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literally-in-too-many-fandoms · 1 month ago

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Wreck When I'm Without You

Fire Emblem: Three Houses Fanfic

characters: Linhardt von Hevring, Caspar von Bergliez, Ashe Ubert

Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff and Angst, Established Caspar/Linhardt Relationship, Polyamory

. The new year at Garreg Mach University brings a series of crises to the happy relationship of Linhardt von Hevring and Caspar Bergliez, and to Caspar's new lacrosse teammate, Ashe Ubert.

Between unexpectedly attractive teammates, getting cut off from family, and navigating new social situations, these three are going to navigate an eventful year. And as we all know, the best solution to any problem is to panic and avoid communicating your needs to the partners and friends who explicitly offer to care for you.

They'll figure it out, probably.

Chapter 1: all my emotions feel like explosions when you're around

Sophomore year of medical school was honestly two years further than Linhardt expected to ever get. So even though that was when this tiny piece of perfection he’d carved out for himself began to crumble, Linhardt was merely grateful for the time he had had.

Okay, that was a lie.

He was full-on panicking.

First, there was a series of emails from the university and his bank.

[Tuition payment method has been changed] [Please confirm your billing method] [Your Upcoming Tuition Payment] [New Billing Statement Available] [PLEASE READ: Tuition payment options]

Second, there was the error message he got when he tried to message his father.

The text chain was old: scattered check-ups with one-word responses, a message on the holidays and birthdays. The last text was dated three months prior, when his father had asked him to come home for a distant relative’s funeral. Linhardt had begged off with an excuse about a term paper. His father had responded that of course, he should prioritize his studies, as long as his civic engineering minor wouldn’t impede his business major. Now, his newest message bounced. A physical representation of how it always felt to communicate with his father.

Third, Caspar was shouting (this was not unusual) that they were out of milk again (this was also not unusual) and asking Linhardt to order some from the store pretty please (this was also also not unusual).

What was unusual was that as Caspar stumbled into the room, pulling his jacket on one shoulder, a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth, he stopped before he approached Linhardt’s bed. Usually, Caspar did not hesitate before bodily scooping him out of his blanket cocoon, ignoring Linhardt’s protestations. This was their deal. Caspar would wake him up before practice or games on Saturdays, because otherwise Linhardt was liable to sleep through the whole day without seeing his boyfriend, given that Caspar had work in the evening. Linhardt would not protest too much because this was what he wanted from university. Good research, and the chance to be with Caspar.

What hurt most about it, was Linhardt had been excited about today. His next research project for school was interesting. New data from Lysithea, who was the bright star up and coming in the biomed department, with her statistics background. Professor Hanneman had suggested some promising studies on the degenerative disease which linked to certain “crest” genes. He’d been up late studying and was looking forward to waking up in order to read more.

But then he’d glanced at the cascade of emails. His father’s radio silence. And now Caspar was hesitating, eyes caught on his. Caspar was, for all his faults, unerringly honest. Linhardt had never known him to hesitate.

There was a honk from outside.

“von Bergliez! Do not make me tell our lovely team captain that you made us late again!”

And then Caspar blinked, and the hesitation was gone; he swooped over, one arm under Linhardt’s knees while the other tucked the blanket around his shoulders and lifted him up and close to Caspar’s chest. He started talking around the piece of toast in his mouth. It was spraying crumbs across Linhardt’s favorite blanket, and it was somehow still endearing. “—‘n can you help me wi’ the one reading assignment for Prof Eisner, I know I can read, but in their class I feel like I can’t—”

It was almost lucky that Caspar didn’t give him even a breath to respond, because Linhardt couldn’t formulate words. There was no space in his brain between the sudden onslaught of nerves that those emails had inflicted. One thought screamed he needed to tell Caspar right now because rent was due soon and Linhardt didn’t have a job or steady income if his father had cut him off. Another thought choked it, that Caspar could never know because Caspar was putting himself through college on a partial lacrosse scholarship and part-time job for Linhardt. Caspar was at Garreg Mach because of Linhardt and if Linhardt failed at this, all his work would be for nothing.

There was a breath of quiet weightlessness in Caspar’s arms before he deposited him on Linhardt’s favorite study spot, the corner of the couch with the good pillow behind his back. There was already a cup of tea on the coffee table. Caspar swallowed the last of the toast and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “—Thanks again Lin! Text you after the game, I’ll try not to need stitches again this time!”

And then Caspar was gone, the whirlwind out the door, accidentally scraping the doorframe for the nth time with his lacrosse stick on the way out.

Linhardt was stuck in the aftermath. The house was silent. There was birdsong outside, the robins startling to trickle back after the winter. Ferdinand’s and Caspar’s yelling from the car before it drove away, blasting what had to be Dorothea’s music from the speakers. But the house held that kind of quiet after a storm had blown through. Usually Caspar was the only storm that inhabited. This time, the winds howled inside Linhardt’s head.

He took a deep breath. Deep breaths were conducive to clear thinking. Linhardt had learned breathing exercises early. They got him through high school, through panic attacks, through the worst possible dinner parties that his dad’s company hosted. The winds quieted. They still swirled, thoughts like detritus cast back and forth across his head, each important and incomprehensible.

The first one to parse was not the clear-cut, easy to understand bank statements.

No, the first thing that his mind wrapped itself around was the quiet knife through his ribcage that his father had blocked his number, and cut him out entirely. It was not surprising. Waldemar was a proud executive of his own company, from a long line of graduates from Garreg Mach’s school of business. He had one plan for Linhardt, one that allowed no deviances. Waldemar had thrived under the same plan; Linhardt had long since stopped trying to convince his father that the same path would only choke him. There was a sense of loss there, but it was muted. He’d resigned himself to this outcome when he’d committed to trying med school out for the hope of his own future. He’d thought, in some abstract way, that his father would at least have the dignity to text him first. Call. Ask for an explanation. Not just slam the door and leave Linhardt virtually penniless on the other side.

The second to make its way to manageable in his head was the university emails. They were easy to follow. Fake-sympathetic language about his payment being declined. About the grace period while he arranged for the next payment. The number of zeroes on the tuition payment stacked up like stones in his throat. They far outnumbered his current bank statement.

This spawned quieter questions in the back of his head. How fast could he get a job, could he juggle the major and minor and honors and a job, how much was this going to impact his sleep schedule? If he couldn’t make it through university, would he be stuck at a dead-end job til he died of a disease he should’ve been treating as a doctor?

Eventually, Linhardt extracted one arm out of his blanket cocoon and reached over with slow hands to the mug of tea which Caspar had left for him.

It was in Linhardt’s favorite mug, with a cartoonish fish that said “Women want me, fish fear me”, except Caspar had taken a sharpie to it and crossed out “women” and wrote his own name. The tea had long since gone tepid.

There was a tight grip of cold fingers wrapped around his stomach, but Linhardt quietly diagnosed it as psychosomatic and likely the aftermath of not having any solid food in almost 24 hours and then extreme emotional stress. He took a sip of lukewarm tea that had steeped too long, but it was soothing on his throat.

The one tumbleweed left bouncing between his ears was Caspar’s hesitation this morning. Was he nervous about the first game of the new semester? No, that wasn’t like him. And no assignment had ever stumbled Caspar truly, for all that he struggled in any subject that wasn’t his practical classes for sports medicine.

No answer rose to him, no matter how long he tossed it back and forth.

And Linhardt had always understood Caspar, had been close enough to him in their childhoods to see him in every mood, and had long since discovered that Caspar’s relentless optimism and drive ignited something in Linhardt himself. They’d been together since junior year of high school, when Caspar burst into his room and said a very long string of words which amounted to him having a conversation with Dorothea and she had told him that boys could have boyfriends too, and Caspar had run directly to Linhardt’s house to ask him to date him.

And that was the thought that haunted him, even as Linhardt put away his med books and started planning to save his future from collapsing around his ears. The thought that there was something about Caspar he didn’t know or understand.

////////////////////////////

Caspar was having a crisis. This was pretty new to him, all things considered, since the last problem he couldn’t solve by yelling or fighting was also the one he’d worn the longest, and to this day he didn’t know how to shake off his father’s dismissal. He’d yelled his way through a sexuality crisis in high school, through finding a part time job, through 5am lacrosse practices, just to name a few. Crises he couldn’t solve by yelling were not usual.

The current crisis was just a few inches taller than him, had silver hair, and had managed to win Edelgard’s respect within the first half-hour of the new season of lacrosse with his pinpoint accuracy.

Now, falling for the new guy on the lacrosse team was maybe not as big of a crisis as it once might have been. It wouldn’t have been a problem at all, were it not for the sleepy pile of blankets and green hair which Caspar had left at the house this morning. See, Caspar and Linhardt had not much talked about their relationship; their friendship had morphed naturally into something more after the year in high school when Caspar realized it was possible to like guys. They already knew each other so well that there was no need for discussion or boundary-setting. Linhardt had kissed him once on the forehead, shocking Caspar into three minutes of stunned silence, and then it was smooth sailing for the rest of their partnership. Moving in together at college hadn’t even been a conversation—especially since it was the only way Caspar could afford to not live on campus.

So, it wasn’t so much that liking Ashe was a problem. It was that he liked both Ashe AND Linhardt, and had no idea how to bring up the conversation with his boyfriend, without potentially breaking something he couldn’t live without. Sometimes Caspar felt left behind by his boyfriend’s genius, or maybe just that he was running a different race entirely and had no real context for how far ahead of him Linhardt stood. He knew Linhardt wouldn’t drop him, no matter that they were in different sports. But sometimes when he saw the way Hubert and Ferdinand smirked in the same way when they won a match together, and he wondered if Linhardt would always be happy with him in a different arena.

He and Linhardt worked because they’d never known life without each other. Too much change, and Linhardt might realize there were other paths of less resistance.

But Caspar had managed to get Ashe to smile before their match, and Caspar’s heart had raced.

Ashe had dimples. His quiet chuckle filled Caspar’s chest and then when it morphed into a full-blown laugh, Caspar felt the same warmth of pride as when he managed to get Linhardt to smile. And their friendship felt almost as comfortable: they both babied the stray cat which haunted the gym and when Ashe admitted to feeding it in the mornings, Caspar had grinned and shown him the bag of cat food which he stored at the front desk for that express purpose. Ashe tutored him in literature class. Caspar had become Ashe’s unofficial tour guide around the school.

The additional problem was that Ashe’s calendar was formatted the same as Linhardt’s. They color-coordinated their notes in similar patterns. And Ashe laughed at the same jokes which made Linhardt chuckle.

There was some math in there that Caspar couldn’t figure out. Him and Ashe were great friends, and Caspar couldn’t stop wanting more. Ashe and Linhardt had never interacted and it was simultaneously Cas’s greatest hope and deepest nightmare that they would.

“Eagles,” Edelgard’s voice cut through Ashe’s laughter. She was getting ready to give her pre-game speech. Caspar’s heart was still racing. Petra nudged him, and he knew his cheeks must be burning too—hopefully she’d think he was just hyped up for their first match of the season. He always got a little too into it, as Hubert said. “Form up!”

Ashe continued to grin as they walked over. Caspar wanted to pin that smile to his jersey collar.

Edelgard was talking—something about “a strong start to the season means more than simple numbers on the scoreboard” or some such—and Ashe was listening intently. Caspar, not so much. Edelgard’s pre-game pep talks were not important, he’d come to realize. He needed to listen to her during games and needed to pay attention if Hubert started looking like he was going to strangle Caspar with his own intestines (this was a separate look from his usual murder-face). But right now, Hubert had his smug smirk as though he’d helped Edelgard write this pep talk. Right now, Caspar could bounce back and forth on the balls of his feet to get out the constant energy thrumming in his veins (while glancing intermittently at Ashe’s focused expression, because he realized that Ashe’s freckles were brighter in the sunlight).

“—and I am proud to be an Eagle, on this, the start of our new season!”

The rest of them gave a pre-match battle cry, as across the field the opposing team did the same. Caspar was a moment behind, but they moved as one out on to the field. It was still too early in the year for the warm spring and the best field conditions, but it hadn’t rained in a few days and the chill was easily driven away by the weak sun and the way Caspar’s whole nervous system lit on fire when Ashe nudged him—and Caspar physically had to shake his head, shove the warmth away, because there was a hole in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Linhardt shutting the door in his face.

The opponents were some no-name team from a no-name college which Caspar only knew because Linhardt had laughed when he’d gotten their letters in senior year. Linhardt had gotten a lot of those college letters in senior year. If Caspar asked, he’d tell him about their programs or look up their lacrosse team. He’d offer to call them on Caspar’s behalf. To ask about their scholarships. But Caspar only applied to Garreg Mach. Their lacrosse program was not the best, nor did they offer the best scholarships. But once he knew that was where Linhardt was going, that was the only option for him. And he’d been happier the past two years than he could ever remember being before.

So Caspar shook his head again, only nodded in return to Ashe’s mildly nervous smile. He readied his lacrosse stick and fell in behind Edelgard at the line. If he couldn’t fight or yell his way out of this crisis, he would ignore it. And one day he’d learn to bear it like he bore his father’s lack of interest.

That day was not today though, because Caspar kept getting so distracted by Ashe’s freckles that he managed to get clocked over the head when the opposing team checked him.

They finished the match but Caspar’s vision was still swimming. Petra was worriedly buzzing around him and Edelgard was muttering something disparaging, but the only thing Caspar could focus on was Ashe’s face.

“Caspar, are you okay?”

Cas grinned back, unable to contain it. “We win?”

Petra sighed and Hubert said something that contained a lot of numbers and statistics but amounted to yes.

“Then… ‘M doin’ great!”

“Guys, I think he might have a concussion,” Ashe said, and turned away to look at Edelgard, at Coach Jeritza. Caspar frowned, and reached out for him again. Ashe obediently grabbed his elbows again, kept him upright. Caspar was delighted to find that he could support his weight. Ashe was so strong!

“Yes, he is having a concussion again.” Petra said, and Caspar realized with horror he probably said that aloud.

“Take him back to his place, Linhardt will take care of him,” Edelgard said.

Somewhere in his mind, part of him balked at that. Wasn’t that the thing that he was so preoccupied about this morning? But right now, Ashe was warm, and Caspar could lean against him. And if they were back at his place, Linhardt could help—Linhardt always helped. Caspar wanted to know if he and Ashe took their tea the same way.

“—you don’t need tea, Caspar, you need a nurse,” Ashe was saying, but Ferdinand and Edelgard were talking over both of them, and before Caspar knew what else was going on, they had bundled him into Ferdinand’s car.

////////////////////////////

The semester was going “great.” It’s what he told Lonato on their weekly phone calls. He liked his classes, and the profs were great. The lacrosse team that he’d joined due to his little siblings’ gentle bullying was great. The campus was great (though the food was only tolerable since he didn’t have his own kitchen and the dorm kitchen in terrible shape so he couldn’t cook anything) and he was making great friends. These were not lies, technically. Lonato always joked that he was losing his eloquence as a Lit major if everything was only “great.”

