#hello crippling fear of being judged and not being “good enough”

[alectoperdita]

I guess a lot of social media sites/discord servers feel like you have to be extroverted or willing to speak loudly/be perceived. I'm none of those things and I'm gonna keep bouncing off them no matter how hard I try.

get a federated account. see that it looks and operates a lot like twitter. gets lost. doesn't know how to find people with similar interests or maybe they're just not there to begin with. close tab and never return.

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

I have literally read all you stories and im so so impressed. Im not sure if your taking requests or if. If not than im very sorry. If yes then could you please write one where a modern doctor ends up being reborn as a Nobel princess who is about to marry king baldwin. She could then cure him.

♧ A Better Life - King Baldwin x Reader ♧

♧ Angst ♧

A/N: HELLO FRIENDS!!! I am back officially now!! Exams are over and the school year is done! I am so exited to be back!! Anon thank you so much for this beautiful request. This took me so long and I really hope you like it!!! This was an amazing one to return with, I hope yall enjoy it!!. As always this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

TW: Leprosy, Slight mention of blood

Y/n remembered little to nothing from that night.

Simply getting into her car late, well after the sun had set, and driving. Then the lights. Then the crash. Everything else was fuzzy. Even in her life before the crash, the only knowledge she seemed to remember was what she had learnt in medical school all those years ago.

Nothing about her beautiful rooftop apartment where she lived alone. And certainly not the crippling loneliness she dreaded returning to every night after work at the hospital.

------------------------------

Y/n’s eyes flew open and she sat up with a gasp, clutching at her pounding heart. After a few seconds of panic, she looked up at her surroundings.

There was no car, no wreckage, no blood.

Just a plush, white sheeted, four poster bed that held her trembling form. The curtains that hung around the top of the bed shrouded her view of the rest of the room, but from what she could see, an open balcony window allowed sun to shine through and into the large, beautifully decorated stone room.

Confusion soon replaced fear in the young doctor's mind. Was she in a hospital? No, it wasn't sterile enough to be a hospital. There was no beeping of machines, no bustling nurses. Something she was all too familiar with.

She tried to think back to what had happened, but all she could remember was the crash. Nothing else. Y/n pulled back the covers and cautiously stepped out of the bed. She barely got one foot on the ground before the large, wooden doors opened to reveal young woman carrying a tray with an assortment of dishes that y/n had never seen in her life.

“Good morning my lady” the young woman said with a smile, approaching y/n’s bedside.

“Good morning,” the doctor replied, trying to hide the confusion in her voice.

“I hope you are excited for today my lady, everybody in the maids chamber surely is!” the young woman said, her bright eyes practically glowing.

“I'm- excited for what?” y/n replied cautiously.

“Well your wedding of course, everybody has been anticipating this day for months now! Our kingdom will finally have a queen!” she was grinning now, y/n couldn't help but smile despite her confusion.

“Oh- yes! How could I have forgotten” the doctor said, once again attempting to hide the fact she had no idea where she was.

After the maid had left, y/n inspected the food. It looked delicious but eating was the last thing on her mind, for now. She slipped out of the bed to take a look around the room. There were books stacked on a shelf, a desk, a face washing basin and lots and lots of religious imagery, painted in typical pre-renaissance fashion.

Judging by the beautiful stone walls, she was most definitely not in the twenty-first century anymore. Nothing was boring and white. No white walls, no white marble countertops. Everything was handmade. Genuine. It was certainly a changeup from the old routine.

You see, y/n was intelligent. She always had been and on top of this, her years as a surgeon had taught her to act reasonable, calm, and logical even in the most outlandish situations.

Waking up in a different time period after a car wreck was no different.

She had to think of a plan.

“It's morning, people should be expecting me somewhere soon”. Turning to the bookshelf, y/n picked up a book and opened it. Handwritten. In Hebrew.

“That should place me somewhere in Israel, perhaps Jerusalem” she thought.

“And it's definitely before the renaissance, but after the birth of Christ”.

Placing the book back on the shelf, y/n continued to think. She had to figure out where she was and fast.

Y/n turned her attention to the other side of the room. The bed, a couch, and the open balcony doors. Approaching the balcony, y/n looked outside inspecting the area around the building she was in.

Knights. Many knights.

“Medieval “ was the first word that came to mind.

“That should place me somewhere around the 12th century-” was the last thing her mind concluded before the wooden doors opened again.

Six maids came into the room, each carrying something different. Some carried jewelry, some hairbrushes and combs, and others beautiful white fabric that appeared to be some kind of dress.

“Oh my lady, you have barely touched your breakfast!” one of them exclaimed as y/n entered the room from the balcony.

“You will need your strength for today!”

“Oh I'm terribly sorry, I forgot all about it! I was just getting some fresh air, I'm a little nervous” y/n said as calmly as she could, praying that they didn't notice something was off.

“That's alright dear” the oldest of the maids said, “it doesn't matter now because we need to get you dressed! Come, sit” she gestured to a vanity mirror and chair that y/n hadn't even noticed. 

--------------------------------

It felt like hours that the doctor sat in that chair, as the maids worked tirelessly on her hair and face. Braiding and brushing, applying makeup and finally helping her into the beautiful white dress robes.

They fit perfectly, just like a glove. As if they were made for just her and her alone.

“You look immaculate, your majesty,” one of the maids said, taking a step back to admire their future queen. Y/n smiled, for a moment forgetting her predicament.

It felt as though she had lived in this world her entire life.

“Come now darling, we don't want to keep the guests waiting!” the oldest maid said, taking the doctor's hand and leading her towards the door. Y/n followed blindly.

“This should be interesting,” she muttered.

-------------------------------

It was a short walk from her chambers to the church. There were already plenty of people waiting inside. Y/n barely had any time to think before a bouquet of flowers were shoved into her hands and she was walking down the aisle, people standing left and right staring at her.

Taking a deep breath, y/n steadied her hands and continued walking at a slow, measured pace.

“Come on y/n, this has to be the least nerve racking thing you've done all week”.

Looking up, she could see her “future husband” standing at the end of the aisle. It was strange, she couldn't see his face, he was wearing white robes and a veil that shrouded his features almost entirely. But from what she could see, it appeared he was wearing some kind of mask.

Then it all connected.

Not only had y/n taken a myriad of science and math subjects in highschool, she had also taken an ancient history class. One unit had specifically focused on the “Leper King of Jerusalem, Baldwin IV”. This must have been him.

As she approached the end of the aisle, her mind wandered to a patient she had treated with severe leprosy, contracted while he was on a tropical holiday. She remembered how much pain he had been in and her heart broke thinking about this poor king who had gone untreated for so long.

She was only snapped out of her thoughts when she came face to face with her soon to be husband. His eyes met hers and what she thought would have been a neutral feeling (since she did not yet know this man at all) turned quickly to a feeling that she had not experienced in what felt like years.

Love.

The doctor's heart skipped a beat looking into those eyes. Those beautiful, blue eyes. The mask he wore was polished to perfection, the metal was perfectly shaped into sculpted, masculine features.

He was beautiful.

Y/n was far too focused on just how captivating the man who stood before her was to pay any attention to whatever the priest was saying, until once again she was snapped out of thought by the large crowd cheering as they were pronounced husband and wife, in the name of the Lord.

-------------------------------

Later on, the guests had left and all had returned to somewhat calm after a day of celebration. Y/n was slightly shy at first during the celebrations, doing everything in her power to read the room and understand her place in this new world. But after a while, she began to enjoy herself.

Her “husband” had barely spoken a word all day, but she had caught him looking at her as she talked with his sister and associates. She was told by a few maids that after getting changed from her wedding attire, she would go and meet privately with her new husband.

She was nervous, but not even half as nervous as somebody else was...

Baldwin paced up and down his chambers until his legs were in agony. The day had been strenuous on his body and the pacing did not help.

The young king slumped down on his couch, cursing his frail body. He had watched her all day, his wonderful y/n. So full of life, so intelegent, speaking with everyone and enjoying her time while all he could do was sit and watch.

Oh how he had wished to join her, to dance with her, to speak with her, to hear every word her beautiful voice had to say, to look into her eyes. Those perfect eyes.

He hoped that she knew just how much he had fallen for her, even though they had not spoken a single word all day.

He cursed the mask that shrouded his emotions, forcing him to look cold and stern when all he wanted was her to know how warmly and deeply he felt for her. Baldwin sunk deeper into the couch cushions. His body craved sleep, craved a break from the pain. But he couldn't. He had to see her right this instant.

Taking a deep breath, or as deep as his failing lungs could take, the young king sat up and stared down into his hands, anticipating the moment y/n knocked on his door.

