akin to the Saints, but that clearly wasn’t what determined the final decision to name him Herald.”

    “Well, that’s just my kind of luck,” you mumble, but when Hanneman makes a puzzled sound, you ask instead, “And you’re sure I’m a descendant of him?”

    “Most likely! You bear a Major Crest, which means the Herald’s blood runs strong in your body. After he disappeared, he might have settled down and started a family. Unfortunately, nothing is recorded about him after the War of Heroes concluded.”

    “Then how come there was no one else in a thousand years who bore the same Crest?” You aren’t sure you fully understand how they work. Apparently, Crests grant special powers to those who hold them such as high aptitude for magic or enhanced strength. But you know better than anyone that the Crest of the Herald is special. It doesn’t simply give you a boon, it allows you to command the flow of battle. But is it really a blessing bestowed by the Goddess? You don’t remember a divine revelation or talking to a Goddess. Or did that maybe occur even before you were found by the Officers Academy’s students? Before your memory loss? You certainly don’t feel chosen by a deity.

    “Trying to explain the Goddess’ whims would wield about the same result as asking this question,” Hanneman says. “Sometimes a Crest may skip generations. No one can say with certainty who will be chosen. If it will be the first or third born. That is why we must further study Crests! For example, why, unlike other Crests, has your appeared physically visible?” Hanneman mutters more questions under his breath and notes them quickly on his paper. It’s remarkable how enthusiastic he approaches the topic if it only didn’t make you feel like an experiment lying on a dissection table.

    “I want to know so much more about the first Herald,” you mumble. “What was his name? Where was he from?” Why did he disappear and what were the costs he had paid for such a title. Only one month in and Lady Rhea already granted you an impressive room to reside. People treat you with respect and admiration even though you aren’t doing much besides wave at them on the streets or hold some conversations. If being the Herald only encompasses these tasks, you’ll gladly take on the role and speak to people. But that would be a dream too good to be true.

    “We can only speculate,” Hanneman says. “Some believe the Herald came when Seiros needed him most. Our Goddess’ answer to her cry of help. Others believe he was simply a general who originated form a farmer’s family. Other, smaller sources talk about a prince from a far off land who passed through Fódlan and decided to stay. But in all cases, the Herald was a great asset to win the War of Heroes and save Fódlan from the tyranny of the Fell King.”

    “Yeah, no pressure there,” you mumble, sinking further into your seat. Hopefully no one expects you to save Fódlan from evil monarchs. If yes, it certainly won’t happen on an empty stomach. When Hanneman releases you, there’s only one place for you to be. The Dining Hall is crowded at this time of hour. Students and faculty bustle everywhere, eager to get their favourite meal on a plate. Just like them, you are drawn in by the amazing smell of roasted meet and freshly baked pastries.

    The only thing you can live without is how once you enter the room several heads turn in your direction, and a ripple of “Look, it’s the Herald” goes through the crowd, spreading like a wave. Or a disease, you think with a sour taste in your mouth as you move through the parting sea. They want you to acknowledge them but Goddess forbid you actually engage in conversation with them and they flee like you’re the Herald of Pest.

    “Herald!” Well, not everyone escapes. Some seem to like living dangerous.

    Edelgard looks straight at you from between the other students from the Eagle class sitting at a table, removing any doubt she means anyone else but you. Running from her would be a sign of defeat, so you drag yourself over to the Eagle table and give the round an uncertain smile. “Hello.”

    “Herald, if you have time, please sit with us,” Edelgard offers but the look she pins on you doesn't give you any choice. The silence of her classmates speaks louder than words, and a quick glance to Hubert tells you that he very much would like for you to notsit with them.

    “Sure,” you say lamely and sit opposite from her where Bernadetta quickly shuffles to the side to make room, and then further down the bench until she jumps to her feet and flees from the hall. It’s a miracle she’s out of her chambers in the first place, undoubtedly Byleth’s work.

    “Did you manage any progress with Professor Hanneman?” Edelgard asks, carefully cutting her pheasant roast into small bite-sized pieces. She looks the complete opposite from someone capable of hacking away their enemies but you wouldn’t dare to underestimate her.

    “It’s slow,” you admit, solely focusing on shoving potatoes from one side of your plate to the other so you don’t have to look at anyone. “I’ve only grasped the basics of how Crests work and the Herald’s is so different.”