Ashe could amend those statements: His classes were interesting, and his profs were very supportive. The lacrosse team was the perfect kind of insanity and only sometimes made him miss his old team. The campus was something out of a fairy tale, all old stone and vines. And he was making new friends, while ignoring the urge to make anything more than that with Caspar. Those were also not lies. And they gave a better impression that he was adjusting well to the sudden transfer to Garreg Mach halfway through his college career.

And he was! Adjusting well. Comparatively.

This particular Saturday morning was maybe the first time the whole semester that he’d thought about going back to Gaspard. And it wasn’t that it was bad, per se. Today had been good, a strong opening match to the season. His teammates were wonderful, and Caspar had been in rare form: captivating in the way he moved, the way his erratic energy coalesced into an unstoppable force on the field. Ashe was more than happy to have Caspar lean against him in the car, though he did not appreciate that Caspar had to be delirious with a probable concussion for it.

The problem was that they were going back to Caspar-and-Linhardt’s house.

Ashe knew that Caspar was in a relationship. It was hard not to: Caspar talked about Linhardt like he’d hung the moon. The other lacrosse teammates spoke of Linhardt often, hung out at their shared house off-campus on the weekends after practice. Ashe always begged off. He enjoyed his friendship with Caspar, and tried very hard to remind himself constantly that it could never be more than that. Anytime Caspar-and-Linhardt came up, Ashe tried to be respectful. He didn’t know if he was afraid that Linhardt was secretly a terrible person who Ashe could then resent, or that Linhardt was secretly the best person ever. Or maybe he was afraid that Linhardt would see through him and know he had a crush on his boyfriend and banish Caspar from talking to him ever again. Whichever outcome, it would change the easy friendship he had with Caspar.

But there he was, Caspar potentially injured beside him, bundled into the car as Ferdinand monologued, unconcerned, about some training plans he had discussed with Edelgard (which Edelgard was going to throw out the window, honestly). He didn’t know how he’d got there. Why hadn’t any of the other guys come with them? Ashe didn’t want to take Caspar back to his house and meet his probably-perfect boyfriend and be immediately crushed that he’d be alone forever. But Petra had plans afterwards with her partner, and Edelgard and Hubert were busy planning training regiments, and Caspar was already half-collapsed in Ashe’s arms.

To make everything worse, Ferdinand had hopped out long enough to open the door, and Ashe had started helping Caspar up the steps to Caspar-and-Linhardt’s house.

It wasn’t until he had already knocked that he looked around to realize Ferdinand had gotten back into the car without him. “Ferdinand?!”

Ferdie waved out the window. “I am afraid I would be more harm than help in this case! Linhardt has banished me from their place after last time, anyways. Let me know when you need a pickup, and I will be over as swiftly as possible!”

“Ferdinand!” Ashe yelled, but the car was already pulling away.

He had just enough time to think longingly of the familiar streets of Gaspard, and his old friends who would never abandon him at a random house.

Then the door opened, and Ashe looked up to see a green-haired man in comfortable, cozy attire, with a disinterested eyebrow raised in question.

Ashe was not ashamed to admit it, but the second he laid eyes on Linhardt, he knew Caspar’s boyfriend was out of his league. He had the perpetually tired look of all the other overachieving students Ashe knew, but there was the quality of his sweatshirt (nicer than all the ones Caspar wore), the three stacks of old Starbucks cups on the counter, the unimpressed way Linhardt glanced at the mud Ashe would be tracking into his home. He looked like the kids that Christophe always complained—always used to complain about when he was dragged to Lonato’s fancy dinners. He was pretty in the way that came with good genes and a good skincare routine. He probably fit in well among Edelgard with her name-brand cleats, Ferdinand and his outdoorsman club membership. Ashe was tired of meeting people at this school who could buy new textbooks instead of scrounging through Chegg for used copies or borrowing from a friend of a friend.

Then he shook his head, and tried to squash the instinctive vitriol in his heart. After all, since Lonato had adopted him and his siblings, Ashe was one of them. One among the echelon who could afford a big-name school. And while Lonato only paid the (unfortunately large) portion of his tuition that wasn’t covered by student loans or Ashe’s job, Ashe was still doing better than most. Better than he’d ever dreamed of. And even his major—there was a quiet voice in his chest that told him constantly that he should be getting a “real” degree, that he was going to graduate and fall flat on his face in a world that didn’t pay you to read books. Ashe was in no position to judge anyone for their socioeconomic status.

And then he realized he was still standing, dripping mud and possibly blood onto Caspar-and-Linhardt’s doormat, and Caspar was still mumbling deliriously about the game.

“Uh, I really don’t mean to intrude—” Ashe said, hating every second of this day that had led up to him being abandoned on this random doorstep.

Technically, he didn’t even know that this actually was Caspar-and-Linhardt’s place. Were the Eagles the type to haze? Because this felt like it might be a hazing situation. He didn’t think that Edelgard was the type, but then again she did get a really intense look in her eye when she talked about lacrosse that was only matched by her fervor in her poli-sci classes.

“—Um, are you—is this Caspar’s house? They said to bring him here but I tried to tell them he needed to see a nurse—”

Caspar stirred in his arms. He shook his head, grinned in that all-consuming way that Ashe couldn’t help but enjoy looking at, and said the clearest sentence in the past hour: “No hospital, Lin’s got me!”

Ashe looked back at the green-haired man, who was still staring back with an unreadable expression.

“—And I don’t even know if you’re Linhardt,” Ashe said.

“…Unfortunately, you’re at the right place,” Linhardt said, and finally uncrossed his arms. His voice was languid, tone seemingly disinterested. “And yes, that one is my problem to deal with, though I have considered dropping him at the ER if he gets concussed again.”

“Nooo, Lin,” Caspar moaned, still leaning half of his weight on Ashe’s chest, blue eyes unable to keep focus on where Linhardt stood but clearly trying. “Pl’s no more. It’s… so boring in there. But, but I’ll stay in m’ room.”

Linhardt rolled his eyes, but then stepped closer, and the first real expression crossed his face. His dark gray eyes softened to something kind, and some endearment eased the worry line between his eyebrows. “No, I’m not going to banish you to your room,” Linhardt said, only to shudder and draw back when he saw the streak of red down his boyfriend’s face. “Urgh, but I’m not dealing with your blood on the couch again.”

Linhardt turned his eyes to Ashe’s, and he unconsciously straightened up. It wasn’t the stare of someone looking down their nose at him. If anything, it bordered on introspective, some analysis taking place that Ashe couldn’t comprehend.

Whatever Linhardt saw in him, it must have sufficed, because he turned and gestured to the kitchen, sighing. “Well, if you’re nice enough to help Cas through the door instead of dropping him at the doorstep like Hubert is wont to do, you’ll probably be willing to help me clean him up. I’ll even give you our wifi password for it, if you’ll just get some paper towels and stop that head wound from bleeding. Cas would probably buy you a coffee but I don’t feel like pay—waiting, for DoorDash right now.”

“I—” Ashe stuttered, stumbled in.

He couldn’t help but look around in amazement at the living room; there were more medical textbooks in the shelves than in the library, a collection of novelty mugs decorated in between the stacks, and more pillows and blankets than seemed reasonable for any two people to own. It was the coziest reading room he’d ever seen, and Ashe shoved down the instinctive desire to ask if he could come back here to read sometime. There was even a bay window with a couch cushion on it! Ashe was definitely going to have to bribe Caspar into letting him do some homework here. “—Yes, I can help, but I’m not—I’m just a Lit major, I don’t know the first thing about medicine.”

Linhardt was already walking to the kitchen. At some point he’d swiped the two bags of lacrosse gear that Ashe had been holding and lugged them over with difficulty to be dropped unceremoniously at the fireplace.

“That didn’t stop this idiot from trying to give himself stitches the first time he got injured in a game, so I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Linhardt said.

Ashe looked down in horror at Caspar’s face. For all that he was still visibly drooping, Cas gave him a loopy grin. Ashe refused to acknowledge that his heart sped up at the expression.

“He did what?”

Ashe didn’t know Linhardt well enough yet to say, but he thought that the way his voice lightened, even as it kept a dry edge, might have been closer to affection. “Oh yes. Thankfully I found him before he used an actual sewing thread to close something that only needed a butterfly bandage, but ever since then, I insist he comes here for treatment. He’d duck out of it if they took him to the nurse. At least he listens to me, once in a while, or if all else fails I can sit in his lap to make him stop running around the house.”

The kitchen was slightly a mess, but Ashe was struck with jealousy. An actual kitchen! Ashe missed having a gas stove… and pots and pans. There was a crockpot—dirty, caked with day-old food—but it was the brand that Ashe had always drooled over in the supply store. The kitchen was a narrow thing, but there was lots of counterspace, and there was a clear line of sight back into the cozy living area, and then out into their medium-sized backyard. There was an old lacrosse goal against the fence. Ashe imagined Caspar trained out here.

Ashe had to close his eyes against the wave of longing. He wanted to cook. There was a certain piece of belonging that came only when you made something and brought it to a table for others to enjoy. It didn’t need to be spoken; Ashe didn’t need someone to tell him he was good at cooking. He just wanted people who dug into a meal and gathered strength and joy from shared laughter and shared food.

For a second, as Linhardt led them over next to the sink and pulled out a rather large first-aid kit from some cabinet, Ashe let the cozy-ness of the house pervade him. The place was eminently lived-in, dirty dishes scattered around and post-it reminders stuck on every conceivable surface, novelty salt & pepper shakers on the table.

And as he supported Caspar over to lean against the counter, Cas smiled at him—eyes still closed, trusting Ashe wouldn’t lead him wrong. And he couldn’t help but smile at Linhardt in turn, who handed him some paper towels and gauze, gesturing wordlessly at Cas and digging through the first aid kit with his other hand—scarcely needing to glance or instruct, as though this was a normal routine.

Ashe obediently pressed the wet paper towel which Linhardt handed him against Caspar’s forehead. The cut was small, and Cas barely winced, but Linhardt at least looked relieved when the blood was cleaned away. Ashe was almost sad when the blood was cleared off and he had to remove his hand from Caspar’s cheek.

“Thanksss, love,” Cas mumbled, eyes still closed.

“Uh,” Ashe responded, eloquently.

Caspar’s eyes flew open—an actual cognizant expression on his face for the first time since the match. “Ashe! Hi!”

Now his boyfriend stepped over, seizing his forearm in a loose but firm grip. “Yes, you managed to drag another of your lacrosse friends over because of an injury in that stupid game. You know you can just invite them here, right?”

Caspar’s ice blue eyes flicked between the two of them. “Uh, haha yeah, no, I know, I didn’t, I—Lin, I promise I tried not to get hurt again this time!”

Linhardt took Cas by the chin, tilted his head back and forth while flashing a penlight in his eyes. Presumably to check for a concussion. That sounded like something Ashe had read in a book somewhere. There was a flash of concern in his gut—maybe they did need to take Caspar to a nurse, because Linhardt was probably great, but he was a med student, not a nursing major, did he really know how to treat a potential concussion? But then Caspar’s expression cleared, and he grinned, something wide and instinctive. Ashe’s heart clenched. It was the lovestruck look that the best writers liked to describe with flowery language, the one lovers gave each other at emotional moments of their journey.

Ashe was painfully aware he was intruding on something. The comfortable spot he’d imagined himself in moments previous scattered before him: Caspar and Linhardt were together. They were happy. Yet another landscape at this college with all its components already snug in their spots; no jagged edges or missing pieces. Ashe had been hoping he’d find open spaces he could fit himself into, now that he couldn’t stand the gaping hole in his home back in Gaspard. But almost everyone else in this school was already in a rhythm, in a clique, schedules unaccommodating of a new commitment.

He needed to leave, now.

“Uh, Linhardt, can I—Can I help with anything else? I, I should get back to the dorm and work on some homework. But, I can still help, if you need anything else, or can I get anything else for Caspar?”

The two of them turned to look at him. Linhardt was still appraising, and his face was back to its apparent trademark blank look. Caspar’s face tightened and then a grin possessed him again—it was a different one than how he looked at Linhardt. It was still bright, affectionate. Ashe had never thought he’d get along well with someone of Caspar’s somewhat abrasive personality, but the honesty in his gaze was something refreshing. He was lucky to count Caspar as a friend. He couldn’t hope for anything more than that.

“Wait, Ashe—” Caspar reached out for him.

Linhardt turned to look at Caspar. They had a conversation in raised eyebrows and then Linhardt sighed. “I can’t just throw you back out after you brought him here, now can I? I’ll get you the wifi password and you can have some of our nice tea. Maybe if you hang out for a little while, I can keep Caspar contained with less effort on my part.”

“Help me with my Lit reading?” Caspar asked, and the hope in his eyes crumbled the last of Ashe’s defenses.

“You,” Linhardt said, poking Caspar in the chest, “Need to lay down. No screens. I don’t think you’ve got a concussion but I’m going to keep checking for the next day.”

“I… I can stay and help, but I don’t want to be in the way,” Ashe said, and the two of them shook their heads—Caspar wincing with the movement.

Linhardt patted Caspar on the shoulder and pushed him gently back out into the reading room. Ashe instinctively moved to support his shoulder when Caspar stumbled for a second for balance.

“Let’s get him settled on the couch and I will get tea started,” Linhardt said. “If you want to take a shower, we probably have enough hot water for that.”

Ashe thought for a second about staying in his sweaty jersey, how it would crust up and he would feel filmy and disgusting for hours, and then thought again about using Caspar-and-Linhardt’s shower and flushed. “I should be okay,” he said. “Could you point me in the direction of the bathroom though? I should just change real quick.” Even that had his cheeks flaming. He really had watched too many rom-coms if all his brain could think about was getting caught with just a towel around his waist by his crush, or by his crush’s attractive, aloof boyfriend.

...

CHECK OUT THE NEXT CHAPTERS ON Ao3! see reblog for link!

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #fanfic #my fic #the blogger writes #linhardt von hevring #caspar von bergliez #ashe ubert #THE ot3 of my heart #i blame prince-jelli-fish entirely for inspiring this fic. thanks for being unhinged about these silly boys with me

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senashenta · 6 months ago

Text

Horror High: Chapter Seven

Title: Horror High

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: Explicit (in other chapters)

Warnings: Sex, Violence

Summary: John Winchester plants his eldest son at Caspar High in Jacksonville because weird things have been happening there: people disappearing. People reappearing only dead and drained of all their bodily fluids. Cocoons. It’s up to Dean to figure out what’s stalking Caspar’s halls and deal with it accordingly; but then he meets the New Kid—newer than him, even, the New-New Kid—Castiel Novak, and all his plans get severely derailed. Now Dean has to juggle the supernatural case—a really hungry jorogumo—and also the fact that he’s very quickly falling in love, something that is absolutely forbidden by his dad.

