#fixing the one thing that really truly bothers me about the writing of a companion to owls | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oftenderweapons · 4 years ago

Text

Mold Me New (1) – Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons story

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Wordcount: 3.2k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Slice of Life

Rating: 18+ (for future smut and explicit thoughts)

Hello to my readers!!! Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: Introducing the reader’s backstory, exploring her life as a wife and then as a single woman who is slowly getting to know herself as an individual person.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: There are mild curse words, a bit of a sad vibe regarding falling out of love and getting a divorce, description of several bad dates and good ones that end badly, mention of getting drunk, mention of sex toys, mention of one night stand.

In case you like my writing, here is my directory for idol!AUs, scenarios and imagines, and in case you need it, here’s the Spotify music companion.

I forgot to mention, bc I’m dumb and bc we’re becoming one body with two souls, but this chapter (as most of the decent, edited things I post) was beta read by the magical @joheunsaram (she’s recently lost her previous blog and she’s rebuilding it, please go say something nice and YOU SHOULD FOLLOW HER SHE’S A QUEEN ,,,,, my queen 🥺✨)

Enjoy 💜✨

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

When you fall in love with someone, the feeling is like entering a chocolaterie. The scent engulfs you, full and rich and sultry, igniting your senses, the heat making your skin glisten in a light sheen of perspiration, making you exceedingly vulnerable to pointless stuff, like the way your lover exhales. Or their hands skimming your arms.

At least, that was what your best friend had told you.

You had none of that. To you love was a daisy being twirled under your nose, sharing cotton candy, the smell of crisp apples, flannel sheets, the sound of dead leaves crackling under matching footsteps, a sturdy but shiny steel band around your finger suddenly substituted by a golden one.

That had been the beginning of the end. When practicality and simplicity had turned into conventionality and disinterest.

When gifts stopped being things you loved and became things he thought you loved. And then things everyone loved.

When love became a chore, that's when everything crumbled. When kisses became just a good morning and a welcome back, when there were no more laughs echoing in the kitchen, when leaves kept falling but it was your footsteps alone making them crackle, when flannel sheets kept feeling warm but still something was missing — because someone was missing — when suddenly there was no more time for fairs and cotton candy, when daisies became roses, Love stopped making sense. It stopped having a meaning for you.

You were no longer sure of the life you had built with the man of your dreams, the boy you had fallen in love with when you were eight, the guy who had walked with you across the corridors of your high school, who had made you twirl under the lame disco ball of your prom, who had gone through college finals with you, who had spent three summers making your hangout spot into a home, turning the small old shack into a proper place for you to build a new life together. He was your first kiss, your first valentine, your first time. He was the man at the end of the aisle, the man who would walk with you until the last of your days.

But one day he started running and you still walked.

Or maybe you were both running in different directions, no longer on the path to the same destination, your priorities somehow switched.

Of course, it wasn't his fault.

It wasn't yours either.

You had both participated in this small unraveling, and you had both expressed the intention of changing, of finding compromise, an in-between, without either of you actually making the effort of fixing your trajectory, small habits and old pet peeves pulling you even farther apart.

The attempts — multiple ones — were painstakingly embarrassing. There were tears on both sides as you wondered what had caused this sudden rift that separated you — except it wasn't sudden, only your realisation was; the crevasse had been there for way longer. Maybe it had started as a small chipping the very day you met him, and it wasn't until now that you realised how the small sign had turned into an ominous presence, and then into unfathomable, inevitable doom.

And then the divorce.

It had been disgustingly easy, both parties agreeing on the procedures.

You didn't want the house. And you didn't need it. He didn't either.

Selling it had been exceedingly painless, you had shared the money, since he wanted to offer you stability. He already knew you would both suffer and he didn't want you worrying about rent. He was still your friend, after all.

Going back to being alone scared you at the beginning, until you realised that few things were truly bothering you. At least there wasn't this ghost of a human making you doubt all of your plans. You could plan dinner five days ahead or improvise. You could go to the restaurant as a last minute deal. You could go on long walks without the 'I'm sorry baby, emergency' making you rush back to town.

It felt like a bit of a liberation.

And your family's bookshop was doing well enough, since it was situated near the college and it also offered printing service.

Of course there were bad days. Sometimes you woke up searching for a body beside yours, however that feeling had significantly subdued after you had gotten used to the new bed. You missed human contact, being close, intimate with someone, having someone who knows you that deeply.

And then the true nightmare.

Finding someone new.

You were genuinely uninterested in dating. You had given it a go and it had sufficed.

It wasn't your world.

How could it possibly be?

You had never dated. You had basically offered your heart to the person that has always owned it. It's not like you had any experience in that labyrinth that is dating. All those unspoken social norms and the pining and tension. You only knew the comfort of a warm hug, the beauty of a kiss sparking from innocence and affection and slowly turning into steady, warm passion. You didn't like infernos, you liked candles. You liked the domestic hearth. You liked moderation.

And dating was all about extremes, from strangers to 'I'm inspecting your throat' on date one. And then suddenly it's date three and the same guy who brought you to a pizza place and a diner is suddenly going out of his way to bring you to a pretentious, expensive restaurant as a way to propitiate the possibility of you dropping your panties.

You had allowed this foolery only three times. Apparently all the suitable suitors were either really prone to pushing the pedal or had a passion for tongue gastroscopies.

The first one, Albert, had been quite the gentleman on date one. On date two he started making inappropriate jokes with a heavy body shaming undertone — a bit cliché for the stereotypical gym rat. And on date three he had dropped all pretenses at politeness and had outright palmed your ass in public, which made you rightfully uncomfortable. As you pointed that out, he proceeded saying that after all it was your third date and it was time to loosen up a little.

You didn’t even bother staying for dinner, left a bill on the table and left.

No matter the first disappointment, you decided not to let that disrespectful fool slow you down. And since your best friend knew everything about rat headed number one, you allowed her to set you up with one of her colleagues after she reassured you he was nothing like the one before.

Except somehow he was. The first date was at the local pub, and you somehow found yourself getting along well, his jokes were funny and he had good timing, he was relaxed, confident but still a bit clumsy and shy. He could be a good candidate.

But that was before he pushed his tongue to your tonsils as he kissed goodbye.

You gagged.

On date two he admitted you weren’t exactly his type. You were glad to reciprocate the statement after he told you his dream was having four children and a farm, alluding to the fact that his bride needed to be the perfect housewife.

You were pretty adamant that was not the kind of future you wanted for yourself.

Candidate number three was a guy you had met while grocery shopping, and somehow he had impressed you in an absolutely positive way on date one and two. Everything had been perfect, he was kind, considerate and well-mannered. Date three had been innocent, simple, down-to-earth. And then date four. Perfect dinner at his place. He had made you swoon and he had a very pretty cat he was very affectionate with.

He was the first man you had felt desire for in a very long time — almost eight months after your divorce.

The sex had been decent for being a first time.

And then he had entirely disappeared and never texted or called you back, which didn’t sit entirely wrong with you. You wished him all the best but you were actually glad. You liked being you and doing your own thing: having someone too much down your neck, getting in a relationship, having to check in with another person again felt more like a burden than a win.

Maybe it was just a coping mechanism to avoid facing the fact that he had been someone you could have liked, someone you could have built something with.

You were a happy woman, and it’s not like you really felt lacking or incomplete, like some of your single friends felt. And you had no intention of starting a family anytime soon, no matter if your old high school classmates had begun popping out kids left and right. You were more than happy to live the teen and early-twenty years you had spent in a relationship.

You were getting to know yourself in a way most of your friends didn’t have time to — you could already see them going through a midlife crisis after their kids became old enough to navigate life by themselves, which meant no more need for overprotective, and sometimes borderline suffocating, mothers, who suddenly found themselves with too much free time and too little tasks to complete.

Knowing your needs made you a stronger, better woman, and solitude had gifted you a level of introspection and balance that you doubted they could ever reach; maybe that was an arrogant consideration, but you knew there was no way knowing and loving yourself would ever bring you to crying over disrespectful, ungrateful youth whose only fault was that of growing up out of their mothers’ plans.

Unfortunately, there was no way your family — especially your grandmother — could ever tolerate the idea of you not needing a man and a family to be happy.

“Oh, come on, isn’t it time for you to bring a nice fellow back home?”

You shook your head as you and your grandma took a walk along the river, the sunny March afternoon feeling way too nice to stay at home. “Granny. There’s no people like Grandad anymore.”

“Oh, darling. You’re starting with the wrong role model. Not even back in my days we had men like him. He was the exception.” She nodded to herself with a sweet smile, remembering the husband she had lost a few years back.

“It’s so frustrating. And after all that happened… You know how it was. We were together for years. He was the only one I had. I don’t even know how to do these things. And books cannot teach you stuff like that. The more you read, the more you realise that most of these men had never even seen a rom com.”

“Oh, come on, but you have the internet these days! Can’t you find him in there? You have all these phones and computers and everyone has them, there must be a good one in the internet.”

She always said that “in the internet”. Like it was a physical place.

“I don’t even want to look in there, Granny. There are so many dangers in there.” You shuddered as you thought at the funny instagram pages where the people posted screenshots of the worst descriptions. All the embarrassing playboys and the fishermen and the lame wanna-be poets.

“Right… How can you know he is really is a person?” She considered, patting your back proudly. “You’re pretty. And you’ve always had the most perfect bum of all your cousins. Just like mine!” She grinned cockily, giving a playful smack to your ass, making you laugh loudly.

“It won’t last long.” You said, looking down. Solitude scared you sometimes. Being old and alone could be hard on the spirit and you had a feeling that old hag you would curse your dumb arrogance and inconsideration. However, for now you were still somehow making it through. Your divorce was finalised almost ten months ago. You could still consider yourself just fresh out of it.

“You’re smart. And I’m sure you have a lot to offer. You’re a good woman, and you’re far from being too old. There’s never a thing such as too old. Don’t let yourself be fooled. Look at me.” She said. “I’m still living a good life. Herbert has left me but I’m still here. Walking. Cooking. Drizzle keeps me good company.” She smiled sweetly at the mention of her dog, a lovely large poodle elegantly strolling at her side, its light grey fur finely trimmed by your grandmother’s expert hands. She had been a hairdresser for decades: learning how to keep Drizzle’s coat had been a cup of tea for her and he’d kept her distracted from grief after your grandpa passed away.

Her face formed a meditative pout. “Maybe you should just get a dog. Or even better, a cat. You’ve always looked like a cat child to me. So quiet and focused, like you knew some secret that nature would speak to you alone. You were always so attentive as a child!”

You smiled and looked at the path under your feet. Drizzle stayed unbothered as a loud, angry dachshund walked towards him, barking annoyingly. You had never felt sympathy for that small evil breed.

“I think I could get a kitten one of these days. Or a cat, from the shelter.”

“I’m sure you’ll find it in the internet!”

“So we’re really doing the party thing?”

“Listen, baby. It’s gonna be your first party as a free woman. Real mind blowing birthday sex.”

“I’m not a virgin, you know?” You stared at your face in the mirror, spreading some moisturiser over your forehead, inspecting the small lines there. You shrugged and let them be.

Maybe you would spend your best years single and find a sugar baby in ten or twenty years. Wait, weren’t those called toy boys?

Who cares.

Maybe it was time to get the post-grad you had always dreamed of. You would need to check your bank account before making that decision — maybe finally telling yourself yes could be the real birthday gift. That is, beside the huge dildo waiting in your drawer. Not being attracted to men or women didn’t mean you didn’t like sex.

You just found it difficult to imagine being with someone.

“Darling I’d bet an arm and a leg he never gave it to your right. You just need a bit more experience.”

All you needed was a hot bath, some candles and a good book. No man, no one night stand, no birthday sex could possibly make you as happy as decent jazz, wine and a novel.

“Why aren’t we doing that wine tasting at the winery out of town?”

“Because I want you choking on cheap alcohol, having all the fun you didn’t have on your twenty-first birthday because you were planning your own wedding. And I bet you’re the only one who wasn’t fucked in the bathroom of the Wickhead.”

Terry could be incredibly crude, but you loved her nonetheless. You loved her even more for it. She had never hidden anything from you, she had told you even the most embarrassing details of her own life. And she had always been the kindest, most faithful friend: she had driven you way out of town when you were eighteen and your period was late and you needed to buy a pregnancy test without all everyone and their dog knowing; she had chosen your wedding dress for you, spotting it and telling you it was going to be the one before you could even see it. When your marriage had started crumbling, she had spent countless nights with you, keeping you company when your husband was busy with his business trips. Though Terry had insinuated cheating, you knew he would never break your trust like that, and she had decided to trust your better judgement.

You had simply fallen out of love with each other.

And when you had moved into your new apartment, Terry had helped you repaint the walls and build the extra bookcases and install the shelves and fill your wine stand. Before leaving she had grabbed an unfamiliar box from her car, placing it on top of your bed, opening it and spreading out a set of “single necessaire”, as she called it. A couple toys, lube, condoms. To celebrate your re-found sexual promiscuity, she had said, though you objected, it was hard rediscovering something you had never had.

She had shaken her head and left you to “familiarise” yourself with everything.

“You know I’m not exactly a party person, Terry. This will end badly.” You said, sitting on your bed with your back against the headboard, your legs stretched out before you.

“You can allow yourself some fun once in a decade, you know?” You could hear her scoff on the phone.

“But I do have fun. Book. Wine. Bingo!” You explained, rolling your eyes as the booed.

“Come on, do it for me. Do it for your single friend who wants to get drunk and possibly sixty-nine? Please?” The other thing wrong with Terry is that if you ever met her in person, you would face the sweetest five foot three and a half — she insisted on the half — human being you could ever meet, with pretty wavy blonde hair and wide, sweet green eyes, the most boopable button nose and a sprinkle of freckles on her golden skin. She literally glowed in sunlight and her flowy gowns always made her look like a goddess: you could see men fighting for her, dying for her and going to war for just one of her gentle smiles.

“Don’t you have a FWB for that sixty-nine thingie?” You asked with an exceedingly inquisitive tone. It had been a while since she last updated you.

“Dumped him.” She replied curtly.

You tutted before exhaling. Emotionally constipated people — what’s wrong with them?

“He’s dating someone since he was ready for a relationship.” Terry sounded a bit colder than usual.

“And you weren’t?” You asked. You felt your tone hesitate with slight concern. You knew she would just put up a wall and ignore your question.

Fortunately, she didn’t. “I’m not ready to talk about that. It’s complicated, Frog.”

She was hurt and wanted a distraction.

“Okay, Terry. We’re going to get rip roaring drunk this Saturday.”

The line went silent.

“You know I love you right?”

“I love you too, sweetie. Now go to sleep, you have an early shift tomorrow.”

The line went silent after you bid each other goodnight, your body settling underneath the sheets once you realised your eyes were fluttering shut as you tried to read a few pages to put yourself to sleep.

Placing down the book, you hugged the extra pillow, settling your face in the corner between your sleeping pillow and your spare one, the heavy woolen comforter acting like a weighted blanket. You placed another pillow behind your back, making a soft cocoon all around you.

Yes, sometimes you still missed being hugged to sleep.

The taglist is open!

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

#taehyung x reader #kim taehyung fanfiction #thetruthuntoldnet #thebtswritersclub #Taehyung strangers to lovers

140 notes · View notes

my-socialdiary · 4 years ago

Text

Deep Water

Word Count: 2113

Here we go! Childe x Lumine fanfiction! This is my first time writing a story using english XD pardon my bad BAD grammar because english is not my first language. i tried to fix that :(

***

They’re different, inside and outside.

They have different purposes when approaching each other.

But strangely enough, they feel comfortable. They feel like they can rely on each other.

There is Lumine, and Childe.

There is a butterfly and its destroyer.

It is dark, still, yet beautiful at the same time. The full moon that reflected on the darkened blue sea in Yaoguang Shoal. The sound of waves is so calming and somehow has the ability to heal every ache, mentally. Lumine sits on one of the rocks, dipping her feet in the salt water, enjoying the coldness that it gives. She loves being near water even though she’s an anemo user.

Water; the stillness is giving it a mysterious sense. You will never know what’s deep inside the water if you don’t purposely dive into it. It may contain something dangerous, or it may contain something valuable, like that luxurious chest she finds at Dunyu Ruins after delivering some annoying seelies. For her, water by some means is magical and inexplicable.

Water is exactly just like Childe.

Mysterious.

Menacing.

Some people said that he’s ruthless. Merciless murderer, because of his affiliation with the Fatui, and also because he’s the Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers. The youngest one but one of the most dangerous amongst their number.

But…

He’s the most bold, enchanting, and clever man she ever met in her life. Not to mention he also has the sweetest smile…

… and lots of Mora.

She smiled when remembering that moment when Childe approached her and Zhongli when they were about to buy some kites for The Rite of Parting from Granny Shan’s shop. Zhongli is… thinking about him makes her sigh. That man is surely a special case.

“… Lumine?” A small, sleepy voice brings her back in reality. “Paimon thinks that now we should camp somewhere else. It’s so cold in here and Paimon can catch a cold anytime!” Her emergency f—travelling companion now is awake and leans her body to Lumine’s head. “C’mon, Lumine! We can camp at Mingyun Village or get a room at Wangshu Inn, but not here, in the open field, near the water!”

Lumine chuckles. “Alright, alright,” she stands and reaches up her shoes. “Let’s go.”

Before they leave, Lumine glances over the sea once again and smiles.

***

He knows himself more than anyone in Liyue—or even in Teyvat. Or even his sister, Tonia. All the blessing and curse he has related to water. All those scars that he tried to bury, deep down in his mind. All those achievements mean nothing more than a boastful show off. He knows himself. Truly, inside and outside.

But, meeting her makes him doubt his knowledge about himself.

Their first meeting is quite unique. That time, when there’s announcement about Rex Lapis’ death at The Rite of Descension, he was just arrived at Liyue to do some works delegated by Fatui to the Northland Bank when he heard a bunch of Millelith shouting to each other, ordering their comrades to arrest someone.

“You have nowhere to run!”