    “Research might prove more fruitful if you’d be called into action,” she says, and it’s difficult to determine if that statement is a simple observation or underlying critique towards Rhea’s decision to leave you out of the major education system. At least that’s something you’re sure of. Edelgard is difficult.

    “Maybe. But chances are higher I get myself killed somehow on the battlefield.” You’re already dreading the approaching noon hours. Byleth has worked out a special training programme for you and the house leaders. So far there hasn’t been a day without aching muscles and bruises for you. Thinking of Byleth, you can’t help but ask, “So how’s Byleth as a Professor?”

    Edelgard considers her plate with mild interest, but her index fingers start tapping against her cutlery. She has small, delicate hands. Cute hands. You gawk at them for two seconds before noticing Hubert starring daggers at you, and quickly avert your eyes to your cup of ginger tea like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

    “Our professor shows knowledge in the most curious things,” he says, surprising you by joining the conversation. “I think the Adrestian Empire will benefit greatly from that.”

    You aren’t sure how leading the class correlates directly to joining the Empire, but you don’t want to point that out. Hubert is still too much of a puzzle you’re adamant on not piecing together because whatever picture waits for you after the assembly might be one of horror.

    “She really is one to look up to,” Edelgard agrees, but she isn’t looking at anyone, so it seems she’s saying it more to herself. You want to try and read more out of her expression, but distraction comes quickly in form of more students from the Eagle class. Caspar is the first bouncing excitedly towards the table, and still he somehow miraculously manages to keep his food from flying everywhere. “Herald!” he calls and slides right on the seat right next to you. “How’s the head situation going?”

    “Caspar,” Linhardt chides and gives his friend the disappointed look of a parent that can’t bring his child to use a fork to eat. “Would you stop pestering the Herald with the same question every day?”

    Linhardt hits the mark. It was nice in the beginning to have someone show so much interest in your wellbeing, but now you don’t know if the daily reminder how you fail to regain pieces of your past is rude or just Caspar’s naive politeness.

    “Yeah well.” You try to stuff as much potatoes in your mouth as possible just to avoid talking about it. “Nothin’ yeff.”

    “Herald, please try to keep your manners in check, will you?” Ferdinand comments because of course he catches you with your mouth full and sauce dripping from the corners. Unlucky for him, you don’t really care.

    “Well, sorry.” Caspar frowns and scratches the remains from his plate. The two minutes you needed to finish your potatoes, he’s cleared his whole plate. “I just thought it might help.”

    “Help to be reminded what’s missing?” Linhardt doesn’t look convinced. “I think the Herald knows so better than anyone.”

    “Guys, drop the subject,” Edelgard intervenes. “Let us finish our meals now. Classes resume presently and I don’t want to hear any stomachs growling, understood?” The last part goes with a pointed look towards Linhardt, who answers with a lazy shrug while continuing to poke at his food, looking bored out of his mind. It lasts about three seconds before he brightens up and turns towards you while rummaging through his school bag. From that, he pulls out notes and a pen, and unceremoniously shoves them into your hands. “I have a question, Herald. Would you be so kind and look over these strategic proposals I’ve developed from the last lesson? I understand what you taught us were basics as we find them in the library. I simply took the time and applied those to the strengths and abilities of my classmates.”

    You raise your eyebrows. “You did?” Up until now, you didn’t know Linhardt was paying attention whenever you gave the students your sorry excuses of lessons. You feel like you’ve seen him asleep far more than actually looking at the board or writing, so him presenting his notes to you now is more than a surprise. He has a clean handwriting, small letters that curl into themselves and forget to take a break between words. You squint at the sentences, trying to make them out. It sure doesn’t help that half of it is crossed out by what looks like a strategy sketch with little circles and everyone’s names filling out the space.

    “This looks … elaborate,” you comment, unsure if you’ll ever be able to solve this enigma.

    “No worries.” Linhardt gives a little smile. “Please give me your answer report until tomorrow. And feel free to correct me on anything I’ve done wrong.”

    He’s probably done a much better job than you on your lesson notes, but you nod with a lopsided smile. “I will.”

    “Oh, and while we’re at strategy talk,” Caspar jumps right in, “any good ideas how to take on a taller opponent?”

    “A good kick to their shins?” you suggest.

    “A dagger to their liver?” Edelgard says.

    “Poison in their cup?” Hubert offers.