Meanwhile Castiel, shoved into the third new school in a year because his adoptive father—Chuck Shurley’s—job has them moving around a lot, struggles to fit in at Caspar High, not only because he’s the New Kid but because he’s the weird New Kid. Dean seems like a saving grace, a harbor in a storm, someone who doesn’t judge him—that is until Cas finds out about Dean’s night job. Cas’s life just got a whole lot stranger—but that doesn’t stop him from falling for Dean, regardless.

Notes: I feel like at 40,000+ words I should have more feedback than I do and I'm not... sure... what I'm doing wrong. Because no one is telling me. Is it just because it's top!Dean and bottom!Cas? It it because I'm a new author to SPN fandom? Is the writing shit? I thought HH was pretty decent but now I'm beginning to wonder. Then again I think the fandom landscape has also changed a lot in the last couple of years since I was last really active. Maybe leaving kudos and comments is just a thing of the past? Who even knows. Hmm. idk idk idk.

Anyway, for those of you who ARE reading and enjoying HH, thanks and I hope you like this chapter, too! This chapter can be read HERE ON AO3 AS WELL. New chapter next Thursday/Friday as usual. <3

HORROR HIGH TUMBLR MASTER POST HERE.

HORROR HIGH Chapter Seven By Senashenta

Cas had assumed that things between him and Dean would… change, somehow, after Dean stayed overnight at his house. And they did, a little, just not in the Earth-shattering way he had privately feared they might.

Suddenly they were just… closer. There was more intimacy between them. Dean was even more attentive than he had been before. They both seemed to crave physical contact even more than they already had, even just the simple things, like brushing their hands together on the way past, or sitting close against each other’s sides at lunch.

And it was obvious to more than just them. Sam noticed, certainly, and made sarcastic comments whenever the three of them were together, not that that was to be unexpected.

And even Charlie—

“Oh my God, I just figured it out!”

Cas had been staring off into space, thoughts on Dean as per usual, when Charlie’s voice jolted him back to reality. He blinked and looked at her. She was twisted around in her seat, the same as always, her elbow on Cas’s desk and her chin propped in her hand, but this time she also had a mischievous grin on her face. That was never a good sign.

“Uh. What did you figure out, Charlie?” He questioned almost hesitantly.

“What’s different about you!” Charlie chirped, and then; “you totally slept with him, didn’t you?”

“What.” Cas didn’t deny it immediately, which was probably a mistake on his part. Instead, he flushed red and frowned in her direction. “Charlie!”

The redhead gasped and grinned, “oh my God, you actually did!” She turned around in her seat even more to cross her arms over Cas’s desk and looked at him expectantly, “tell me everything.”

And, granted, Charlie was his best friend. And he might have been willing to actually tell her—if they hadn’t been in the middle of class. So instead, Cas gave her a look and told her flatly, “no. We’re in class, Charlie.”

“Well, that’s…” Charlie began, then trailed off and looked around at all the other students before conceding, “right, I take your point.” She patted one hand against his desk, “I am going to text you tonight and you are going to answer, okay?”

Cas couldn’t really argue with that too much, because for Charlie this was being exceedingly reasonable. He loved Charlie, he really did, but sometimes she didn’t have a lick of common sense in her entire body. At least this time she was willing to let it go for the time being—and Cas was much more willing to share some of the details she craved over a private chat later.

Why she wanted to know about his sex life in the first place was beyond him.

“Can you at least tell me if things are good?” Charlie asked after a brief pause. She offered him a real, genuine smile this time, the mischievousness gone, “it seems like they’re good.”

This time Cas had to smile in return, small and smitten and a little embarrassed, “they’re good.” He promised. “Really good.”

Charlie reached over to squeeze his hand, a genuine, friendly gesture. “I’m happy for you, Cas.”

“Mm,” Cas agreed, “I am too.” For once.

-- --

[Okay, spill the deets, Cas.]

Cas checked his phone when it buzzed just after eight-thirty that night, while he was working on homework in his bedroom—and sighed. He’d almost forgotten about Charlie’s promise to text him. And his not-quite promise to reply. But clearly Charlie hadn’t forgotten, obviously. It was probably a miracle she had waited until this late to message him, now that he thought about it.

He tapped his pen against his notebook absently for a moment before picking up his phone to text back:

[Why do you even want to know?]

Honestly, Charlie was a lesbian and very out, and he didn’t understand why she would be interested in knowing about his sex life, aside from the fact that she sometimes had a preoccupation with the mystery of Dean Winchester. He glanced down when his phone binged again:

[Because you’re my friend I want to know he didn’t do anything to hurt you, even accidentally.]

That made Cas pause—and he smiled down at his phone screen fondly:

[Charlie. I told you things were good, didn’t I?]

Honestly, if she was just worried about him, she could have just said so. But it was… nice. To know that she cared that much. He hadn’t had many people in his life that had cared for him like that. She really was his best friend, wasn’t she? Aside from Dean, of course.

[I know you said that, but honestly you are so in love with him that I don’t even know what to believe anymore.] Charlie finally replied, after a brief pause.

Cas hesitated. Started to type “I’m not—” but knew that Charlie would see though that, even over text. So instead, he ignored that part entirely:

[He didn’t hurt me. I promise. He was gentle. It was good, Charlie. SO good. BOTH times.]

He wasn’t sure if Charlie would be smiling over that or gagging a little, but that was the jist of it, without getting into any of the dirty details, which he was absolutely sure Charlie had no real interest in. When Charlie came back with a response it was:

[Dude, how did you even MANAGE this? Is your Dad deaf or something?]

Cas muffled a little laugh:

[He was out of town. Dean stayed the night while he was gone.]

There was a long pause after that, and Cas finally went back to his homework while he waited, scribbling out a few more answers—then crossing out one to redo it. When his phone pinged again, he glanced at it:

[Oooooh, yes, that makes more sense. But you’re sure you’re okay? I mean, even emotionally? Nothing you need to talk about? It’s a big thing. I remember the first time I slept with my first girlfriend, it was INTENSE.]

Cas sat back in his seat to type out his reply:

[It was intense, yes. And awkward sometimes. But it was good. And I promise I’m fine. Things with me and Dean are… they’re really, really good. I don’t regret anything.]

And wasn’t that the important thing? Spending the night together hadn’t made things awkward or weird between them, it had brought them closer together. How could he possibly regret it when that was the end result?

Charlie’s next text echoed his thoughts: [That’s the important part. You’re happy, no regrets. Then I’m happy for you. Also, it means I don’t have to kick Dean Winchester’s ass for you, so there’s that.]

Cas chuckled at the very idea of petite Charlie attempting to kick Dean’s ass: [goodnight, Charlie.]

[Night, Cas.]

-- --

Caspar High and Bedwin Junior High were having a P.A. day on the same day, probably because they were associated, which meant no classes on Friday, which meant they could spend the day however they wanted to. This, of course, meant that Cas would be joining the Winchester brothers in another hours-long research session—only this time not at the motel they had been living out of for weeks.

Instead, he invited them to his house, which he judged to be much more comfortable. (This was mostly for Sam’s benefit, the poor kid spent ninety percent of his life cooped up in that dingy motel while he wasn’t in school; at least Dean had a couple of other destinations he could get away to.)

“I can’t believe you made me bring Sam.” Dean complained as soon as Cas opened the door upon their arrival, around ten in the morning.

Sam ignored him and added his own, “hi, Cas.”

Cas also ignored him. “Hi, Sam.” Standing aside, he let them come in and kick off their shoes, then added, “you can make yourselves at home. If you’re hungry or thirsty just come down and get something from the kitchen. Sam, I’ll show you where the bathroom is. My Father is home today, but he’s working on manuscripts in his study, so as long as we’re not too loud we shouldn’t bother him.” He shrugged and closed the door behind them. “Sam, my room is at the top of the stairs on the left. You can go on up.”

Sam shrugged. He had a laptop bag slung over his shoulder. “What’s the wifi password?”

“’Multiverse216’.” Cas told him, and then took a brief moment to be grateful when Sam didn’t question it. Explaining his father’s frankly unerring belief in the multiverse theory would have been embarrassing. Once Sam was off, headed for his bedroom, Cas turned his attention to Dean, who was still looking grumpy, arms full of heavy-looking books. Sighing, Cas reached to take a few of them with a smile. “What’s wrong? You’re pouting.”

“I am not.” Dean absolutely pouted, shifting the remaining books to one arm, then; “we definitely can’t make out with Sam around, can we?”

“Probably not,” Cas agreed, turning to head upstairs, “but it’s not fair on him to make him hide away in the motel all the time while you come over here, and we go out places and everything. Hence me inviting him. Besides, we’re supposed to be doing research, which means no making out anyway.”

Dean grumbled something like ‘you’re lucky you’re so cute’ under his breath, making Cas laugh as they climbed the stairs.

When they got to his room, Sam had already taken over the floor at the foot of the bed, his laptop out and notebooks and papers spread everywhere. Cas took a moment to point out to the door to the bathroom to him, at the same time as Dean made a beeline for the bed and flopped onto it with his books, then scooted around to pat the spot beside him with a hopeful look.

“Nice try.” Cas set the rest of the books down beside Dean, who proceeded to give him a dirty look, and then moved over to his desk where his own laptop was set up, digging out a notebook and pen while he powered it up.

“Thank God at least one of you has some common sense.” Sam commented without looking up.

“I try.” Cas agreed.

“I hate you both.” Dean groused.

At that point they all got down to work, Cas and Sam doing Internet searches while Dean poured through the numerous books they had brought along. There was general companionable silence, with the exception of once or twice when one of them thought they had a lead and it turned out to be nothing in the end. In those cases, muttered cursing happened.

Cas was mildly disturbed by the number of Aragog or Shelob fansites that kept popping up—and more than mildly disturbed by the Aragog/Shelob fanfiction that followed. He was very quick to click away from those types of things when they came up in his searches, but he was getting enough of it that he began to develop the opinion that some people had too much time on their hands.

Around twelve thirty, they took a break for lunch and Dean made the executive decision that they were ordering pizza. Cas had learned last time that Dean’s version of pizza was all meat and contained no vegetable toppings of any kind, and this pie followed in its’ predecessor’s footsteps: pepperoni, sausage, bacon, and extra cheese. Sam was obviously used to it because he didn’t question the order at all. Cas just figured pizza was pizza and it was all good. He took a slice in to his father, who was still typing away at his computer. Chuck said a quick thanks and immediately got right back to work.

They ate standing around the kitchen island, and one extra large pizza didn’t last long as they were all growing teens. Besides that, Dean could put away half of one himself, easy. Once they were done, they tidied up their mess (pizza box, soda cans) and headed back upstairs to continue their research.

This time Dean managed to Puppy Eye Cas into joining him on the bed. He unplugged his laptop and took it with him, laying on his stomach beside his boyfriend and staunchly ignoring when Dean leaned over and dropped a kiss against his neck. He was not going to start a full-on make-out session with Sam in the room. That was just rude. Dean seemed to get the hint after a minute or two and went back to his books with a disappointed sigh.

“Thank you for being so reasonable, Cas.” Sam piped up from the floor.

“You’re welcome, Sam.” Cas replied easily.

“I’m right here, you know.” Dean grumbled.

That was the end of it for then and they all went back to work, mostly quiet for the next hour of so until Sam suddenly hit on something, frowned to himself, and followed a series of links to a particular article about—“jorogumo!” He announced excitedly, pushing himself up and peering over the edge of the bed at Dean and Cas, “I think I might actually have something, here!”

“Thank God,” Dean slammed the book he was looking through closed and waved a hand toward Sam, “lay it on me, Sammy.”

“Okay, so,” Sam turned back to his computer, “a jorogumo is a type of yokai, or demon, a creature from Japanese folklore. The kanji used to write it literally translates to ‘spider woman.’ It’s half-spider, half-woman, and preys exclusively on men. In some myths it can shapeshift into a beautiful woman to lure in its’ prey, but that part changes depending on who you ask. Uh… so they originate from Japan, like I said, but they’ve kind of slowly spread out over the world, all different subspecies.” He poked his head up to look at Dean and Cas again; “they inject their victims with digestive juices and then drink the liquified insides, like spiders. And that would explain the cocoons and the exoskeleton!”

“And the fact that the victims have all been male. Sounds like our monster,” Dean agreed, “how do you kill them?”

“Fire!” Sam grinned, “just fire, that’s easy, right?”

“Depends.” Dean hedged, “are we talking Molotov cocktails?”

Cas blinked at that and turned back to his computer, typing something in and then scrolling for a minute while the Winchesters discussed the merits of Molotov cocktails and the fact that their dad wasn’t around to buy the liquor for them this time, so Dean would have to use one of his fake IDs and pray the people at the store believed him.

“Will this work?” Cas interrupted finally and turned the laptop for Dean to see the screen.

The older boy blinked, then squinted—and finally grinned. “Yeah. That’ll work, Cas.” Leaning over, he kissed Cas hard, then pulled back, still grinning, to add, “that’ll definitely work!”

-- --

It turned out that building a miniature homemade flamethrower was almost disturbingly easy. And cheap. And at no point required a fake ID. All they needed was a small fire extinguisher, a bicycle pump, a drill, a hacksaw, a vice grip, a few other small odds-and-ends and about a gallon of lighter fluid. All of this could be purchased from local hardware stores (on Dean’s fake credit card) for less than a couple hundred bucks.

They were going to make three of them.

Not one for each of them, of course, Dean was going to be doing all the heavy lifting when it came to Monster Killing Time, but because each one was good for maybe four blasts at best (probably more like two or three) and they wanted to be prepared. In later years the Winchesters would improve on the mini-flamethrower design, but for now this was what they had. It was also why Dean insisted on using his fake ID and buying liquor anyway—to use just in case the flamethrowers failed him, since all the lore they could find on jorogumos said fire and nothing but fire.

“What’s left at this store?” Dean asked. He was leaning on the mostly full shopping cart as they walked the aisles.

“Um…” Cas glanced down at the list in his hand. “Lamp wicks and hose clamps.”

“Right.”

The list of things they needed to buy had been divided into two and they had gone to two different stores just in case a clerk got suspicious. They were already getting odd looks because they were even there—midday on a Friday—and not in school, though no one could know they were in the middle of a P.A. Day, of course. Still, it was important to mitigate the strangeness of their purchases, just in case.

“Got the lamp wicks!” Sam came around the corner with the box of wicks in his hand and dropped it into the cart. Dean didn’t even stop moving. “Couldn’t find the hose clamps. It’s possible they don’t stock them. We may have to hit another store.”

“Or go back to the last one again.” Dean shrugged.

Probably unadvisable. They’d bought two fire extinguishers and a hacksaw at the last store. Going back again would likely garner attention they didn’t want.

“Google says there are over thirty hardware stores in Jacksonville,” Cas put in his two cents helpfully, “I’m sure we can find another one.” A pause then; “which has hose clamps, hopefully.”

“Why do we need hose clamps, again?”

“We just do, Dean.” Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed hold of the front of the cart to halt it in its’ tracks, forcing Dean to stop walking as well. “Why don’t we just ask someone who works here about the hose clamps?”