That commotion is enough to get his interest. He looked up and saw the back of a blonde-haired girl that just drew her sword out to fight those trained Millelith. Before he could think twice, the water shifted from his hand, forming a water blade each in his hands and leap over, “Hey girlie, hold still!” The sound of water coming through his ears while his hands are now focusing to fight those Millelith. His position as one of the Harbingers was not given to him without reasons. Easily enough, he defeated all of the Millelith guard—he didn’t kill them, but enough to make them unconscious—then turn back to that girl just to see her golden-yellow eyes now staring at him.

He knew her. Friend of the Knights of Favonius.

“Come with me.” That time, he knew he shouldn’t do that. But he did it anyway. And from then until now, they’ve been together, side by side to fight monsters and sometimes treasure hoarders. It’s funny to realize that because he’s more like an independent fighter rather than a group fighter. But with Lumine, everything that he knows about himself seems to become different. Firstly, He already promises himself that he won’t do anything using his feelings anymore. And secondly, He promises himself that he won’t do anything stupid by helping other people because that’s not what Fatui do.

But yet, he failed.

Lumine is like a breath of fresh air for his breathless life. With Lumine, he feels like he can relax a little bit, smile a little bit, and importantly, see the beauty of life a little bit. A little bit is more than enough for life like his. But that little bit is not good for their relationship. Tsaritsa will find out about Lumine sooner or later. And that’s not good. That means Lumine will always be in danger near him. Thinking about that makes him shiver. I can’t let anything bad happen to her. Not until she reunites with her twin brother. Not until I can be assured that she’s safe. This time, he tries to keep his promise. He could no longer indulge himself in all this beauty which he didn’t deserve from the first time he knew her.

Because of that, now he found himself waiting at Liyue Harbor because he made a promise to Lumine that they would watch the sunrise before he went back to Snezhnaya. Lumine doesn’t know yet about his plan to go back to his hometown. She only knew that today they would be enjoying sunrise on the boat he rented from Linling. He tries so hard to distance himself from that bright-cheerful-and-lighthearted girl but he fails dozens of times. This is the only way he can do that. Even though it means that he probably will see that girl crying in front of him.

“Childe!” The euphonic voice that has become his favorite—since when? He doesn’t know—takes him back to the scenery of Liyue Harbor. “been waiting long?” Lumine asks while stabilizing her blue glider and then fixing her flower hair clip. Childe looked away to distract himself and pretend to be looking the other way.

“Not really,” he smiles. “You ready?”

“I was born ready,” she smiled back. The smile that has always been his favorite.

“Let’s go, then.” Childe walked first, followed by Lumine behind him. She can’t help but smile like an idiot while looking at Childe’s broad shoulder. She knows that she likes him more than friends, but how about him? He never made a real move towards her. Childe has been doing sweet things to her, but how can she be sure that it because he likes her in that way? Should she ask him first?

“Ouch!” Her thoughts make her unaware that Childe is now stopped walking and tries to untie the rope that ties the boat. “Oh my Archons, that hurts!” She cringed and rubbed her aching forehead. Childe turns back and chuckles. She’s so cute. He thinks. And the next second he tries to ignore that thought.

“What were you doing?”

Both of Lumine’s cheeks become warm. I was thinking about you! “N-no. Nothing. Nothing at all, s-seriously!”

“Whoa, okay-okay,” Childe lets out a small laugh. “Let’s go.” He reaches Lumine’s arms and helps her get on the boat. After everything has set, Childe rowed the boat, heading to the best place to see the sunrise in Liyue Harbor according to his experience. It was 4 in the morning when they set out their boat. Here in Liyue, the sun rises a little late.

“I always love midnight and dawn,” she looked at Childe while keeping her hair from covering her face. “It’s nice and calm.”

“Thought you were the rousing-type of girl,”

“Yeah, I’ll admit that, but sometimes,” she turns her head over the sea horizon. “Once in a lifetime, you need to escape from those ruckus and enjoy the beauty of stillness.”

“The beauty of stillness, huh?” he raised his eyebrow. “Never heard of that.”

Lumine smiles.

A few moments later, Childe stopped rowing. He is now looking at Lumine who is currently closing her eyes, enjoying the cool air. She won’t be bothered by the wind. She’s an anemo user, after all. Wind is her friend. Just like water is his friend. And enemy, at the same time.

He then looked down to his reflection on the water. That smile of his and all of the funny jokes he made so that people will like him is a lie. It was a deceitful move. But when he’s with Lumine, it all feels real. Or… maybe it’s just his delusion. Like the electro vision he has, given by Tsaritsa. He doesn’t know anymore what’s real in his life.

“Childe, look!” Lumine is now covering her mouth, feeling in awe because the sun starts to go up to its place in Liyue. “It’s so beautiful.”

Instead of looking at the sunrise, he looked at Lumine—never can get enough of her—and said, “it is.”

“Thank you for bringing me here, Childe.” She gives him a dazzling smile. “I really, really love it.”

“Well, now you know this place. You can come here every time you want to enjoy that ‘beauty of stillness’.” He quoted Lumine’s words and gave a playful smile.

“With you?”

“You can go here alone. That’s the point, right?”

“I mean, we can go here together again, right? I can teach you about the beauty of stillness that I mentioned earlier,” She said.

“No…” He looked down. Now is the time for you to tell her, Childe. “I-I will no longer come to Liyue.”

“W-what do you mean you will no longer come to Liyue? Are you leaving?”

He nodded. “I’m going back to Snezhnaya,” he didn’t dare to look at her. “My hometown.”

“...when?”

“Today.”

She swallowed her tears, “so this is why you suggest that we should go watch the sunrise,” her voice is now trembling. “You wanted to say goodbye?”

“Yes. Besides, there's nothing else I can do here anyway,” please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Please. “And the Fatui is asking me to go back.” liar.

What about me? A tear tickled her cheek, and she started chewing on her lower lip while her eyes welled up with tears. “I—” she mumbled something through her mouth and choked on her sobs. “S-sorry. I didn’t know what happened to me.” She let out fake chuckles and looked away.

Meanwhile, Childe, his vision was blurry; it was difficult for him to see clearly, but he knew that it was a hurtful moment for them. He hears Lumine sniffing and sobbing even though she is trying to hold it. For some moment, both of them drown into their own thoughts and feelings.

“Will I be able to see you again, sometime in the future?” Lumine asks. She didn’t turn her head to see Childe. “Is there a possibility that we can sit in this boat, enjoying the sunrise together again? Is there any?”

Childe opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again. No. we can’t meet. You can’t meet me. It’s dangerous.

“No?” Lumine urged him.

“If…” Childe dared himself to stare at that girl. “If you want to be around to see it again with me, best you stay alive until we next meet… okay?” And again, he breaks his own promise to not see Lumine ever again.

They smiled at each other.

***

That blonde-haired girl is now sitting at one of the Mingyun Village’s rooftop. She looked at a blue shell with a somewhat star-shaped in the center. A starconch. She misses him already but she knows that sometime in the future, they will meet again. Because he needs to take back this precious starconch from her.

***

“Here, keep this,” Childe takes her right hand and places something in her palm.

“A starconch?”

He nodded. “Yes. It’s not just any starconch you can find, it is my precious starconch because it has memories in it.”

“What memories?” She asked him with a curious look.

“I’ll save that story for later, when we meet again,” he said, which made her frown. “Until then, you need to keep this. Because I’ll come and take this back.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, good.”

***

“I guess I just need to wait a little longer, don’t I?” Lumine glanced at her little fairy friend, stood then jumped off the roof. “In the meantime, let’s blow away some hilichurls, shall we?”

“Lumine, wait, Paimon thinks we should eat first!” Paimon tries to keep her distance near Lumine. But she keeps running with a big grin in her face. “Lumineeeeee!”

#genshin impact #genshin impact lumine #genshin impact liyue #liyue harbor #fanfiction #genshin impact fanfiction #childe x lumine #tartaglia genshin #genshin impact childe #genshin impact fanart #Fanart #starconch #chilumi

125 notes · View notes

yanderecandystore · 4 years ago

Note

Can we have the s/o in the old eldritch one get pregnant n stuff

Oh well, it seems like the antichrist will be born-

Well not literally, but kinda.

I think… That maybe I should warn y'all about some possible disasters.

Tags?/Tw??: size difference boo; curious eldritch boy; illusions; apocalyptic world; also mentions of other entities and some of the events that happened in A Bad Dream. Also I'm a dumbass who should have took some medicine instead of writing while having a headache.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Golden Years [Yandere!Eldritch x Pregnant!Reader - Short Fanfiction and possibly a follow-up story]:

It's been five years since the Earth's sky has been broken apart. The red clouds above form a connection to the other world that creatures like him came from. A portal, in a way.

To humanity, this was the end. But to them, it was the beginning of something.

Something interesting.

Not every single entity on Ibu's home was on Earth of course, it's a really small place for so many cosmic entities. And it is not like all of them have an interest in this small rock, only a few, like Ibu himself.

Always the curious one. Most would consider him naive, and possibly childish, if the "concept" of children was commonly known throughout his "brothers and sisters".

He was only a couple of stars old. 687 stars have been born and have died throughout his entire existence, to be exact. Which was pretty young compared to his "peers".

Not that they really cared about keeping up with their age, it was mostly used to devalue each other's nonsense. Someone around his age would be considered foolish regardless of what his morals and ethics were.

But he doesn't really care, he prefers to take his time and learn than pretend he knows everything in the universe. He enjoys being curious the way he is, is more fun to learn about things if you truthfully explore them.

And learning about humans while interpreting to be one is probably the best form of learning he could have ever found!

It's extremely exciting to him, in five years he has learned so much. He learned that humans fall easily into his illusions, that humans are small and easy to carry, that even if a human is in his illusion they won't notice the odd feelings of being high up or being held by bigger hands, oh! Humans are actually pretty warm, and that their living habitats are tiny but he can kinda squeeze himself in.

Which isn't the most comfortable thing, but he knows how to deal with it.

He learned that humans call each other by names depending on their relationship status and how much a human cares for them. He learned that humans are fragile, and that they like small things, and that they-

Oh, it's just so many things you know? He could keep going on, but it isn't exactly human like to point out obvious things like that.

You told him that. You've been really helpful with helping him understand your kind better.

His companions don't really agree with his actions. While he is playing "dollhouse" (he saw small humans doing this ritual of playing with inanimate objects and pretending to have an "a family", he found that so fascinating), his peers are doing more "fun things".

Like slaving humans, or executing humans, or trapping them in pocket dimensions, or adding them to their ever growing collection (like a friend of his who is obsessed with collecting life forms), or destroying everything and everyone that they meet in the way, like his sister!

She showed him a big wall the other day, it was bigger than any human, or even house. They both didn't understand the point of such obstacle. She said it probably took centuries to put it up. She simply smashed it down like it was nothing.

He doesn't know why she does these types of things, but she still finds enjoyment in doing them, so he would just let her have her fun.

She tried to convince him to give up on understanding you and just let loose, as humans would say.

But, he doesn't find it fun at all. He tried it once on a really annoying human, he thinks it was your mate.

He can't remember for sure. He tries to forget unpleasant things. Yet, he still remembers that day.

Could you stop it please? It's getting annoying.

There he was, the annoying human, and some others trying to… Hurt him? He doesn't understand what they were trying to do, whatever it was it wasn't as effective as they thought it was. They were clearly aiming at his eyes, but it only made them itchy.

You never stop, do you?

At that time he didn't remember that they couldn't understand him. He was getting angry, and it seemed normal to speak in his own language rather than communicating on yours.

"- Hey… What is happening love?" You asked him, poor thing, he wondered what you could possibly be seeing. Considering his illusions were really effective on you, he assumes that you were only seeing your husband and a bunch of pricks trying to hurt him.

In your eyes, he looks like your true husband, and your real husband feels like a stranger. It's all that he can do for now, interpret your old mate.

Also, love, you have some bad taste at picking partners, this little human seems a little too possessive, don't you agree?

Of course there are a couple of rebellious humans, trying to survive and fight for their freedom and what not. He really wishes he could care about them, but honestly, how can they expect to win a "war" that is not even happening?

It's not a fair fight anyway, so why bother so much? And also, they don't even know that the most important part of "killing" one of his kind is completely destroying their mask. Which is close to almost impossible.

Honestly, why even bother…

"- L-love? Are you okay?"

"- Yes, don't worry about it." He learned how to perfectly imitate the other human's voice. It's not exactly a difficult thing to do, especially for the likes of him, but hey, he thinks he deserves some praises for doing it.

Anyway, they thought that they could have a chance against him. And although he wasn't looking for a fight, he almost did kill them out of rage.

While holding you in one hand, he made his way towards the crowd shooting at him. One little slap to the ground was enough to shake it and unbalance them. It's kinda silly from his perspective.

How bothersome, if I take these would you stop?

He took and broke (although accidentally) the guns in his fingers. He was actually planning on studying them but, oh well, he can always ask you later about how they function.

Even when he already lost, your ex partner still tries to pick up a fight. It's taking every fiber of his being to not put this insufferable little creature into an everlasting nightmare in his pocket dimension. He picked the annoying one up, while the others were trying to pick some extra equipment they brought.

It wasn't so difficult to trade places with you, but if you keep acting foolish, I don't think you'll exist for too long.

Yelling, after cursing, after more yelling, some crying in the mix. Ibu can't be bothered right now, you two were just going back home.

Can't a being tall as a building go home with his tiny mate in peace? The world has already ended, so why bother stoping him from living his own immortal life?

"- She doesn't love you, and ya know that."

…

Oh.

…. Oh…

"- Excuse me?"

"- Oh! So you can speak now-" He yelled after hearing Ibu speak in his own language. That prick heard every bit of suffering that he put him through, yet-

"- Repeat." Ibu already knew what he said, he just needed to hear it, again...

"- What?" … Just to be sure…

"- Repeat." … That what he heard was correct...

"- … What if I don't?" … And that he had a free pass...

"- … What would your intestines look like if they were pulled from inside out?" … To lose his patience with this one.

It seemed like he could "let loose" this time around.

If only he had payed better attention at you instead of that insolent pest.

He had closed his hands a little too harshly at that moment. Even if it was unconsciously, the damage was already done.

He closed his hand, and accidentally (he swears it was an accident!) Broke one of your legs.

He dropped the other human at your sudden scream. The low sound of something breaking wasn't really reassuring.

I mean, two legs were broken that day, yours and your ex lover's. But he didn't care about the other one, so let's ignore his screams of agony-

To his sister, breaking one of your bones wasn't exactly the worst possible thing that could happen. Actually, if it was her the one holding you, she would probably do that intentionally.

As to her, it was fun to hurt humans like you. But to Ibu it wasn't, it was terrible! He really didn't mean to.

He was plagued by the sudden feeling of guilty overflowing him. It was probably the first time he ever felt like this. It was probably the first time he ever apologized for something.

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry please shhhh I'm really sorry I'm sorry I'll fix it I'll fix it I'm sorry I'm sorry

Woah, that was… A terrible experience even remembering gives him headaches. And he shouldn't even have headaches! Stress can lead to his mask breaking.

That would be really unfortunate.

You didn't seem to remember what happened the day after, so he had to help you get better slowly. I guess another thing he learned in these five years was how to fix human bones.

But that was in the past, right? It didn't matter now, right?

Yeah… It didn't… Mattered.

Or it shouldn't. He never really relaxed after that incident.

Not only did he feel incapable of taking care of you, as he started thinking a simple blow of wind could make you fall. But he also felt on edge whenever he remembered those words.

" She doesn't love you."

That shouldn't have been so impactful as it was. Maybe he truly was too soft. He knows better than to listen to the delusions of that man.

He knows that you love him. He knows that! He really… He really hopes he knows that.

He really hopes it is true.

You started acting a little weird recently, he doesn't know how you're feeling and what you are thinking, so he started feeling like maybe you don't love him…

You normally made calls to your friends, although the telephone hasn't been functional since four years ago, since if you truly were interacting with other people there could be a chance of you breaking the illusion. You would tell them what was on your mind while you thought he wasn't listening.

You haven't written in your diary, you haven't made any recent notes on your phone or computer, and you haven't told him what you were hiding.

He wouldn't know how to react if you decided to get away from him. He would probably put you inside his pocket dimension, or probably take you to his own world.

No… That place is too dangerous. What can he do??

He was sitting on the sofa contemplating this last few weeks you've been acting differently. And that phrase keeps popping up in his mind, and is starting to make him sick.

And the thought of you being sad or mad at him from when he broke your leg is starting to eat him from inside.

What can he do-

"- Love? Are you okay?"

"- Oh, don't worry about it… I'm just thinking about some stuff."

"- Is it related to work?"

Oh yeah, "work", he kinda hides outside the house whenever you think he is at work. Even if he wanted to experience a job for the first time and know how humans function under social stress twenty two hours a day through five days, each every single week, there weren't any jobs available.

As more than a half of the population was gone or dead.

"- Yeah… It is." He learned how to deal with this type of question. He saw a lot of tv shows with you, and they all mentioned how jobs are essentially torture chambers that suck the energy out of humans in exchange of money.

Those shows weren't lying or exaggerating, right?

"- Well, I… I think you should relax, and maybe take a break, I never saw you taking a vacation, maybe this is a good time, love."

"- Yeah…. I would love to spend more time inside." Although he literally just watches you doing mundane things all day everyday, because to him all of those things are incredible and breathtaking.

"- I… I have something to tell you…" You seemed a little concerned, was something wrong?

"- What is it?"

"- H-here." You were worried that his reaction might be a little negative, or not as excited as you were. He works every single day, you feel like this type of surprise you probably make him worry more.

But then again, there wasn't really a way to keep this a secret. You're still wondering how hasn't he noticed your belly or your morning sickness, but you also didn't think it was because of pregnancy, so, I guess you're both equally naive?

He is looking at the pregnancy test, not knowing it's a pregnancy test or what pregnancy even is. So he doesn't really understand what it is until you say it out loud.

"- I'm going to have a baby, love."

He is still visibly confused.

"- A… Tiny human?"