    “You’re all animals,” Ferdinand says.

    Linhardt groans. “I toldyou how to win in a fight like that, Caspar. Why won’t you listen to me?”

    You don’t want to be part of the argument breaking out between them, so you turn away and try to see what the other students are doing in the dining hall. At the opposite end, Claude catches your eyes and waves like he’s been waiting way too long to finally get your attention. He points at Edelgard and flaps his arms like a chicken. He points at you and spreads his hands behind his head, forming antlers with his fingers. When Edelgard follows your eyes, his head whips around and he pretends to agree with whatever Lysithea just said.

    “I hope you forgive Caspar’s enquiries,” she says, steering your focus back to her. She’s gently tapping the corners of her mouth with an embroidered napkin, and oh there they are again, her delicate fingers. You look away before Hubert catches you staring again and decides to put poison in your cup7. “I speak on behalf of everyone in the Black Eagle House when I say we wish for your full recovery to be soon.”

    “If wishing would only get the job done, I might have something to work with by now.”

    Edelgard doesn’t blink, her expression frozen. “Meaning?”

    “I thought I'd come here and one of the Church's healers would just wave their hands to return my memories,” you mumble, scribbling a tiny Claude with little, evil horns on his head in the corner of Linhardt’s notes.

    Edelgard looks at you like you've just insulted her whole noble lineage. “That isn't how magic works.”

    You throw your arms up in frustration to emphasise that yes, that's the point. You don't know how anything works in this place, and you doubt Byleth's four pages of lesson plans are going to help.

    “If no one comes to your aid, maybe it is time you take matters into your own hands.” You flinch at the scornful sound in Edelgard’s voice. Judging the expression on her face, she seems just as surprised about her outburst. She gets up abruptly and bids farewell with a curt nod, followed closely by Hubert as always. Her classmates look after her, each more puzzled than the next.

    “Didn’t she seem … angry to you?” Linhardt thinks aloud, blinking into the empty space.

    Ferdinand harrumphes. “She’s always like this. Please excuse her, Herald.”

    You don’t think she’s done anything wrong, and yet she certainly doesn’t appear as always. Something about her last words strikes you as especially sharp; reproachful. Those weren’t meaningless words, but you don’t have any ways to decipher the message. A little voice tells you she isn’t wrong either. So far nothing has helped returning your memories—Manuela’s medicine, herbs from the Greenhouse, Hanneman’s spells. It seems like your brain has built defencive walls to repel any probing, which begs the answer to the question what is hiding in secret even more. But can you really do it on your own, like Edelgard suggests? It seems impossible.

    With newfound doubt you finish your meal, saying your goodbyes to the now scattering Eagle students as they scurry off to their next lesson. Two hours are left before you’re meeting with Byleth and the house leaders, and since you agreed to look over Linhardt’s notes, the library seems a good next stop. You still want to go over the seven classical manoeuvres of war, especially since the students didn’t really grasp the remaining two last time, and it gives you a good excuse to look over them again as well. At the beginning, you thought there was nothing you could teach those children, not with experienced colleagues at your side who have participated in countless battles themselves. Who could have thought that talking about tactics and strategies came as natural to you as breathing. Well, Rhea did for certain, and even the students drink up your every word like it is a message from the Goddess herself and you her chosen herald. The irony of it.

    But it isn’t only the students accepting your guidance. Something inside you changed in the last couple of weeks as well. When you started going through the books in the library, it was more stumbling and slipping on foreign terrain, but just in a couple of days, you moved through the matter like a fish following smoothly the currents of its native waters. It felt like home. Like building the foundation of a house from thousand variables, the result different each time but still the same: art. You build the art of battle, the last decision that will bring victory or death. You love every second of it. Which opens the possibility that it really isn’t your first time, but also more questions: Who taught you? What battles have you fought? How many of them did you win? Since those aren’t as simple to answer, you focus on fulfilling the first purpose, and hope that it will some day be enough for the students to survive battles.

    If only it would end there. Your second duty isn’t as easy or pleasant, and it lies in wait for you everywhere, stalking you like a dark shadow with monstrous fangs.

    “Herald.” A soldier gives a courteous bow, intercepting you in the Great Hall on your way to the library. “Pilgrims ask for you near the Entrance Hall. Please allow me to escort you.”