That… was probably a good idea. Cas blinked and wandered off to find a sales associate without another word.

It turned out the hose clamps were down Aisle Twelve and they had walked past them at least twice already in their wandering the store. A few minutes after Cas left, he came back with three of the highly sought-after part and dropped them into the shopping cart with a little, pleased smile. “That’s it, right?”

When they got to the register and put everything up on the cash belt the man behind the counter took a quick look over the contents of their purchase and asked cheerfully, “you guys building a flamethrower? I saw it on YouTube! You’re missing a few things, though.”

“Flamethrower? Nooooo, absolutely not!” Dean laughed nervously at the same time as Cas blurted out “it’s for science class!”

Sam facepalmed and pushed in front of them to address the cashier: “just double bag it, please, we’re walking.”

-- --

Actually making the flamethrowers was a lot more complicated than buying the parts had been, but Dean and Sam seemed to be on it. Cas felt rather useless, just sitting around watching, but he really had no idea what he was doing, while they did.

So, once they got back to the motel the brothers got to work and over the course of the afternoon, they built three of the deceptively innocent looking little devices. They couldn’t really test them out properly, as they had nowhere to test them, and they also didn’t want to waste the fuel, so they just had to hope they worked when the time came.

Dean also left for a little while and came back with a bag full of bottles of liquor—apparently, they had accepted his fake ID after all. Those were lined up along the counter in the kitchenette to be turned into Molotov cocktails closer to the time they would be needed.

It was decided that, barring any unforeseen circumstances, Dean would head into the monster’s nest in two days, on Sunday night, when there wouldn’t be anyone else around to get in the way—or get hurt.

Cas didn’t know how to feel at that moment except nervous, and it showed. Once they were done their preparation—or as close to done as they could get—Dean tugged him over to his bed to lay down, and the two of them just cuddled up together, not saying a word, for the rest of the time he was there.

This time Sam didn’t even make any sarcastic comments.

When he was leaving to go home, around dinner time, Cas whispered a quiet, “please be careful.”

Dean leaned their foreheads together and closed his eyes, promising, “I will.”

-- --

All of Saturday, Cas worried. He cleaned his room to distract himself. When that didn’t work, he texted Charlie for a while. Then he broke down and called Dean, just to talk to him, to hear his voice. They talked about everything and nothing—and it helped, at least a little. But he couldn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning and eventually just giving up trying.

Sunday was much the same, but this time he didn’t call Dean. Dean needed to focus, he didn’t need his fretting boyfriend distracting him, throwing him off his game. He barely ate any of his dinner and his father asked if he was feeling alright; he replied that he thought he might be coming down with something.

At ten o’clock at night, he got one text from Sam:

[He’s leaving in an hour. Everything will be fine.]

And Cas stared at it for the longest time before shoving his phone in his pocket and heading out the door.

-- --

When Dean arrived at Caspar High at almost midnight, he was shocked to find Cas standing out front, waiting for him. A deep frown crossed his face, and he all but stomped over, hauling the duffle bag with the flamethrowers and Molotov cocktails in it along the way. Cas at least had the presence of mind to look guilty when he saw Dean coming—his boyfriend was going to be angry, and he knew it.

“What the hell, Cas?!”

“Dean, I know, I just—”

“You can’t be here!” The only reason Dean wasn’t shouting was because he didn’t want to draw attention to them. As it was his voice came out a harsh, growled whisper. “Go! Home!”

But Cas, maybe surprisingly, maybe not so surprisingly, dug his heels in. He crossed his arms. “No! You need someone to be here for you! What if something goes wrong? You expect me to just sit at home while you—”

“THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I EXPECT.” Dean hissed, glaring now, “this is my job, Cas! You’re a civilian, you need to go home! Right now!”

Cas glared right back, a deep frown on his face, and shook his head. “I’m staying, Dean! What if you get hurt? You’ll need someone to get you back to the motel—or to the hospital! This whole solo Hunt thing is risky and stupid, and I can’t just—” Breaking off, he made a frustrated noise and grabbed at the front of Dean’s shirt, yanking him forward and leaning to kiss him harshly. “Don’t be stupid about this, let me stay.”

Dean continued glaring at him for another long moment before he made a little annoyed sound, green eyes skimming to the side and then returning to Cas’s, holding there intensely. “Don’t you dare come inside, Cas. You stay out here, no matter what happens.”

Well… that wasn’t really what he had intended, but Cas figured it was the best he was going to get. He knew there was no way Dean would let him go into the school with him—Dean cared about him too much to allow that. Cas was still frowning, but finally nodded. “Okay.”

Dean huffed a frustrated noise and crouched down, rummaging through the duffle bag before pulling out two of the Molotov cocktails and a lighter. When he stood again, he held them out for Cas to take. “Here. Just in case. You know what to do with them?”

Cas took the bottles and the lighter, tucking the lighter into his pocket so he wouldn’t lose it. “It’s pretty self-explanatory, so yes.”

Really, what Dean wanted to do was leave one of the flamethrowers—but he couldn’t risk it. They each only held a couple of blasts worth of fuel. He would need them. Besides which, he didn’t even know for sure that they would work, yet. He didn’t want to leave Cas with a possibly defunct weapon in case something did happen.

“Damnit, Cas.” Grabbing at the side of Cas’s neck, he pulled the other boy in for another harsh kiss, then pressed their foreheads together and muttered, “this is really, really Goddamn stupid.”

“I know.” Cas met his gaze firmly. “But I’m staying.”

It seemed to be decided. At least Cas wasn’t insisting on coming inside with him, Dean could take comfort in that much. For now, he just released the younger boy and hefted the duffle bag up to head for the school doors, already digging out his lockpick kit.

Behind him he could hear Cas say softly, “be safe,” and he had to resist the urge to turn around and pull Cas into his arms, hold him forever and keep him protected from the evils of the world. Instead, he unlocked the door and slipped into the building, alone.

Coming from the front entrance it was a much straighter shot to the tech hall and the basement, and Dean made it there without even hearing the footsteps of the guard, then picked the basement door lock again and stepped inside. The door swung shut behind him with an ominous click.

Dean flicked on his flashlight and peered down the stairs. Something in the basement rustled, stirring.

You’re home tonight, then. Good. A frown and Dean shoved any lingering thoughts of Cas out of his mind, forcing himself to focus. He couldn’t afford to be distracted tonight. He had to be the Hunter. The blunt instrument. The man his dad had trusted this Hunt to. Nothing more, nothing less.

He made his way down the stairs with determination in his steps. At the bottom he stopped, shining his flashlight around… and then paused when something above him shifted, clicking and chittering softly. Dean froze for a split second before beaming the flashlight upward and—

“Oh shit.”

Dangling upside-down from the ceiling on a thin line of spider thread was the jorogumo; it had a human head, arms and torso, female attributes and long, dark hair. But where the human torso ended, about at the hips, it was connected to a massive spider body, eight long legs and—a red hourglass figure on the mostly black abdomen.

Great, a black widow jorogumo. It just kept getting better.

The creature slowly spun its’ way down to the ground, flipping over and landing on it’s almost delicate-looking spider limbs. It cocked its’ head to the side and regarded Dean with eight large, unsettling round eyes, its’ hands carding through its’ long hair restlessly. Dean was already pulling out the first flamethrower, his movements slow and careful.

When he lit the lamp wick, though, the jorogumo took one look at the fire and sprung to life with an animalistic screech. The next thing Dean knew the thing was rushing at him and he fell back a step, bringing the flamethrower up and firing off the first blast.

The jorogumo dodged to the side, but the fire scorched a section of the nest—and that just pissed it off even more. Dean fired off another blast as the creature charged him again, then went for a third—but the tank came up dry. He snapped a curse and pitched the now-empty flamethrower away, already scrambling to pull out and light the second one.

This wasn’t going very well so far.

With the second flamethrower lit, he dodged to the left when the jorogumo lashed out at him, then fired at it again—and this time managed to clip one of its’ legs. The thing screamed and lashed out, knocking the flamethrower from his grasp and sending him flying into the wall. He crashed into the brick hard and landed on the ground harder.

Gasping for air, Dean pushed up and rolled over just in time for the creature to pounce at him and—

White, powdery smoke suddenly filled the room, along with a loud hissing noise, and the jorogumo screeched again, arms and legs flailing in the cloud of dust. Dean scrambled up just in time for Cas’s voice to call out, “get up, Dean! We’ve got to get out of here!”

“CAS!” Dean whirled to face the stairs, where Cas was standing, holding a fire extinguisher in a white-knuckled grip. “Goddamnit!”

“You can’t fight it in here! Grab the bag and lets’ go!” Cas insisted, tossing the expended fire extinguisher to the ground. He turned and started up the stairs without even waiting to see if Dean was following him—just assumed he was. Dean was going to kill him. But later. For now, he just snatched up the duffle bag and dashed up the steps after the other boy.

The two of them bolted down the hall toward the exit with the jorogumo right on their heels the entire way, and Cas burst out into the night to head straight for the two Molotov cocktails that were sitting where he had left them, one hand grabbing for the lighter in his pocket the entire way.

Dean, meanwhile, got out into the middle of the concrete lobby and skidded to a stop, dropping the bag in his hand and fumbling for the third and final flamethrower. A minute later the jorogumo exploded out the front doors, shattering glass everywhere, and Dean lit it up.

This time the fire stuck, and the monster whirled around, trying to staunch the flames while Dean set up for another blast. Cas, meanwhile, had lit the rag in one of the Molotov cocktails, and moved forward, raising his arm to throw it—

The jorogumo was faster than either of them. It whipped in a circle, legs flailing, sending Dean flying once more, claws cutting into his chest slightly in the process—and Cas managed to pitch the bottle he was holding just before the creature’s leg collided with him, its’ claws raking his flesh and sending him crashing into one of the retaining walls with a shout.

When Dean clambered to his feet, it was to see that Cas’s Molotov cocktail had hit its’ mark and the jorogumo was well and truly burning now, screeching and screaming and flailing around until it collapsed in a still-burning heap. Job done, right?

Except then he looked around for Cas, only to spot the other teen across the entryway, slumped on his side, eyes closed and not moving. Dean’s heart practically jumped into his throat, and he scrambled over to his boyfriend, dropping down next to him and hurriedly checking him over, his own breath coming fast, almost panicky.

Cas was bleeding heavily from wounds that Dean couldn’t really see in the darkness of after midnight, and he seemed to be swimming in-and-out of consciousness. Dean felt around his head urgently and made a soft sound in his throat when he found a swelling lump near the back of Cas’s skull. He had obviously hit his head when he went down. That wasn’t good, either.

Still breathing hard, Dean eased back a little, stood, then carefully hauled Cas to his feet. Cas didn’t fight it, but he went along about as well as a limp noodle, head lolling slightly.

Dean left everything else behind and headed for the motel as fast as he possibly could, half-carrying Cas the entire way.

-- --

“Sammy!”

Dean pounded on the motel door impatiently, waiting for Sam to check the peep hole before opening it; the whole time Cas was half-draped across him, still fading in-and-out of consciousness, blood slowly soaking through the front of his torn shirt and flecking onto the concrete floor beneath them.

“SAMMY, OPEN THE DOOR!” He pounded on the door again, and this time was rewarded by the sound of Sam scrabbling with the chain lock and deadbolt—and finally the door yanked open. Dean shoved past his brother, hauling Cas into the motel room and leaving Sam to shut and re-lock the door behind them.

“You brought CAS?!” Sam demanded.

“Not on purpose.” Dean grunted, then; “get the first-aid kit.”

Sam practically dove under his bed for the duffle bag that served as their first-aid kit while Dean gingerly set Cas down on the other one. Cas immediately teetered sideways, falling over with a groan. Dean tried to catch him but failed, and instead was left to swing the other boy’s legs up onto the mattress and rearrange him so he could be worked on.

“Sam!”

“Here!” Sam dropped the first-aid bag on the floor next to the bed Cas was on and then stepped back. “What happened?”

Dean grabbed where Cas’s shirt was already torn and pulled, ripping it wide open. Two long, deep gashes ran from the front of Cas’s ribcage on his left side all the way around to his back. The bleeding had slowed significantly, but they were still oozing, and dark black-and-purple bruising was already rising to the surface of Cas’s skin all over his torso.

“Goddamned jorogumo!” Dean snapped, angry with the monster and with himself and with Cas and with everything right then. He gingerly felt along the edges of the deeper of the two gashes, dismayed to find them ragged and torn rather than smoothly cut. That meant they wouldn’t be able to stitch them up. “He came in after me! He wasn’t even supposed to be there, but he was, so I made him promise to stay outside and the asshole came in after me!”

Sam was already yanking gauze and bandages out of the first-aid kit, along with the tube of antibiotic ointment that had been a literal lifesaver on more than one occasion. He elbowed Dean out of the way and got to work on Cas’s wounds, smearing the antibiotics in every inch of the cuts and then packing them before pressing bandages down and wrapping everything up in gauze.

It didn’t really take that long. Even at just thirteen years old, Sam was proficient when it came to first-aid. He’d been patching up Dean and their dad for almost as long as he could remember.

When Sam finally sat back, bloody almost up to his elbows and blood smeared all across his shirt, Cas looked… well. Not good, but better. “We should get that shirt off him properly. Get a cloth and clean him up.”

“He hit his head,” Dean muttered, almost to himself, “he hit his head hard.”

Sam leaned up and pried one of Cas’s eyelids open, peering into his eye, then moved to the other one and did the same. “His pupils look okay. Probably just a concussion. He’ll have a headache when he wakes up, that’s for sure.”

“But he’ll be okay?”

“I’m not a doctor.” Sam reminded his brother, a sharp edge to his voice, “he really should go to a hospital.”

Dean made a slightly hysterical noise and gestured harshly toward Cas. What was he supposed to do, dump the other boy outside the ER and run? He had no way of explaining what happened to him, where his injuries came from, and no real adult to help him bullshit his way out of it, either. He may have been eighteen now, but really, he was still a kid. Despite the tremendous amount of shit he would be in (for various reasons), he honestly wished his dad was there right then. He would know what to do.

“I know, I’m just saying.” Sam shook his head. He looked at his hands, then sighed and just wiped the worst of the blood off on his already ruined shirt. Glancing at Dean, he looked him over for a second and then added; “dude, you need to sit down before you fall down. Your adrenaline is about to crash hard.”

Ignoring his brother’s advice entirely, as well as the minute shaking in his hands, Dean instead stripped out of his jacket, dumping it out of the way. It would need to be dry-cleaned to get rid of all the blood. His shirt underneath wasn’t in much better condition. Dean pulled that off as well, revealing a couple of small gashes that marred his own chest, then dug through the first-aid kit for a pair of scissors while Sam went to the bathroom to get a wet cloth.

The next little while was spent cutting Cas out of what was left of his t-shirt and gently wiping away as much of the blood as possible, cleaning him up. By the time they were done, Dean was ready to drop. He sat on the edge of the bed with his arms braced against the mattress to help keep himself upright and took a few breaths—until Sam’s hand shoved into his view, holding a power bar.