"- Pfft, yes! Of course it's a tiny human. Oh gosh, how can you be silly in a time like this."

Yeah, he is a riot, isn't he?

Stars, help him understand what is happening, please.

"- That's kinda what I like about you, you know? You're funny, you never take anything too seriously." You tell him, being fully honest.

His presence feels comforting in a world so serious and dull.

He isn't aware of how to feel, he is confused and extremely excited about this revelation.

Would the baby be human? A hybrid of some form? Would it have his own features? Would it have a mask? Would giving birth to them possibly break the illusion?

He should consider all of the possibilities but… He is just, so happy! This the weirdest most confusing experience he ever had, yet he is absolutely delighted by this outcome.

He loves you so much, he really does, and he knows that now. He knows that this is a proof of love, that there is absolutely nothing that can separate you from him.

You two would be spinning around the living room, full cliche style.

Although, again, he doesn't really fit in the living room all that well. So he can't really do that, but you get the sentiment, right?

Stars, this is perfect, absolutely perfect.

"- I love you [Y/N]!"

"- I love you too, Cameron!"

It's been five years, and yet you kept saying the same name over and over again.

At first he didn't mind, it was a nice sounding name. But as time went on, being called by your ex's name is starting to become troublesome.

"- Maybe I can fix that later." Maybe he can drop the charade and give you one of his many names.

Having you call him "Ibu" would be so special to him.

"- Hun? What do you mean?"

Oh nothing, really.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #sheep's stuff #yandere oc x reader #yandere eldritch #yandere short fanfiction #yandere fanfic #yandere fanfiction #special delivery request #special delivery scenarios #yandere scenario #yandere scenarios

102 notes · View notes

valhallasubstitute · 4 years ago

Text

Yours, and Only Yours

--Sihtric x Virgin!Reader

After travelling with Uthred for many months the fact that you’re still a virgin is revealed in a drunken confession, from that moment on Sihtric can’t help but thinking of making you his.

Authors note: Hey guys so this is my first time ever writing a fic so go easy on me. If you liked this let me know, constructive criticism is welcome as is general thirst :) x

part two

WARNINGS: Slightly smutty, mutual lusting?

wc: 1684

It was dark, it was late and you were drunk. The five of you surrounded the fire, Uhtred and Osferth sat either side of you, the fire acted as both warmth and a shield from Finan’s jokes. The fire also shielded you from Sihtric. Quiet, impulsive and beautiful, you’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t attracted to him.

And that just made it all the more embarrassing when it came tumbling out of your mouth. ‘It’ being the fact that you had never laid with a man. The ale that you shared had made you relax and your tongue loose. Finan had been teasing the baby monk, nothing out of the ordinary but you couldn’t help yourself when lack of experience came up. You really couldn’t help yourself, it just fell out. As soon as the silence had settled sobriety hit you and heat rushed to your face. Finan and Uhtred shared a look, a mix of shock, amusement and the knowledge that they now had infinite ammo to torment you with, a favoured past time. The monk at least had the decency to look down, his own embarrassment evident, even in the low fire light. And then there was Sihtric, you could feel his eyes. You wanted the Gods to open up the earth and swallow you whole but no such luck. As long as he wasn’t sympathetic, sympathy would have been the worst case scenario. The man that made you feel the most unholy of things looking at you with pity, like a little girl? It would haunt you far more than any joke Finan could make. You couldn’t take it. His eyes were fixed on your own as soon as you looked up, the amusement was there, as was quiet surprise. But what else you found you couldn’t quite fathom and it sent an entirely different type of heat through your body.

Sihtric couldn’t figure out what had shifted and it bothered him. You had recovered quickly from your drunken outburst. Finan, and on occasion Uthred, exploiting it as far as you would allow them, but you were a Dane and the threat of your blade acquainting itself with their balls soon silenced them. But no number of threats could put an end to the dreams he had been having. He had dreamed of you before, even before the official dissolving of his marriage. The sight of other women on long rides were rare and he was not blind to your beauty. He often found himself admiring the way your thighs spread across your saddle or the simplicity of watching droplets of water run down your throat as you drank. Now he was free to dream of you and since your confession he couldn’t help but let his dreams slip into his waking life. He wondered if your laughter would be as light and breathless with his head between your thighs, his beard brushing against your soft skin. He wondered if you’d give yourself so fully to the act of love making as you did sword play. Even now, after a full days ride he watched you splash water on the back of your neck and wondered if you’d make the same content sigh as he pushed himself into you. He took one final look before adjusting himself. He could have you in his dreams but first he needed a drink, you all did.

The ale house was warm and inviting, a table becoming free just as the five of you stepped through the door and you didn’t miss the way each of your companions glanced towards the sky; a small blessing from each of their gods. It had been a hard ride through Mercia, despite this a room filled with Saxons was a welcomed sight. There was music, whores and plenty of ale.

It took all of half a pint before Finan had a woman in his lap. She had large green eyes that fluttered in delight at the flirtation from both the man whose lap she sat on and Uhtred from across the table. Sihtric watched Finan caress her curves and let his mind wonder to you. He wondered if you’d enjoy it if he nipped at your neck just as Finan did to his busty whore, if you could take such a public teasing. He enjoyed the thought. He enjoyed watching you dance too.

You’d had no desire to sit and watch your friends get drunk, the more they drank the harder it was to reason with them it became and you certainly had no desire to spill any more of your secrets. You didn’t want to convince any of them that they couldn’t afford the women who they so desired and you certainly didn’t want to watch your boys go home with them. Well, you thought, you didn’t want to see only one of them go home with someone that wasn’t you.

But that wasn’t an option, so you danced.

You had grabbed the hand of a young serving girl and took her to the middle of the floor. It was obvious that you were a Dane but no one seemed to mind as you spun together, breathless and giggling, letting the world around you filled with violence and enemies melt away. Your face was already flushed when you caught Sihtric’s eye over the brim of his mug, you knew he well enough to see that he was enjoying himself but that look was there again, the one you didn’t understand. He was half facing you, half facing Finan and began laughing at something that was said. He broke his gaze as he did so, eyes creasing with joy and you took this as an opportunity to move away from the dance, the desire to drink and admire from afar becoming too strong for you to deny.

It had taken you some time to earn everyone’s trust but that was just their way, now you just enjoyed admiring what you considered to be your family. And Sihtric. It felt impossible to draw your eyes away from him, even if you couldn’t see his face. You could admire what you could see and by the gods did you admire it. His neck, the expanse of his back in light armor and his arms on full display. Gods, his arms. While the touch of a man wasn’t known to you, your own hand was no stranger and the idea of those arms pinning you, to anything, had your fingers twitching with anticipation. It wasn’t until a cough interrupted your fantasy that you realised just how intensely you had been staring. The stranger took your blush as interest and your interest as an invite into your bubble of existence. He wasn’t unattractive but had a distinct plainness to him, one you weren’t accustomed to given your chosen company. His smile was easy and his eyes heavy lidded due to drink and when his hand met your waist that’s when you knew you were headed for trouble.

Drinking didn’t usually clear Sihtric’s head, in fact it usually clouded it enough he lost half his sense and half his coin but tonight the single glass he’d had made him realise something. As he watched you allow another man to lay a hand on you he realised that he didn’t like it. It made his blood race just as it did moments before battle. The stranger’s hand on your waist was enough to make Sihtric realise that you were more than a favoured daydream and friend, that he liked you distinctly untouched.

Sihtric had never been any woman’s first. His first had been a slave girl, older than him and wiser when it came to sex. He’d lasted longer than she had expected and as a boy he took pride in that. As he grew he was no stranger to alehouse women and their ways. He’d married one and while he had loved her and believed in her love for him, he was not shocked when she returned to her previous occupation once he wasn’t there to provide nor satisfy her needs. She had never truly been his, nor where any of the women he had shared his bed with. But you, you were untouched by any man, untainted by disappointment and countless hands. And he wanted to be the only man to touch you. To let him touch you. Not for sliver, not for protection or for the amusement of fucking Kjartan’s bastard. Simply because you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you. And by the Gods did Sihtric want you. The fact that you had saved yourself for this long when so many men had tried their luck flipped a switch and his desire seemed so blatant now. He would have turned to ask the advice of his friends but the sight before him kept him transfixed. The Saxon bastard didn’t try to hid his roaming eyes and Sihtric could see you losing patience. Your smile was beginning to falter and you had placed down your ale. He felt although his jaw was about to break from how hard he was clenching it when the man placed his hand on the back of your neck. The Saxon was pulling you in and Sihtric’s axe would already be in the mans torso if it wasn’t for the brief flash of steel in the candle light.

Sihtric watched you push your dagger deeper into the man’s thighs and he could imagine the uncomfortable pressure that must be building. The satisfaction he felt watching you deal with this almost rid him of the burning desire to remove the mans hands and eyes and cock for even thinking about touching you. He felt another desire growing, not just from looking at you. The room was filled with Saxons, no friends, no allies, bar himself and the three men that sat with him, and despite this you chose to draw a weapon to defend yourself from an unwanted advance.

He watched, awe filled and hardening, as you slipped from the alehouse.

#the last kingdom #sihtric #sihtric x reader #uhtred #finan #osferth #tlk fanfic #tlk #sihtric kjartanson #sihtric kjartanson x reader #sihtric x virginreader #inga writes

230 notes · View notes

doctorsgirl262 · 4 years ago

Text

Ranking the Doctor’s Companions (9-11)

While working on a fanfic I’ve been writing, I got the urge to rank the companions (we love procrastination). So, anyway, here we go. *Spoiler Warning for seasons 1-7 of New Who, purely because I don’t really remember a lot of Twelve’s episodes* **light cursing warning**

EDIT: I fixed a few spelling errors/name mistakes

8. Clara Oswald - A part of my dislike to her may just be Moffat’s writing, but I just never really liked Clara with Eleven. She grew on me a bit with Twelve, but I never really vibed with her. When I first watched the show, I cried when all the Doctor’s regenerated and when the companions left, but I honestly just never felt any connection to Clara. I think she was interesting in the Asylum of the Daleks and The Snowmen, but I feel like she just kinda fell short. I didn’t really enjoy any of the episodes she was in, but I think that a lot of that is one Moffat. I wasn’t a huge fan of her being intertwined in the Doctor’s history in the Name of the Doctor. If I’m being honest, she’s the only companion that I dislike.

7. Amy Pond - Amy is the low on the list because I wasn’t a fan of her character in season five. But, if I’m being honest here, from here on, this is just me showing who I like the most, not who I like the least. I’m not really a fan of how her character is made to be one of the most important people in the universe. I really liked her in the later seasons, even though I really wasn’t a fan of the episodes (but that’s a story for another day), but her relationship with Rory really changed her and I really began to respect her. I think season five was my favorite of Eleven, and the episodes were really good, but Amy’s immaturity really got to me for some reason.

6. River Song - River is a badass and I love that about her. And she’s got her flaws and she’s done terrible things, and she understands that. But she cares so much for Amy, Rory, and the Doctor, and the fact that she’d do anything for them is beautiful. I wish we got to see more of River, but at the same time, I feel like the scarcity was also a good move. Her introduction in season 4 absolutely killed me. I think it kinda refreshing, but there’s also something so alarming seeing someone else be dangerous like the Doctor. Overall, I really enjoy her story line and character.

5. Rose Tyler - This is something I’ve been mulling over for years. When I first started watching the show back in 2015, I adored Rose. But, as I started reading fanfiction, I began seeing a lot of Rose bashing. So, for 5 years, I have gone back and forth between hating and loving Rose. A big thing about Rose is how different she is between seasons 1 and 2. I love season 1, it’s actually one of my favorite seasons I’ve watched so far. Rose is so young, selfless, and the curiosity she has throughout the season is so nice to watch. However, I feel like she has a change in personality, and at least to me, she acts more selfish and as though she knows everything there is to know about aliens when she obviously doesn’t. Now, going back to this statement: “ I’m not really a fan of how her character is made to be one of the most important people in the universe”. It does really bother me that Rose is such an important factor in Martha and Donna’s seasons. I don’t think it’s fair how much the Doctor idolizes her, but that’s not entirely her fault. And while she is Bad Wolf, I don’t think it has the same power as Amy’s Time had. I think the Bad Wolf storyline was interesting though, with how it followed. Overall, I can say that I enjoy Rose, her flaws and all.

4. Mickey Smith - The Man in Havana is someone I’ve always enjoyed watching. Although the Doctor calls him Mickey the Idiot, he’s anything but. I mean, he literally hacked into the government from his house. I feel like he’s fairly rational for having been abducted my an alien by pulling him into a trashcan. I love his transformation throughout the series, and I love that he ended up with Martha. I always felt bad for Mickey, how he was always the second choice, and it was so nice getting to see him be the first pick. Rose and the Doctor took him for granted, and he proved that he was important and resourceful, and I’m so proud of him

3. Rory Williams - I think he complimented Amy so well. He’s honestly just the perfect guy if I’m being honest, I would love to have my own Rory Williams. I like how much he tried. He showed Amy how much he cared and loved her, he showed her what he’d do for her, but I feel like that gets overlooked by the Doctor, which just isn’t fair. When the Doctor left them behind for 2 years, Rory actually researched him and the TARDIS, he waited 2000+ years for Amy and guarded her. He’s a lot like Mickey here, as he was seen as the second option for a while, but having Amy choose him and truly love him was so nice to see. Rory is smart, caring, and a little quirky, but I think that’s so refreshing.

2. Donna Noble - Her departure was, in my opinion, one of the saddest in the whole show. We got to witness her growth from The Runaway Bride to Journey’s End, and it was such a nice growth. I loved how caring she was, and she had such a large heart. The fact that she grew and became her best self, and then lost it all and had to forget some of the bests parts of her life. I am really glad though that she ended up married and having a baby. But I think she was just such a fun character, and that she knew how to be serious but also so funny.

1. Martha Jones - Now this is probably super controversial, but Martha has been my favorite companion since the beginning. Martha is such a badass, and she had so much respect for herself. She recognized that she was done traveling and got out of there. She used the knowledge she gained from the Doctor and used it to help people by working for UNIT. The third season is one of my favorites, and all the episodes were so good. Martha was such an amazing person before she met the Doctor, and all he did was amplify her greatness. I hated that she lived in Rose’s shadow, but I love that she didn’t stand for the Doctor’s (or anyone else’s for that matter) bullshit. She’s just so amazing *chef kiss*

#doctor who #ninth doctor #tenth doctor #eleventh doctor #rose tyler #martha jones #donna noble #amy pond #rory williams #river song #clara oswald

104 notes · View notes

fantasyoverreality98 · 4 years ago

Text

Prince of Shadow

Pairing: Aerin x F! MC

Summary: Aerin reflects on why he chose a path of darkness and receives a visit while imprisoned in the dungeons.

Author’s Note: I’m back at it again with the clownery! Can’t help myself but write about some villains. I will not rest until I get redemption arcs. Anyway, this takes place after the finale of Blades Book 1, and the only warning I have is that it is angst and contains talk of abuse. Thank you to anyone who takes the time to read it, I really appreciate you.

Word Count: 2,671

-----

Water splashed against the hard stone, the sound echoing in the silent dungeon.

Prince Aerin Valleros sat in the corner, listening to the scurrying rats on the other side of his cell. One ventured closer and withdrew when it felt the dark energy radiating off him. His lips curved up in a smile as he watched the creature disappear into the shadows.

With a sigh, Aerin cast his gaze to the cell door.

“What are you looking at, prince?” the guard sneered.

The prince shook his head and looked away. Two weeks had passed since he woke up in this cell. Only once had his father bothered to visit; first to beg that his precious son come back to him, and then to curse him for killing Baldur. As if his father had ever cared about him.

No, he had never felt loved by his family.

They were weak. Pathetic. Worthless.

All his life, Aerin had been abused by his brother, while his father stood by and watched. Life as a prince meant nothing when he spent every moment wishing that someone, anyone would care for him. Love him.

He’d thought he may have found that in the adventurer. Raine had convinced him that she cared. But like everyone else, she had deceived him and let him down.

And now you are alone.

Foolishly, he briefly allowed himself to believe that she would visit him in the dungeons. Perhaps those feelings were mutual.

But she had never appeared.

“Have you heard word from my father?” Aerin asked, tired of spending his days wondering what came next.

The guard took a moment to respond, and even then, refused to look at the prince. “No. King Arlan has been trying to—”

“And just what do you think you’re doing? Our orders were to watch Prince Aerin. Not engage in a conversation with him.” Another guard sauntered up to the cell, sneering when he glanced at Aerin. “Ignore this traitor.”

Someday, he would make that guard pay for all the mistreatment he had faced in this cell.

Footsteps filled the air, and for a brief moment, hope flared in Aerin’s chest. The excitement vanished when he saw that it was simply another guard. Of course it wasn’t Raine. He was foolish to believe even for a moment it might be.

“But why, Aerin? Why would you do this?”

“What life did I have before? Forever trapped in the shadow of my fool of a brother, doomed to a life of pathetic obscurity? Bullied. Doubted. Mocked. I hated it here. My only reprieve was in my dreams.”

No one understood how it felt to live life as a constant afterthought. Baldur had spent every possible moment torturing him, making him feel insignificant, while their father stood by and encouraged it.

Aerin may regret some of his decisions now that the Dreadlord had been defeated, but he would never regret ending his brother’s life. Baldur got what he deserved. He had been the truly evil one.

“Have you heard word of the heroes?” Aerin’s voice echoed in the cell, and he tried to mask the desperation he felt.

If Raine would appear, just once, he might allow himself to believe that things could change. Despite all that happened, he still wanted her. He wanted to be with her. If she would have him.

“Who said you could speak?” The guard who had arrived last glanced at him with a look of disgust. “King Arlan has been inconsolable these past two weeks. The crown prince’s death has devastated the kingdom.”

Unable to help himself, Aerin snorted. “Of course.” Bitterness wrapped around his heart once more. “Poor, poor Baldur.”