He did not have to wait long because no more than a minute after he sat up, a small knock came from the wooden door. Baldwin got to his feet, perhaps too fast. He steadied himself and called for her to enter. Y/n pushed open the door. She looked as beautiful as she did in her wedding dress.

“Good evening your majesty” she said with a graceful curtsey.

“Hello” he replied, suddenly feeling incredibly shy.

Y/n smiled. He was truly adorable. He looked so soft and warm in those robes. Good lord what was she thinking? She had barely met this man and yet she was acting like a teenager in love!

“Would you like to take a seat?” he offered, his voice gentle and kind. “Of course,” she replied. The two sat in silence for a moment. But it was not an awkward silence, more of a comfortable silence as the young couple took each other in.

It wasn't long before they got to talking. Two intelligent, young minds in the same room were bound to connect almost instantly. And that's just what they did.

Y/n tried to not say anything about her “world of the future”. That was until they were brought to the topic of his disease.

“So, you have no issue in being wed to a leper?” Baldwin had asked, his voice growing sad. Her heart broke for him in an instant, remembering how terribly people with his disease were treated at this time.

“Of course I don't” the doctor replied.

Her kind voice soothed something deep inside Baldwin. Something untouched for so many years. His eyes burned with tears but he dare not  let one fall.

“Really?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly.

“Of course! All I see is a beautiful, young man with a bright future. And from what I've heard, you're a wonderful ruler, and I know you will be a wonderful husband too”.

Baldwin smiled beneath the mask. He hoped she could see the smile through his eyes. Y/n took a deep breath before her next choice of words.

“You know, where I come from, lepers can be healed,” she said softly. Baldwin’s eyes widened.

“Truely?” he said in disbelief.

“Yes, but you can not tell anyone”

“I won't, of course! Please, share this with me” the young king said in a hushed voice taking her hands in his.

“Alright. I'm going to need a few things to do it and it may take a while-”

“Please, y/n. I'll do anything” Baldwin was on the verge of tears now. “Now I have you, I have a reason to live. I need to live, please” he begged.

Y/n’s heart sank as his previously strong demeanor shattered into a thousand pieces before her very eyes. As gently as she could, y/n wrapped her arms around her husband, pulling him into a gentle yet firm hug.

At that moment, the young doctor understood why all of this had happened. She was brought here for a reason. To cure this poor young man, to show him the love he deserves and to have a better life by his side.

“I promise Baldwin, I’ll make you well again. No matter what it takes. I'll do it”

[agent-cupcake]

Leucoium - Sylvain Jose Gautier x Reader 

Hey hello this is my half of the trade with @lightmyfireemblem​ and I know I’m late but what can I say? I’m terrible :3c This is utterly despicable, okay? Fifteen thousand words of mushy gush Sylvain Jose Gautier romancing. Some angst. Nothing weird this time. She wanted something specific with a winter ball and reader’s feelings, but I got carried away with doing set-up so everything would make sense. Forgive me. 

/

It was springtime when you met him, the time of bloom and blossom in the town of Garreg Mach. You hid from your classmates and teachers alike among the flowers in the greenhouse, such an oddity after a lifetime in Faerghus. Less odd was the way you chased isolation in the fragrant sanctuary. A disagreeable, antisocial child. The youngest of three, a potential playing card in your parent’s deck of the social sphere. Nothing more. Even though you were only just teetering on the tremulous line between girl and woman, you’d long submitted yourself to the natural rule of your family’s cold definition. There was contentment in such a fate, comfort in playing hide and seek with life.

Until you were found.

“Hey there, beautiful,” Sylvain —a classmate and Faerghus lord you knew really only in passing— greeted you, pulling you away from your book. He stood among the flowers in the filtered green of sunshine drifting in through the glass, his hair and uniform stylishly messy and expression open and friendly. “I was looking for you. Not that you made it particularly easy.”

You looked up at the tall man from your book, confused and unsettled by being approached. If you weren’t the only one around, you probably would have told yourself he was talking to someone else as just cause to ignore the greeting. As it was, you couldn’t think of any real response. The level of familiarity he used to address you was jarring, uncomfortable. But even as an awkward moment passed of your confused staring, Sylvain didn’t falter. He was all confidence and smiles and bright, bright red. The kind of red that the goddess painted the leaves and berries of dangerous plants to ward people off, the kind that was best left to be admired from afar but never touched. And you were used to that type of spectatorship, to living behind a veil of reality where you could stay out of sight and out of mind.

Even so.

“Find me?” you asked after clearing your throat.

“The professor asked,” he said. “Y’know, if you keep skipping class, you could get in trouble.”

Although you had a variety of reasons why you hadn’t gone to classes that day, you doubted that they’d hold firm to any amount of questioning. It was childish of you. Unseemly.

With a sigh, you got to your feet. Strangely, Sylvain offered his hand. To you, the gesture registered as something like a threat. Not because it posed any danger, but because you understood what it meant and what was expected of you and the polite thoughtfulness of the offer. Rather than try and deal with any of that, you avoided it altogether, acting like you didn’t notice. Luckily, he didn’t seem to be bothered.

“Of course, I’d be more than willing to speak up on your behalf,” Sylvain told you, his voice hurried as if to ease your mind. “Me? I can take that kind of thing, but it doesn’t seem right to punish a delicate girl like you for losing track of time.”

You frowned up at him, holding your book tight against your chest and uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot as you considered him. Beautiful, he said. Delicate. Was this normal? How were you supposed to respond to things like that? The two of you were practically strangers, nevermind the glaring class difference. Although, it was not just class that separated the two of you. There was some social, deeply personal gap between people like you and him that couldn’t be defined by status or money or title, something that couldn’t be bridged. Couldn’t he tell?

Awkward, you shrugged. “It’s okay.”

Sylvain frowned. “Right… So, uh, do you like flowers?”

“I do,” you answered. Trying to ease the conversation into a slightly more comfortable place, you slowly added, “You don’t see much of them in Faerghus. Not like this, anyway.”

Even though your comment was simple, it seemed to energize Sylvain right back into a smile. “Right? It was kind of shocking. To be honest, I didn’t even know so many types of flowers could be grown,” he said.

You nodded, giving a faint hum of agreement.

“No matter how beautiful they are, though,” Sylvain said, not discouraged by your lack of response, “they pale in comparison to your beauty.” He paused before adding, “What do you think? If you and I were flowers, would we have a budding romance?”

It shouldn’t have worked. It was a terrible, terrible line. But it kind of did.

If it weren’t for your crippling lack of social prowess, you might have fallen for it. But instead, you ducked your head and cleared your throat and asked where the professor wanted to see you because you knew what you were and had no idea how to respond to such things. In so many ways, you were as fresh as the snow white lambs only just making their way into the world, as vacant as the breezy spring winds that danced over the surface of rippling water. Not because of your innocence, but because of your lack of experience. The difference between those two things was the value of either in a girl like you.

Did he know that? Did he see that?

Sylvain certainly backed off after that awkward first meeting, letting you run off with the disquieting sensation of eyes on your back.

But still, he returned. You had been hiding in the Knight’s Hall, making up on the homework you’d missed in class. Sylvain approached you with an apology for making you uncomfortable, which was unexpected and baffling. A few days later in the library, he sat down and struck up a discussion on literature. After that came an invitation to dinner which you declined. And then an invitation to tea which you accepted. After a certain point, you understood who he was and his rather damning reputation. Not that you really cared. Who were you to care? To judge? The gap between the two of you was impossible, but he acted like it didn’t exist. And you liked that.

Sylvain was your first friend. You wondered if he knew that, too.

Spring bled into the warmer season and, despite your glaring lack of social skills and suspicions that he was merely humoring you, the odd dynamic continued onward.

Summer’s end was wet and tempestuous. Congested hot stormclouds brewed above and pressed thick tension down onto the dreary frightened group marching their somber return to Garreg Mach from Conand Tower. The rain had stopped for a spell, mud squelching beneath your boots and the sound of demonic screeching echoed in the silence among your fellow students. Shadows encircled Sylvain’s red-rimmed eyes, his face pale despite the tan he’d managed to cultivate over the sunny season. He told you about the cruelty of a brother driven to barbarity by his jealous rage. He told you he shouldn’t care. He told you it was fine.

But dusk fell, inviting a forceful deluge, and Sylvain told you what hate felt like, what it was to cough up blood and loathing and wish to see yourself destroyed under its crushing weight. Beneath the pounding, pulsing, palpitating hypnosis of the rain, Sylvain told you about pain, and fear, and the destruction he’d inherited through his blood. He forced the words out through gritted teeth as if that alone could contain the simmering, seething disgust and scorn he held for the world that cultivated men like Miklan and men like him. You listened, just about the only thing you knew yourself to be good at.