    Immediately, your nerves tingle with nervous anticipation. This is the scary part. Meeting the people, seeing the hope in their eyes. You’d gladly send them back where they’ve come from, but some have travelled for multiple days, and denying them audience would be cruel.

    “Don’t let me stop you from your duties,” you say, unconsciously tugging your clothes in order to appear presentable. “I will welcome them on my own.”

    The soldier nods and bows again, his expression barely readable under the helmet before he disappears as quickly as he came.

    Planning lessons is easy. You can find whatever you need in the library and work out the flow with the students. But nothing can prepare or teach you how to act like the Herald people wish for. Nowhere is anything written on the old Herald, how he talked to them and what promises he’d whispered when day broke. That is where you are on your own. Not even Rhea could answer that question. She only instructed that you see them, and remind them about their devotion to the Goddess—for she was the one who made it possible in the first place.

    The Entrance Hall is emptier than usual. Most of the students are in class, and a handful of knights and soldiers might be at the advanced training camp Jeralt and Alois hold in honour of the Blade Breaker’s return. So spotting the pilgrims isn’t difficult. Especially with the Gatekeeper waving his arms in wide arcs as if fearing you might overlook him.

    “Greetings, Herald!” His grin is blinding. “The pilgrims are waiting for you just at the at the foot of the stairs.”

    “Yeah,” you say. “I can see them.”

    “Oh, yes, of course! If anyone causes problems, count on me to help!”

    “Thanks.” You answer his thumbs up with one of your own before moving downstairs. What a refreshing young man. Certainly good looking under his helmet. Byleth seems to like talking to him a lot as well.

    Today’s pilgrims aren’t much different from other days. Old people are supported by their family members, who have brought baskets with sweets and flowers, presenting them at your feet.

    “Herald,” they breathe in awe, bowing. No matter how often you’ve seen it by now, it still feels incredibly wrong.

    “Raise your heads,” you tell them, helping an elderly woman up to hrer feet. She gasps at your touch, then clings to your hands. You try to swallow past the lump in your throat. “The Archbishop and I bid you welcome. The Goddess will smile upon your devotion.” Your cringe slightly when echoing Rhea’s words and wonder if any second the goddess might punish you by throwing lightning your way.

    “We are blessed to finally meet you,” a younger woman says, taking the old woman from your hands—mother and daughter maybe? “Please accept our gifts, and may the Goddess guide you on your path to light.”

    “She will answer your prayers and guide me so I can bring you peace,” you reply just so you can say something they might want to hear. Judging their delighted expressions this wasn’t the worst you could have said. Dorothea would probably be proud looking at your acting skills. Or point out your bad posture and how you’re avoiding their eyes. Dorothea would probably tell you how much you have to polish your acting skills.

    “Bring us peace?” someone from the last row spits, pushing to the front. “You know nothing, the Herald will bring chaos and ruin!” A man in his forties looms above you, an ugly, padded scar crossing his face from one temple to his chin. A war veteran? They way he holds himself looks like he’s been beaten up once too much to get up again.

    “You heathen, don’t you dare speak to our Herald like that,” the old woman barks, immediately doubling over in a coughing fit. Her daughter supports her, glaring at the man. “Go in peace, but go if you only came to talk ill about our Herald,” she says, clearly upset. "Doubting them is doubting our Goddess. How dare you."

    “First I want to see the Herald do something! What if … if this one is an impostor.” The man turns towards the others, throwing his arms in the air. “Bring forward proof that you are not here to ruin our lands, but to actually serve in the Goddess’ name!”

    This time his demand meets less resistance. Until now people were fine with seeing you and the Crest, but to want actual prove? You could easily threaten them and ask if they doubt the Goddess’ decision, but you’d rather leave that method to Rhea. You don’t want to sound like her. You don’t want to scare people. Yet admitting that you don’t really have a clue how to really use the Crest would surely support the man’s accusation. Diminishing the people’s trust in the Herald is the last thing you want, especially if it means facing Rhea’s scorn.

    “I—”

    “Herald!” A voice calls from the top of the stairs. When you turn around, Sylvain waves and jogs downstairs, looking like he’s been running for some time. “There you are. The Archbishop wants to see you.”

    Oh no, has she heard of your failure already? Giving the choice of facing a group of doubting people or Rhea, you’d immediately go to the people. You give him a curt nod, unable to speak because you don’t trust your voice.