Pain burned throughout his body, the Nerada Stone still fused to his chest. It had grown worse since he awoke here, in this dark cell, his only companions the rats that shrank back in fear whenever they wandered too close.

“How dare you speak his name. You tarnish the good reputation of Morella through your very existence.”

Those words may have hurt once, but Aerin no longer cared. Morella was not a great kingdom. Humans, elves, orcs, they were all weak. Any goodness that may have remained had long been corrupted, and the world didn’t need his help for that to happen.

“Please, do tell me more of how much of a traitor I am.” He was growing tired of this daily routine. It seemed many of the guards felt it necessary to remind Aerin of his sins, as if he wasn’t already aware.

The guards ignored him, chatting amongst themselves while Aerin stared at the wall across from him. It was damp, water gliding down the stones, staining them a dark gray. Outside, the sounds of life raged on.

This was the way things had always been. For as long as he could remember, he had been cast aside. Forgotten. Treated like a foolish child. No one pitied the younger prince.

Resentment bloomed inside his chest.

“Some of the heroes left, but others remain.” The whisper was so low, he believe he may have imagined it.

Aerin looked up, locking eyes with the one guard who often gave him snippets of information. To his surprise, the guard gave him a smile, even if it was a weak one.

Perhaps kindness wasn’t completely lost in this cursed world.

“Do you know who remains?” he whispered back, directing his attention on the two other guards, who were engaged in what appeared to be a heated discussion.

The guard glanced at his companions briefly before turning back to Aerin. “The two siblings, I believe. And the priestess.”

The two siblings. Those were the only three words he needed to hear.

Raine was still here. She had not yet left. Maybe—

“Alright, let’s go! I doubt the little prince can do much anyway. Someone can stand guard nearby.” The rudest of the men walked past the cell, pounding a fist against the bars before he disappeared from sight.

Not much later, the other two followed, leaving Aerin in silence once more.

Tears started to well in his eyes, and he wiped them before they could fall. Crying wouldn’t fix anything. He had failed. The Shadow Court was in pieces. Now, he would spend the rest of whatever life he may have left trapped in this cell.

Alone. Hated. Abandoned.

Memories of his first encounter with Raine and her friends in the Deadwood haunted him. He remembered their first kiss. In those fleeting moments, he had allowed himself to believe that people might value him more than Baldur. For the first time in his life, he had been shown kindness.

---

Everything about the situation felt like magic. The air came alive, and Aerin could forget for a moment about the pain that burned throughout his body when Raine looked at him.

She gave his hands a tight squeeze, shifting closer until her lips brushed against his.

Wow. He was sure he said something without realizing it, a flicker of joy igniting deep within as she kissed him again. Aerin never wanted it to end.

When Raine said that she was glad they understood each other, even more hope worked its way into his heart. Perhaps he was not as alone as he had thought. Perhaps someone truly could understand him. The thoughts stayed with him until they parted ways. Then, the pain returned.

Do not forget the objective. The words hissed inside his mind, and he glanced back at Raine’s tent, narrowing his eyes.

How was it that this young woman could cast doubt on him?

“Growing quite fond of the peasant, are you, pipsqueak?” Baldur’s voice induced rage that Aerin had to try his best to ignore. “Can’t say it surprises me. Of course you would associate with those scum.”

Aerin tried to walk away, but Baldur grabbed him by the back of his tunic and yanked him backward.

“When your future king speaks to you, you are expected to answer. Or shall we visit the good old days, brother?” Baldur stared into his eyes, malice reflected in them.

One day, Aerin would make Baldur pay. But today was not that day.

He tried not to retaliate when his brother shoved him so hard, he fell to the ground. Ever since childhood, things had always been this way. And no one cared.

No one cared that the younger prince was bullied by the crown prince. King Arlan even encouraged Baldur at times, brushing the abuse off as child’s play. No one could see him for what he truly was. A coward. An imbecile. A fool.

“They saved our lives,” Aerin said, brushing the dirt off his tunic as he rose to his feet. “How else should I treat them?”

Baldur started to approach, his face twisted into a sneer. “Just you wait until we return home. I—”

“Is there a problem here?”

Both princes turned their heads in the direction of the voice. The orc watched them, a scowl on her face when she looked at Baldur.

“N-no—” His brother fumbled over his words, his eyes wide.

Aerin hid a smirk when Baldur scurried away, the terror giving him amusement. “Thank you,” he said to Imtura, who grunted in response and focused her attention elsewhere.

Once he was alone, the smile dropped, and he leaned against a tree, trying to steady his breathing. The Stone fused to his chest caused constant pain. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, it would not go away.

But it was a price he was willing to pay to become the King of Shadow.

The Dreadlord was his one friend. Before this, Aerin had no purpose. He’d been little more than his older brother’s punching bag, forever ignored by the rest of the court.

Soon enough, he would have all he needed. The shards would help him to return the Shadow Court to glory. Finally, people would bow to him. He would no longer live in his brother’s shadow, forced to endure endless torment and abuse.

His time was coming.

---

The people above ground continued going on with their lives while Aerin sat in darkness.

Time lost all meaning in the dungeons. Sunlight could no longer reach him here.

“You have a visitor.”

Aerin looked up at the sound of the guard’s voice, trying to conceal the surprise he felt at that statement. “Who?”

Without answering the question, the guard craned his neck back and called out down the dark hallway. “He’s ready to see you!”

“What? You didn’t answer my question! I—” Aerin paused mid-sentence when a familiar figure emerged from the shadows, her lips set in a hard line. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, speaking her name in a breathy tone. “Raine.”

Her hair was in its usual low bun, parted down the middle. The last signs of her injuries from the fight were fading, the bruises just visible in the dim lighting.

“Aerin.” For a moment, emotion flickered across her face, but she composed herself so fast he may have imagined it. “How are you?”

He grinned, looking around the cell. “Well, I’m alive. How are you?”

“Listen, I—” There it was again. The conflict. Raine cleared her throat, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “It is not too late to change. The Dreadlord is gone. You don’t have to worry about your brother anymore. We—”

“You have five minutes. That is all we can give you.” Aerin focused his attention on the guard, sending him a glare that was enough to make the man retreat. “Ten minutes,” he said as he hurried down the hallway.

As soon as they were alone, he looked at Raine again. “You lied to me. You said you’d still have me, even as I am. And you lied.”

She uncrossed her arms, and the stony expression fell away. “I didn’t lie. Aerin, I do care about you. That moment we shared in the forest was real. But what you were doing was wrong. We couldn’t let you win.”

“You’re just like the rest of them. No one understands me.” He turned away, regretting that he had spent the past two weeks awaiting her visit.

Raine watched him without speaking a word. The water continued to drip onto the stone floor, creating a quiet melody.

“I know that the Aerin I fell for is still in there.”

The words made him inhale sharply, and he turned to look at her. Had they crossed paths sooner, perhaps everything would be different.

She made him forget about his terrible childhood, of the abuse he’d faced at the hands of Baldur. Only Raine had shown him true affection. She almost made him want to believe in the Light. That things could get better, if only he had the courage to fight off the fragments of corruption and evil that were intertwined with his soul.

“That Aerin wasn’t real. I stopped believing in the goodness of the world a long time ago.” He wanted her to leave. To let him live out what little time he had left in silence.

Raine stepped closer, wrapping her hands around the cell bars. “Your father sent me here to try and talk some sense into you. He told me that none of what happened was your fault, that the Onyx Shard—”

“Do you have any idea how it felt to spend my entire childhood beaten by my brother as my father stood by and did nothing?” Aerin refused to look her in the eye. “All I ever dreamt about was having someone who loved me. I found that in the Dreadlord. He promised me power. He told me that I would no longer be weak, that I could find a family who cared about me when the people of Morella did not. How could you possibly understand how that feels?”

“I—” Raine shook her head, chewing on her bottom lip as she searched for the words to say. She remained just outside the cell, watching him. After some time had passed, she opened her mouth to answer. “I don’t understand how that feels, you’re right. But you’re wrong when you say no one loves you. Or that the Shadow Court was a family that cared about you. I’m here to help you. You don’t have to live in fear anymore.”

They both tensed when footsteps pounded on the stone toward them. Raine turned to look, frowning as the guard approached.

He spared Aerin a quick glance before returning his attention to Raine. “Time’s up. Let’s get you out of here.”

“Wait! Just—hey!” The guard grabbed her by the arm and started to drag her away, but she elbowed him in the side, flinging herself against the cell door. “Aerin, I believe in you, okay? I know that—”

The guard grabbed her again, and she once more fought him off.

“I’ll come back to see you again. You aren’t alone. I—”

This time, the guard grabbed her around the waist and heaved her back. Raine tried to fight him some more, but he called for backup. Together, three guards dragged her away from the cell, all the while she continued to yell promises.

“I’ll return!” Her final words echoed throughout the dungeon, followed by the sounds of a struggle as the guards carried her off.

Once silence rushed back in, Aerin struggled to his feet, crossing the cell to the door. He peeked outside, unsurprised to see the dungeon empty. If he listened close enough, he thought he might hear the sounds of a continuing fight overhead.

You aren’t alone.

It was too good to be true. Part of him didn’t believe her words. And yet, he wanted to take consolation in that statement. Perhaps Raine really did mean it when she said she cared.

Aerin shook his head and started to laugh. His laughter rang out in the cell, and for the first time in years, he felt hopeful.

#choices: stories you play #choices fanfiction #aerin valleros #aerin x mc #prince aerin #bolas #blades #blades of light and shadow #play choices #this is a mess but I kinda like it

136 notes · View notes

blue-lions-baby · 4 years ago

Text

Operation Confession (Dimitri x F!Reader) [Ch. 3] [FINALE]

hi!! well, this is it. the final chapter of operation confession. to be very honest, with everything going on it was quite difficult to write this, but i hope the quality is still relatively the same as my previous chapters! i had so much fun writing this series, and i hope reading it was just as entertaining! thank you so much for sticking with it-- it means the absolute world to me :)

this will prob be my last post for a bit before i head off to college; please rest assured i do not plan to leave this blog or this wonderful community anytime soon! thank you for being patient with me as i adjust to this very new chapter of my life!!

without further ado, please enjoy ch. 3!

~*~

“Hey, false alarm!” Sylvain traipsed back in, hands behind his head. “(F/N) and Felix are actually gonna freshen up a bit before heading to dinner.”

Groans and angry huffs spilled out of the frazzled Lions; the menacing stares that the redhead bore made him squeak, and he cleared his throat.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry! They ran into us while His Highness was changing--”

“While he was changing?” Dedue and Ingrid looked like they were about to have a stroke.

“I-It’s a long and,” Sylvain looked at The Hand, “painful story, but what’s important is that they didn’t see him! All thanks to Yours Truly.”

“You were a blubbering idiot. The only reason why (F/N) didn’t bother questioning you further was because she was too tired to care.” Felix joined in, the permanent scowl on his features deepening.

“Felix!” Sylvain’s countenance lit up joyfully before hazing into confusion. “Wait, I thought you were gonna freshen up before heading to dinner.”

“I don’t need to. Hardly broke a sweat during training.”

“W-What?! How?!”

“I guess you wouldn’t understand, seeing as how your only form of exercise is chasing after anything that wears a skirt.”

Sylvain’s eyes took on a glossy, hollow quality as the Lions hollered in laughter.

“Uh... So Sylvain, where’s His Highness?” Asked Annette, having expected him to walk in.

“Oh, he ran back to his quarters to put his clothes away. He should be coming back any minute now.”

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

After neatly hanging his uniform in his closet and giving himself a quick once-over in the mirror, he gave himself one last pep talk before swinging the door open and--

Seeing the side of your head as you idly engaged in conversation with a fellow student.

Oh Sothis, help him.

As quickly (and loudly) as he opened the door, he closed it and promptly went back inside to scream into his pillow. Where in the world did you even come from? Weren’t you supposed to be ‘freshening up?’ Your quarters weren’t even down this hallway; what in the Goddess’s name were you even doing here?

He pressed his ear further into the door, straining to pick up bits and pieces of your conversation in hopes to inform himself on your sudden visitation. Nothing. All he could hear was muffled banter bouncing between either of you-- muffled banter that didn’t sound like it was going to end any time soon. He screamed curses in his head and awkwardly slid down onto the floor, lightly banging his cranium against the solid wooden door.

He desperately wished for someone, anyone to save him.

He sighed while rubbing his temples-- a desperate attempt to quell the arising headache. Dimitri combed through his options, each less viable than the last. After eliminating any and all half-baked ideas of escape, he was face-to-face with the one option he didn’t want to consider.

Sit here and wait until you left.

So Dimitri sat (more like paced) in his room, occasionally pressing his ear against the door in hopes that he didn’t hear your lighthearted banter outside. Why was it the one time he didn’t want to run into you, there you were! Right outside his door. You might as well have come with a giant bow on your head!

The floor beneath him rumbled slightly, pulling him from his thoughts; the even pacing grew stronger and stronger until it stopped just a little ways past his door.

“(F/N).”

Wait... That’s... It’s unmistakable! That has to be--!

“Dedue! Hello!”

“I apologize for the interruption, but I have come to remind you that it is your turn to tend to the greenhouse today.”

A short pause ensued, followed by an audible gasp.

“Wait, yes! You’re right! I’ve completely forgotten, thank you so much for reminding me!”

Dimitri heard muffled apologies and goodbyes sputter out of your lips, followed by light footsteps scurrying away. Your former companion proceeded to engage in very light talk with the Duscur man before quickly excusing themselves from the scene; Dedue, glancing down the hall to ensure that no one else was nearby, approached and gently rapped his lord’s door with calloused knuckles.

“Your Highness, you may come out now.”

The inner mechanisms of the door clicked softly, the hesitancy of the room’s occupant translating directly through the brass knob.

“Oh, thank the Goddess you came, Dedue. Frankly, I had given up any hope of escape.” Dimitri rubbed the back of his neck tiredly.

“I knew something was wrong when you did not return. I am glad that I came.” Dedue gave a curt bow.

“Thank you Dedue. Come. Let us head to the dining hall, shall we?”

“Of course, Your Highness. (F/N) should be preoccupied with her greenhouse duties for a time.”

“Yes... Actually, Dedue, how did you know it was (F/N)’s turn to tend to the greenhouse today?”

“Truthfully, Your Highness, I didn’t. It was pure luck she was scheduled today.”

“You mean--” Dimitri’s eyes widened.

“Yes. That was just a fluke. I have no knowledge of the schedule, other than the times either you or I are assigned.”

“Hah!” Dimitri’s hand landed on his retainer’s shoulder. “What luck! After hearing that, I can not help but feel a bit more confident about tonight.”

“And why is that, Your Highness?”

“If fate is as real as the ground beneath us, I would say that, perhaps, (F/N) and I are truly meant to be together.”

“That is quite a romantic notion, Your Highness.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Dimitri sighed as they crossed the threshold to the outside. The sun was just starting its descent past the hills; the slowly extinguishing rays of light brushed the sky with vibrant hues of vermilion and marigold.

“Despite that, I can not help but feel... hopeful. And... happy.”

“I am glad that this whole experience has collectively been a pleasant one, Your Highness.” Dedue responded as they neared the dining hall. “You deserve to be happy.”

Dedue’s words echoed in Dimitri’s head, ringing alongside Sylvain’s previous sentiment. Guilt wrung his heart until the familiar pangs of remorse pounded in his chest.

“Do I... Do I really deserve such a thing?”

“Without a doubt, Your Highness.”

“Even after everything that I’ve done... Even after... everything... I still... deserve it?”

“Of course, Your Highness. You deserve to be happy, just like everybody else.”

As the duo ascended the stairs and approached the Lions that were all congregated together for Dimitri’s cause, the prince’s features relaxed and-- just for a moment-- the voices that incessantly plagued his thoughts ceased.

“Thank you, Dedue.”

“I am always happy to help, Your Highness.” Like his prince, Dedue’s rough exterior melted away to reveal a warm, genuine smile.

“Hey, there you are!” Sylvain bounded up to them, meeting them halfway across the platform. “We were gettin’ worried about you! What happened?”

After Dimitri and Dedue explained what transpired, Sylvain couldn’t help but laugh at the terrible wonderful luck that Dimitri possessed.

"Dedue really got you out of a tough spot, huh?”

“As he always does.” Dimitri cast a grateful look at his retainer.

“I was shocked when I learned that (F/N) was actually scheduled today.”

“What were you gonna do if she wasn’t?” Sylvain queried.

Dedue paused thoughtfully.

“Perhaps I could have asked her to help me weed the courtyard, or to tend the horses.”

“Fair enough.” Sylvain nodded. “Well, it’s getting late so people are starting to leave the dining hall. Hopefully by the time (F/N) is done tending the plants, you two will be all alone.”

Sylvain wriggled his eyebrows and peered cheekily at the reddening face of the prince.

“Please do not be so nervous, Your Highness. (F/N) will surely appreciate all the effort you had put in.”

“Yeah!” Sylvain propped an arm on Dimitri’s shoulder. “Remember what I told you, Your Highness? You’re the leader of the Blue Lions! Start actin’ like your namesake! You gotta be bold!”

“R-Right. Bold.” Truthfully, Dimitri looked anything but; however, this only prompted a deluge of much-needed encouragement and hype that the two happily supplied-- Sylvain taking a more... fiery approach to his psyching while Dedue slightly doused the ecstatic flames set by the redhead with more grounded assurances.

“Now remember, Your Highness. Look her in the eyes, smile, and tell her that she’s beautiful. Like this!” Sylvain turned to Dedue, who suddenly became an unwilling participant in the playboy’s example.

“Hey, babe. You look gorgeous tonight. I gotta admit, I’m no mathematician, but I can still see you’re a ten outta ten.”

“Please get away from me ... Thank you, Sylvain.”

Dimitri stared at the duo with a confused fixed smile plastered on his face. The gears in his head took their sweet, sweet time to churn and process the cursed pick-up line, but it eventually clicked.

“Hah! I get it now! That’s a great one, Sylvain. I’ll definitely remember that.”

A flush of pride stained Sylvain’s cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Thanks! Oh, here’s another one. This one’s also super popular with the ladies.”