“Eat this.” The younger Winchester ordered. He was still holding the bloody cloth in his other hand. “I’m going to have a shower. Cas’ll be out for a while. You should lay down.” And then an eyeroll and he cut Dean off before he could protest; “you can lay down with him, if it makes you feel better.”

Dean considered protesting anyway, but in the end, he just took the power bar, ripped it open and took a bite, then muttered around it as he chewed, “thanks, Sammy.”

Sam gave him an encouraging half-smile. “He’ll be okay.” Then disappeared into the bathroom to wash the gore away.

To his credit, Dean not only finished the power bar, he also had the presence of mind to pull a clean shirt on before he climbed into the bed with Cas, settling next to the younger boy, close against his side and resting a hand carefully against his sternum just so he could feel him breathing in and out. So he could feel that he was still alive.

But it didn’t take much of being laid-out like that for the last of his adrenaline to give way and abandon him entirely—and by the time Sam emerged from the bathroom, Dean had passed out cold. Sam huffed a little sigh and tossed a blanket over both of them before going to put on a pot of coffee. Someone needed to stay awake, and it looked like it was going to have to be him.

-- --

When Dean eventually woke up, nearly three hours later, it was with a jerk so sharp he accidentally jostled Cas as well. The hand resting by Cas’s chest clenched there, then smoothed out again, and when he felt that Cas was still breathing, he gave a little relieved sigh and pressed his forehead against the edge of the other teen’s shoulder.

“He didn’t die while you were passed out.” Sam observed from where he was seated, at the little kitchenette table, on his umpteenth cup of coffee. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him.”

Dean nodded, hair mussing against Cas’s shoulder. “Good… good.”

“We should try to wake him up, soon. We need to get him back home before morning.”

“I’ll—just a minute, Sammy.” A slightly shaky breath while Dean continued to just feel Cas breathing, and then he carefully pushed himself up and reached to cup the side of Cas’s face with a hand that still had smears of blood on it, patting his cheek gently as he peered down at him. “Cas? C’mon, Cas… time to get up. Hey.”

It took a couple of minutes of gentle coaxing, but eventually Cas began to come around, eyes slowly fluttering open and mouth working, obviously confused—and in pain. He grimaced almost immediately, and Dean made a soft sympathetic sound.

“You with me?” He asked quietly, hand still carefully stroking the other boy’s cheek, “Cas, you need to wake up. We have to get you home before your Dad figures out you’re gone.”

“’M here,” Cas groaned, and tried to sit up, only to yelp out a cry and fall onto his back again. Dean’s hands hovered worriedly before pressing against his chest to carefully hold him down. “Shit. Shit, Sam, I don’t think this is going to work—”

“Mm-mm.” Cas protested weakly and brought an arm up to take hold of one of Dean’s wrists. “Don’t want to get you in trouble. Just—help me sit up.” Then, after a brief pause, “I don’t think—don’t think I can walk home, though…” The walk home all the way from the motel seemed more than a little daunting at the moment. He would likely pass out if he tried it.

“We’ll call a cab.” Sam assured him, leaving his place at the table and heading over to help Dean get Cas to his feet.

And it was quite a feat; first they had to get him sitting up, and that was probably the hardest part. Between the two of them they struggled but managed it, and then, sitting with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed, Cas had to stop and just breathe through the pain that was radiating through his entire torso.

“Do we have anything we can give him for the pain?” Dean asked, one arm around Cas to help hold him up.

Sam reluctantly shook his head. “No, I think Dad has all the painkillers. We could try ripping off a pharmacy…?”

But Cas made another protesting noise. “Don’t need to do that.” He assured them, trying to look like he didn’t feel on the verge of death and failing miserably. “You could get caught. I have aspirin at home. I’ll be… I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“Cas…”

Cas shook his head and leaned into Dean’s side, already exhausted. “I swear. I’ll be okay.”

“We have antibiotics, though.” Sam got down to dig through the first-aid kit again, coming up with a bottle of antibiotics. “You never know, right? Who knows what you might catch from a jorogumo… especially with wounds as bad as yours.” He held them out for Cas to take, “no arguing.”

Cas actually agreed with everything Sam had just said, so he just took the bottle without complaints, then pushed himself away from Dean again and braced for the attempt to stand. “I need a shirt.” To cover up the bandages if nothing else.

That was easy. Sam went to the dresser and pulled out one of Dean’s band tees, bringing it over so Dean could help Cas get into it. Once he was (somewhat) properly dressed again, Cas had to take another break just to breathe, with Dean rubbing his arm worriedly the entire time. The blatant concern that Dean was showing was a bit of a mild shock to Sam, though he wasn’t letting it show. He’d never seen his brother act this way before.

After another long pause, Cas finally took a bit of a breath and then pushed off the mattress. Dean yelped out a surprised noise and scrambled to help him, making sure it was more of a stand and less of a fall. Cas managed to stand and stay on his feet, wobbling just a little.

“My head is killing me. How much blood did I lose?”

“Not all of it.” Dean hedged, not quite an answer; “but you hit your head pretty hard. It’s not surprising it hurts.”

“Nn.” Cas just grunted softly and leaned into him a little. “Let’s just get me home so I can go to bed.”

It probably wasn’t a good idea for him to sleep on the heels of an obvious concussion, but he couldn’t tell his father why he was about to be bed-bound, never mind ask him to make sure he stayed awake. But besides that, he was exhausted. He just wanted to go to bed, any bed, pass back out and sleep for a week straight, concussion be damned.

Sam called a taxi, and it thankfully got there in what had to be record time. Dean helped Cas get out the door to wait and into the car when it arrived—then climbed in beside him without a word, leaving Sam alone in the motel room once more.

“You didn’t have to come with me.” Cas had one arm wrapped around himself, holding his ribs securely. He wasn’t wearing his seatbelt—couldn’t. It would hurt too much every time the car jolted. “You could’ve stayed with Sam.”

“Shut up you idiot, of course I had to come with you.” Dean grumbled, one hand resting on Cas’s leg, gripping there firmly, grounding for the both of them. “Besides, I have to pay for the cab, right?”

He had a point. Cas conceded this one and fell silent, leaning back and letting his head fall back with a wince when the cab hit a bump in the road. Dean just squeezed his leg a little tighter, gritting his teeth because seeing Cas in so much pain was—it was intolerable. He hated it with every fiber of his being.

The ride to Cas’s house was short but seemed to take forever. When the driver dropped them off, Dean paid with his fake credit card and then helped Cas out of the car and up the front steps of the house. Cas fumbled to get his key out of his jeans pocket and opened the door, and the two of them went inside and up to Cas’s bedroom as quietly as possible.

Once they were in the room with the door firmly closed behind them, Dean set about getting Cas out of his jeans—and then into the bed. He could sleep in his boxers and the borrowed t-shirt.

It took some shuffling and adjusting, rearranging of pillows, to get Cas comfortable, but eventually they managed it, at which point Cas weakly asked if Dean could stay, just for a little while. And as much as he wanted to, Dean had to say no. It was already nearly five a.m. and he still had to walk back to the motel. But on top of that, he couldn’t be caught there in the morning when Chuck woke up.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could,” Dean stroked through Cas’s hair gently, “where’s the aspirin?”

“Bedside drawer.” Cas mumbled. He was already starting to doze off.

Dean quickly dug the painkillers out of the nightstand and tipped a couple into his palm, then replaced the bottle and returned his attention to Cas. “Hey. Hey, take these before you fall asleep.”

Another sleepy mumble, but Cas opened his mouth and let Dean tip the pills in. He swallowed them dry and then offered a weak smile. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Dean leaned over to press a kiss into Cas’s hair and then moved away, standing. “I’ll come by tomorrow. Tell your Dad you’re sick or something. Get some sleep.”

Cas uttered a garbled agreement, already falling asleep.

Dean took off, leaving Cas to rest.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #destiel #destiel fanfiction #spn #shut up sena #sena writes #horror high by senashenta

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spookymoonz · 14 days ago

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(Question submitted by one of my besties, @evans2209)

I made Luna about two years ago as a South park oc, and I chose the name Luna because I was very into space and stuff at the time. A year later when I decided to use her for my own project, I kept her name the same because Luna means "Moon" in Latin, and used in the right settings, the moon can be very spooky. And she is a very spooky thing. Her last name is Blackwood bc of ride Constance Blackwood from Ride the Cyclone, their families both run cafes and Blackwood was a name I found and likes while trying to find a last name for her. Her original last name was Mallow, but I changed it to sound more spooky and more realistic. Her middle name is Caspar cuz it reminds me of Casper the ghost

I've always had Teddie with the bear motif, so that's the reason behind his nickname. His real name is Theodore, but he's been a bear fan his whole life, so the nickname stuck. Whenever he's trying to scare mortals, he'll introduce himself using his full name in a dramatic manner. "YOU DARE ENTER THE HOUSEHOLD OF THEODORE WILLIAMS BEARINGTON THE THIRD?!"

When I first made Mary, she was more graceful, sophisticated, and realist than the current, bubbly, empathetic, kind Mary that we have right now. I thought the name Mary was a name that gave that kinda vibe. I kept that name even after I changed her personality. Also, this is a recent development, but her middle name is Jane. I thought it'd be kinda funny to have part of her name be the name of a shoe "Mary Jane." Her maiden name is Mary Jane Rose.

Xavier's first name doesn't really have any meaning, but when I first made him, his name was Shadow, with Xavier as his real name. I eventually just left it as Xavier because I thought Shadow was kinda cliche. His full name is Xavier Perry Hillswell. His middle name is Perry bc that's the name of one of my best friends, and his last name is Hillswell because he drowned in a well. (Guys, we should name more characters after their trauma)

Damian also comes from the fact that Luna used to be a South Park oc. She used to hang out with Damian Thorn during that time, and when making Luna's "Prankster Rebellious Goofy Friend" I thought, "Damian's a good name. I like it" So boom. His family has some Mexican orgins, so his middle name is Valentino, and my came up with his last name, Kovsikovi.

Storm's name usually has to do with the fact that they've got a pretty short temper, and are pretty easy to piss off if you're doing something stupid. Their full name is Storm Gabriel Indigo.

Hickory's name and character has probably gone through the most changes, with her current design and character being decided only recently. (I'm not gonna talk about it in this post, maybe another time!) Her last name is Story because of the fact that she runs a bookstore with her dads.

Sylvie's name comes from the fact that I based a lot of his character on a character literally named Silver Spoon. His middle name is Louis and his last name is Follings, which my friend helped me come up with.

Sunny's first name comes from his personality. His high energy, impulsiveness, and love for adventure inspired it. His middle name is Skipp for kind of the same reason and his last name is Fletcher, which is a Southern name that means "Swift as an Arrow."

None of Willow's name has any significant meaning behind it (unless you count her mother using it to abuse her by saying she has to live up to the family name) Her full name is Willow Scarlett Weathers.

Ozzie's name is Ozzie because he's a huge oddball. (In a good way. He's an odd man and we love him for it guys) His middle name is Wizard (Thanks to his dad) and his last name before he was adopted was Hudson. His current last name is Harvey

Thank you so much for asking this because a lot of these characters didn't have middle names or last names and I've been putting that off for a long ass time so thank you for this.

Full name recall: Luna Caspar Blackwood Theodore Williams Bearington III Mary Jane Bearington/Rose Xavierr Perry Hillswell Damian Valentino Kovsikovi Storm Gabriel Indigo Hickory Hazel Story Sylvester Louis Follings Sunny Skipp Fletcher Ozzie "Wizard" Harvey/Hudson Willow Scarlett Weathers

(PLEASE FOLLOW AND FEEL FREE TO ASK MORE QUESTIONS)

#oc #proof #oc asks #oc names

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reunionatdawn · 1 year ago

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My Analysis of the Best Paired Endings in 3H (Part 9: Caspar/Petra)

Catherine: When I told you I would cut down children with no hesitation, you looked disgusted. I take it that's the part you're struggling to accept? Caspar: Pretty much. I don't think I'd be able to do it, even if that meant disobeying orders.

Caspar and Ferdinand are the two most difficult students to recruit outside of their home routes because they can only get C-Support with Byleth before the time-skip. And this corresponds to how difficult it is for them to leave the Empire from an emotional standpoint. They can't even be recruited in Hopes. Caspar wasn't sure when to obey orders or act on his own morality. He got reprimanded for doing so in his C-Support with Byleth, and that single incident had a huge impact on his development.

Shez: You're taking this awfully well. Weren't you and Caspar childhood friends? Linhardt: Yes, but that is of little consequence now. He is not fighting for honor or any greater purpose. War is just his way of life, and he doesn't have the slightest intention of dying or losing.

Caspar has never known any other way of life but fighting and making a name for himself on the battlefield.

Caspar: Something is kinda bothering me. I was talking to someone the other day about how I want to distinguish myself in battle, and they said that meant I wanted the war to go on forever. Of course, I told them they were nuts… Then I actually started thinking about it. About what I'll be doing when the war ends, I mean. About what I'll even…be. Ferdinand: I do not think you have cause to worry. We may not know what the future holds, but you are delivering great results as a leader. Surely you will be held in esteem for such? Caspar: Sure, but doesn't that just mean my life is about nothing but fighting? I'm not a guy like you who's good at pretty much everything, so… Ha! Listen to me. I can't remember the last time I got in my own head like this.

He was more introspective about his circumstances in Hopes. But that only reinforced how unhappy he was with his way of life. It wasn't fulfilling for him to live only for war, but he had no real sense of identity other than as a warrior.

Caspar: Oh. Hey, Professor. I was just reading this letter from my father. Do you know him? He's a pretty big deal in the Empire. He only writes to ask how my training's going, or how many monsters I've killed. Stuff like that.

Caspar had a strong desire to punish evil in the world, but he possessed a very black-and-white sense of morality. That simplistic view of good and evil probably came from his father, the famous warlord Count Bergliez.

Caspar: My father was responsible for a lot of what happened to the Dagdans! Shamir: Are you responsible for your father's actions? Caspar: Well, no…but kinda? I know I wasn't there, but I gotta—

It is much easier to invade and conquer when you convince yourself that the enemy is evil.

Caspar: After we cross the Great Bridge of Myrddin, we'll be in my father's territory. We actually crossed it five years ago for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Remember? Ugh! This is terrifying! What am I gonna do? I gotta get a grip… Byleth: Don't worry, I'll arrange for your funeral. Caspar: You think we'll meet him on the battlefield and he'll kill me? The front lines cover a long stretch of land, you know! We might not even run into him!

Caspar was also terrified of his father. He didn't like the sound of thunder because it reminded him of his father yelling at him when he screwed up.

Caspar: All right! Off to the Kingdom's capital we go! What's the matter? Should I not be excited? I can't help it. Everyone's gotta have something to look forward to!

I was really struck by Caspar's demeanor in CF. He only ever focused on taking out whatever enemies he was ordered to and barely had anything else to say.