    “I apologise,” you say to the pilgrims, clearing your throat when it comes out as a croak. “I will have something prepared for another time.”

    “No, you do not need to prove anything to us,” the elderly woman says. “We will always believe in you. Please tell Her Grace we are constantly praying to our Goddess and thank her for sending you to us.”

    “I will.” You squeeze her hand a last time. “Save travels.”

    The man still glares at you, but without a chance to keep you present any longer, he turns away and follows the rest. You can’t wait to leave all that behind, and as you steel your nerves for what’s waiting for you in the Audience Chambers, you look up to Sylvain and ask, “Did Lady Rhea say what it is about?”

    He looks over at you and blinks a couple of times, then seems to remember. “Ah ... yeah, about that. I lied.”

    You stop dead in your tracks. “You lied?”

    “Yup. I don’t know what Lady Rhea’s doing. But you looked like you were about to puke at those poor pilgrim’s shoes. As hilarious as that would have been, I wanted to spare you the embarrassment.” He stops now as well and smiles a boyish crooked grin. Sylvain knows exactly what to do with his face so girls fall over themselves to do him a favour, and boys grow jealous of all the attention he gets. Two weeks in, and you’ve figured out his game, keeping a respectable distance that wouldn’t birth the thought you’re avoiding him. In fact, this could be the very first time you’re actually holding a real conversation.

    “Well, I … thank you? But I had everything under control.”

    He looks like he doesn’t believe you. The gatekeeper you’re just passing looks like he doesn’t believe you. You press your lips into a thin line and dare any of them to disagree.

    “Okay.” Sylvain shrugs. “But now we’re here.”

    “Sylvain, what do you want?”

    “Cutting to the chase, huh?” He crosses his arms behind his head. “Why do you think I want something?” Your raised eyebrows seem to be answer enough. Sylvain laughs a little helplessly and returns his hands back to his front, raised as an offer of peace. “I promise, I want nothing. Just a little talking. A little talking hasn’t hurt anyone.”

    Something inside you wants to argue against it, but without a solid argument in hand, you follow him silently, wondering where his destination and intention lies. He belongs to the many students you can’t really read, nothing about his ambitions or goals. Sometimes he gives you this strange look through half lidded eyes, his gaze focused on your right eye—his interest in your Crest undeniable, and yet he’s been one of the few not to talk about it with you. It’s strange because whenever you come together, he looks like there’s something he’s dying to say. This time is no different.

    He leads you to the wooden pavilion in the gardens, but instead of offering you a seat, Sylvain leans his slim hips against the table, half sitting on it. Seteth would be furious seeing this.

    “How’s the Herald business doing for you?” he asks the one question you wouldn't expect from him. “Other than you having ‘everything under control.’” He has the audacity to air-quote. This isn’t a conversation you want to hold right now, leastwise with him. Sylvain must discern that you’re ready to bold from whatever your body is showing. With a quick step, he’s standing between you and the escape route, lazily leaning one arm against a column to uphold the illusion that you’re only having a pleasant talk when in reality his body stands between you and your freedom.

    “Do you talk to the other faculty members like that as well?” you say through gritted teeth, crossing your arms. Sylvain blinks like he doesn’t understand, but you’ve seen this act before, followed by an eerily precise repetition of a subject to one of his classmates when he thinks none of the teachers pay attention. Sylvain is playing dumb and deliberately hiding a sharp mind.

    “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend,” he quickly says, nothing about this crooked smile appearing apologetic whatsoever. “I’m generously curious. You’re holding up really good.”

    “In comparison to what?” you demand, your heartbeat picking up. Is he trying to call you out on something? That you aren’t heraldy enough? But to your surprise, Sylvain looks genuinely surprised by your reaction.

    “To nothing. In general?” He shrugs. “Back on the ceremony day, you didn’t look so good standing up there, and His Highness told us everything happened really uh … ‘suddenly.’’ More air-quotes, whatever they mean this time.

    “If you mean I wasn’t really asked to become the Herald, then yes.” Your arms drop back to your side. “It was suddenly.”

    Sylvain watches you for a moment, and again, there’s this look in his eyes; the need to say something he can’t. He kneads the back of his nape, avoiding your eyes. “All I’m trying to say is … having that Crest out of nothing is cool. Probably. And maybe terrifying? And just—”

    You grow impatient. “Come on, get the words out, Sylvain.”