Sylvain cleared his throat and turned to Dedue, who was quietly trying to shuffle away.

“Hey, hun. Do you have a map? I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

“If that is the case, perhaps it would be in your best interest to stop looking at me.” Dedue lightly glared. Dimitri’s eyes crinkled gleefully.

“Ah, these are all wonderful! I look forward to using them on (F/N).”

“Great! But remember Your Highness-- too much of a good thing is a bad thing. You can’t just spout a couple lines like that and expect her to fall for you instantly. You gotta do it tastefully.”

“Tastefully... Got it.”

Dimitri nodded his head, soaking and digesting this newfound knowledge. His eyes suddenly shot up, excitement bubbling out of its watery depths.

“Oh! It appears that I have come up with something!”

“Go for it, Your Highness!”

“I’ve got no taste, but I’d still like a bite of you.”

. . .

“Sylvain?”

. . .

“Dedue?”

. . .

“... Perhaps the map one wasn’t so terrible after all.”

“You said it, Dedue.”

“Wha--! Surely it wasn’t that atrocious, was it?”

“I believe it would serve His Highness well if you taught him more pick-up lines, Sylvain.”

“Sure. Whatever it takes to keep him from saying stuff like that.”

“H-Hey!!!”

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

After sprinkling the few remaining drops of water onto a patch of slightly wilting plants, you dropped the empty watering can with a clatter and threw your arms high above your head, stretching all the bundles and ties that knotted in your shoulders. Your stomach gurgled and a pulse of hunger radiated throughout your core. Perhaps it wasn’t the brightest idea to completely skip your meals.

You placed the watering can in the shed and, making sure everything was as orderly as it could be, stalked out of the greenhouse while still massaging the few stubborn knots that remained tied in your muscles. The sun had long disappeared below the horizon; whatever light remained served only as a prelude to the beginnings of a starry night.

A nippy breeze nibbled your exposed skin, contrasting the slightly humid atmosphere that you’ve grown accustomed to in the greenhouse. Teeth chattering and tummy churning, you hastened your feet to move faster to the brightly lit dining hall.

As you approached the door, you were pleasantly surprised to see that the hall was practically empty, save for some guards and faculty sneaking in a nightly snack-- but even they didn’t linger for long. As you were racking your brain for ideas on what to eat, you walked into the warm building; the ambrosial aroma of succulent, roasted duck caught your attention immediately.

To say that you didn’t shed a small tear from the experience would be a lie.

You scouted and scoured the kitchen for the fowl of your dreams, but it eluded you. Where in the world could this duck--

“A-Ahem.”

You had come dangerously close to collapsing from shock.

Your body jumped and slowly turned around to face the owner of the voice.

“Good evening, (F/N). You look as radiant as ever.”

A young man wearing a white suit decorated with small pins and medals stood before you. Gloved, quivering fingers delicately brushed the lone strands of hair that slipped onto his forehead to the side.

“D-Dimitri...? Is that you?”

“Ah y-yes, it is I. Please forgive me if I had surprised you.”

“N-Not at all!” You replied, your cognitive processes hiccuping at the sight of this magnificent angel. The light from the torch gently surrounded the prince with an almost ethereal quality, rendering him simply divine. The corner of his lips turned up slightly, pulling his handsome features into a half-smirk.

“Please, allow me to escort you to our table.”

“O-Okay...”

He took a step towards you and his eyes flickered down; you followed his gaze and saw his slightly shaking hand slowly reaching for yours.

“May I...?”

Whether it was a simple case of the jitters or the excitement bubbling from within, it didn’t matter much as you enthusiastically clasped your hand in his. Dimitri froze in place, every muscle in his being stiffening at that small point of contact. However, he managed to get his racing pulse (somewhat) under control-- just enough to pull you into a stiff walk at least.

“Please follow me, (F/N).”

The pounding in Dimitri’s heart found its way into his ears, drumming and thundering an aggressive beat. He never knew that fear and glee could intertwine so readily with one another-- until he felt your hand gently press into his palm. Worries and questions and warmth spurred his thoughts into a hazy flurry of emotion. Was he squeezing too hard? Was he holding your hand correctly? Were you at all uncomfortable? Oh Goddess, you look so beautiful when you smile like that--

“Ah! Dimitri, what is all this?”

“W-Well,” Dimitri swallowed what felt like a boulder, “it is our dinner.”

“Our... Dinner...?”

“Yes. Um...” His locked fingers reluctantly separated from yours. “We have prepared a roasted duck, a fine, savory pastry called ‘garlic bread,’ a simple salad, and baked sweets made by Mercedes. I pray this is enough to whet your appetite.”

“You whet my appetite Everything looks so good...” You swallowed thickly, eyes resting heavily on the succulent fowl. “Heh, well... I actually didn’t eat at all today, so--”

“I beg your pardon?!” You blinked and immediately found yourself sitting in front of the palatable entrees. Dimitri’s countenance-- full of concern and tinged with anger-- stared at you from across the sea of food.

“You mustn’t skip meals. That is terribly unhealthy for you.”

“You’re one to talk, Dimitri!” You laughed. “You skip meals all the time!”

Dimitri’s visage fell and his entire face took on all shades of red.

“I... admit, I am not one to berate you on this matter, but regardless, I ask that you still heed my warnings... You should never skip meals.”

Giggling to yourself, you rested your chin on folded hands and your head tilted slightly. That, combined with your killer smile and rosy cheeks, introduced Dimitri’s palpitating heart to a livelier pace.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll do my best not to skip meals.”

“Urgh-- Yes! Please... don’t.”

Your lips curved into a smile and your eyes lustily darted to the food in front of you.

“Well, let’s dig in, shall we?”

You, of course, immediately reached for the duck-- as did Dimitri.

Your hands collided en route to the silver cutlery by the fowl, and a fountain of apologies spewed out of either of you. Dimitri, somehow managing to awkwardly bounce back from the innocent error, cleared his throat and took this opportunity to impress you with his... gentlemanly charms.

“Please excuse me, (F/N). Allow me to cut a slice for you.”

“Oh! Well, um... sure?”

Dimitri’s fingers rounded the shiny handles of the knife and fork before cutting into the tender meat. Delectable smells spilled forth from the bird, eliciting a growl from your stomach-- a... very, very loud growl. A growl that was loud enough for Dimitri to stop and look up.

“Uh... I’d like to apologize...” You mumbled ashamedly, your cheeks growing hot to the touch.

Dimitri chuckled, slipping a thick slice of duck onto your plate along with a small bushel of salad, a few pieces of garlic bread, and some sweets.

“Do not worry, my Beloved. I know you haven’t eaten all day.”

You smiled, graciously accepting your plate filled to the brim with food. You cut the slice of meat into more manageab--

Wait...

‘Beloved?’

It seemed that Dimitri realized his mistake around the same time you did.

“Dimitri--”

“Er, (F/N)! Aside from this morning, how was your day?”

“Huh? I-I mean it was fine, but Dimitri--”

“Ah, splendid! I am glad your day had gotten better. I was really worried when you suddenly left class like that.”

“Dimitri,” you cut in, “did you just call me... your... ‘Beloved?’“

Dimitri simply sat there as his brain was fried and shriveled into a crisp.

“W-Well, uh, I-- You see-- I deeply apologize for-- That was, very inappropriate of me--”

“Oh! No, no, it’s okay... Um, I was just a bit surprised is all.” You brought your cup to your lips in a pathetic attempt to cover the bashful grin that threatened to escape.

“Ah... Of course...” Dimitri stabbed a small tomato with the prongs of his fork and shoveled it into his mouth, his cheeks seeming to absorb the color of the little red berry.

You cleared your throat and thumbed the surface of a macaron with light fingers, a heavy silence blanketing the table. The quietly screaming royal took a bite of some garlic bread, his brain hardly processing the soft, fluffy texture of the dish.

Dimitri’s eyes widened inconspicuously, his mind flashing to the one thing that could save this dumpster fire of a date from certain demise--

His pick-up lines.

He could only pray that you were a fan of such things.

He cleared his throat and borderline slammed his fists onto the table, rocking a handful of mini cupcakes from their tiered seats. You quite literally jumped in your seat and got caught in the fierce stare of your house leader.

He can do this.

Come on, Dimitri! Remember your training with Sylvain!

He can do this.

Be a lion! Be bold!

He can do this!

“A-Are you ten? Because y-you look lost and I’d like to bite you.”

. . .

If-- in that moment-- Dimitri were to suddenly be thrown onto the path of a charging chariot, he would make no effort to move.

Simultaneously, you were well on your way to combusting into open flames-- if your swiftly coloring cheeks were any indication of that.

Neither of you spoke for a long time, gawking at the other in a silent, unconscious contest to see who could reach strawberry red first.

And Dimitri was the unwilling winner.

“I--”

“You--”

“I am so--”

“What did you--?”

“I am so, so sorry--”

“You want to bite me--?”

“Oh Goddess, I am so sorry (F/N)-- I can explain--”

“U-Um, perhaps it would be best for me to go...”

“Wait!” Dimitri shot out of his seat with a clatter. “I-- um--”

“Goodnight, Dimitri.”

You made a mad dash for the door, leaving the flustering royal a metaphoric fish out of water.

“(F/N)!”

He tailed after you, the delicious food that he and all the other Lions labored to prepare becoming a distant memory.

The sun and any trace of it had all but vanished from sight, replaced by its nightly counterpart. You were speed walking to the stairs when your wrist was snagged by a firm grip.

"(F/N)...!”

“Dimitri, listen, I really appreciate the food and everything, but I really should get going now--”

“Wait, please! I...” He gulped, finally throwing caution to the wind. “I love you.”

Your heart had stopped beating altogether and your lungs ceased operations. Your clenched jaw prohibited you from speaking, and you simply stared at him as those three simple words resonated in your mind.

“Er, that is to say...” He sighed, resignation taking hold of his features. “Can we... talk about this please?”

He loosely pointed to a nearby bench shaded under a tall tree. His hard grip softened, moving to interlace his fingers with yours as he led the two of you to the secluded spot. He sat with a deep exhale and pulled you beside him.

“(F/N).” He gazed at you steadily, his fingers rubbing shallow circles into your hands. “It is no exaggeration on my end to say that you mean everything to me. I-- along with the other Lions-- labored to make tonight the best it could be. Though truthfully, I never imagined my confession would turn out like this. But alas...”

Dimitri chuckled tiredly then sighed.

“I’m afraid I can’t hide my feelings for you a moment longer. I love you, (F/N). With all of my being. You motivate me to work harder, train harder-- to be a better man. You are so kind, and smart, and... absolutely mesmerizing. I can not keep my eyes off you, really.”

He laughed at your sheepish response then continued.

“You mean the world to me. So... I humbly ask that you... Um...” He cleared his throat and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Be mine.”

A gentle breeze swept through, carrying his small plea along with it. He stared at you, intensely and unblinkingly, with bated breath.

“Although,” he added, pain thinly veiled in his eyes, “if you do not feel the same way, I understand. I promise I will not hold anything against you. If it’s not too much trouble, I... I hope we can still be friends after all this--”

You dove straight into Dimitri’s arms, effectively knocking his words and the air right out of him. You felt his muscles tighten and the thumping in his chest blared loudly in your ears. You nuzzled your face into him and looked up, smiling.

“I love you too, Dima!”

D-Dima...?!

Poor Dimitri looked like he was about to choke. The little streams of moonlight that slipped through the holes in the trees reflected off of the prince’s reddening face; for a long time, all he could do was stare at you-- cheeks darkening and eyes widening.

Finally, the Goddess re-granted him the ability to speak.

“R-Really...?”

“Yes! Yes, I do!” Your arms moved from his torso to snake around his neck, pulling him a bit more to your level. “I love you, Dimitri. I’ve loved you for so long...”

You drew him into a hug again, burying your face in the crook of his neck. The crisp, sharp scent of his cologne flooded your senses, sending pleasant tingles and goosebumps throughout your body. You felt the prince’s arms wound around your frame, pulling you closer to his racing heart.

“If this is a dream, I wish to never wake.” He muttered into your hair, thankful that he could appreciate the light apple notes that came from it to the fullest.

“This isn’t a dream, Dimitri.” You whispered against his skin, causing a sweet shiver to run down his spine. “I love you, Dimitri. I love you so, so much...”

“My (F/N)... My Beloved...” He pulled away from you slightly, cupping your cheeks in his hands and brushing it gently. He could hardly contain all the love and pure adoration he held towards you; the way that you and only you reflected in his beautiful eyes showed that. With a gentle smile he pressed his forehead against yours, relishing the moment.

“May I... May I have the honor of kissing you, my love?”

His hot breath tickled your sensitive skin and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sensation, in addition to his endearingly adorable politeness.

“Yes, you may.”

Dimitri’s eyes flickered to your slightly parted, wet lips and leaned closer, his eyes fluttering shut. You followed suit, guided only by the synchronous beating of your hearts. A warmth like no other blossomed upon your lips, melting any and all tension into nothingness. Your lips engaged in a clumsy yet heartfelt dance, eliciting an airy chortle out of you.

Dimitri’s chest rumbled with a chuckle of his own and he parted to catch his breath. Not a moment later, his lips found yours again and again, more ravenous than the last. Each kiss left your head spinning faster and your heart wanting more, more, more. His teeth nibbled your bottom lip, drawing out a gasp from you; his fingers found residence in your hair as he slipped his hot tongue into your mouth. He explored your wet cavern excitedly, every one of his senses wracked with newfound pleasure. Your moans and sharp breaths intertwined heatedly, sending your thoughts into a frenzy and numbing oblivion all at once.

The chatter of guards and metal boots clanking against cobble spurred warning bells in your head, and a painful reminder of how exposed you were for any curious passerby. Dimitri reluctantly leaned away, still pressing his lips to yours until the last possible moment.

“Ahem... M-My apologies... I got a little too excited just now...” Dimitri panted, a dazed yet elated expression on his face. You, panting as hard as he, shook your head in response and pressed a chaste kiss on his forehead, down to his nose, his cheek, and finally stopping at his flushed, pink lips.

“Not a problem, Dimitri. I know you mentioned you wanted to bite me.” You gazed at him teasingly.

“T-That’s...” Dimitri sighed, burying his face in your neck to hide his blush (though how hot his skin felt against yours was all the confirmation you needed). “Please don’t tell anyone what I said...”

You snickered and patted his head, smiling when you felt him relax into your touch.

“Okaaay, I promise.”

“Good. Thank you, (F/N).”

He pulled away from your neck and adjusted himself into a more comfortable seating position. He securely placed his arm around your shoulder and you both sat in comfortable silence for a long time.

“It’s getting quite late, no?” Dimitri mumbled out of the blue. “Allow me to walk you back to your room.”

“Actually, Dima... Do you think we can go back and finish dinner? I’m still really hungry...”

“O-Oh! I have completely forgotten about that! Yes, of course we can. Although... Regrettably, our food would have gotten cold by now.”

“That’s okay. Being with you warms my heart anyways.”

“Ah-- Um--” Dimitri coughed, looking away. “I confess that your teasing will take some getting used to... But it is a pleasant thing nonetheless.”

You giggled as he stood up and helped you to your feet.

”Hey, Dimitri?”

“Yes, my Beloved?”

“I love you.”

Dimitri planted a soft kiss on your forehead and stared fondly into your eyes.

”I love you too, (F/N).”

bonus: despite swearing to himself that he would *never* use pick-up lines ever again (its powers being too great for any mortal to fully wield), dimitri would still indulge a line or two for you if you asked him hard enough (and swore on your life you would never divulge what he shared with you to anyone else). and yes, when you two eventually got more comfortable with each other, he did get a bite of you from time-to-time but that’s a story for another day.

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h dimitri #fe3h #dimitri fire emblem #dimitri x reader #fluff #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fire emblem x reader #x reader fanfiction #x reader insert #i had to pull so many all nighters for this one #hopefully the quality didn't tank or anything IJSDLFJLSDJF #fire emblem three houses fanfiction

49 notes · View notes

annhellsing · 5 years ago

Text

Your Shape.

notes: never in my life thought i’d write an original thing again, but i had a lot of fun!!! i was feeling super overwhelmed and decided to put my maladaptive daydream about a meet-cute with a mysterious entity in a forest into words. rating: teen, we stay tame in these woods pairing: mysterious entity boyfriend idk / reader word count: 3,286

The shape in the forest wants to know if you are warm enough. Moonlight falls over the crown of your head, so yellow and full as to be a parody of sunshine. This late in September, with the harvest coming soon, it is easy to confuse the two.

But the shape does not ask, he does not want to scare you. Your shoulders are slouched, cheeks pressed to your palms to hide tears and sobs. He wants to know if you are unhappy, too. He imagines you have already given him a fair answer, despite not having spoken at all.

A dirt-caked hand curls around the trunk of a tree. The shape leans out of the dark, eyes aglow and horns in danger of bumping on a branch overhead. He ducks a bit, takes a careful step forward. If he were anyone else, the twig under his foot might have snapped and made a sound. But there is an understanding between them, an old promise. The only noise in the night is of your crying.

“It’s too much,” you whisper, half-wailing around the air being pushed from your lungs. You press a hand over your mouth and for a moment, all is quiet.

The shape decides he does not like that at all. You are unhappy, he’s sure of it, so why not express it?

“What is?” he asks, compelled to speak when before he had stayed silent. You were not crying before, he rations. You did not need help then as you do now.

You turn at the sound of his voice, it is as cold and as full as the moon in the sky. It belongs there, that voice, between the trees. You peer into the dark, not afraid of what might be speaking, but why. Creatures are not uncommon, it is their motivations you have been taught to fear.

A breeze picks up, pushing cool air at your hot cheeks. The feeling is almost pleasant, it’s accompanied by the sound of rustling leaves. Or perhaps of footsteps from your newfound companion.

He does not walk as a human might, though he is shaped like one. With the grass, too, he has an understanding and his gait is as noiseless and natural as the way that he speaks. You stare up, up, up at him, craning your neck until you find his face.