Caspar: It's so awful to see the Kingdom capital go up in flames, but at least we made it this far!

He fought alongside the Death Knight and invaded other nations without question. It was as though Count Bergliez was hovering over his shoulder the entire time.

Catherine: You have a strong sense of justice. You have clearly defined ideals. But that's not an asset on the battlefield. Ideals slow you down. They cause inner conflict.

It was truly sad because that wasn't who he was. He had his own ideals and criticized Catherine for submitting her sense of justice to another person. It made me realize that CF!Caspar couldn't do anything else but focus on fighting because otherwise the inner conflict would have destroyed him.

Caspar: I think… I can't deny who I am. I know you were right five years ago when you told me not to chase after that suspicious guy… But I still can't get over the possibility that he might have hurt those kids. I would have regretted not stopping him for the rest of my life. There's no way I could forgive myself. It sounds awful to say, but the safety of those kids is more important to me than the knights we lost.

His character arc was about realizing that it's okay not to follow orders and that he should live according to his own sense of justice.

Caspar: I've been wandering on my own for five years. I won't go back to that house or my father, that's for sure!

And leaving his father was necessary for him to do so.

Caspar: We weren't related by blood, but Randolph was still my uncle… Seeing him end up that way was… Never mind. It's nothing. Byleth: That's how it goes with war. Caspar: This wasn't just about war. It was a grudge. Or are you gonna tell me you're on Dimitri's side? I'm sure he never trusted me, being born in the Empire and all.

Like Ferdinand, Caspar can only access his Paralogue—where he can confront the "evil" Death Knight—if he defects from the Empire. The game incentivizes you to recruit him in AM, too. Not only does he share his Paralogue with Mercedes, but doing so in AM unlocks an additional scene for her to say goodbye to Emile. I'd argue that he has the best arc in AM due to his connection to Randolph. It was important for him to see the war from the side from the Empire's victims, so that he could have his worldview challenged.

Petra: It feels like…a knife against my throat. That I am making my grandfather obey the Empire. Because I am a hostage, it is not an option to be giving up. I must be fighting and winning and staying alive. I must do anything to be making life better for Brigid. To be making Brigid and the Empire stand as equals. That is what my people are wanting from me…and what my grandfather, the king of Brigid, is wanting! Byleth: And what do you want? Petra: My want? I…I am not knowing of that. The wants of my people are something I have power to achieve. Their wants are my own.

As a political hostage to the Empire, Petra fought extremely hard to survive, not for herself, but so that Brigid could live independently and stand as equals with the Empire. But when Byleth asked her what she wanted, she didn't even know. She needed to figure out what she wanted for herself, not just what other people wanted.

Ferdinand: Do you not want to go back to your homeland? Petra: I do have the hope of returning one day, but Fódlan is also like a homeland to me now. I came to Fódlan nine years ago. I have been living half of my life here. My family is living in Brigid, but in Fódlan, I have new family and new friends.

So, what did Petra want? Well, she wanted to return home, but she also wanted to stay connected to her new family, and to use their political connections to improve relations with Brigid and Fódlan.

Petra: When this war is finished, I am wishing for you to be seeing my homeland. Dorothea: You…you are? Oh my. I'd love to, Petra. As soon as the fighting is done, I'd like nothing more than to see Brigid with you.

She wanted to bring her friends back home with her to visit. Whether you go for their romantic paired ending or are content to leave them as friends, her Support with Dorothea showed how important it was for her to maintain permanent connections with her classmates.

Petra: I am not having an obligation. I will only be marrying if I find a good person.

And she also wanted a husband from Fódlan.

Petra: My father was killed. By the Empire. By your father. And so I will be impaling you on this blade to be satisfying a deep wish of mine. Caspar: A deep wish… What are you talking about?! Petra: I am talking about my wish. Of course…I am also having another wish. An even deeper wish. I wish for you and I to keep being friends. To keep fighting and surviving together.

Petra had one other deeply held wish. She wanted to kill Count Bergliez. She always bottled up her true feelings and never expressed what she really thought. She was always gung-ho about fighting and said war fed her body and mind. She may have acted like she was fine with her situation, but she was really not. She didn't want to kill people in the name of the Empire that invaded Brigid and killed her father, and she had a lot of rage underneath her calm surface.

Caspar: Well, I guess even a queen can't push her feeling down forever. I can't imagine what it must've been like to go through what you did. But I think I can still relate. Petra: Umm… Caspar: Hey, here's an idea. From now on, take it out on me. Petra: No. This is silliness. There is no point in killing you. Caspar: I'm not talking about killing, Petra. What I want you to do is unload on me! Tell me off! Just talk to me about whatever it is you're feeling. If all your hate becomes too much, dump it on me. If you wanna hit something, I'm your guy. I just want us to keep being friends, alright?

Caspar was the only character she ever showed that side of herself to. In Hopes, she wanted to kill him, but he offered for her to take her pain out on him. He was the one person she could talk to and be open and honest with because he was the same. And Petra was more raw and emotionally vulnerable with him than anyone else.

Petra & Caspar Petra returned to her homeland of Brigid, and inherited the throne from her grandfather. As ruler, she declared independence from Fódlan, and renegotiated Brigid's diplomatic ties to Fódlan and Dagda on more equal terms. At every step along the way, she was accompanied and supported by her husband, Caspar, who had left Fódlan behind to be with her. It is said that the people of Brigid were initially suspicious of the union, due to Caspar's relation to a nemesis of their homeland, but that his tireless efforts on Brigid's behalf endeared them to him over time. It certainly helped that he made the queen very happy.

Petra didn't have an obligation to get married. She just wanted someone to share all of her heart with. Caspar was never particularly envious of his brother, and he always liked hard work. So, working tirelessly for Brigid is a better way to live than inheriting his father's position and becoming the new Minister of Military Affairs.

I don't think the writers necessarily pushed for either Caspar or Petra to be paired with anyone in particular. Many of their paired endings work just as fine. Still, the Caspar/Petra ending is one where Petra can have everything she wants, including someone who she can be truly open and honest with. And it is the only one where Caspar can directly address the damage caused by his imperialist father. So, I consider it the best one for them.

#fe3h #fe3h meta #caspar von bergliez #petra macneary

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zarvasace · 1 year ago

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I wanna know your 💔 and ❤️‍🩹 for FE3H

A least favorite ship: Caspar and Linhardt. I get it, energetic little puppy man with sleepy tall cat man, it works, but also… I like them being best friends without romance in there way better. They’ve been friends since childhood. Let them be friends. My feelings have only polarized because it’s SO POPULAR

A popular ship you just don’t get: Felix and Sylvain. Okay, look. Felix is angry wet cat man who is best swordsman and has decided he hates the prince. Sylvain flirts a lot, bases his entire worth on his noble title, and was definitely hurt by his older brother. Bad. Sylvain deserves love, and a lot of it, and he has a lot to give. I just don’t see them clicking without a LOT of effort and heartbreak on both sides.

#my art #fe3h #linhardt von hevring #caspar von bergliez #felix hugo fraldarius #sylvain jose gautier #why is his middle name Jose #is sreng Spanish?

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frickingnerd · 9 months ago

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fake dating caspar von bergliez

pairing: caspar von bergliez x gn!reader

tags: childhood best friends to lovers, wholesome fluff, confession, happy ending, reciprocated feelings

you and caspar had been best friends since the two of you were children

you had never considered him a romantic option and you were expecting to be married off to some noble man

but after the sudden death of your parents, you were suddenly the ruler of their former region

while you were free to choose a partner of your liking now, dating wasn't what was on your mind now

you had people and land to take care of, without ever having been properly prepared for it

and not just that, but nobody seemed to really respect you

you were too young and without a husband after all! of course you weren't suited for the job! you barely knew anything about life!

countless suitors came, trying to get your hand in marriage through money and gifts

you didn't know who you could trust, but you knew you needed to find a husband soon or nobody would take you serious

and that's when you asked caspar to pretend to be your fiancé

he was the second son of a noble family, so he didn't have any land to take care of himself and yet people respected him because of his family

and on top of that, he had been your best friend since childhood!

you truly couldn't have picked someone better suited for the job

of course, now the two of you had to act the part and pretend to be in love for the public

the longer your lie went on, the harder it became to pretend like there weren't any real feelings between the two of you

caspar was a gentleman towards you and even if everything he did was just for show, you knew that he would act the same if he was actually dating you

eventually, it was time to get married

the people were expecting it from the two of you after all and you couldn't keep them waiting any longer

the night before your wedding, you confessed to caspar

you gave him the opportunity to leave, if there was someone else he loved and to be with them instead

you wouldn't force him to marry you

but caspar had already made up his mind

he never would've dated you in the first place, if he hadn't had feelings for you…

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seaweedbrain3 · 7 months ago

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Hi :D. I know the fandom wasn’t in the tags of your “ask me anything” post so it’s perfectly fine if you ignore this, but I would love to see your take on the Midnight Burger cast!

This is them, they are my babies.

Ava is a theoretical physicist with 4 phd’s, she would burn the world to the ground if it meant figuring out what would happen; and she is at the diner to figure out what’s going on, figure out a solution, and then sit back while the others actual make that solution a reality. She is also, personality wise, a dumbass. One of my favorite quotes from her is “Caspar, if I don’t come back, just remember. I HATE YOU!!!” And then she ran away.

Gloria is the restaurant manager, they got her during the pandemic, and she is the equivalent of “I’m not mad, I’m just… DISAPPOINTED.” She has insulted the diner to get it to behave and she has bitten John Wilkes Booth. She can and will fight for what’s right while also giving you a little kiss on the forehead and telling you you did a great job.

Caspar doesn’t have a job. His job is friend. And he is very good at it most of the time. However, his job is friend because no one else’s job is friend, and he is very lonely. For reference, his best friend is a robot made to confront him about leaving his ex wife. And she is a lovely person. His loneliness does not affect him too much, because he will still insult Ava for using the metric system, and will still insult the people trying to put him in chemical ice.

Leif is a space pirate. He’s an engineer. And a space pirate. And he built a rail gun on top of the diner for funsies. I think that’s all the explanation you need.

I am genuinely so intruiged by this...i'm gonna check this podcast out soon!!! It seems really good! And the designs are 😍😍😍

You'd like me to draw them correct? If so I'D LOVE TO!!!

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witsserviceablesubstitute · 2 years ago

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The reason I love Linhardt is not only because he's the first explicitly queer character in FE3H, but because he's the kind of person who'd wake up and decide to wear a Ball Gown with no angst or hesitation.

Moving about Garreg Mach in the Ball Gown (causing a lot of confusion and latent sexual awakenings along the way), he raises his eyebrows at anyone questioning his choice of clothing until they go away. The only criticism he listens to is Dorothea's and that's because: A) he respects her, and B) she has a lot of insight about Ball Gowns he'd not considered— like what Gown would best match his colouring, and when might be a better context to wear a Ball Gown and why that context might not be in a school or work environment in the middle of the day.

Meanwhile Caspar simply tells Linhardt he looks pretty before launching into a story about fighting a bear who stole someone's lunch, proving once again why they've been best friends since childhood.

#fe3h #fire emblem three houses #linhardt von hevring #fe3h linhardt #dorothea arnault #caspar von bergliez #yuri would also do this #but less absent mindedly and more with deliberate intention #both linhardt and yuri are genderqueer to me #anyway i've always found it interesting that dorothea is the only paired endings where lin accepts his title #because she challenges him to think about the good he could do with the power that was handed to him and that she had to claw for #and while I don't think accepting those responsibilities is a good ending for lin #I do like how she forces him to think of his power and privileges in a different way

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yukiwrites · 7 months ago

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Stories, Meetings and a Promise.

Thank you for the support and boundless patience as always, @breeachuuu! I got a bit carried away, but I hope you like it~ Beware of the sin, ye who enters!

Summary: Wolfram had returned after his Destiny's Call had been completed. He came back on the verge of death, so his family was reluctant to allow him to go back to Dimitri. Despite all that, however, they realized that if it meant his happiness, then...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

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The family’s reaction was, admittedly, the worst.

They were all filled with thoughts of protecting their youngest from harm, especially… especially considering the state he came back in.

Some thought, ‘how could he even entertain the idea of going back there?’ or ‘how could he even ask us to bless his return when he was on the verge of death?!’ to the point that their protectiveness over the young man rose to the max.

It wasn’t as though Wolfie didn’t understand. He did. He had been torn about the decision of going back to Fódlan for a long time, precisely because he wanted to be with his family. They had been his everything; his whole world.

And now that his world had expanded, he couldn’t help but long for it again.

For the first time, he understood what uncle Morgan had said when Wolfie was young, about braving the world and never being able to truly settle down after coming back from the future.

He had needed only that first push for his world to expand, and now… now it didn’t feel completely right to be constricted into the bubble he called home.

By no means did that mean that he did not like being back home, nor did it mean that he was uncomfortable. Not at all.

It only meant that there was more to him now.

More to being just the youngest, the baby brother and the precious young boy who loved hearing stories and making new friends. That was his core still.

However, now… now there was more.

He was Wolfram, he was a dragon, he was a traveler, he was a student, he was a soldier… he was a lover, he was a man, he was… he was a consort.

Many times would Wolfie walk in front of the room Areadbhar was sealed in and place his head on the door, as if it would bring him closer to the memories. Closer to the feelings. Closer.

It was still his ultimate goal to go back, but he couldn’t let that be his only focus after being away from his family for so long. He fit right back into their daily lives, but now, instead of simply listening to their stories, he could chim in as well.

He spoke of the little day to day things, or the friends who shared their room with him during the times he was too scared to be alone; of the chores all students were supposed to share and of their interesting personalities.

Dorothea, his cherished, cherished friend, who had a mesmerizing singing voice but also knew how to bake the most scrumptious cupcake ever.

Annette, the short girl who loved to sing weird songs and eat pastries with her best friend, Mercedes.

Yuri, who was honestly more beautiful than most women in the army and who gave Wolfie tons of real life counsels (though Wolfie only told Meli and Meliodas about the, ahem, true content of those counsels during some quiet nights as they rested under the candlelight).

Caspar and Dedue, who were strong as rocks and whose devotion and loyalty, respectively, were a source of inspiration to Wolfie.

Dimitri… beloved Dimitri, who was the first friend he had made when he had just arrived, who never prodded him about his past and accepted him for who he was; who lost his way and fell into disarray, but never truly gave up.

Dimitri, beloved Dimitri, who rose from the ashes of a former self to stand tall against evil and corruption. He who had been crowned the Salvation King before the war had even been won; he who rose from the lowest pit of one’s own self to the highest peak of perseverance; he whose hands were the warmest during a cold spring’s night…

He, whose strong grip was the safest; he, whose hair shone the brightest at the break of dawn. He, whose lips—

“Mrggrgr!” Cyn slammed the breakfast table, her eyes glowing red for a moment before settling down. “Only if I go with you! I’m not letting you go on your own ever again!” Her pigtails bounced as she turned her head around to look at each and every one of their family members.