By the time the rain stopped and the sun rose, Sylvain was shrugging the previous night away with a smile and apologizing for his behavior. He acted unbothered and laughed like everything was fine but the sound was too forceful and within the next two weeks he dated and broke up with no less than eleven girls. Something made sense to you after that, an understanding you’d never had for another person. You weren’t a spectator to him. With him.

Autumn drifted into Garreg Mach with the spun gold of harvest and scent of tanned hides from the hunt. Rotting leaves crunched beneath your feet, death and decay inviting the unraveling disaster that seemed to never end.

In a rare moment of quiet, Sylvain asked about your family. The casual curiosity stole your breath, made your eyes widen like a deer who’d been spotted by the hunt. It was, you knew, a pathetic story. Anticlimactic, pointless. But you told him. In the isolated cover of the library, you leaned your chin into the crook of your folded arm and stared with glassy eyes at the books stacked up in front of you and told Sylvain that you knew your parents didn’t care for you like they did your sisters, that sending you off to the Academy was a way to give you pedigree you’d never get from your own merits. You told him about inadequacy, and what it was to not be enough, and the way that words could be ground deep into the marrow of your bones until you stopped being a person and accepted an identity given to you by others because it was too difficult to try being anyone else. Sylvain put his hand over yours and told you that they were wrong about you, his lovely dark eyes filled with the compassion so many accused him of lacking. He looked at you like that and told you that he understood. And you believed him.

As surely as the sun would rise in the morning and the seasons would change, Sylvain became a habit of yours. The odd hours he’d help you study, the afternoons drinking tea together, the crystalline moments of having your life saved time and time again because you always found yourself in the bloody fray of the front lines, nearly suicidal in the surge of destruction. But Sylvain never called you helpless, or useless, or weak, or childish, or disagreeable and you knew the gap could never be bridged, but you liked the warmth of being near him, even if it was nothing more than fragmented charity.  

“Why?” you asked once. It was cold and your breath misted in front of your dry lips.

Sylvain shrugged casually. “I dunno. I guess you’re just easy to be around.”

And that made you laugh. Honestly laugh. Because nobody had ever said that, you doubted anybody had ever thought that. You, disagreeable and antisocial and unable to hold a conversation or eye contact. Not you. But he sounded so genuine, so casual, like it was the truth. Somehow, it was the truth.

“What about you?” Sylvain asked. “Why do you like me?”

You looked at him and wondered. He was a strange man to be sure. Cruel. Cold-hearted in ways that should have made him unlikable. Flirtatious in ways that made you decidedly uncomfortable. Womanizing. Dispassionate about many things you’d been taught to place importance on. But that wasn’t it. Not by half. Nor was it that he was handsome, or smooth talking, or because he had a title or Crest. Those things —like the mountains or the moon or his red, red hair— just were. No. You stared him down and considered that question because you knew there was something that went deeper than any of that. Why did you like him? Because he had been kind to you. Because for some reason you couldn’t explain, he tried. Because, despite everything, he seemed to care. To understand.

You shrugged. “I guess you’re just easy to be around.”

Winter in Garreg Mach was, despite the tragedy, filled with excitement for the White Heron Ball. You were a poor dancer but nobody had really expected you to participate anyway.

So you avoided the cheerful party in favor of the chilly winter night, watching snowflakes drift down in careless little clusters. They were big and wet, but not oppressive or unkind. It was too warm in Central Fódlan for them to stick just yet.

“I thought you might be out here. Not too keen on parties?” Sylvain asked, the question playfully knowing. It didn’t surprise you that he’d somehow be able to find you. He had an uncanny ability for that. You nodded in response. Not put off by your lack of verbal response, Sylvain took the spot beside you to watch the snow slowly drift down from the velvety dark void of the sky into the calming halo of light. “Guess that’s not surprising…. Anyway, assuming you don’t mind my company, I’d love to stay here for a bit. I need to lay low for a little while.”

“Why?” you asked.

“The girl I’ve been going out with saw me dancing with another girl and made a big scene,” he said, frowning. “She accused me of cheating on her.”

“Were you?” you asked, giving him a sideways glance.  

Sylvain shrugged. “Well, yeah, but I didn’t think we were serious enough for her to freak out on me like that.” He let those words settle before his expression changed, a mischievous smile forming on his face. “Anyway, enough of that. As long as we’re here, it’d be very remiss of me to pass up on the chance to ask the cutest girl in Garreg Mach to do me the pleasure of a dance.”

You met his eyes. It was too dark to see their steady sepia color, but the far off lights allowed you to see the way he looked at you. What would it feel like for him to hold you, his hand in yours, the other on your back? Twirling around in synchronized steps, close enough for you to smell him, to feel his warmth. You looked away.

“No, thank you.”

“And the chances of me changing that answer to a yes…?”

“Very low,” you responded with a resolute nod. “There’s not any music.”

“That’s fine, we’d be guided by the sweet melody of love,” he said. You didn’t reply. “That was a joke. C’mon, it’s just you and me here. Even if you’re terrible, nobody else will see.”

It was presumptuous of him to say that you would be terrible, but he wasn’t wrong. Nobody had ever accused you of grace. You thought about tripping and stumbling, messing up the rhythm, embarrassing yourself completely in front of Sylvain. The idea made your face hot, your stomach dropping and shoulders curling inwards. “No.”

Sylvain sighed. “Is it because of what I told you about the girls from earlier?”

“No,” you said, confused by the question.

“‘Cause I know how it probably looks, but I swear that it’s completely different from you... I guess I say that a lot, too,” Sylvain paused, frowning like he wasn’t sure how to continue that line of thought.

You weren’t sure if the idea of being “different” was a good or bad thing. Was it because he didn’t view you as a girl? Or because you were just friends? That was a good thing, wasn’t it? It made your heart ache a bit. It made you wish, just for a second, that you were better at dancing. Then you wouldn’t be an afterthought sought out when his other options were removed. Even if you were just one of the cycling girls he spun around, you would spend those moments in his arms being an object of desire. Fleeting affection, temporary happiness. Moments, as lovely and short-lived as the dainty snowflakes illuminated by the light. You wondered if that was what he wanted, truly.

“Does it make you happy?” you asked after a moment. “The girls, I mean. Dating, dancing. It seems like it causes quite a few problems for you.”

Sylvain looked at you with something like surprise at the seemingly random question, his stare becoming harder than before as he considered something. Finally, he shrugged, forcing a casual air. “It’s fun, I guess,” he said, his voice tight in a defensive way. “Why? You’re not about to start lecturing me, are you?”

“No,” you told him.

“Okay,” he said, his disbelief clear.

“I wouldn’t ever lecture you for what you choose to do,” you told him softly, regretting having brought it up at all. “You’re your own person… You deserve to take responsibility for your own happiness.”  

“Oh, well… Thanks, I guess,” Sylvain said awkwardly, a beat too late. The silence crinkled like dry paper between you. “Um, anyway, you know what would make me very happy?”

“What?” you asked, glad for the change of subject.

“A dance with the cutest girl I know,” Sylvain said, shooting you a winning smile.

Cute. That was a word he used a lot. You weren’t sure anybody else had ever accused you of such a thing.

“Maybe another time,” you said, staring down at the paving stones, uncomfortably flattered. And you didn’t mean it and you were pretty sure Sylvain knew that, but he laughed and stretched his arms behind his head and didn’t ask about what you’d said or why you’d said it, letting the moment be.

And then the world shattered beneath the monastery.  

It was the bleakest, coldest, darkest part of winter when Dimitri lost it. Edelgard marched her armies on Garreg Mach through the frosted freezing air. War consumed everything you had thought to be stable, shaking apart the walls around you. When you returned, home was not quite the home you’d known before leaving. Like you didn’t quite fit anymore.

Seasons turned as stubbornly as ever. Years passed, day by day, moon by moon. As the third daughter to an earl in Gautier territory, you stuck around during those years of war, your habit continuing to grow during the occasional visit to your far more powerful and important friend. He didn’t have much time for you, and that was fine. It was what you were, a pale shadow hiding in the places so nobody would mistake you for something more. And that was fine. You taught yourself strategy and politics and occasionally allowed yourself to pretend to amount to more.

It was winter, winter again, when the war campaign rallying behind Dimitri and Professor Byleth returned in earnest, ice beneath your feet and chills gripping your skin beneath your armor, numbing your fingers and toes. It was winter and you and Sylvain were brothers in arms, and that was fine. You liked fighting at his side, you liked sitting in the dining hall and listening to your friends talk from a chair in the corner and pretending that this was your life, that you could have this always. Even on the edge of death and despair. Even then.