    “A Crest isn’t just this nice letter of invitation to a privileged life. Just take care, is all I’m saying.”

    And there’s another page to the book of surprises with Sylvain’s name on it. The immediate lack of response catches him off guard; it’s like he only notices now that the vital part to understand this conversation is missing: The source of his doubt towards Crests.

    Sylvain’s body turns in a split second, his feet facing the direction he’s ready to bold towards, but this time you stand in his way and block him off. “Sylvain, are you okay?”

    He blinks in confusion, then furrows his eyebrows in deep thought like you demanded he recites the Ten Heroes from memory or else fails classes. His face contorts with the effort of looking fine. “Why, yes! Just peachy. Why would you think something is off?”

    “Because I have eyes in my skull.”

    “Very pretty eyes, if I dare say.” His answer comes out like a fire spell, hard and fast, seemingly more instinct than anything else. He clears his throat and scratches his chin, loosing momentum. “Goddess, I am bad at this.”

    “You are.” No need to sugar coat it. “If something happened, just say it.”

    “Nothing really happened, I just—” He exhales audibly and stares into space for a long minute, before side stepping you without difficulty. “Actually, I remembered Professor wanted to see me after class. Something about extra lessons about eh. Horse riding. Yeah. I’ll catch you later, Herald.” He winks and bolds away, darting under your outstretched arm before you can catch him. For someone this tall, he’s surprisingly agile and fast, already disappearing behind a tall hedge towards the main building.

    If that wasn’t the strangest conversation you’ve held with anyone, you don’t know what might excel that. Maybe it’s time you stop avoiding Sylvain.

    The Training Grounds smells of sweat and oil. Many students and knights train, which is surprising at this kind of hour, the short break between afternoon and evening classes. You’d like to know what they’re working on, but Byleth doesn’t tolerate inattention in a classroom or on the battle field, and demands you do push-ups each time your eyes wander somewhere off. You hate her a little for that. For whatever reason, Claude has taken on the role of your partner in crime, and does whatever necessary to make Byleth punish him as well.

    “What can I say, I like a good workout,” he said when you asked. He didn’t even try to hide his lie, looking as miserable as you felt. Probably hating Byleth a little as well.

    It’s the fourth week of private training with her and the house leaders, and so far you can definitely say that you were not meant to fight on the field. You see how your opponent moves, you can somehow predict what they’re going to do next—but your body simply protests to act accordingly. You stumble, you fall, you need a second too long to get up and before you can do anything, a training sword is at your throat. Byleth always looks like she wants to facepalm her fist through her forehead. Or yours.

    “Herald, this is not how you disarm someone,” she says, as always, and demonstrates it in one smooth, swift movement, as always. You blow hair out of your eyes, knowing you’re about to fail again. At least that gave Claude a reason to give you a new nickname, though if it’s better than the last is debatable.

    “You gotta twist your wrist, duckling!” he calls from the other side of the hall, immediately drawing Byleth’s attention to him. He and Dimitri are facing off, both wielding a spear which should give Dimitri the upper hand. So far, he hasn’t landed a single hit on Claude.

    “Keep your elbows in!” Byleth berates Claude. “Stop flapping them like some kind of chicken.”

    Claude lets out a disturbingly convincing cluck.

    You raise an eyebrow. “At least someone’s having fun.”

    Byleth sighs. “He’s going to get himself killed sooner than later.”

    “I don’t know. He’s managed so far, hasn’t he?”

    “I’m not sure if it’s a talent or a fault.” She turns back to you and nods her chin towards the side. “Take a break. I’m going to see how the boys are doing.”

    You nod, tensing all over because that’s where Edelgard is currently standing and picking out a training axe. You haven’t talked to her since lunch, and you can do without it for a couple more hours. She barely glances at you when you walk over, and instead checks out the edge of the wooden blade, turning it left and right.

    “Is she as strict in the classroom as in here?” you ask, unable to go on in awkward silence. Edelgard hums, throwing a quick glance towards Byleth from under her long, white lashes. “She’s systematic and consistent. Capable in both fields. I have no reason to raise any kind of complaint.”

    “That’s impressive.” You sure as heck still wouldn’t want her as a teacher. “Even though she’s been pushed into all this, she handles it like she’s never done anything else.”