Wolfie’s eyes widened at his sister’s exclamation, a big smile blooming on his face. “Cyn!” He circled the table and hugged the short young woman, giggling and twirling with her in his arms. “Do you mean it?!”

Cyn was trying hard to keep pouting, digging her face into his chest. “I do, you big dummy! My only little brother… What kind of big sister would I be…” she grumbled as he twirled her around.

The other siblings smiled and relaxed their shoulders at the youthful display.

They weren’t blind. They could see the longing in their youngest’s eyes and actions. He spoke with a smile on his face, but with a dejected voice that could only stem from lovesickness.

Months and months had passed since he had returned, but he still wasn’t short on stories. Every day he spoke of something new that had happened, or something different he had learned. He showed Cyn and Cynthia some new lance movements and Henry the new way to control mana.

That, in turn, in a far future, would lead Henry to revolutionize the world of magic in Arcanea.

The boy prayed alongside Nidra, and smiled when she looked at him with pride in her gaze. He even made everyone cute little wooden dolls with the skills he had learned from Gilbert.

They could all see that he had returned more than their little brother. He was his own man now. He had his wants and fulfilled his needs properly, like a good son and sibling.

Yet, they could all see that this place wasn’t enough for him anymore.

He had stretched his wings and now they no longer fit in this castle; in this realm.

It was painful, but they had come to understand that this wasn’t the only home for him. Thus, Cyn was the first to take the leap.

She had been the youngest until Wolfie was born many years later, after the end of the Era. She had doted on him and even cradled him in her chubby arms when she was but a little girl. She was sure that, after Nidra and Henry, she had been the one who missed him the most; who was protective of him the most.

She couldn’t let him go on his own again. She would stay with him and protect him forever.

That was her condition.

As she announced it to the table along with Wolfie, Nidra’s brow shook with emotion.

Her hands trembled, and the grip she had on the fork faltered.

It was just a simple fork falling on a stone floor, yet it was so loud it deafened all sounds.

“Mom…” Wolfie put Cyn down and looked at his pale mother with concern. Nidra’s pupils were shaking and her breath was accelerating.

“I… I cannot…” she croaked out, her vision swirling and darkening. Nauseous, she quickly got up and ran to their nest on the upper floor.

Henry, who was observing the situation with his characteristic smile, got up while making sure to screech the chair all the way out.

“Clean it all up, ‘kay?” He said simply, gesturing to the table, as he calmly went after his wife.

Silence filled the large kitchen once the matriarch and patriarch left, leaving only the children to look around themselves.

Wolfie’s shoulders slumped and he clenched his fist. He didn’t want to hurt his mother; there was no future in which he wanted anything bad to befall her. She was his role model, his beacon, his mentor and guide.

However, there was also no future in which he did not go back to Fódlan.

There was no way to go without hurting her, and that weighed heavily in his heart.

_____

Nidra curled herself into the empty nest, hiding under blankets and cushions.

She knew it. She understood it in her head. She could see it with her eyes and feel it with her heart that Wolfie didn’t belong just with her anymore; she could rationalize it, but… but…!

And now, Cyn as well? It was too much for a mother’s heart to handle.

She flinched once Henry’s warm hand found her shoulder, then trembled once he lay beside her, hugging her from behind.

They stayed like that, in silence, for a long, long time.

Day turned to dusk, and dusk descended into night.

Nidra could feel time pass as if she was one with the atmosphere — she saw the particles of dust as they sparkled under the moonlight; she saw the small animals curling into sleep as the owls prepared to hunt.

She saw as the birds went back into their nests while others hid between the crevices of the castle’s walls.

She was flying among the stars, her body as light as the wind that carried her into the unknown.

She flew, her wings barely fluttering as she was carried by the clouds into a sky that looked similar, but felt different.

It was a sky that felt dry and a wind that cracked her skin. A sky without a Presence to envelop her like a warm spring’s sun; a sky that spanned over a red soil, a Blood-soaked soil, a sky that welcomed her despite the lack of Her in it.

It was a sky that felt so dry that her tears dried before they could fall.

Yet, it was a sky that longed for another Presence, as if it was ready to begin anew.

Nidra opened her eyes slowly to the comfortable and warm morning sun, her tears properly rolling down her cheeks as she welcomed back the world with the Presence in it.

She sighed heavily as she sat up, feeling Henry’s arm around her tighten.

He opened one eye, though only those who were used to him could actually tell, and looked at her with a smile. “You okay now?”

She sighed once again. “Indeed. Indeed…” she plopped back to the nest, digging her face into his chest. “I know what must be done, now.”

As if by Divine Revelation — and perhaps it was — Tiki, the Voice, had been scheduled to visit in a few days ever since the day Wolfie returned a few months ago, and the moment she stepped into the secret woods that surrounded the hidden castle, she felt a sense of purpose.

“So it wasn’t to simply deliver this that I was sent here,” she looked down to the leather pouch by her waist. Although she could have sent Nah or literally anyone else to deliver a dragonstone to Nidra, Tiki had felt that she had to be the one to do it.

In truth, during her flight across the ocean, Tiki had seen a dream — or perhaps, more accurately, a vision — of connection. Of sharing.

Of slowly opening a dam into an otherwise dry world.

She was confused, but only for a moment.

Once she and Nidra met, they shared their visions with one another and finally realized what they had to do next.

It was time to make a connection; a lasting connection, to a world that had cried for help in the past — to a world that now was ready to accept more than just a drop, but a torrent. It was a world that had a bloody past, but a world that was ready to put that Era behind and start a new one.

The enemies still roamed, but their location would soon be discovered. With the Drop’s help, they would be destroyed, cleansing the world to start anew.

Nidra and Tiki nodded their heads.

It was time to make a portal.

A portal that would connect the two worlds permanently.

It wouldn’t have been possible in the past, with the Drought in that world and the lack of Divine Items there to propel a stable connection. However, with an Idol of the Presence hidden and accumulating power in that world, as well as with the overflowing divinity coming from the Divine Items in this world, it was possible.

It was only possible now, that all pieces had returned to their original positions.

Using the Idol Wolfie worshiped and stored his faith in for 5 years as a beacon, they would be able to cross over to that specific version of Fódlan to build the foundation.

Once there, they would need to channel the energy — of the same wavelength — between both worlds at the same time.

There were only two objects that fell in that category.

The Fire Emblem and the Exalted Falchion.

Even decades after their purpose had been fulfilled, the Divine Items still shone with the power of Naga’s fire and the Branded’s blood. With Luci now as the Exalt, she was the one who held the authority to hand over the family heirlooms, though she would certainly listen to her Mother’s request should Robin be the one to ask for it.

Luci had been born before the war, but grew up in a world without conflict. To her, both the Fire Emblem and Exalted Falchion were symbols of a victorious past, so it would take some time to convince her.

Still, that was a burden that Nidra had to carry, as the one who shared a strong bond with the royal family. Tiki could also plead her case, but it probably wouldn’t be necessary. Nidra was always willing to visit her dear friend Robin in her twilight years; it would also be a great opportunity for her to put her thoughts in order — Robin had always been the grounded and loquacious one, after all.

The day Nidra shared the plans with her family, Wolfram cried for a few hours in gratitude. He stuck to Nidra like a koala and cried on her shoulder until they both drifted to sleep amidst their family, all wrapped up together in their nest.

____

As expected, it didn’t take long for Luci’s permission to fall and for the Fire Emblem and the Exalted Falchion to come over to their family. Lucina, as the one bonded to Meliodas, would stay with Exalted Falchion in the castle while Nidra would carry the Fire Emblem with her to Fódlan, alongside Wolfram.

It was her condition to allow him to go first — she had to be the one to accompany him. Cyn protested at first, but acquiesced once she saw Nidra’s melancholy and somber gaze. After all, she would be the one to leave home permanently along with Wolfie once the portal was properly set up; so, for now, she would hold the fort and wait for them to come back.

The plan was set up as such: Nidra and Wolfram would cross over through the Mila tree with the Fire Emblem in tow, using the Idol as a beacon to arrive safely; then, they would find a suitable location to place the Idol in and channel the energy with the Fire Emblem once they received Naga’s call to do so.

Meanwhile, in Ylisse, the family would need to bring some of the stones from Naga’s temple at Mount Prism and bathe them in a solution with the Naga’s Bell so it would remain sturdy for ages to come. It would be a lot of work, but they were all happy to do it.

After all, not only would they help their youngest achieve happiness, they would also open up a portal to another realm — one that would stay open forever.

They left the construction of the small temple that would encompass and hide the portal to Robin, who was the only one who could make sure to keep the whole project a secret even from the workers themselves.

And so, with all of the plans set in motion, Wolfie and Nidra set off to the Mila tree.

_____

He had flown over on Aquilo’s back while holding Areadbhar, since neither Nidra nor any of their siblings felt comfortable being around the thing. Wolfie wrapped it up in rough cloth to hide the ominous aura it exuded, though still couldn’t help but look at it with longing in his gaze.

Soon.

Soon they would reunite, after twelve months of being apart.

Their meeting was nigh.

___

A year in Fódlan had crawled through and passed like a flash at the same time. For Dimitri, who was crowned King of the new Unified Kingdom of Fódlan, he couldn’t be busier even if he wanted to — it was a small miracle to even find time to sleep, let alone eat properly.

The capital was in Fhirdiad since it was where it all began for him, but there were serious considerations regarding changing the capital to the center, close to the Monastery. With Byleth’s help, not only as the new Archbishop of the Church of Seiros but also as a precious informant, Dimitri was able to focus on his work at the castle despite the awkward positioning.

Still, there was much he had to oversee personally, so he hardly had time to actually stay in Fhirdiad, honestly speaking.

He was often seen coming down to Enbarr, then going up through Derdriu and the Monastery to return to Fhirdiad. It was, frankly, exhausting, borderline self-destructive work.

Dedue, Gilbert, Byleth and even Felix warned him about the way he was treating his body — with abandon and carelessness, despite being clear-minded.

But he couldn’t help it.

If he allowed himself to rest or even stay put for a moment, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from remembering. From longing; from wishing time had already passed and… and Wolfram was already back within his arms.

Each time he looked up to the starry sky, he remembered the otherworldly glow on Wolfram’s skin; each time he felt a warm breeze, he would remember Wolfram’s eagerness to fly through the endless blue and dive into the clouds.

Each time he closed his eyes, he could hear Wolfie’s voice whispering sweet nothings into his ear; and each time he covered himself with a blanket, he could remember Wolfie’s boundless warmth during the days he was trapped in the darkness.

So, he worked. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion just so the thoughts couldn’t pull him into a pit of lovesickness so deep he would be rendered functionless.

Dimitri felt a feather tapping on his shoulder.

“Anyone home?” Byleth asked with her characteristic stoic face, though there was true concern laced in her words.

“Ah, forgive me, Professor— I mean, Archbishop.” He blinked for a moment before shaking his head, correcting himself.

Byleth sighed, shaking her head. “Just call me Byleth.”

“Of course, Professor Byleth,” he nodded, never truly feeling comfortable taking out the mentor’s title away from his speech, which made the woman sigh in response.

However, midway to her opening her mouth to show concern over his self-destructive nature, she felt something.

She felt It.

Byleth abruptly rose from her seat, almost knocking down the chair, her eyes wide and her skin full of goosebumps. “This is…” she gasped, unable to breathe properly as the air suddenly felt very Full.

“Professor?!” Dimitri circled the table to hold the unstable Archbishop, widening his eye in surprise. “What has happened? Are you ill—”

“Something… Something is here.” She said, breathless, her silent heart tightening as the Draconic Heart in her ached. “It’s the same… the same feeling,” she mumbled incoherently, her clouded gaze looking towards the window. She blinked a couple of times before recalling that feeling from a year ago. “He’s back.”

Dimitri’s body froze.

____

The crossing between worlds was much smoother this time around, in Wolfie’s opinion. Before, when he had first arrived, he had to go through a long tunnel with countless bright archways on all sides, each almost whispering for him to go there instead. This time, however, there was only a single path.

The Idol had muffled all other whispers, allowing for only one path to open before them.

Mother and Son crossed over hand in hand, as the bone-dry world welcomed the Drop once again, ready to receive the torrent.

Nidra coughed, her throat rasped as if she had ingested sand. “What a terribly uncomfortable world, my child.” She squeezed her hand in his, proud of what he overcame.

It had been her first time crossing over worlds — she had met otherworldly people before in Kamui and Xander, but she had never done the crossing herself. This time, she strapped the bundled Fire Emblem to her back and crossed confidently, hand in hand with her youngest.

They had arrived at the bottom of a cliffside, in front of a spring hidden beneath the rock.

The only thing that brought a slight solace to the manakete’s dry skin and parched throat was the Idol sitting in the middle of the cliff, as it shone brightly with a light of its own.

“It’s not that bad once you get used to it…” Wolfie scratched the back of his head, looking to where Nidra’s gaze was headed. “Oh? Oh? Weird,” he transformed to reach the small cave, jumping inside in his human form as his draconic form was too big to fit through. He then crouched to pick up the Idol that shone brightly, watching as its light faded and the Idol turned completely white.

He jumped back down to show it to Nidra.

It was now made out of a completely different material. Wolfie had carved it out of wood, and he was pretty sure he left it as wood… but now, the material felt light to the touch, though it was as hard as marble.

“It is warm,” Nidra commented once Wolfie handed it to her. “This is the proof of your faith, my son. The proof that all of your prayers reached Naga — and a vessel that stored all of your wishes within it.”

“A vessel…” Wolfie mumbled in wonder, his eyes stinging with tears.

Proof of his faith.

It surely felt like a miracle, being able to return to Fódlan not only to be with Dimitri again, but to be able to connect their worlds permanently.

And it was all because of his efforts; because he never gave up and because he was always true to his Blood.

He sniffled, then giggled. “C’mon, Mother, let me show you around! I think Byleth is at the Monastery.” he transformed once again, lowering himself to allow Nidra to hop on his back.

Since he was already known as the Child of the Goddess, it would be okay for him to fly around in his draconic form — especially now that he held a new, stronger dragonstone that would properly filter the power through his hearts. However, it would be wiser to keep Nidra’s transformation a secret — and Cyn’s as well, once she moved over.

Nidra smiled gently at her eager child and nodded. She wrapped a kerchief around her head to cover her ears and climbed on his back, ready to witness just what it was that Wolfie saw in this dry, dry world.

“I’m gonna land on top of a tower! You’ll see just how pretty everything is, Mother!” He said eagerly as he took flight, his wings stronger than ever.

Nidra could see the sky that she had seen once upon a dream; the sky that looked the same but felt different; the sky that enraptured her son and took him from her.

Feeling slightly bitter, Nidra patted Wolfie’s glittering scales as they flew higher and higher. She was no stranger to the sky, nor was she surprised to see it, but the novelty of being in a foreign world wasn’t lost on her.

She had crossed over ready to accept. Ready to open her own bubble to a new world; to a new tomorrow.