It was springtime when Sylvain confessed, the few final days right on the edge of summer. Out of the snow and miserable bluster of winter warfare spring had emerged, the chill air warmed by a dahlia sun filtered through a gauzy haze of lingering wet mist. Five years had passed since Sylvain waltzed into the greenhouse, five cyclical, cynical seasons of horror and destruction. But to everything a season, and the rebirth was coming. A new world emerging like chicks from their egg, flowers from seeds.

The two of you sat in the garden near the dining hall, enjoying the changing weather over tea. You wondered how much had really changed, considering the way you felt compelled to avoid Sylvain’s dark eyes, constantly shifting in your chair. More and more you’d become aware of a certain type of tension between the two of you, an awkwardness you didn’t know what to call or how to handle. It was different from the friendship you’d fostered, but not quite. It made your stomach twist into knots, jumping with the pitter-pattering wing-beats of butterflies.

It had really begun after Dimitri’s coronation. Considering the circumstances, the party hadn’t been anything special, but there had been a feast. And some drinking. And even a bit of dancing. Sylvain had kissed you and told yourself that it didn’t mean anything because he kissed a lot of girls and he was drunk, nevermind that he had neither been with another girl that night nor had his voice been altered by the telltale slur of intoxication. But what other reason could you think of to explain it away? After all, he couldn’t mean anything like that. Not when it came to you.

Even so.

“Y’know…” Sylvain told you, uncharacteristically awkward. “The wars gonna end soon.”

“That’s true,” you said, keeping your eyes distracted by watching the wind dance among the grass and shake the tree’s leaves into a shimmery wonder.

“And I hope that, by now, you know that I… uh…” Sylvain trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished. “Well, you know.”

“Know what?” you asked, put off by his shift in tone. “Is something wrong?”

Sylvain’s eyes widened and he scratched the back of his head, a nervous movement you’d noticed a few times. Not quite like now, though. Not with the way his cheeks were slightly pink and his body tense and eyes flicking away from yours. Usually, it was you who avoided eye contact.

“No! Of course not. What would be wrong?” he asked. “I was just wondering… Do you have any plans? For after the war, I mean. Or, I guess what I’m trying to ask is if you’re, y’know, seeing anyone?”

“I’m seeing you,” you offered after a beat. You knew what he was asking, but not why he’d ask. That made you nervous, your heart thumping unhelpfully.

“What?” Sylvain asked, his eyes wide. A second later, that expression of shock composed itself in understanding. “Oh, you mean… Right. That’s… not what I meant.”

“I know.”

Sylvain frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in something like frustration. “You’re difficult to read, you know that?”

“So are you,” you said under your breath, staring down at the toe of your shoe. Alliance merchants had come to Garreg Mach with all sorts of finery and wares, but you’d never gotten out of the habit of living in the hand-me-downs of your older sisters. These shoes had been nice when they were purchased by now they were old and worn and not quite yours, your feet not the ones to have broken them in.

You looked up at Sylvain, folding your hands carefully in front of you. “Obviously I’m not seeing anyone.” You hoped there was nothing bitter in your voice, that he wouldn’t pick up the ache you felt in saying it aloud. “What about you?”

“Nope, I’m completely single,” Sylvain said a little too quickly. A moment later, his shoulders deflated. “Actually, it’s kinda funny, I haven’t had much luck with girls recently... But that’s not what I wanted to talk about! See, I was just thinking. I mean, I wanted to tell you that I… I think this thing between you and me is… It’s good. I like it. I-I like you.”

You’d never gotten the trick to responding to such things. Praise, flirtations, whatever he meant by them, it seemed to always catch you off guard. Especially now, especially like this. Avoidance or honesty, you had to pick one. Eventually, you decided to go the way of honesty. “I feel the same,” you said slowly, hesitantly.

Sylvain smiled a big, goofy smile like he won something, looking at you like you were worth looking at. Like you were beautiful. He called you beautiful a lot, but it was just a word. A word without meaning, lots of things were beautiful without meaning. Flowers, snow, fire, all of them could make a person’s heart ache with their beauty, yet they could never last long enough for the word to stick. That look in Sylvain’s eyes, though, that was different. It made you feel differently, almost enough to convince you that it meant something, that you meant something.

“You told me a while ago that I deserved to take responsibility for my own happiness,” Sylvain said. “At the time, I thought that you meant that it was okay that I was doing the things I was doing. Chasing girls, being a good-for-nothing, just accepting that one day I’d be married off for my Crest. But that’s not what you meant, was it?” It took a second, but eventually, you remembered that conversation. So long ago now that it felt like another lifetime. In a way it was. Another life, another season. Undeterred by your lack of answer, Sylvain continued. “You’re pretty wise, you know that? Even if you say that you’re not.” He sighed, running his palms over his thighs nervously. “Anyway, I think you were right. And I’d like to do that. To decide for myself how to be happy, to decide for myself who makes me happy. And I realized... that it’s you. So… Uh… I don’t expect you to answer right away, but that’s how I feel. I just needed to get that off my chest.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You realized from a third person point of view that were you just sitting there, looking at him with a wide eyed, open mouthed look of shock and it was definitely not very attractive but you felt like you couldn’t move, like your brain had shorted out.

“Me?” you finally asked.

“Well, yeah,” Sylvain said, his eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t see anyone else around.”

Me? You wanted to repeat that question, ask it a million times until his answer made sense because it didn’t, not when he was talking about himself and happiness and what he wanted. Not you.

Looking at Sylvain, all you could see was the same attractive nobleman who came searching for you in the greenhouse with a grin and questionable intentions and a bad pick-up line, all you could see was the immeasurable chasm that existed between the two of you. Not status, not wealth, not title. Just you and Sylvain, the core of what you were and what you amounted to.

The longer your silence stretched on, the more concerned Sylvain’s expression became.   It was a cute look. He always pretended to play it cool, like he didn’t actually care that much, especially when it came to girls. But he did. “Hey, are you okay?” he began to get up to come towards you, but you jumped to your feet, swaying unsteadily.

“I need to, uh, think. About this,” you said, the words coming out stiff and as stilted as you felt. Sylvain sat back, frowning. When he looked like that, you wanted to say yes, to agree, to throw yourself into his arms and beg him to smile at you like he had so many times before. You couldn’t tell if that desire was selfish or hopeful or idealistic.  

“Yeah, I figured you would. That’s fine.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. Then, just as quickly, “Thank you. Goodbye.”

Sylvain said something more, but you didn’t hear it. You weren’t running away from him. Fast walking, maybe, the worn soles of your old shoes hitting the paving stones at a rapid pace. Why? You wondered that with every step. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to.

But you did.

It was only when you were secluded in the safety of the greenhouse that you realized how much of a fool you’d made of yourself. You realized something else, too. You realized why you hadn’t done what you wished you had and thrown yourself into his arms, informed by an angry little whisper that sounded an awful lot like the family who had cast you out to Garreg Mach to keep you out of sight for a time. Hiding in the muggy nook between exotic flowers, you knew yourself to be the disagreeable and unlikable girl you’d always been. You had told Sylvain once that he deserved to be responsible for his own happiness, but that didn’t mean you. Not awkward, strange, and occasionally even unlikable you. You were many things, but you weren’t a good tempered lady who could help him in his duties as Margrave Gautier, not someone worth loving. Not someone who could give him what he needed to be happy.

It was springtime, and the world was blooming.

It was beautiful, it really was.  

/

In one of the last lingering days of late summer, you sought him out. The day had been long, longer than any other. But now it was over. For some strange reason, you couldn’t help but feel some regret for that fact. Edelgard was dead, her fallen body marking the end of an era, the tragically human final act of an age of titans and gods. A new age had begun. Looking half a fleeting ember, the victorious sun laid between heaven and earth, casting its last radiant gaze across a place on the cusp of change. Tomorrow, it would rise over a different world, bringing with it a new dawn.

The won city Enbarr was torn and ragged from the battle, heartache at every corner. There was a hollow, spectral feeling to the destruction. People had been evacuated from places like these, places where the damage was the worst. It was a ghost town now. Marching back through the complicated network of streets that had served as a battleground only hours prior wasn’t exactly what you wanted to be doing. Not really. You had already done many difficult things today, taken many lives. This wouldn’t be the most difficult, not by a long shot, but it weighed heavily on your shoulders. Your final task. After this, you could rest.

You found Sylvain in the wild, crackling air of dusk’s saturated flare at the edge of the famed Enbarr canal, blanketed in the golden honey light of sunset. Late summer in Embarr was overripe and damp, swollen with the saltwater dew from being so near the sea. The humidity was worse here, at the lip of the waterway. Congested condensation and a cloying, musty scent clung to your scalp, beading up on the skin beneath your clothes.