    “I think as a mercenary, she is used to changing approaches depending on the employer.” Edelgard is still looking at Byleth. Reading her expression is impossible, and you don’t want to point out that sticking a sword into thieves and bandits is not the same as teaching kids how to fight in a battle. Her head whips to you suddenly, and she considers the training sword in your hand. “Speaking of different approaches,” she continues, “have you considered that your field of combat might be magic?”

    You have, so the answer comes immediately. “Chances are higher I set myself on fire.” You stare at her. “I didn’t mean it to rhyme.”

    Edelgard ignores your last comment. “But you haven’t really tried it out, have you?” Your lack of response is answer enough for her, and she nods like that proves a point.

    It’s complicated. You haven’t really tried it out because … the simple answer is, you’re afraid. It gets tricky once you try to search for the answer to that. There’s just a strange sensation when you try to use magic, like there’s a vast sea of possibilities and one step inside is enough to get you lost. It isn’t as bad with wind spells or white magic. You haven’t touched Fire spells because a crippling fear chills you to the bones every time you manage to nourish a small flame inside your palm—the complete opposite to Dark magic. When you tried a MiasmaΔ for the first time it felt strangely … secure. The rope tying you to a shore, it had felt like—

    There’s a loud crash when the spears collide and Claude knocks Dimitri off his feet. The whole room is silent as everyone watches how Claude taps the blunt end of his practice spear against Dimitri’s chin. “Steady on there, darling,” he says with a smug grin. Dimitri flushes bright red, and pushes with more force than necessary the spear away, quickly climbing to his feet.

    “That wasn’t bad.” Byleth quickly steps in before Dimitri can throttle Claude. “Dimitri, you rely too much on your brute strength. That’s a big disadvantage against someone like Claude. And you, young man,” she turns to Claude who’s been smiling victoriously, “are scheming too much and lose time to take action. In a serious battle, you won’t be as lucky as today.”

    “Noted.” Claude whirls his spear from left to right, almost dropping it when Dimitri drills his elbow into his side. “But in a serious battle, I won’t be upfront. I’ll be hanging back nicely, and skewing my enemies with a myriad of arrows.”

    “You can barely shoot three at the same time,” Dimitri grumbles, his cheeks still splotched with red specks.

    “You wanna bet—”

    “That’s enough, guys, save it for then next round.” Byleth ignores their sulky expressions and turns to you, raising a single eyebrow. The message is clear. What are you waiting for?

    Your feet feel like they’re glued to the ground. Edelgard doesn’t hesitate at all. “Let’s go.”

    She strides in the middle, training axe raised. It’s made out of wood, but you don’t doubt that she’s able to severe a limb from your body if she only tries hard enough—and what you know of Edelgard is that she alwaysexceeds even her own expectations. You grip your sword tighter. It’s a clear disadvantage, but better than anything else you can handle. Maybe it won’t be as bad.

    The fight lasts for about seven seconds. The moment you raise the blade, Edelgard is on you and unleashes fierce strike after strike, the power behind each hit forcing you back. She doesn’t bat an eyelash when she easily disarms you, the wooden sword flying over your heads and the edge of her axe on your throat. Somewhere behind her, you hear Byleth sigh. “Again.”

    The next hour is torture. Edelgard throws you to the ground, again and again. Byleth keeps telling you to get up, again and again. One might think they would cut you some slack, being the Herald and all, but it feels like Edelgard is so much more aggressive today because you’re the Herald. Or maybe it’s personal. Maybe she’s appointed you to be her sworn enemy, and won’t miss out any chance to make it as hard as possible for you.

    This isn’t fun. Being watched by Dimitri and Claude, who whisper conspiratorially to each other isn’t fun. Luckily, Byleth notices them gawking and bellows them to focus on working on their stances. Right now, you’re thankful nothing escapes her eyes and she calls her students out on their bullshit. It doesn’t make your current situation easier though. Every muscle burns, just raising the sword is exhausting and your feet feel like they’re about to give out any second. This must be hell.

    When Byleth finally ends lessons, you ignore everything and crumble to the ground, splaying your limbs out in all directions. Surely they can clean up without you, two hands less will barely make any difference.

    A shadow settles over you. You know who it is, and don’t bother to open your eyes. “Go away, Byleth. I don’t want to hear how bad I am.”