As a pure-blooded manakete, Nidra was one to be reluctant towards change. It took a long time for her to process her feelings and her thoughts — usually, by the time she was done doing so, the world had already moved on and forgotten about her.

She had been changing, little by little, year by year after she had joined Chrom’s army.

She had found a cure to her condition; she had found a friend; she had found love. She had made, discovered and founded a family. So many changes in so little time, and still she welcomed them.

She wanted to stay with her family for a millenia more. Mayhaps even two.

Still, she wasn’t blind to the way that they all matured and evolved in a different time than her. Some would stay with her, while others, like Wolfie, were ready to leave the nest to pave their own path; to follow their own lives.

It hurt, it hurt so badly. She still wasn’t ready to let them go.

But she was ready to accept; she was ready to acknowledge that they would all move at different paces than her, and that was what it truly meant to be a parent.

To watch over her children go their ways.

She had visited Robin often during the days they were preparing for the trip, and her beautiful, wonderful friend, with the gray hair and wrinkles, looked wiser than ever. She had helped Nidra come to terms with many feelings, and gave her many more to chew on during her trip.

As they flew over the horizon towards a large array of buildings, Nidra couldn’t help but feel emotional.

So this was it. This was the world Wolfie wanted to spend the rest of his days at. She took a deep, painful breath to ingrain it into her body; into her bones.

“Is that—” Wolfie exclaimed as they reached the desired tower. “Byleth’s waiting for us there, Mother! And—” his voice stopped for a moment before coming back, drenched with emotion. “Dimitri…?”

Nidra snapped her neck towards the approaching building, easily finding the blonde, tall man Wolfie had described so vividly over the past year.

Once they landed, they were wrapped in white smoke as Wolfie turned back to his human form. Even though the wind was strong up there, it was unable to clear away the magical fog, leaving both Dimitri and Byleth in anticipation before they both heard a familiar voice coming from within the fog.

“Dimitri!” Wolfram cried, running out of the fog with open arms.

Dimitri ran past Byleth, catching the young man before he tripped, digging his face into his shoulder. “W-Wolfram… tell me this is not a dream,” he croaked out, a sob blocking his throat.

The two lovers finally reunited; the hearts that had always been connected, now were once again in one another’s presences. Wolfie could feel Dimitri’s warmth through the thick clothes he wore, the most soothing sound coming from his heartbeat.

Wolfram cried, his tears wetting Dimitri’s collar, though neither of them took note of it. Dimitri’s dry sobs reached Wolfie’s ears, setting him off even harder, as their embrace deepened and their emotions overflowed.

The manakete’s legs gave out, but Dimitri’s strong arms held him through it, never intent on letting go, ever, ever again. “Let me…” the King croaked out, patting Wolfie’s head. “Let me take a look at you,” he said a hoarse voice, his honeyed gaze dripping with emotion.

“D-Dimi…” Wolfram sniffled, frankly looking like a mess. The area around his eyes and his nose were red, while his entire face was covered in tears.

And yet, he couldn’t look more beautiful in Dimitri’s eyes.

“Ah, how I missed you,” Dimitri kissed his cheek and over his eyes, utterly and completely forgetting that Byleth was right there beside him.

“I,” Wolfie sniffled,” I missed you too… so much… so much.”

The lovers lost themselves in their little world, forgetting about the two women that observed them with unflinching gazes.

Nidra had looked at how the wrapped lance Areadbhar had unceremoniously fallen on the floor once Wolfie transformed back, but made no motion to touch it, choosing to walk around it instead. She calmly walked towards the love bubble, making eye contact with the only other who held a Presence.

Byleth slightly bowed, feeling a reverence she had only felt in Rhea’s presence in the past, before glancing at the hugging duo and shrugging her shoulders with a smirk.

Nidra smiled peacefully, greeting Byleth with a nod before turning back to look at the two of them. Dimitri, in his quest to look at Wolfie’s face, saw Nidra approaching with the corner of his eye and jerked his head upwards.

Nidra looked at him, or perhaps she looked right through him, seeing his soul — or that was how Dimitri felt. She simply looked at him, silently, her eyes mostly hidden under the long kerchief covering her head.

“This—” Dimitri cleared his throat, almost forgetting how to breathe properly. He glanced between Wolfram and the woman, seeing a resemblance of some sort, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Physical? Spiritual?

Wolfie, who came back to his senses at Dimitri’s surprised gaze, yelped before jumping out of his embrace. “NYAHA!” He raised both hands up as if in repentance, robotically taking a step back to stay between Dimitri and the mystery woman. “Ahem,” he cleared his throat loudly before presenting her properly. “This is my mother, Nidra.”

“Mother…?” He repeated the word before looking back at the woman who seemed to look down on him despite being shorter than him by at least 2 heads. “Your Mother?! Goodness, she doesn’t look any older than you or I.” Dimitri lowered his head in a straight bow, lower than anyone of his stature as a King should ever bow to someone else. “Nice to meet you, ma’am, I am called Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.”

Nidra stared at the boy and his rosy cheeks. She looked at him nervously fidget and scratch the back of his neck as Wolfram took his hand to calm him down.

She smiled gracefully, lowering her gaze into a nod. “It is good to finally meet you, Dimitri. My son has told me many stories about you, and about you, as well.” She turned to Byleth, who pretended to be part of the background and simply nodded at the acknowledgement.

Wolfie gulped, embarrassed but also excited to hear what she was going to say next. What did she think of him? Did she approve? What would they do if she didn’t like him and said that he would need to plead for one hundred years before she accepted him into her family?!

It wouldn’t happen, of course, but it could. No one would put that behind Nidra.

Still, she spoke with the grace of an ancient being, her voice carrying a power that had dried from his world a millennia ago.

“Thank you for being with my son, Dimitri. For befriending him, for guiding him, for helping him… for loving him.” She bowed, speaking not as a dragon, but as a mother. “I thank you from the bottom of this old heart,” she raised her gaze, meeting a surprised blue. “I have never seen my child look so happy before, and although that shames me as a Mother, it also gladdens me to be able to witness it.”

Of course, she made sure to thank Byleth later as well, but for the moment, the thanks to Dimitri was imperative.

The King stood there, befuddled and wordless, unsure of how to reply. “I… I am the one who’s thankful to Wolfram, ma’am. He saved me many more times than I could count. Without him, I— I felt like half the man I actually am. Only now do I feel whole, and although it might sound presumptuous of me to say this, I do not think I would be able to let go of him ever again,” he strengthened his hold on Wolfie’s hand, hardening his jaw.

Nidra smiled in return, closing her eyes as she grasped at her chest. “Good. I hope you never lose that fire, Dimitri.”

“Never. I vow this for you right now. I will never let go of him again.”

“Dimi…” Wolfie’s eyes filled with tears once again, but he held them back and sniffled, overjoyed to see his mother and his beloved getting along.

They were going to spend much more time together now that they had finally met — after all, Nidra and Wolfram had to explain their plans to Dimitri and Byleth as well as some key people, regarding the construction of a small temple to encompass the portal.

There was also the issue of where the portal would be, though Dimitri replied with ease that it should be located at Fhirdiad, at a hidden grove behind the castle. The plans to move the capital to the center was something to consider for the future generations — and Dimitri’s base of operations was situated in Fhirdiad anyway, so he had replied without hesitation.

Just imagine, allowing Wolfram to reach his family right from their backyard! Dimitri couldn’t be happier at the thought of giving his beloved such freedom of coming and going.

____

Once the plan was set in motion, Yuri was the one who was able to keep the building a secret even from the people who were constructing it. Wolfie’s return had spread around Fódlan like a wildfire — the number of people who saw the Child of the Goddess flying over the Monastery weren’t unsubstantial, and they all were eager to talk about how the blessing of the Goddess must have returned to them along with the Salvation King’s reign.

The friends that had scattered around the land all congregated at Fhirdiad’s castle to meet Wolfie again. Caspar, who had traveled to Fódlan’s Throat to marry Hilda, swept her away to Faerghus, running (momentarily) from Holst’s hellish training to approve of their relationship. Mercedes, Dorothea, and even Lysithea arrived weeks later, all happy to see Wolfram again.

Dedue, who had always remained as Dimitri’s guard, smiled warmly and welcomed Wolfie’s big hug the day he had arrived.

Nidra observed it all from afar, allowing her heart to grieve the time she would not spend with her son, but taking in all of the positive experiences she saw him go through in this foreign land.

The night before the small temple’s construction was completed and the Idol was placed at the innermost chamber, Dimitri fell on one knee in front of Wolfram to propose marriage under the moonlight.

“Wolfram…” He gulped hard, his Adam's apple going up and down nervously. “Would you make me the happiest man alive?” He asked as the cold breeze swept their hair, twirling the glittering dust all around them, painting the perfect picture of a knight in reverence to the one he devoted himself to.

Wolfie covered his face with both hands. To him, they were already promised, bound forever in their bonds of love. He had asked for Dimitri’s hair so he could make a proper marriage jewel a few weeks prior, and, coincidentally, he had it on him when Dimitri proposed with a ring that was carried over the Blaiddyd royal family for generations.

“Yess!” Wolfie jumped into Dimitri’s arms, making both of them fall and roll on the grass, dissolving into laughter. “I love you so much, Dimi… so, so much…” He sniffled, searching his own pockets for the jewel. “Here-mmph…” but before he could do so, Dimitri stole his lips, emotion filling his remaining eye.

Their love overflowed through their tears, shimmering in the moonlight where only the two of them stood.

Dimitri had asked Nidra for Wolfie’s hand the previous day, kneeling in subservience to one who loved Wolfram as much as he did but could not help but give him up to a stranger. His gaze had been somber, but his feelings had never been truer.

Nidra, as one who had taught Wolfram how to pour the different kinds of feelings into his fire to forge a marriage jewel, knew that the day would come. That the time was nigh.

She had closed her eyes and simply told Dimitri to ask Wolfram first, and that she would respect her child’s decision.

Tonight, she looked at the happy lovers through the window at the highest tower of Fhirdiad’s castle and closed the curtains, digging into the empty bed to find solace in the loneliness of this foreign world.

The portal would open soon — they just needed to heed Naga’s call to place the Divine Items at their respective spots, in both worlds. So, for just a little longer, Nidra reveled in this world’s loneliness.

____

Unaware of Nidra’s inner turmoil, the happy couple shared another kiss — and another, and another, and another, until they were dizzy, but never willing to part.

Unable to pull away to breathe, Wolfie scratched Dimitri’s collar to make way to the necklace that housed the jewel, his mind incoherent. Feeling his beloved’s eager touch, Dimitri’s body heated up, making wearing clothes almost unbearable.

He unfastened his collar, then threw away the cloak he wore, digging deeper into Wolfie’s lips — however, there was a part of him, the sane part, that screamed at him to stop. It was difficult, borderline impossible, but he finally opened his eye to focus back on where they were.

“Wolfram…” he said in a low whisper, trailing his kisses from Wolfie’s lips to his pointy ear. “We should not be here,” though he said that, he made no motion to stop, his tongue hungry to taste Wolfram’s skin.

“Yes… yeah,” Wolfie finally managed to place the necklace around Dimitri’s neck, rolling his eyes in pleasure as his body went up and down in its heat. Not even Fhirdiad’s characteristic cold night’s wind seemed to dampen their shared desire.

Their hearts beat as one, as the promise they shared hung in Wolfie’s finger and around Dimitri’s neck. Although they had already promised themselves in their hearts, to have the confirmation, the solid proof, the physical token of their love held immense meaning to the both of them.

To Wolfram, as a manakete, who shared his feelings through merging part of him and of his beloved under his own fire; to Dimitri, as a man who had once lost every single member of his family, who now could finally call the man in his arms ‘his’.

They would now be part of each other’s lives until the end. Forever and beyond, they belonged to one another now.

Lost in their emotions as their tongues intertwined, the couple giggled amidst their kiss, joy bubbling in their chests. The world around them barely mattered anymore, but Dimitri managed to hold onto the last of his sanity to take Wolfie in his arms and run back to the castle.

Not just anywhere would do for them to share their love.

Wolfie laughed, wrapping both arms around Dimitri’s neck as the King sped through the corridors towards his — their — chambers, and slamming the door behind them (They would later need to replace the entire door as it cracked most thoroughly, though that was a problem for tomorrow).

Giggling as Dimitri carefully placed him on the bed, Wolfie wrapped both legs around Dimitri’s waist, kissing his temples, hairline and forehead. He undid the knot on his eyepatch, finally looking at his beloved’s face properly, smiling so widely that the corner of his mouth hurt.

“I love you,” Dimitri confessed, placing a kiss on Wolfram’s eyelid. “Thank you for accepting to be with me,” he trailed his kisses downward, undoing the buttons and knots of Wolfie’s outfit. As there was no more need to wear armor, the process of undressing had become much, much easier.

This time, Dimitri, who had also received, ahem, counsel, from Yuri, was more prepared. There was a reason why he went all the way to their quarters instead of an empty bedroom on the way — the lotion Yuri recommended was kept in the bedside table’s drawer, safe but also close to them should the need for it rose.

There were many things rising amidst their heat, as their pants tightened, eagerly awaiting to free and rub their manhoods together.

The moment Dimitri pulled his erection out, he let out a constrained gasp, placing it on top of Wolfie’s bulge.

“D-Dimitri…” Wolfie arched his back towards his beloved, biting and sucking on his rough lips as the large hand freed his erection as well, holding the both of them together in its mighty grip. “Mhm…!” Wolfie flinched with the rough touch, but couldn’t ask for anything less.

Their bodies moved in unison as Dimitri pulled their conjoined touch up and down, up and down, making even the tips of Wolfie’s toes curl up in pleasure.

They huffed one another’s breaths, the heat slowly but surely permeating the entire room, filling it with lewd scents and noises as their lovemaking roughened.

Wolfie dug his nails on Dimitri’s back — so much was their desire that they hadn’t even managed to take off their clothes yet — as he bemoaned in a cute voice for him to keep going.

Dimitri felt feverish in a way that he knew that could only be cured by releasing himself inside of Wolfram. Only by giving in to that filthy desire of owning Wolfie completely, would he be able to feel whole.

His hand moved faster, pressing their manhoods so closely it almost hurt, as he felt the heat cluster around his waist, ready to shoot his seeds off with the climax.

Wolfie dug his face into Dimitri’s shoulder, trembling with the upcoming orgasm as their bodies moved in unison. “D-Dimitri…!” He cried out as his seeds mixed with Dimitri’s in a pool of deliciousness right within the King’s hand.

That was not nearly enough, honestly speaking. It was only the beginning.

Neither of them had lost their vigor, their manhoods poking out of Dimitri’s grasp, ready for a second, third and maybe fourth round. They dug into one another’s tongues, the words lost in their throats as their bodies succumbed to desire in a bright spring’s night.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #dimitri fire emblem #fodlansona #fatesona #fire emblem awakening #my writings #yuki's commissions #a sin a day keeps the thirst at bay

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