Sylvain sat with one foot dangling over the edge, the other knee bent to make an armrest. He had an uncapped flask in hand. Inches away from the toe of his boot, the water rippled and distorted with his reflection. Sylvain looked every bit the hero he was with that handsome, contemplative expression as he looked to the horizon. You sat beside him without asking, staring up at the approaching night sky and letting out a big breath you’d been holding for what felt like hours. Days. Months. Years, five of them in total. It was a very big breath.

“Hey gorgeous,” Sylvain said.

Your head tipped back to give him a sideways glance. Smiling, of course he was smiling at you. The summer had darkened his skin a shade or two, his cheeks and nose tinged pink from the burning, radiant sun. It should have looked off with the bright red of his hair, but on him, it just worked. His teeth were white against the tan, but you saw something beyond the attractive expression. The slope of his shoulders and furrowed brow, the cloudy distraction behind his umber eyes. Not to mention the alcohol you could smell on his breath. Sylvain had paid the price for heroism. You all had. Enemies, allies, friends —rivers could run with the amount of blood that had been spilled. Who had he been thinking of? Edelgard? Hubert? Dorothea? Sylvain and the lovely songstress had been close, all those years and years ago.

But maybe it wasn’t her, maybe it wasn’t the searing gash of fresh tragedy that drove him here. Maybe he drank to ease the ache of old wounds, a pain that most had forgotten by now. Miklan had been a black hearted and cruel man, but he was Sylvain’s brother, and he had been the first to die.

“Hi,” you said, meeting his smile with a small attempt at one of your own. There were times to point out his charming charades, to ask what it was that he had been thinking about, but not now.

“What brings you here?” Sylvain asked. There was a subtext there. A surprise. You hardly ever approached him, always waiting and hoping for him to come to you first. Uncertain, awkward, too frightened of rejection should you make your desires known. This was, in a way, almost like an echo of your disastrous first introduction.

“You.”

Sylvain blinked. “Oh? It must be my lucky day.”

Lucky day? You wondered about that, a tumultuous gust of emotion swirling in your stomach. The victory had been absolute. No large losses, none of your friends had died today. Yes, that was lucky. The people of Enbarr had readily accepted Dimitri as their ruler. Also lucky.

You looked away from Sylvain, towards the sky. The sun was quickly disappearing. So quick, taking the spun sugar clouds and tangy sweet hues of sunset along with it. It moved despite all your wishes, prompting the future onward without mercy.

“You look pretty cute when you’re lost in thought like that,” Sylvain said. “But shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. “What about you?”

“I am.” He held up the flask with a lopsided smile. “Want some? It’s good, I snagged it from the Imperial storehouse.”

You eyed it for a second before giving in. Dimitri would have yelled at the two of you. Well, no, he’d have frowned in disapproval. Ingrid would have yelled. But you took a swig of the spiced liquor and decided that it was fine. Faerghus had a lot of alcohol, but it hardly ever tasted good. This was good. It left a searing trail down your throat and into your stomach, twisting your thoughts up into a properly warm buzz. You took another drink.

“The war is over now,” you eventually said, handing back the flask. “But it’s not really over, is it?”

Sylvain hesitated before answering, the rushing water beneath your dangling feet filling the silent space. Stars were revealing themselves now, chasing away the day for once and for all. “It’ll take time to make things right again, but the worst is over. Probably.” He paused and you could feel him looking at you, his stare intent. “Why?”

“You said before that you care about me,” you said, unable to meet his eye while remembering that afternoon and all of the embarrassment that had come of it. “Do you, uh, do you remember?” “How could I not?” Sylvain asked. “Gotta be honest, it’s been a while since a girl ran away from me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, frowning. “I was… Overwhelmed.” To say in the least. Just thinking about his confession made your cheeks blaze and stomach churn.

“It’s okay. You get this adorable expression when you’re embarrassed,” Sylvain said. He was grinning, you could hear it in his voice.  

Rather than panic by trying to figure out a retort to being called adorable under these circumstances, you thought about what it had felt like to kiss him all those moons ago. You measured the honesty behind the words of his confession and thought about the pain he hid so well from the world in a gnarled, terrible place in his heart. You thought about the secrets you’d exchanged and the many times he’d saved your life. You thought about the terrible person he occasionally indulged in being, and the wonderful man who existed despite that. You thought about Sylvain and the words came to you like the sweet nectar drawn from the dainty honeysuckle bloom. You wondered if you could really deserve it and the words came to you softly, emerging harsh and low, pulled out from your lips like poison from a wound.

“I really care about you, Sylvain,” you told him stiffly.

“Really? That’s good!” he said, grinning. When you didn’t answer, his posture wilted. “That is good, isn’t it?”

“Dimitri asked me to stay in Enbarr to smooth out the transition into a unified Fódlan.”

“And you said….”

“Yes.”

Sylvain let out a breath that was almost a humorless laugh, his lips turned up in a half-smile that didn’t at all meet his dark eyes. You felt your heart break, just a tiny bit. The easiest thing to do, just a few words, yet one of the heaviest tasks you’d performed all day.

“So… That’s it?” he asked.  

You loved him. You had for a while. Loved him in all the different forms the feeling could manifest, you knew that with an oppressive weight of fact. A vicious whisper in your mind insisted that he couldn’t love you, that it was all a beautiful little lie. Pity, even. But maybe it was all fake and manufactured and the feelings he spoke of were meaningless because you were just that easy, awkward and strange and never quite fitting in, you made a perfect target for someone like him to swoop in and seduce and you’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. But it felt nice and you couldn’t find yourself to care, or to blame him even if that was the case. Because it was nice. And warm. And lovely.

Besides, if it was true, if he was honest, then this was for the best anyway. He deserved better than what you could offer.

The sun was gone, the wild darkness of summer nights enveloping the two of you in an intimate cloak, a world of your own.

“Would it really be very hard?” you asked, staring up at the stars to avoid his eyes. “After all, I’m…”

No, you didn’t finish that thought. Not aloud. But you thought it —I’m me, and you’re you.

That was the crux of it all, wasn’t it? Sylvain wasn’t perfect, far from it, but he was far more than he thought of himself. He was strong and smart and caring and strangely considerate in ways people didn’t expect. He was the seductive dark heat of late summer nights, the cloying musky death and decay of autumn leaves beneath a crimson sun, and the destructive crackling blaze of a winter fire. To that, you were the cold shadow cast by a meek spring sun, a dotting of yellow headed weeds among a garden of gorgeous flowers.  

And one day he’d realize he’d made a mistake. Was it worse to imagine having your heart broken by his honest and sharp tongue when that day came, or to be kept around out of his sense of duty or guilt? If you could believe that Sylvain cared for you now, that only meant that it would hurt both of you that much more later. The sour, disagreeable third child. Of all the things the seasons had changed, you’d never shed yourself of that title.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sylvain asked. His expression was wounded, an edge of defeat in his voice. Your shoulders tensed up, a knot forming in your throat. “You don’t believe me, do you. That’s… Well, I probably deserve that.” He sighed, a stressed sound. “Fine, I’ll prove it to you. I’ll show you that I’m serious this time, that I mean it. I’ll-”

“I do believe you,” you told him, cutting off whatever he was about to say. The water was dark, it’s inky surface winking with the faint hint of shimmering reflected light as it rushed past. You stared at it, trying to keep yourself under control. “I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“The right thing?” he asked flatly.

“I don’t want you to wake up and realize that you only cared for me because of the emotions of war, or because I’m convenient. I-I don’t want to be your mistake,” you said, practically glaring at the canal to remain steady. “I want you to be happy, and I… I don’t think that I can do that.”

“You already do,” Sylvain said.

That shocked you into meeting his gaze again, unable to find the words to respond. In the dark, the color of his eyes was lost. But his intensity was heavy and warm and as intoxicating as the liquor and you were drawn to it like nothing else in the world because the way he made you feel when he looked at you like that was incomparable. But you were just you. Awkward, strange, uncertain. Even unpleasant in so many ways. How could you truly believe you deserved to be looked at like that? Like you mattered.

“You’ll come back to Faerghus, won’t you?” Sylvain asked. “After you’re done here, I mean. His Majesty can’t ask you to stay in Enbarr forever, right?” Dimitri most certainly could ask that of you, although you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if you wanted to return to Faerghus, Dimitri wouldn’t force you to stay. Sylvain didn’t seem to care about your answer, he likely knew it just as well as you did. “Right, so when things have calmed down here, you’ll come home,” Sylvain said, like that settled something.