    “Personally, I think you have improved, Herald.” Your eyes snap open. Dimitri looks down at you, his forehead still glistening from perspiration. “But facing Edelgard as an opponent usually wields those results. Don’t let it bother you.”

    You want to point out that he and Claude don’t seem to have as much problems as you, even though yes, none of them have defeated her yet in practice. He goes down to your level and sits beside you, and you hate how this all barely made him breath hard, like it’s just a stroll around the monastery whereas you’re trying to climb the mountains surrounding it.

    “I think she hates me,” you blurt out. Luckily, most students have already left the hall, Edelgard included. Dimitri considers this a moment, and you don’t know what to make of his lack of immediate response.

    “I doubt she hates you,” he finally says.

    “But?”

    “But she has a hard time warming up to people. Give her time. Once the ice is broken, you will see that her personality is one you’d like to have around.”

    “Oh?” You watch him for a moment, but Dimitri doesn’t blush or look away. It was a heartfelt, sincere statement, which flusters you for some reason. No one should be that honest.

    “Talking about breaking ice. Do you know if something happened to Sylvain?”

    “Sylvain?” Dimitri raises both eyebrows. “Please don’t tell me he harassed you in some kind of way.”

    “No, no, he just—” You finally get up from lying on your back, and try to explain it by frantically moving your hands. Dimitri still looks puzzled. “He said some weird things about Crests in general?”

    “Hm.” Dimitri stares at your hands for a moment, then quickly raises his eyes back to your face. “It’s complicated.” Well, that answer is as good as none. “And I won’t go into details without his consent. I can only say that if he talked about Crests, in whichever way, his brother must have upset him again.”

    “He has a brother?” Now you’re wide awake. Many students have siblings. You know of Hilda’s brother and Raphael’s sister. It shouldn’t surprise you Sylvain has one as well even though he’s never mentioned it before.

    “Do you have siblings?” you ask, generously curious. As heir to a kingdom, it’s hard to imagine his parents would have settled with one child. But he hasn’t mentioned any sisters or brothers as well.

    “Hmm, I have a step-sister,” he says, although very hesitant and you can see if someone doesn’t want to talk about a specific topic. He doesn’t return the question, which is kind of him and makes you wonder … maybe you have a sibling as well. Somewhere. Maybe somewhere in Adrestia or Leicester a younger brother or an older sister is currently looking for you, unrelenting in their journey to be reunited at last. The thought alone brings a flicker of hope alive. Maybe they'll come once word of the Herald’s return travels far enough.

    “I guess as long as Sylvain doesn’t disturb classes or acts out of order, I would leave him to his brooding. I can tell out of experience, only Felix is capable of cheering him up.”

    “Felix?” Your eyebrows rise to your hairline. “Are we talking about the same Felix?”

    A smile forms on Dimitri’s mouth. “I understand why imagining that might prove difficult, but I assure you, Felix is one of the view exceeding in handling the mess Sylvain is from time to time.”

    “Felix and Ingrid?” you guess, earning a nod from Dimitri. “Ingrid is a very nice girl,” you continue, picking at a loose thread from your uniform. “But Felix seems detests me. Every time he sees me, he looks like he wants to throw his sword at me.”

    “That is—” Dimitri stops mid-sentence. “That might be not so far off from his true intentions.”

    You groan.

    “But I assure you it is for a different reason than you think. Felix is simply … difficult with people holding a commanding position.”

    “He doesn’t seem to have the same problem with Byleth,” you point out. No, whenever he trains with her, he manages something close to a smile and accepts her guidance. Then again, she isn’t his teacher.

    “I’m sure you’ll be able to make him consider his opinion on you during the Mock Battle. I as well am looking forward to how you will guide us.” Dimitri beams. You stare at him like he’s just lost his head.

    “What?”

    “The Mock Battle three nights from today?” Dimitri’s smile falters a little. “Have the Professor and Lady Rhea not told you yet? You are to participate in the Mock Battle as the commanding unit of the Blue Lions.” Now he’s pulling his eyebrows together in worry. “Herald?”

    “I—” You jump to your feet. “I have to go.” Go far far away. Just yesterday you introduced the students to the tactic called Feigned Withdrawal, which involves staging a retreat in order to induce the enemy to abandon its position and plunge ahead in an attack. Dimitri abandons his position, getting up to go after you, but instead of turning back to surprise him with an ambush, you flee the battle and hope the enemy doesn’t pursue.