It is a handsome face, which does not immediately set you at ease. You see the outline of his head and shoulders, framed by two horns extending back against the starlit sky. But the rest of him is a mystery. It disappears into the shadows that knit in a circle around the glade.

“Everything,” you answer with honesty, for it is the best policy.

“I can understand, then, why you are upset,” he replies.

Your sweater scratches your cheeks as you wipe away tears. But you are very careful to keep one eye open and fixed on the shape, the visitor. It is not very smart to do more than blink in their company.

Still, you make noise. Soft sounds of life, of breath as you try to stifle sobs. Crying gets you nowhere, you remember, especially not with an audience.

“How long have you been watching me?” you ask, careful not to sound accusatory. You are not accusing him of anything, you are only curious.

“I did not mean to infringe on your privacy,” he returns.

“This forest is your home,” you reason. The shape gives a slow shake of his horned head.

“It is home to everyone,” he says, “especially to those who need somewhere safe to cry.”

“Thank you,” you nod, “but have not answered me.”

“Longer than you would be comfortable with,” he replies, “I am sorry.”

“That’s a little vague,” you say.

“Not to me,” he says, “I have seen you here before. Not often, but I have.”

“Oh,” you pass your sleeve over your left eye once more, “I meant tonight, but I appreciate the truth.”

It’s becoming easier to control the way your chest moves. The compulsive need to breathe quickly slows with your heart rate. You are not calm, but you are managing.

“You looked happy before,” he says, “the last time you were here.”

“The last time I was here, things were---” you sigh, dropping your hand and your head. Though you remember very suddenly the dangers of doing so. But when your eyes return quickly to the shape’s again, you notice no change in his appearance. “They were different.”

“They were better?” he asks. Defeated, you nod.

“I am so tired,” you let out a slow breath.

“If you slept here,” he begins, “no one else would bother you. That is a promise.”

“And you keep your promises,” you state, knowing better than to insult him by phrasing that as a question.

“I do,” he says, “the grass is comfortable, the trees keep out most of the rain. Every night I have known life, I have spent it on the floor of a forest.”

“That sounds nice,” you admit. But you are not so foolish as to blindly trust visitors. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Is it very difficult to be there?” he cocks his head to the side, the moonlight falling on a sharp cheekbone. A shadow pools there, you stare with more curiosity than perhaps you ought. The shape doesn’t seem to mind.

“It is,” you reply, “it’s quite lonely, too. Even when I’m spoken to, I feel alone.”

The visitor hums, the sound like the wind against tree boughs. Could he understand?

“I am here,” he says, “for what it is worth.”

You pause, considering his eyes that have not left yours once. Not even to blink. They are a strange colour, glassy but focused very intently on the curve of your face. They look, you consider, like the yellow moon that hangs so close to the edge of the forest.

Round and wide and curious, he stares at you. Not as one might stare at an insect, but as an interesting person.

“So am I,” you reply. And a hesitant smile of your own joins his.

“You have family,” he says, “friends who love you?” and the question at the end cuts like a knife.

“I have nobody,” you say, “though a few would likely search for me. It would be out of habit.”

“Habit?” he asks.

“Because I would do the same for them,” you explain, “my friends and I look after each other. But we’re not very close.”

“You need not be afraid of me,” he says. And that otherworldly smile returns, but it does little to dissuade the butterflies in your stomach.

The shape moves a bit closer, until only his horns are silhouetted against the inky sky. You can see him a bit better, though his lower body still remains a mystery.

You find yourself looking closely at his hands, searching the dirt and grass stains for signs of blood or cruelty. You find neither.

“I am not afraid,” you say, following a shiver.

“Yes, you are,” he says, “I am sorry. I frighten people, I know. But you need not reassure me that you shall be looked for.”

“Force of habit,” you say, “I’ve been told stories all my life, advised to be careful about what I say to visitors.”

“I understand. It is wise for you to follow that advice, but I will not hurt you,” he says.

“And you keep your promises,” you repeat, the smile once again curling on the corners of your mouth.

He surprises you with a laugh, the sound fills your chest even by proxy. As full and soft as his voice, the shape’s laugh makes you feel whole. It isn’t cold any more, you realize. A familiarity blooms in the way he speaks to you already. Perhaps he truly does understand the need for companionship.

You shift a little on the log, deciding to believe him. Not trust, not yet, but to believe.

“I am afraid, but I’m not scared of you,” you say, “would you sit?”

“Can you be both at the same time?” he asks, though he starts forward towards where you are. You’ve straightened up, your cheeks have dried. That pleases him.

“I am afraid of what would hurt me, of the stories I’ve been told. But you are not like the stories, are you?” you ask. The shape slowly shakes his head. He sinks down beside you, with not a creak from the wood beneath.

“I try not to be,” he admits.

“The woods are lovely,” you say, “I cannot blame visitors for wishing to protect them. It should be protected.”

“But not from you,” he replies, “remember, this is also your home.”

“I never thought of it like that,” you confess.

“Perhaps not, but you do choose to come here every so often. Why?” he cocks his head to the side again, a strand of dark hair falls over his shoulder, having come loose from where it was gathered into a low plait at the back of his neck.

“No one knows me here,” you say, “except for you. And don’t apologize, I don’t dislike that.”

“You do not?” he straightens his neck again. His eyes widen a fraction, as does your smile.

“I forgive you for watching me. I know you meant no harm,” and the visitor nods. “I come here because I am unknown, I can be myself. I have no obligations here. The sounds and sights are never too much, the moonlight is never too bright.”

“Elsewhere you feel overwhelmed,” the shape summarizes. You nod.

“Precisely. And I sit on that feeling until I have no choice but to cry,” it is harder to admit out loud than you like. But in his bright, yellow eyes you find some form of agreement.

He really is quite handsome, you note the longer you’re allowed to look. And though you are less worried about when to blink around him, you find no evidence to suggest he is changing his shape. You suppose that a visitor with ill intent, looking to ensnare a foolish human would choose a less challenging mask.

The visitor is not quite right, unearthly as his beauty may be. His unbroken stare is a colour no mortal thing could ever have. His hair is braided, yes, but this close you can tell a brush has never touched it. What you can see of his ears is sharply triangular at the ends, rather than rounded. Dirt and dust are caked under his fingernails, you wonder if he might be a gravedigger.

But no blood, nor memory of blood pools at the corners of his thin mouth. His lips are not tinged with pale blue the way corpses are. While he is wan and waxy, he does not carry the chill that wraps around you. He may not be fully separate from the night, but he does not seem to belong to it.

“Who are you?” you ask. You’ve spoken at length about your sadness, but it has never felt so far away as it does now. The shape’s smile falters for just a moment.

“I am not certain,” he replies.

“You and me both,” you try to find his grin again, giving him your own so that he will not worry. “I only ask because---”

“Because there is something sinister about me,” he finishes. And he nods, as if he has heard it before. His head dips a fraction, turning from you. All the better see the horns that sprout from it.

They are long and black as his hair, arching back from his brow. They curve, just once and end in a delicate point. And yet he moves as if they are barely a hindrance, with grace that would accompany experience.

“Quite the opposite,” you reply, “I have never heard of anyone like you.”

“I am not a gravedigger,” he replies, “and I am not a monster.”

“No,” you agree, “you don’t eat people, living or dead?”

He curls his lip in disgust rather than answering, it makes you choke on a small giggle. The shape turns back to you, as confused by the sound as you were when he laughed. There is similar awe in his face.

“Then you could be a forest spirit,” you try, “that would make sense.”

“It is possible,” he concedes, “but I do not know. I have been alone for as long as I can remember.”

“That’s so sad,” you speak without thinking, usually a dangerous game. But the shape is unoffended by the obvious pity in your voice. You’ve given him plenty to pity you for, after all. “Do you speak to other people in the forest very often?”

“I have, but never frequently,” he replies. You still do not trust him, but his slight anxiety appears to match your own. As much as he belongs here, it appears he is not sure if he belongs here with you.

He stays a safe distance from you on the log, you shift a little closer. Though your cheeks still sting and the whites of your eyes are still red, you feel less lost in your misery. Less alone.

“I wish I never had to leave,” you sigh, “I could sit in this glade and watch the sky move forever and ever.”

“I have done so,” he says, “it is a very good way to spend one’s time. I enjoy it.”

You trust that to be right, at least. Still, for all his flawless strangeness and otherworldly beauty, he seems very lonely. He’s unhappy.

“I wish---” you start, but cut yourself off.

“I could steal you,” he says, so suddenly that you wonder how long he’s been holding it back.

“Steal me?” you ask, turing to the shape with an arched brow. But you do not, in fact, sound repulsed.

“You would not have to return home if I did. You could stay here,” he reasons. Taken aback, you smile for the confusion.

“Have you stolen many people?” you ask.

“No,” he says with a firm shake of his head.

“Is it a great honour?” a teasing tone creeps into your voice, your smile turning impish. The visitor smiles too, as if your joy gives him joy by proxy.

“I think it would be my honour, as you would be my guest,” he explains.

“But why take me?” you ask, resisting the urge to dismiss this completely as some sort of joke.

“So that you will not cry,” he says. And the faraway solemness in his voice stuns you to silence for a moment.

“Lots of people cry, lots of people are afraid,” you try. He shakes his head.

“But you are here, I am here. Your home is here,” he says. You make a sound, like a sob but softer and more amused. Bewildered.

“Is it allowed?” you know the rules in part, never to accept food from visitors or stay too long. But he isn’t like the creatures in your grandmother’s stories. And if he is, you might be willing to take the risk. Going home with this exchange behind you feels wrong.

“I do not know, I have never offered before,” he admits. You give a slow sigh.

“Are you afraid? There may be consequences,” you try to rationalize why it could never be, and the way his face falls is heartbreaking.

“I am lonely,” he confirms, “nothing else.”

“I was worried you were,” you say. You look at him, horns and all in the moonlight. You dip your head and try to catch his big, yellow eyes. He looks back with no hesitation, like he was hoping for you.

“So, will you stay with me?” your visitor asks. His face softens, more vulnerable now than you’ve seen before. And you thought you had known it all. If this is a lie, you might like to be lied to.

“Right here?” you say, foolishly. His reedy laugh fills your chest again.

“Perhaps not only here, not all the time,” he replies, still looking happy. “I could take you to the places that I like best.”

“I wouldn’t mind staying in the forest,” you consider, pulling your eyes away. The circle of woods around you feels far bigger than before, more free and ready to explore. There is excitement under your tongue.

Your visitor hears it, he leans in just a bit with your back turned. He couldn’t help it if he wanted to, his mind is already pushing against the confines of his skull. It’s such an old mind, such an old skull. And it has been too long since another voice occupied it the way that yours does.

When you look back to him, you are not afraid. He watches your face very intently, ready to see fear or watery sadness return. He dreads both, he cannot stop himself from saying,

“And I would not mind your staying, say that you will,” your visitor does not know if he has breath the way humans do, but you have taken his. It will be so hard to part with if you decline.

To his immortal joy, you lean in a little closer as well. Your shoulders slouch, you relax.

“Where is your most favourite place?” you ask, distracting him from the clutter of his desperation for a moment.

“Along the bank of the mirror pond, it is not far due east from here,” he replies. It is hard not to smile when thinking of it. The perfect circle of still water, flanked by willow trees and daisy clusters. You might like it there.

“I haven’t been swimming since I was a little girl,” you admit. It’s almost sheepish, embarrassed that such a mundane joy has evaded you.

“You could again,” he suggests, brightening further. Until your visitor’s enthusiasm is dulled by his own hand, worried at reminding you of whatever dreadful situation you’ve come from. “But I would not make you.”

“Do you promise?” you cock your head to the side this time, tilting your head back a fraction to appreciate the full length of his horns.

“I do,” he insists. He would like to have an understanding with you, to understand you. The grass can keep his promises, but it never speaks back.

Your visitor looks so hopeful, you’re shocked by the realization that it may be mirrored on your own face. You are just as desperate, searching for a reason you could say yes. It’s right there, hiding just at the back of your throat. Another word from him and it will come.

He is made of smoke, you’re sure. Of dirt and red clay. Of pine needles and the daisies that you saw when you tried to get thoroughly lost in the woods. And of a kind thought or ten. He is so very sweet, it seems right.

“If you offer and I accept, is that still stealing?” you state your question, the final one before you answer. You’ve decided on that.

You reach into his lap, over thin knees that appear under heavy fabric. You did not see it before for the shadows, but he wears a cloak of green canvas--- so dark as to be almost mistaken for black. His dirt-caked hand, boney and cold from the night air rests against his thigh until you pick it up.

He fits his palm to yours as best he can, it is good enough.

He smiles, showing his small fangs. You give his hand a squeeze, hoping to warm him. But, you remember, you will have a while to do so. Slowly, you stand and he follows.

“I have no idea,” your shape says.

#NO CLUE HOW TO TAG THIS HM #mayhaps i shan't lmao #this is a gift to my followers basically #have some existential rambling #anniewrites

79 notes · View notes

thepandapopo · 4 years ago

Text

Absolute Truths

This idea wormed its way into my head and for the life of me I couldn’t get it out.

This oneshot is a little longer than the stuff I usually write (a whopping 8539 words), but I loved every minute of it. I tried editing it to the best of my ability, but honestly I suck at that. No beta, we die like Glenn. #SorryNotSorry #TooSoon ?

Please note this is non canon. The time frame for this is sometime after the Battle of Gronder post time skip and it is a mash up of the GD and BL routes (ie. Dimitri joins Claude and is no longer crazy; Rodrigue still dies. RIP).

Cross posted to ao3.

Pairing: Sylvain x Felix

Warnings: mentions of child abuse and PTSD

Synopsis:

When Felix and Sylvain get hit with a dark magic spell that reverts them back to children, the Resistance Army gets a deeper look into their bond and learn 5 absolute truths that form the foundation of their relationship.

5 undeniable facts of Sylvain and Felix’s relationship.

Word Count: 8539

“Felix!”

Fuck. Sylvain loses sight of him for only a minute but that is all the enemy needs to overwhelm the already bombarded swordmaster.

Pulling the reigns sharply to the left, the Paladin charges across the battlefield, skewering any unfortunate enemies that dare block his way, the lance of ruin glowing like a beacon of fury despite the thick coating of blood on it. The air is heavy with the smell of smoke and dark magic, making it hard to breathe and blurring the red head’s vision. Regardless, Sylvain presses on; determined to get to his best friend in time before the group of mages over the hill finish casting… whatever ominous looking spell they are aiming at Felix.

“Sylvain, get out of here!” Felix shouts angrily, not even pausing his fighting to face the sight of Bella charging her way through the throng with her master astride her.

Shit. Felix cuts down another enemy.

It is never ending. No matter how many falls to his blade, another two enemies take their place. Felix isn’t stupid – he can see the group of mages prepping a dark magic spell in the distance, which makes him even angrier when he spots Sylvain riding to his aid.

Like hell he’ll give his childhood friend another reason to toss himself into harms way. Felix isn’t weak. He doesn’t need protection. And he sure as hell doesn’t want Sylvain to be the one who gets hurt trying to fix his mistakes just because he got a little too cocky and split from the rest of his battalion.

“Fuck.” Felix grunts and pushes his sword hard to disengage the thief that has him in a sword lock. He doesn’t bother to see if he is being pursued and dashes towards Sylvain who is now dismounting a short distance away, Lance of Ruin making quick work of anyone who strays too close for comfort.

Sylvain was undoubtedly within hit range of the spell now. If that idiot insists on being his usual self-sacrificing self, then the least Felix can do is use his own body to shield the older man and take the brunt of the damage.

The tell-tale crackle of magic behind him sets the hair on his nape standing.

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.

He isn’t going to make it. Damn Sylvain for being so slow – this is exactly why he keeps telling him to take his training more seriously-!

“Fe!”

The last thing he knows before succumbing to the darkness is a hard chest plate knocking the wind out of him and warm, strong arms that remind him of summers spent with a heart lighter than air.

----

1. Sylvain always has, and always will protect Felix until the day he dies.

Leonie is one of two on the first shift of babysitting duty.

Undeniably, the orange haired paladin would be the first to admit that she wasn’t the greatest with kids, however there is only so much the tiny, and thankfully unconscious, Fraldarius boy can do given his current predicament.

No one really knows what happened after the enemy spell envelops Felix and Sylvain, the larger of the two curled protectively around his companion as they fall. No one even knows what the spell is.

But what they do know is that now, instead of a regular sized Felix Hugo Fraldarius and Sylvain Jose Gautier, they have a chubby cheeked blue haired cherub and an unfairly-cute-even-as-a-child ginger.

It is in the middle of bemoaning her poor luck at drawing straws when the mini-Felix begins to stir and she feels panic clawing its way up her throat.

“Ngghh…” small, unscarred hands balled into fist come up to rub at bleary amber eyes before they widen almost comically as they take in his surroundings.

“Uhh… hey.” His gaze snaps towards Leonie and she can feel her terror rising with mini Felix’s hysteria, clearly evident by the shiny glaze beginning to cloud his eyes and the fat crocodile tears gathering at the edges of his almond eyes.

“It’s okay, Felix. It’s just me.” She reaches out a hand tentatively in a placating gesture, but quickly withdraws back as young Felix lets out a squeak and scurries as far back into the corner of the bed as he can get, taking his older self’s wool Fraldarius crest blanket with him, as if it could shield him.

“Wh-wh-who are you?” The poor thing is absolutely terrified and damn it, Leonie wants to comfort him, but she is equally as distressed here and this is exactly why she didn’t want to babysit.

“It’s me, Leonie. You don’t… you don’t recognize me?”

It comes out sounding more like a statement than a question.

It’s so painfully obvious that little Felix has no idea who she is.

Which means he doesn’t have his memories.

Which means they are down two of their best generals.

Which means they are well and truly fucked.

So, Leonie does the only thing she can logically think to do.

“Come on,” She says, rising from her bedside chair and reaching for his arm. “We need to go tell Linheartd that the situation is much worse than we had originally thought.” But as soon as her hand wraps around his forearm, Felix screams.