Home. What did he think of as your home? The miserable cold estate of your father in Gautier territory? That no more sounded like home than Enbarr did. Perhaps you could continue work as an ambassador, or perhaps you would stay in the former Empire. Perhaps that would be better for everyone. Out of sight, out of-

“You will come back, won’t you?” Sylvain asked when you didn’t respond, his voice softer.

“Yes,” you said, unable to deny him that.

“Promise me something, then,” Sylvain said. “When you come back to Faerghus, you’ll give me a serious shot at proving to you how much I truly care about you.”

Your stomach turned over unhappily, nervously. What were you meant to feel about that request? Hope? Happiness? Guilt? Trepidation? In a way, you felt all of them at once, the sensation almost as overwhelming as the humidity. Once again, you wanted to say yes. You wanted to throw yourself into his arms and accept what would come of it.

The water rushed, bugs buzzing in the distance. You said nothing.

“C’mon, you wouldn’t wanna break my heart, would you?” Sylvain asked, his smile just about the only distinct thing you could make out in the dark.

“When I return...” you said slowly, considering it. What were the chances of that, you wondered? By the time you returned, the strange and faraway future, Sylvain would be Margrave Gautier. You couldn’t imagine him staying alone for long, not really. So it was a nice promise, pretty words, but no meaning. Just like beautiful, lovely, pretty, cute. Meaningless, without consequence. Another lovely thing to hold in your heart even when he’d forgotten all about you, a piece of treasure clutched in a dead man’s hand at the bottom of the ocean. “I promise.”

“Heh, you really know how to make a guy work for it,” Sylvain said, grinning like he’d won something. But it was just a casual, silly promise, nothing more. Even so. “It’s a promise, then.” He lifted the flask like a toast and took a hearty drink before passing it to you. It was almost like a kiss, your lips touching his by proxy. An innocent kiss, then, tasting of honeyed liquor and heat in your head and chest and head. A toast to a future you didn’t believe would come to pass. But you wished for it. You really did.

/

Autumn came later than it did in the north. Beginning with rippling waves of golden wheat and changing leaves, the infectious scent of fall harvest and drying earth greeted you each time you left the city. Not to be outdone, the vibrant infection of dying things and decaying earth crept into the streets of Enbarr, a velvety cloak fog sneaking into the streets. Fall hit Enbarr without the intense bite it had for Faerghus, which you couldn’t help but appreciate considering the amount of traveling your new position required of you.

It was difficult, you were hardly a politician, but you made it work. This was good. You needed to become strong. In a way, it was like setting a goal. You told yourself all the time that you could never be worthy of the promise Sylvain had made to you on that summer night, all the while working to become a woman who was. Strong. Beautiful. Self assured. Oh, you tried.

Sylvain wrote, occasionally. He told you that negotiations with Sreng were difficult. The leader of the country rightly had little trust for a place and people that had brutally annexed half of their land and only recently emerged from a terrible war. Oddly, being the victors made the position even more precarious, especially with the militantly nationalistic values the Chruch of Seiros had instilled within Fódlan for so long. Certain countries were willing to make alliances out of the fear, but others doubled down because of their worries that Fódlan could so easily ruin them.

Sylvain made no acknowledgment of romance or your promise, but there was something. The scent of his cologne that found its way into every envelope. The casual, loopy lattice of his handwriting. And the way he signed each letter, words you kept locked up tight in your heart. With love, Sylvain Jose Gautier. Forever yours, Sylvain Jose Gautier. Affectionately, Sylvain Jose Gautier.

You scorned yourself for the hope you felt. But you couldn’t quite kill it, either. /

Winter in the former Empire was as mild as the fall, all things considered. You didn’t even see snow until you ventured up into the former Arundel territory. Sylvain wrote less often. He must have been frightfully busy. Not to mention the difficulty of getting the post in or out of the snow-thick Faerghus. You tried not to take it personally.

Sylvain said, the weather there is probably nicer than here, it feels like I’m always cold these days. Cold and busy. Sylvain said, of course, it would be better if I could bask in the warmth of your smile. Sylvain said, Dimitri has decided to pick up the tradition of winter celebrations in Fhirdiad, any chance you’ll be there? Signed, Your devoted and freezing, Sylvain Jose Gautier.

You told him that you couldn’t. The nobles in the Empire were ready to crack at any moment, even a few weeks away would surely shatter the whole thing. Maybe next year.

Maybe. The word tasted like hope when you said it and you tried to keep your expectations in check.

Winter became spring became summer. Sylvain hardly ever wrote throughout the changing seasons, but neither did you. Too busy, too distracted, too forgetful, too frightened of rejection. Whenever you put the pen to paper, you found that all you could write was that you missed him. So much that it had become a terrible ache. Was that too selfish of you? Too terrible? You wondered if he had found a new love yet, if he thought of you. You wondered if he missed you, if he thought about you as often as you did him. You closed your eyes and pressed your nose to the heavy parchment that smelled of Sylvain’s cologne and dried ink and expensive paper and pretended for a moment longer that you could return to Faerghus as a woman who deserved to be at his side, that he would have you.

Autumn came again, the musty warm scent of sunshine on crispy yellow and red piles of leaves and sweet musk of death. The former Empire was finally becoming stable enough to free you from its clutches, the lords kept in check under Dimitri’s reign. Perhaps you would serve as an ambassador after all, Dimitri seemed willing to entertain the idea.

Winter descended a mild grip, bestowing a chilly kiss onto the city of Enbarr. No teeth, no cruelty. No snow. Although it was possibly one of the worst seasons to trek up north, you knew it was time to return. You had said maybe, but this was the goal you’d been building yourself towards all this time. You looked in the mirror and told yourself that you had changed throughout the year. No longer the disagreeable, antisocial child you had been. Even if Sylvain had forgotten his promise, even if he no longer cared.

Even so, even so.

/

The day had been short, shorter than most that you had spent in the mild climate of Enbarr. Comparatively, winter days in Fhirdiad were fleeting and freezing, the sun coming out just in time to wave goodbye. So many things had changed in the year and a half that you’d been away. Faerghus was a different beast entirely from the barren wasteland it had been. Trade routes had been established, relations between the former Alliance and Empire strengthened, and a certain feeling of life returned to the citizens. Fhirdiad was hardly recognizable, decked out in lights and wreaths in honor of the winter celebrations they were so fond of. Clean streets, rosy cheeks, playing children —you could barely reconcile the image of the city as it had been with the place that greeted you.

You had changed, too. Stronger, smarter, you had more perspective about the world. More confidence, maybe. Hopefully. By the goddess you hoped.

Many things hadn’t changed, however.

Until you were certain of your position and had a place to live, you’d taken a room in an Inn near the palace in Fhirdiad. It was cold and unornamented, such a stark contrast to the decadent rooms you’d taken in Enbarr. One thing you were at least somewhat certain of was that you hadn’t told anyone where you were staying. Despite that, barely an hour after you arrived, Annette and Mercedes towed an unenthusiastic Ingrid to your door. To get ready for the ball, they said, acting as if no time at all had passed.

With them, you didn’t feel as strong a need to prove yourself or the way you’d changed, the growth you’d achieved. They were quite unlike the sisters you’d grown up with, warm and kind and energetic. All the while tripping over themselves to inform you of everything you’d missed in the time you’d been gone, Annette and Mercedes styled you like a doll. “Ooo, you should wear your hair down like this,” Annette said, arranging your hair around your shoulders helpfully. “And I’ve got this shimmery eye pallet that will look great on you.” Mercedes dug through your luggage to find one of the many fancy dresses you’d acquired while living in the former Empire. “I think this dress matches the theme, don’t you think, Annie?” she asked. Surprisingly, even Ingrid joined in. Her hair was still short, but she applied makeup and donned a dress that showed an impressive amount of shoulder. Still, she rejected the lipstick Mercedes offered, saying that there would be sausages at the party and it’d get everywhere.

None of them mentioned Sylvain. You didn’t ask. It was nice to be around them again, to simply bask in their company. Making friends in Enbarr hadn’t been an option when so much of the court would have gladly seen you dead. Odd, you hadn’t realized how lonely you’d been.  

By the end of it all, you couldn’t help but feel a bit vain. Yes, you had changed quite a bit. Where you had been a scrawny and awkward girl hovering between stages of life during the war, you were now truly a woman. Elegant and graceful. Peace had allowed your hair and skin to finally shine, given the proper attention that long war campaigns had denied. No longer living on rations and training constantly, your body was softer than it had ever been, filling out the dress. You put on a practiced smile and stood up straight and told yourself that it was natural, that this was who you wanted to be.

Snow drifted down in lackadaisical twirls when the four of you entered the royal palace ballroom. It was a place you’d only seen once, when Dimitri took the throne. You had strong memories of that night, ones that made your stomach dip and churn with anxiety. And excitement.