“Oh shi-! Felix! Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you!”

If anything, this just seems to have the opposite effect and the wails increase to near piercing.

Leonie thinks it may be a trick of her mind, and probably her ears because holy crap does little Felix have a set of lungs on him, but she is pretty sure that Felix is screaming out a name.

Specifically, a name belonging to a certain red head that is, the last time she checked anyways, unconscious two doors down from his room and currently being watched over by Caspar.

“Fe!” The door bursts open and suddenly there is chaos.

Was being watched over by Caspar, Leonie amends in her mind.

“Get back here!” The blue haired warrior lunges and swipes his arm out trying to catch mini Sylvain who is slipperier than a fish in water, using his short height to duck between legs and launch himself onto the bed.

“Leave Fe alone!” Honey brown eyes that are so very familiar yet also so different, are glaring holes into Leonie and Caspar, proudly defiant and blazing with determination. Short arms stuffed into the smallest adult shirt they could find on short notice stretch out protectively, completely shielding Felix from sight.

“S-Sylvain,” comes the little sob from behind him and the older boy spares a second to throw a comforting smile behind him. “Don’t worry, Fe. I’ll protect you.” And Goddess, he sounds so genuine and earnest that it makes Leonie wonder what happened to cause their Sylvain to hide behind fake laughs and charming lilts of the tongue.

“Sorry, Leonie.” Caspar is gasping for air like he has just run a marathon. “I tried to keep him in his room but as soon as he heard Felix screaming, he was out faster than I could blink.”

“Ugh. Just go get Ingrid and the Professor.”

----

2. Sylvain hates himself and his crest, but Felix likes him in spite of it.

A day later finds Ingrid watching over the five year old Felix (“What?! He’s five? But he’s so tiny.” “Don’t let him hear you say that or he’ll cry again.”) and seven year old Sylvain.

“Just stay in this area, okay?” She calls out over the din of raucous laughter echoing throughout the courtyard. “I don’t want you two wandering off and getting into trouble.”

The play wrestling pauses for a brief moment and little Sylvain sticks out a tongue at her.

“We don’t get into trouble! You’re just a party pooper!”

“Yeah! Party pooper!”

Shoving down the urge to smack her childhood friends into the next moon, Ingrid settles for watching with pursed lips as Felix dissolves into giggles, Sylvain’s grabby hands finding purchase in his sides and tickling him relentlessly. The look of such carefree happiness on their faces makes her heart clench and eyes sting.

If Ingrid is being completely honest… she misses this.

She remembers what it was like not carrying around a broken heart for a man buried six feet under, his remains not even whole enough to bring home. Back when she could play wrestle with Fe, Sylvie, and Dima in the dirt and then go to Glenn to kiss her knee better when one of them inevitably accidentally activated their crest and used too much strength, resulting in tears and scrapes and bruises.

It doesn’t do her any good to dwell on the past.

The dead should be left to rest, and the living should move on.

For an emotionally constipated guy, Felix is dead on with his philosophy.

Though she has long come to terms with her betrothed’s death, the small sliver of envy she has for her two oldest friends still lingers in the deepest, darkest recesses of her heart.

They’re lucky that they still have each other, even though they spend half the time bickering and denying their feelings.

“Is that the Gautier boy?”

Two monastery staff members stop beneath the path archway and look with undisguised admiration.

“So handsome at such a young age!”

“And I hear he’s incredibly charming too.”

Ingrid knows that Sylvain and hear them. He has always been keen of hearing, especially when it involves others gossiping about himself, for better or for worse.

Felix takes advantage of Sylvain’s distraction to get the upper hand and rolls on top, completely oblivious to the onlookers.

“If I were his mother, I would have secured him a betrothed as soon as he was tested for a crest.”

A hum of agreement. “Yes. His family is blessed with good looks so it would not be hard to secure an advantageous match. The Gautier line will likely continue on stronger than ever with such a prized heir.”

“Sylvain? Why did you stop?”

Felix is all wide eyes and adorable pouty cheeks, staring confusedly down at his best friend underneath him who has gone strangely silent with a strangled expression.

“Don’t you have duties to attend to?”

The two gossipmongers snap to attention at Ingrid’s sharp tone, her expression clearly telling them to get the hell out of here or risk facing her wrath.

With rushed replies of “yes, sorry miss!” and “our apologies”, they scurry off down the pathway and disappear around the corner.

But unfortunately, the damage is already done.

“Sylvain? What’s wrong? Why are you sad?”

Gently, the older boy extricates himself from Felix’s death grip of a grapple and stands up with his eyes cast downwards. “Sorry, Fe. I… I don’t want to play anymore.”

“What? What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“I’m tired. I want to go back to our room.”

It only takes one look at Sylvain’s expression before Felix is latching his fists into the fabric of Sylvain’s pants with a scowl on his face.

“You’re lying to me. Why are you lying?”

“I’m not lying, Fe! I don’t want to play anymore.”

“We’re best friends aren’t we?”

“Well, yeah, of course we are.”

“Best friends don’t lie to each other.”

Ingrid has patiently watched the exchange between Felix and Sylvain to this very moment, hoping that they can sort out this argument without her intervening like she always did as a child, but through years of experience, she can sense that one of them is about to snap and she would very much like to avoid that.

“You know the only reason we’re best friends is because our parents are friends and we both have crests.”

There it is.

It’s absolutely heart breaking how Sylvain has already learned to self destruct at the tender age of seven. If Miklan were still alive, Ingrid would skewer him a thousand times over for instilling the mantra of ‘you’re not worthy of love’ into Sylvain’s head.

“Hey guys, do you wanna go-“

“You’re a stupid head if that’s what you think.” Felix’s interruption shocks her. His usually bright amber eyes are fixed in a watery glare leveled at the boy opposite him. Right now, Ingrid may as well be invisible for all Felix cares.

“What?”

“You’re a stupid head!”

Sylvain looks absolutely affronted.

“No, I’m not!”

“Yeah, you are!” a few tears have managed to slip beyond the barrier and trail down Felix’s cheeks. “I don’t care that our parents know each other. And I don’t care about any stupid crests.”

Felix marches up to Sylvain with all the anger he can muster in his five year old glory and reaches up to smoosh his cheeks together. “I’d still pick you to be my best friend in the whole wide world because you’re funny and nice and I’m always happier with you than Ingrid or Dima.”

Sylvain can only stand there with his lips parted in round ‘o’ from his cheeks being pushed together and a dazed look in his eye. Felix takes this as a sign to continue his little tirade.

“And I know you’re smart so you should stop being such a stupid head because I don’t care what you think. You’re my best friend and I’ll always pick you over any stupid crest.”

“Fe…”

She recognizes that tone. Ingrid looks away then because she fears that if she doesn’t, the part of her heart that belongs to Glenn might just twist its way into her throat and choke her with envy.

Sylvain is giving Felix that look that she has seen many times throughout their lives whenever she watches her two friends from afar. It’s one that everyone, except for Felix, has seen a million times and knows that to Sylvain, the world around him has fallen away except for one person.

“You’re my best friend, Sylvain. So, don’t lie to me.”

For the first time since the gossipers appeared, Sylvain lets a smile slip through.

“Okay. I promise.”

Felix eyes him warily and searches for any hint of a lie in Sylvain’s expression. Once satisfied, he loops his own pinky around the one outstretched to him.

“Good. Now let’s go play Knights and Bandits!”

Perhaps it is because Felix is always looking ahead that he never sees how Sylvain looks at him like he was the one who hung the stars and moon in his dark sky, illuminating his life with happiness and love.

----

3. Felix feels so much and Sylvain is the only one who understands him even without words.

A collective sigh echoes throughout the monastery when they find out that mini Felix and mini Sylvain aren’t too picky with their food.

Granted, even as a child, Felix shows a proclivity towards eating meat; but with a little friendly jostling from his best friend, even the youngest Fraldarius son can be convinced to eat his brussel sprouts.

Which is exactly why Claude is so baffled when Felix starts to protest eating during mealtimes.

“What do you mean he won’t eat?”

He’s well aware that he probably sounds like an idiot, if the exasperated look Lorenz is giving him is anything to go by; but they haven’t had any trouble before so it makes absolutely no sense that Felix would start being picky now.

“It’s exactly as I said,” Lorenz frowns. “We were all simply sitting together enjoying a meal, when Felix stopped eating and refused to finish his dinner. I’ve been told this is now the third occurrence in a row that his has happened.”

“Was he full?” Byleth pauses from looking through some supply requests to chime into their conversation. Although she has not outright said anything, Claude knows his love well enough to tell that she is stressed about their current predicament. Felix throwing a silent protest against food is just one more thing to add to her pile of worries that she doesn’t need.

“Don’t worry, Teach,” Claude winks and flashes his signature grin. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. You just worry about securing our supplies for the next moon, yeah?” His chair lets out a deafening screech as it drags across the floor, drowning out any protests their former professor may have and providing Claude the distraction he needs to usher Lorenz out of the room with him.

“Claude, are you sure you know what you are doing?” The doubt rolling off Lorenz would have offended a lesser man, but Claude has spent his life being the underdog and he lets the words bounce harmlessly off him. “Felix is not an enemy to be outsmarted. He is simply a child who only adheres to emotion.”

“I am aware of that, yes.”

“Then why do you look as though you are about to hatch a scheme?”

Because he is.

And although Felix is not an ‘enemy’, per say, doesn’t mean that Claude can’t use his usual tactics of watching and observing his opponent until he has hatched a plot to take them down. Hence, leading to Claude’s current position tucked away in the far corner of the mess hall during the following breakfast.

Even on his off days, Claude is always watching and learning. He knows the favourite foods of all his fellow comrades in arms and he also knows whom everyone’s preferred companion is.

There is very little that escapes his notice, and the Resistance Army leader is confident that he will have a plan by sundown at the very least.

It is a little past 8am when the two children sleepily trudge their way into the dining hall with Bernadetta, their ward for the day, close behind them.

Nothing seems particularly strange or odd when they join the line to retrieve their meal; and nothing remarkable happens either when Bernie leads them to the only empty table left in the middle of the hall.

“Good morning, Bernadetta!” Raphael greets cheerily and shuffles his mountain of food over to join the trio at their table. “Good morning, Felix, Sylvain!”

The little ones mumble back a greeting, but their voices are lost in the din of the morning meal chatter.

So far, so good. Felix is still eating his porridge (albeit with an adorable frown on his face) and talking animatedly about goddess knows what with Sylvain, who occasionally turns to answer a question from the adults.

“Oh, good morning, Bernadetta, Felix, Sylvain!”

Slowly but surely, the table begins to fill as their friends meander into the building in search of food to start their day. Greetings are exchanged and unsurprisingly, Felix and Sylvain garner a lot of attention due to their current forms. Sylvain, ever the chatterbox that he is, fields most of the questions; Whether it is because he is being considerate of his quieter friend or if he simply relishes in the attention is debatable, but Claude cannot help but notice how his eyes constantly dart back towards Felix who grows increasingly frustrated.

“Oh, you’re just too adorable!” Annette’s squeal of delight reaches even Claude’s remote corner and he assumes that the wince he sees from Felix is due to the sheer volume of the orange haired mage. Sylvain, the current object of attention, just flashes her his prize winning smile; his dimples making him look even more endearing than he already is.

The adults gathered around the children don’t even notice that Felix has stopped eating. Nor do they see Sylvain quietly reach below the table to grab Felix’s smaller hand in what looks to be a gesture of comfort.

In fact, it takes another five minutes of cooing and fawning before Raphael, of all people, notices that Felix is now glaring with teary eyes at his bowl of half eaten porridge.

“What’s wrong, little buddy? Not feeling well?”

Immediately the attention shifts to him and the effects are just as disastrous as Claude predicts.

“I’m not hungry.” Some of the porridge finds its way onto the table as Felix pushes his bowl away with such ferocity, Claude is half surprised it doesn’t completely tip over.

“What do you mean you’re not hungry?” Annette frowns. “This is the fourth time you’ve left a meal unfinished. Are you not feeling well? Do you need to go see Mercedes?”

“No. I don’t wanna eat anymore.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Felix? We just want to make sure you’re not getting sick.”

“I’m fine.”

It’s a big fat lie and anyone with half a brain can hear the distress and frustration in the blue haired boy’s voice. One lone tear manages to squeeze its way out of Felix’s water logged eyes and that’s all it takes for the table to burst into a flurry.

Claude almost feels bad for Felix as the adults descend on him like a pack of vultures, all of them crowding him and trying to coax the reason for his distress out of him. The Almyran prince has half a mind to go over and rescue his friend in arms from a situation that is probably in his top ten worst fears, but before he can even get out of his seat, Sylvain is already bounding out of his chair with a teary Felix in tow.

Sylvain shouts something about ‘Knights and Bandits’ and they’re out the southern doors before Bernadetta can even process what has happened.

Felix’s half eaten bowl of porridge sits on the table completely forgotten.

----

At lunch, Claude decides to test a hypothesis.

He asks Mercedes and Hilda to sit with the kids at lunch and pay special attention to Felix.

To everyone else, he gives them strict orders to leave their table alone.

Satisfied with how his experiment is set up, Claude finally seats himself back in his observatory spot with his own lunch sitting in front of him.

He’s not expecting amazing results. In fact, he’s not expecting his first hypothesis to be a success at all, but he wants to try it none the less because there is always the possibility that mini Felix fundamentally operates much differently than the Felix that he is used to.

What he doesn’t expect is for Felix to immediately shut down the minute Hilda tries to engage him in some conversation about the games him and Sylvain play in the courtyard.

Today’s lunch special is Daphnel Stew and Claude has it on good authority that it is a favourite of Felix’s (technically Dimitri is a reliable source, right? They were childhood friends after all).

Sylvain tries his best to jump into the conversation and pull some of the attention to himself, but Hilda is every bit as smooth of a talker as Claude is; deftly maneuvering the conversation back to Felix no matter what Sylvain does.

This time, it is Felix that reaches for Sylvain’s hand under the table.

Except instead of just holding Sylvain’s hand, Felix starts to pull at it every time Mercedes or Hilda asks him a question, as if pleading for his friend to save him.

At least Claude could now say for sure that Felix is not, and never was, a fan of being the center of attention.

When the first afternoon bell tolls signaling the end of lunch, Felix’s stew remains uneaten and untouched. On the way out of the hall, Claude looks the other way and pretends not to notice when Sylvain steals an apple from the pantry.

His experiment doesn’t exactly succeed, but he cannot write it off as a failure either. The information gathered from his two observation sessions is plentiful and a solution is forming within his mind even as he makes his way up to the war room to meet Byleth for their afternoon strategy session.

By the time he pushes open the door to his usual haunt, Claude is absolutely certain of two truths.

One, that Sylvain knows Felix better than anyone could ever hope to compare, and two, Felix Fraldarius is incredibly lucky to have an attentive best friend like Sylvain because stars above, does he suck with using his words.

----

When the hour before dinner time rolls around, Claude makes sure to talk to everyone he passes by and give them the order that no one is to approach Felix and Sylvain’s tables at mealtimes anymore. He tells them to pass the word around and it doesn’t take long before the entire monastery is in the know of their Leader’s command.

“Care for company?” Byleth smiles and sets her tray down beside his own without waiting for a reply.

Claude does a quick survey of the area to make sure no one is looking before leaning in to land a quick peck on Byleth’s cheek. Joy flutters in his stomach at her rising blush and he merely laughs and winks at her stuttered protests.

“Check it out,” Claude quickly changes the subject and nods his head over to where Bernadetta sits exhausted with a now cheerful Felix and Sylvain. The latter nodding enthusiastically to their conversation with the occasional laugh and both of their plates near devoid of food.

A tiny rush of pride swells when he sees the relived expression on Byleth’s face.

“Told ya I’d take care of it.”

Underneath the table, he flips his palm facing upward so that he can intertwine his fingers with her searching ones.

“Yes, you did.” The unspoken thanks lingers in the air between them, louder than the constant buzz of activity in the room.

For the first time in a while, the former professor looks more at ease. And Claude, being the shit stirrer that he is, cannot help but toss a little fuel into the fire.

“So… who do you think will wear white at the wedding? Between the two of them, I think Felix is the better choice.”

“What?!”

----

4. Felix has an unwavering faith and belief in Sylvain that he’s not afraid to stubbornly stand by to the bitter end.

“Annie, are you sure this is a good idea?”

If Mercedes is concerned, then Lysithea is absolutely certain that no, this is most definitely not a good idea.

They are at the part of the training grounds where the various magic users can come to practice and hone their spells. The ground is singed with charred marks from stray thunder and fire spells, the black streaks contrasting starkly with the pale stone underneath. To the side, there is also a sand pit where mages can practice some more destructive flame based spells.

“I’m just a little curious, is all!” Annette whispers back. “I know Sylvain is really good with magic even though he never uses it. He was the one who helped me understand that magic formula that I was stuck on for a week, after all. I was thinking maybe he might show an aptitude for Reason as a child.”

“That’s fine and all; but I’m not really sure how safe it is to teach a child how to conjure a fire spell. That just seems like a recipe for disaster.”

The orange hair mage cannot help but look slightly put out by Lysithea’s comment.

Yes, maybe it wasn’t the safest idea ever… but Annette just really wants to find out the extent of Sylvain’s inherent abilities. Even after she makes him promise to take his training more seriously, she still feels like he is holding back on her when they are paired together.

“What kinda magic are you gonna show us?” Felix is eager and bouncing on his toes. The House Fraldarius specializes in swordplay, not magic, so this is a treat for him and he can barely contain his excitement.

“Oh well, I was thinking we could start off with a basic fire spell!”

“Oooh, fire!”

Annette really hopes that Felix doesn’t have a penchant for pyrotechnics.

As much of a bad idea as this is, Lysithea can’t exactly bring herself to leave them in case something goes terribly wrong. She is the strongest, most advanced Gremory the Resistance Army has; with her around, she’s confident that the worst that could happen would be some singed eyebrows and possibly an impromptu need for a haircut. But even that is an outcome that she is hoping to avoid.

Once the target is set up, Sylvain and Felix eagerly make their way over to the sidelines to watch Annette demonstrate a basic fire spell.

It’s nothing special really. Even the older Felix and Sylvain could probably cast it without much problem, but to their younger versions, the small ball of fire is so grand and spectacular that it warrants oo’s and ah’s and enthusiastic applause.

“Wow! That is so cool! Isn’t that so cool, Sylvain?”

Felix is pulling on Sylvain’s sleeve and the older boy nods emphatically with admiration shining in his eyes.

“Do you think you could do it too?”

Lysithea is startled to hear the question Felix asks Sylvain. Of course, Annette was already planning to ask the Gautier boy to attempt the spell, but that was out of curiosity.

From the shining look on Felix’s face, Lysithea knows that he is asking because in his mind, there is nothing that his smart, talented best friend in the whole wide world cannot do.

“Magic is difficult to learn and takes time. It can take years for some to learn just the basics.” She cuts in before Sylvain can answer.

She doesn’t want Felix to unwittingly trap him with an unrealistic expectation that he cannot meet and she figures it is better to disappoint him now rather than allow the red head to try and then feel guilty when he disappoints his friend.

“Sylvain is smart. I bet Sylvain could do it!”

Felix is pouting in that way that they are all quickly learning means ‘I’m right and you can’t convince me otherwise’.

“I’m sure Sylvain is very smart!” Mercedes agrees and gives the boys her best placating smile. “But I’m not so sure that a person could learn how to cast a Fire spell in one day! Why, it took Annie and I at least a week of practicing before we could do it!”

“Yep, I remember I almost burned my eyebrows off the first time I tried! But I can teach you the basics maybe and then we can bring you here again next time to practice?”

The urge to verbally reprimand the warlock for her relentless pursuit to satisfy her own curiosity rises and Lysithea has to physically clutch her biceps to stop herself from bursting.

Fine. If they were so eager to set themselves down this path, then so be it.

“Yeah!” Felix is literally vibrating with excitement and Sylvain looks nervous but determined to not let his admirer down.

Heaving a sigh, Lysithea moves to settle next to Mercedes who sends her an apologetic smile.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

----

Unsurprisingly, Felix does not do so well with learning the basics.

The diagrams and symbols are a little too much on the side of complex and it becomes apparent rather quickly that there is a reason the Fraldarius men carve through the battlefield with swords instead of magic.

“Aw, it’s okay Fe! You’re still the best with a sword anyways. You don’t need magic!” Sylvain ruffles his hair and smiles. “You’ll always beat me at swordplay.”

The small admission is enough to cheer Felix up and after a bit more nudging from the older boy, he runs off to play around with the wooden practice swords they have on the other side of the training room while Annette and Sylvain continue to work on creating basic magic circles.

It’s only after the third hour and Mercedes has long left to attend to various chores that Lysithea turns to watch Felix go through rather crude sword forms instead.

“You need to spread your feet farther apart.” Using her own foot, she nudges Felix’s left heel to the side to widen his stance. “Try striking again now.”

The wooden sword wobbles a bit in its trajectory, but the swing is undoubtedly much better than before. The sheer delight that lights up in Felix’s eyes almost makes Lysithea laugh out loud because she recognizes it as the same gleam she sees in the older Felix’s eyes when he executes a particularly hard maneuver.

“Why aren’t you watching Sylvain and Annie?”

For a five year old, Felix is incredibly perceptive.

Rather than lie to him, Lysithea opts for honesty because she is sure that’s what older Felix would have wanted.

“I don’t think he’ll succeed.”

Felix frowns. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. I know how hard it is to learn magic. I’m sure Sylvain is very intelligent, but it takes a lot of hard work to use Reason.”

“Sylvain can do it. I know he can.”

She sighs and turns a baleful eye down at Felix. “You’re a stubborn one aren’t you.”

“Glenn said that to me too when he didn’t believe me that I could stay up all night waiting for Sylvain.”

“And did you prove him wrong?”

Felix turns to full face her, expression full of gravity.

“Yup.” The dead seriousness of his tone looses Lysithea’s first laugh of the day and she cannot help but be drawn towards this little boy, the same way she was drawn to his older self.

Deigning not to continue a lost conversation, the cake loving Gremory opts to turn back and watch the progress that the other two have made, leaving Felix muttering to himself about his steadfast belief in his best friend.

----

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got!”

The sun is setting and it is nearly time for dinner by the time Sylvain and Annette break away from Magic and Sorcery: Vol 1. to actually put some practice to the theory they have spent all day studying.

“Now, don’t be too disappointed if you can’t get it.” Annette says while moving out of the way. “You did just learn the basics and it takes a lot of practice!”

Lysithea has not moved from her perch from a nearby bench. She’s still extremely skeptical that Sylvain will manage to do very much at all. Yes, it is true that he had a budding talent for Reason during their academy days, but Sylvain hardly ever applied himself to any of his studies. The professor had to literally force him to attend one on one magic lessons with her before his aptitude for spells finally emerged.

Although, she muses, this younger Sylvain seems to be more enthusiastic to participate in things he was interested in. Even now, the scrunched up look of concentration on his face is indication enough that the Sylvain Lysithea is used to is a much different creature than the one before her currently.

House Ordelia does not really have any established trade routes with the Gautier territory, but the Ordelia heir has heard enough to know that the current Margrave is an arrogant, crest-obsessed prick.

It doesn’t take a prodigy to connect the dots and surmise that Sylvain’s carefree attitude and refusal to apply himself to anything is a product of his father’s suffocating expectations.

Fuck Margrave Gautier.

Maybe Lysithea does want Sylvain to prove her wrong and succeed; then at least he can go back home and light his father’s breeches on fire.

She’s only slightly disappointed when her expectations prove correct and the best Sylvain can conjure is one tiny flicker from a lone flame in his hand. However, it is still much more than she thought Sylvain would be able to do and for that, she is genuinely impressed.

Annette is also very much awestruck with Sylvain’s quick learning and happily informs the boy of this all the way to the dining hall. Sylvain is uncharacteristically quiet as he listens to the older mage praise him, but he is not yet skilled enough in the art of hiding behind a mask and the slight downward tilt of his lips does not go unnoticed.

“You really did an amazing job learning so much in such a short time, Sylvain! Don’t be too disappointed that you couldn’t do it.”

Sylvain gives a weak smile in return, but it is Felix who ultimately responds; one hand clasped tightly in the Gautier’s and the other one balled into a fist.

“Sylvain can do it. Just watch.”

----

Dinner passes without much fanfare and the boys are eventually tucked in for the night. Claude and Byleth have long decided that a full-time night chaperone is no longer necessary; although occasionally, one of their friends will peek into the room in the dead of night before they retire, but very rarely do they find anything wrong that requires their attention. A week has already passed with no incident, so there should be no need to exhaust their soldiers by keeping them up at night.

Except this time, when Petra nudges the door to their room open – being extremely careful not to open it too fast lest the hinges squeak – she does not see any sign of Felix or Sylvain anywhere.

It is the dead of night, but Garreg Mach Monastery blazes alive with a flurry of panic at the toll of the emergency bell.

“You’re absolutely sure no one saw them leave their room?”

Seteth slams his palms on the table and interrogates the night shift guards; his brows furrowed and mind racing a mile a minute.

If the enemy has somehow managed to sneak into Garreg Mach and kidnap the children, then they are well and truly fucked. They may have to abandon their home base or at the very least do an extensive investigation of their current ranks and re-evaluate their current passive defense.

“There were no signs that a struggle was happening.” Petra voices from her place around the war table. “I am having confidence that they left with willingness.”

“Goddess, please keep them safe.” The situation leaves a bad taste in Flayn’s mouth; it is much too reminiscent of when she was kidnapped and although it has been years since the incident, the memories still plague her.

Byleth’s voice leaves no room for discussion, “everyone split up and search the grounds. Most of our facilities are locked up at night so that should help limit the number of places we need to search.”

Everyone dashes out of the room with their orders and branch off at the second floor corridor. Those once belonging to the Black Eagle house comb through the main hall while the former Blue Lion students check all surrounding independent buildings; the Golden Deer fanning out to cover the outdoor grounds of the monastery.

An hour passes. Then another. And another.

Soon it is 3 in the morning and the panic is truly beginning to set in, giving rise to an unsettling fear clawing its way up from the depths of the night.

“Dimitri, Dedue! Have you found anything?” Ingrid pants and skids to a halt just below the stairs to the Sauna; the rest of her Blue Lion classmates run up to join her and debrief their findings.

“Nothing,” Dedue’s tone is flat as usual but his strangled expression is enough to betray his underlying worry. “We have searched all the open buildings and the grounds. There is no sign of them at all.”

Annette is near tears now and Mercedes places a hand on her shoulder, offering her silent support even while she herself is fiddling with her shawl, an attempt to keep her mind occupied before it spirals.

“It’s not like them to run away,” Ashe frowns. “Did anything happen today? Were they acting weird at all?”

“Not really. All we did was practice magic at the training grounds.”

Mercedes frowns. “Perhaps they left something there and went back to retrieve it?”

“The training grounds should be locked at 11PM. No one should be able to get in or out until sunrise.” Dimitri shakes his head.

“Well then we’re clearly running out of ideas here!” Ingrid throws up her hands in frustration and rakes them through her hair which is on the verge of looking like a bird’s nest. “We’ve checked the dining hall and the greenhouse but –“

“Your Majesty.” Dedue’s raised voice cuts Ingrid short and they look over to see the doors to the training grounds swing open slowly with a slight push of the man’s hands. “The doors were not locked as we thought.”

It takes only a heartbeat for them to scramble through the large wooden doors and down the hallway, their rushed footsteps echoing like thunder in the stone corridor.

“Oh Goddess. I smell smoke. Does anyone else smell smoke?” If her heartbeat accelerates any more, Annette is pretty sure she will have a heart attack.

“It’s coming from over there!” Their King leads the charge towards the magical training arena where the smell of smoke is the thickest.

When they burst into the open area, they are prepared for the worst. Weapons are drawn and hands raised with spells on the tips of tongues, but the sight they are greeted with is enough to shock them into stasis.

There in the middle of the sandpit, hunched over and panting hard, albeit with a brilliant grin on his face, is Sylvain. The practice dummy a few feet in front of him is alit with flames, illuminating the room with an orange glow, casting shadows along the stone walls that flicker like a live audience.

And off to the side bundled up in a woolen teal blanket that they all recognize, is a tired, but extremely proud looking Felix Fraldarius staring directly at the newcomers.

“I told you he could do it!”

----

5. Sylvain has given Felix all the pieces of his fragile, fractured heart, even if he isn’t aware he possesses it.

Although once his greatest secret, Ignatz no longer hides his passion for art from his fellow Resistance Army members.

It’s not uncommon these days for people to find him at random places in the monastery with his art supplies sketching away at preserving a moment in time on blank paper forevermore.

Today, he is sitting on a bench next to a large oak tree, just a stone’s throw away from the main grounds. Beneath the shade and tucked between two large roots lie Sylvain and Felix, both completely tuckered out from their earlier attempts at climbing the towering tree. Sylvain is starfished on the ground with his arms stretched wide; to his left, Felix lays curled away from him with his head pillowed on the outstretched limb.

Sylvain and Felix have been the talk of the monastery for the past week and it is pretty obvious why. It’s not every day that you see two high ranking generals revert back to their child forms. Especially the most notorious bother-me-and-I’ll-bite-your-head-off and if-it-breathes-I’ll-flirt-with-it Generals to boot.

Of course, stories of their shenanigans and troublemaking usually fill the daily meal conversations, but there is one topic that floats above all else; the one that makes the maids in the kitchen giggle and even the burliest of knights crack a smile:

It is clear that even from a young age, Sylvain Jose Gautier and Felix Hugo Fraldarius are absolutely smitten with each other.

The two are inseparable and Ignatz is pretty sure that even a blind man would be able to see the absolute trust and unspoken devotion they have towards each other.

Ignatz has spent the day watching Felix and Sylvain, not just because it’s his turn to babysit, but also because he is fascinated with their bond. He had once thought that the Goddess was the most beautiful thing in the world, but the rawness and purity of their relationship fills him with more piety and awe than any portrait or statue of Sothis ever did.

It is like they are two parts of a well-oiled machine. Where one gives way, the other will step in to fill the gap; whenever Sylvain’s insecurities flare up, Felix is always there to chase the demons away with clumsy words and a physical display of affection, using his own body to ground his best friend and keep him close. Likewise, whenever tears well up in the youngest Fraldarius’ eyes (which is unfortunately quite often), Sylvain is there to wipe away the salty tracks and light up Felix’s heart with a smile warmer and brighter than sunshine.

Ignatz’s original plans were to draw the oak tree and the beautiful meadow of primrose flowers, but it seems that there will be a last minute change in muse.

Taking up his piece of charcoal, he begins the outline of what he thinks will be his fondest work to date.

Ignatz doesn’t know how long he spends sitting on that bench hunched over his sketchbook in silence with only the occasional birdsong floating through the silence. It’s so calm and peaceful that he doesn’t even notice that Sylvain has begun to stir until he looks up to find one of his subjects in a different position.

Leonie had warned him that Sylvain has a tendency towards nightmares. She had discovered that unfortunate fact in the first three days when each time she tip-toed into their room to check up on them, she found Sylvain wide awake with wild terror in his eyes and a sleepy Felix clinging to him comfortingly.

Strangely enough, Sylvain also does not startle awake from his nightmares. Instead, he slowly rouses himself as if from a deep sleep and if it weren’t for the glaze of lingering fear in his eyes, none would be able to tell that he had just woken up from a night terror.

That same glazed look is now flickering rapidly around him as if searching for the shadow of a monster that exists only within his mind.

“Sylvain…?”

Wild brown eyes finally settle on steady molten amber ones.

“Fe.”

“It’s okay, Sylvain. I’m here...”

Felix yawns and shuffles around until he is half wrapped around Sylvain with his left hand settling over Sylvain’s pounding heart.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you…” Small hands curl around the material of Sylvain’s shirt in a death grip. Felix’s loyalty and protectiveness so painfully evident even when the boy himself is half asleep. He manages to cling to the realm of the conscious for a little while longer, until the rapid thump thump thump of Sylvain’s heart slows to a steady lulling rhythm, pulling Felix back down under the veil of sleep.

Ignatz has silently watched this entire exchange and to be honest, he’s not really sure that Sylvain or Felix even remember that he is here with them. He cannot bring himself to make his presence known, so he continues to watch and observe.

He watches as the fear that was once in Sylvain’s eyes slowly recede again, the monsters inside his head vanquished in the company of his best friend. It only takes one more glance at the boy cuddled up to him with a hand protectively hovered over his heart to melt away the chains that bind him to the expectations of the people around him.

Here under this oak tree in a field of blooming young love, there is no crest or Miklan or nobility. There is only Felix and Sylvain.

Sylvain holds onto that truth as he wraps his free arm around the younger boy, tucking him more securely under his chin, letting the cool summer breeze lull him back to a dreamless sleep.

Ignatz pulls out a new page and starts a fresh outline. It takes him a little longer than anticipated to finish his drawing, but he figures it’s not such a bad thing since he likes this new version much better.

Later, as he trails after the now energetic boys back towards the monastery, Ignatz tucks his newest masterpiece securely under his arm, being very careful not to smudge the drawing or crease the paper.

After all, Claude did mention something about a wedding and Ignatz thinks that his drawing will make a fine gift.

----

Bonus: They’re just two idiots in love.

“Go away. Can’t you see I’m trying to enjoy my meal?”

“Aww, don’t be like that, Felix! You know, the younger you was much cuter. Definitely less prickly, too.” Dorothea pokes his cheek and snatches her hand away before Felix can stab it with his steak knife.

It’s been roughly a week since Felix and Sylvain have returned to their normal sizes, the dark magic having run its course and fizzling out without so much as a final spark. To the rest of the Army, this is a joyous occasion as it means that two of their best generals are now back to normal and can command them again. But to the last class of the academy… it is bittersweet.

Of course, they want their friends to return to normal. But that also means that Felix will go back to hissing and spitting with all the fury of a spooked cat and Sylvain will go back to seducing any individual that makes eye contact with him for longer than half a second.

“Better do as he says, Thea. Felix’s looking extra grumpy today and we wouldn’t want you to lose a pretty little finger.” Sylvain winks at her as he sets down his own meal and settles in the seat across from the swordsman.

The opera singer snorts, “right back to the flirting as usual. Save your hollow words for some other girl.”

“Ouch. Give a guy a break! I just recovered from a dark magic spell after all. Doesn’t that warrant some pity?”

“The only pity is that you immediately lost all your innocent and cute appeal when you reverted back to your regular body.”

Felix scowls at them, “if you insist on continuing your flirting, I’ll just eat my meal elsewhere.” He moves to stand but Sylvain is quicker and grabs his wrist, preventing him from moving.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop. Just stay, okay? Please? For me, Fe?”

Sylvain is looking at Felix with that expression which he knows he cannot resist and Dorothea takes this opportunity to slip away while the two engage in a silent conversation with only their eyes.

“Fine.”

Their meal continues with little fanfare and easy conversation. Around them, their old classmates are scattered in their own little groups and if they notice, none of them mentions anything about how everyone seems to avoid sitting at Felix and Sylvain’s table.

Easy conversation flows into dessert, or more specifically: Felix wordlessly giving Sylvain his peach sorbet and Sylvain beaming a rare genuine smile and promising to join him at the training grounds first thing tomorrow morning.

The sun is slowly dipping below the horizon when Sylvain and Felix gather up their dishes. On their way out of the dining hall, Ignatz stops them with a heartfelt congratulations and a bundled up package that looks suspiciously like one of his works.

“Congratulations? For what?” Artfully tousled red hair shifts as Sylvain tilts his head in confusion and reluctantly accepts the gift.

“O-oh, well Claude just said…”

Dread rises up from the pit of Felix’s stomach. “What did that schemer say this time?”

“…He said that you two were getting married.”

“What?!”

29 notes · View notes