After being relieved of your cloaks and announced, you paused to take it all in. Built in much the same fashion as other Faerghus structures, there was a harsh, utilitarian cut to the grand palace ballroom. The low ceilings lent a bunker-like quality to the place, although you wouldn’t call it cramped, either. Everything was cut with sharp angles and little detailing. Most of the stone was smoothed and finished but not colored or altered. Despite the relative simplicity, the floor plan was expansive, giving the party goers more than enough space to spread out into the various nooks and alcoves. The dance floor, a rather new addition, was set on a platform on the far end, the band set up on a slightly higher platform beside it. Tiles on the floor were what truly denoted the inherent wealth and style of royalty. The Crest of Blaiddyd was the largest, patterned across the dance floor, but the major noble Crests from Faerghus were printed in other important spaces. It couldn’t be seen from the entryway, but a sequence of stained glass panels representing Loog’s war for independence was set behind the King’s table.

Ingrid broke off from the four of you, ostensibly in search of the buffet, but Annette took your arm. “We should go see His Majesty first! I’m sure he’ll be super excited to see you again.”

“Annie,” Mercedes chided. “I’m sure there are many people she’d like to see.”

“No, I’d love to see Dimitri again,” you said with a smile that felt somewhat weak. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to see Sylvain, if you were ready for that. At the same time, you felt like you couldn’t wait.

King Dimitri was easy to find. He cut a grand figure in his royal ensemble, mingling among the people with a genuine smile. His confidence in the role of king had clearly grown, his movements as easy in his gala finery as they were in armor, not to mention the way he interacted with people lacking the awkwardness you were used to.

He smiled and greeted you, even kissing your hand, and it was utterly genuine. Dimitri was as polite and kind as you remembered, but it was wrong. He looked at you and that blue eye didn’t linger or seem surprised, he saw no difference between the woman who stood in front of him and the nervous, awkward girl he’d celebrated with after the war. Only a year and a half had passed, but still.

“You’re here to stay, then?” Dimitri asked. You smiled, but it was strained. To stay in Faerghus, yes, that had been your plan. But why? To do what? You realized right then how silly it was to be wearing a face full of makeup and a gown, like you were playing an odd game of pretend. You wanted to be validated, to prove to them all how you’d grown. That you were worth something now.

“I am.”

“I’m interested to hear everything about the situation in Enbarr,” Dimitri said enthusiastically. His eye flicked behind you, a new group of people hoping to meet the celebrity Savior King. “Er, later, if that’s alright with you.”

“Yes, of course,” you responded. “Later.”

He shot you an apologetic smile as he bowed out.

You turned back to scan the ballroom and you told yourself that you weren’t specifically looking for a dash of bright red among the muted wintery colors because that felt an awful lot like hope. And that was silly. You had grown, you had changed. Childish promises were hardly a concern of yours, now. When disappointment struck your chest at the absence, you ignored it.

Instead, you set to work trying to find where Mercedes and Annette had disappeared to. Before you could stray too far, a familiar soft voice called your name. Mercedes stood beside the hulking figure of Dedue. “I was just telling him that you came!” she said, smiling.

“It seems that everyone is here,” Dedue noted. “I’m… Glad to see you again.” He bowed, stiff and polite. It didn’t necessarily shock you that he would regard you in the same way as he always did. Straightforward and famously terse.

“Dedue just got back, too,” Mercedes said.

“From where?” you asked.

“I was in Duscur,” Dedue said.

At your confusion, Mercedes added, “After Dedue left Dimitri’s service, he and I have been working on opening a school for the children of Duscur.”

“Yes, it is a difficult project, but a worthwhile endeavor,” Dedue said, wearing a small smile as he looked down at her. A private look that you didn’t quite grasp. “In any case, a great many things have changed while you were away. It must be shocking.”

“A bit,” you said vaguely, surprised by their behavior. Caught off guard. Awkward. “I’m going to go get a drink.”

“Of course, we’ll catch up with you later!” Mercedes said.

Drifting over to the buffet table, you saw that Ingrid was right about the sausages. The spread was quite grand, but you’d grown used to such foods by spending so much time in Enbarr. Maybe a little spoiled, as you couldn’t help but note that many dishes were missing. But your stomach was far too nervous to eat anyway, so you accepted a flute of bubbly champagne, sipping at it as you made your way around.

People looked at you, watched you, but none of it was quite like you wanted. Did they see you because of the way you looked, the ways you’d changed, or did they view you as an awkward introvert pretending at being a lady? Which, you wondered.

You saw Ashe at just about the same time that he saw you, your eyes locking and his face immediately breaking out in a smile. “I heard you were here!” he said enthusiastically. He didn’t look older, not really. His hair was a little longer, but that was it. It was the same Ashe who had taught you the names of all the flowers in the greenhouse greeting you with the same smile he always had.

You smiled and nodded, unable to think of any more elegant greeting.

“It’s great to see you again,” Ashe said. So genuine, it made you feel bad for being so bitter. “I wish I had more time, but-” His eyes danced around the crowd, looking for something. Or someone. “I brought my younger brother along to introduce him to everyone, but I’ve no idea where he might have gone.”

“Do you need help looking?” you asked, the words more polite than anything.

“No, thank you. I can manage,” Ashe said gratefully. “I can’t wait for us all to catch up.”

“Me neither.” Your smile was thin because you knew he certainly didn’t see you any differently. And you weren’t sure what it was that you expected, that you wanted. Only that the absence made you feel a bit hollow, like you wanted to retreat to the shadows and hide.

You found Felix by acting on that impulse. He stood by the wall, on the fringe of the crowd with a slightly annoyed look about him. He didn’t wear the current style of laid back formal wear with a militaristic edge, but a cape and coat and boots. They were fine and well maintained, of course, but little more could be said for the look. Despite that, Felix had a way of standing out, his narrowed eyes watching the crowd like he expected something to happen. Or maybe that was just a vain hope. “So you are back,” he said, turning to acknowledge your presence. His expression didn’t change, but his voice wasn’t exactly cold, either. You’d always felt a certain sort of understanding towards Felix. But that was probably why the two of you had never become very close, either.

“Try not to look too excited. I might get the wrong impression,” you told him, the vaguely clever retort coming out in a practiced way after the words had been properly arranged in your head. That made him smile. But there was no other reaction, no indication that he noticed the way you’d changed or the way you looked.

The previous song ended with a flourish, the next one picking up right on its tail. Laughter buzzed around the expansive room, conversation and heat filling the space.

“Do you need something?” Felix asked. He didn’t sound frustrated, more distracted.

“No,” you said. “Actually, have you seen Sylvain around?” you asked. And you tried to keep your voice casual, but something kind of cracked towards the end and you could hear the naked want in your voice which was all kinds of pathetic.

“No, I haven’t,” Felix said, seemingly blind to your slipup. Right. Felix wouldn’t notice that sort of thing.

“Is he with someone?” you asked.

Felix snorted. “I don’t know. Or care, for that matter. Why don’t you ask him?”

“If I could find him, maybe,” you muttered softly, although you knew the words were more of a cover for your nerves than anything. “What about you”

“What about me?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

Felix eyed you for a second, his narrowed gaze unnervingly piercing. “Why?”

“Isn’t that what people normally ask their friends after having been away?”

“Probably,” Felix responded with a nod of understanding, but he didn’t answer.

“Right,” you eventually said, more to ease your awkwardness than anything. The person you wanted to be probably could have conjured up some way to draw Felix out of his shell, but you had no idea.

Instead, you bid him a farewell and ducked out. It was all so very anticlimactic. You’d been dreaming of the moment you’d return to court, confident and beautiful and desirable. But nobody looked at you like you wanted to be looked at, appraising you like you were worth admiring. It was like nothing had changed and that should have been comforting, but instead it just made you feel oddly weak. If you hadn’t changed in the way you thought you had, that took away the lie you’d told yourself so you didn’t feel so silly, the lie that you weren’t doing this for him. That you hadn’t returned because you were following the sweet trail of a promise made in the heady aftermath of battle and victory by tongues loosened with alcohol and intimacy ignited by the wild cocoon of a late summer night.

You wanted to be beautiful, but that wasn’t it. You wanted to be seen as beautiful. And worthy. Throughout the war, you had all remained in a half state of adulthood. Undeveloped and held back from moving forward until the war was over. That was why you had been unable to accept his proposal. One day he’d lose that mischievous affection in his eyes and you’d be left gutted and hollow and cheap. He’d realize you weren’t enough and leave you like a broken and useless toy. And things hadn’t really changed, not in the way you wanted them to have changed.

It felt like failure. Deciding to get some wintery air to calm yourself down, you abandoned your glass and reclaimed your cloak to wander outside into the garden. Most people opted to stay inside, but the weather wasn’t unmanageably cold. The tall stone walls kept the wind at bay, and the temperature wasn’t really so bad considering the heating artifices that had been set up in intervals along the paving stone walkways. You put up your hood to defend against the faint fog of the lazy snow. Mostly, though, you were just amazed by the sight that greeted you.

No flowers were cultivated at this time of year, most of Faerghus was killed by the brutal weather. To replace them, the garden was decorated with elaborate ice sculptures. Art was as rare in Faerghus as flowers were, making the sight a genuine surprise, but not an unwelcome one. It drew you out of your poor mood, giving you a much needed distraction.

Some of them depicted familiar scenes, frozen tableaus made to reflect scenes of scripture or history. Not just Faerghus history, either. All three nations were given spotlights among the icy sentinels.

The most interesting one, to you, was the ice Dimitri, standing double the height of the man himself with Areadbhar at the ready. Byleth had received similar treatment, the Sword of the Creator held high to fall on whichever unlucky individual happened to be beneath it. You wondered what the pair thought of such treatment, such deification. Either way, the sculptures were nothing short of breathtaking.

The arrival of a group of people urged you onwards, deeper into the frozen wonderland of stone and ice. It was colder as you got further away from the main plaza, the main sculptures grouped where they could be seen and admired. Darker, too, colors fading as if you were walking beyond the clustered beating heart of the celebration and into something else. Something eerie. You’d been too lost in empty ponderance to notice how far you’d walked. There weren’t any sculptures here, just ice molded into shapes to replace the empty flower beds, regular stone statues posed amidst the path. Just as you were about to turn around, the dark spoke.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that really you?”

Recognition hit you instantly like a sharp flash of late summer lightning. Even muffled through the wool of your cape’s hood, you knew exactly who that voice belonged to. Despite that, you had to turn around to be sure. Just in case. No matter how much you doubted yourself, Sylvain Jose Gautier himself stood behind you, wrapped up in a dark cloak that allowed him to nearly fade into the shadows. Only his face, as pale as you remembered, stood out in the magic light. He was smiling, shadows cast beneath his arched eyebrows and high cheekbones, his red hair both unruly and stylish at the same time. Although the finer details were lost between the darkness and distances, you were more than aware that your memories didn’t at all do him justice.

“It’s you,” you said, unable to think of anything more articulate. Even with as much as you’d anticipated this moment, you hadn’t planned for it, not like this. Actually, you weren’t even sure what you had planned for.

“Uh, yeah,” Sylvain said after a beat, grinning. “I hope you weren’t expecting someone else.”

“I wasn’t,” you said quickly. “You surprised me.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said. “I’d have thought of a better ice breaker, but I wouldn’t want any of the mages to get mad at me for ruining their hard work.”

It was almost surreal. He was the same as he had been. The line was stupid, but it worked, it made your chest ache.

“Okay, I know. That one was terrible,” Sylvain said with a rueful laugh when you didn’t answer, scratching the back of his head. “Guess it’s kinda an off day for me… I didn’t know you’d be here. I mean, I heard that you were, but I wasn’t sure. Especially since it was so hard to find you.”

“Sorry.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Sylvain said. “In fact, I’m overjoyed.  Although… I’d be happier if I could actually see your face. Don’t get me wrong, I love a bit of mystery, but I appreciate beauty much more.”

It took a moment to register what he meant, but eventually, it dawned on you that with the only light at your back and your hood up, your face was probably entirely obscured. “Right,” you said. It wasn’t exactly the grand reveal you hoped for, but it was still something. You pulled down your hood in a way you hoped didn’t mess up your hair. Trying to remain somewhat surreptitious about it, you turned slightly, enough to catch the light better. The air was colder without the buffer of the wool, but you didn’t exactly mind it.

“Wow,” Sylvain said, his voice soft, surprised. “You look beautiful.” He looked at you in the way none of the others had, his breathy voice quiet and expression stunned. Not in the artificial way of his flirtations, but something honest and fascinated. A moment later, as if coming to his senses, Sylvain’s awe turned awkward. “What I mean is that you look stunning tonight. Not to say that you never looked nice before! ‘Cause you did, er, do. You’ve always looked beautiful, but this is different. Good different.”

“Thank you,” you said, unable to keep from the spread of a slow smile across your face, a giddy feeling making your heart jump. Nerves, doubt too. But it wasn’t so bad.

“No, really,” Sylvain insisted, his expression earnest. “I almost feel bad for the mages who set this all up. Your mere presence completely devalues any piece of art. How could anybody admire something else when you’re around?”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you said after a moment of consideration, trying to deliver the line in a properly playful way. It must have worked, because Sylvain’s face broke out into another wide grin.

“You think so?” he asked. “‘Cause if you do, maybe you’ll do me the honor of touring this little exhibition together?” Sylvain held out his arm, one of his eyebrows quirked hopefully.

“I would,” you said, jumping at the chance to give such an easily presented answer and taking his proffered arm before you could talk yourself down.

“By the way, how’d you wind up all the way down here?” he asked as the two of you retraced your way back to the main plaza.

“I guess I was distracted,” you told him, trying your very best to keep your gait normal and not look at him. It hardly made a difference. Standing so close, you could smell the wool and tanned hide of his fur trimmed cape, the deeper musk of his clothes and the body beneath them, the leather polish of his gloves. It was intimate in a quiet, still way.

“That’s it?” Sylvain pushed, expectant.

You tried to figure out what that might be before giving up. “What do you mean?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing,” he said. “I guess that part of you hasn’t changed.” Sylvain seemed pleased with that observation, but you weren’t. He was right, it was just like you to get wrapped up in your desire to isolate and your own thoughts and feelings. To isolate yourself.

Brushing past other couples, you and Sylvain walked and admired sculptures depicting Sothis creating the Fódlan. Serios with her sword held high, her hair and dress picked up by an unseen breeze. The Four Saints. Nemesis, the King of Liberation.

All the while, Sylvain was looking at you. The feeling was heavy even as you tried to avert your eyes onto the shining sculptures. They were marvels, genuinely, but you could barely see them for as hard as you were staring.

“Is everything all right?” you finally asked, meeting Sylvain’s eyes nervously. As much as you had craved it, you had been avoiding his gaze.

“Yeah, of course. It’s just… It seems like a waste to keep you out here all alone where nobody can admire you,” he said. “Then again, that makes me pretty lucky, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose,” you said slowly, “it depends on how you define luck,”

“Running into you?” Sylvain said. “I’d say that’s very lucky. Some might even say it’s fate.”

“That’s silly.”

“You don’t believe in fate?”

“No more than you do.”

“If it’s not fate, how is it that I seem to constantly run into you like this?” Sylvain asked, his voice and smile playful. “Face it, we’re fated to be together.”

You didn’t respond to that, trying to gauge how serious he was and coming up short of anything other than conflicted confusion.

“By the way,” Sylvain said after a moment passed, “what are you doing out here? You couldn’t have gotten dressed up like this just to admire the scenery all by yourself.”

“I was inside for a while,” you told him. “I said hello to everybody.”

“Except me.”

Did he sound a bit hurt? He was smiling, but there was an edge to his voice. “I couldn’t find you.”

“Really? Then you couldn’t have been in there very long. Are you sure that’s it?” Sylvain pushed suggestively. “You didn’t come out here to, I dunno, meet someone?”

“Obviously not,” you said carefully, holding just a bit more tightly to his arm. Not clinging, you didn’t want to think of yourself as clinging. “I’m known to be unfriendly and antisocial, it would be more out of character if I didn’t run away and hide.”

“I don’t think you’re that bad,” Sylvain said, either not picking up on your self deprecating tone or ignoring it. “Felix definitely has you beat in that regard. He’s completely hopeless.”

“If he wore a dress you wouldn’t think I was any better,” you responded, making a valiant attempt at teasing him to avoid giving in to your self pity.

It worked. Sylvain looked down at you like he was shocked, at a loss for words. “You have changed,” he said dramatically. “Ouch. You leave for a year and suddenly you know just where to hit me where it hurts. Did Ingrid tell you about that?”

“I’m just saying,” you said, skirting around that question, “that you’re biased when it comes to girls. And other feminine individuals.”

“Well, maybe,” Sylvain allowed. “But not about you. I pride myself on having enough personal experience to know firsthand how cute and charming you can be.”

“What is strange,” you said, forcing the conversation onward to ignore the way he made your stomach buzz with thousands of little butterfly wings, “is that you’re out here. Unless you’re meeting someone.”

“I was,” Sylvain said, “but I already found the girl I was looking for,”

You didn’t know what to say to that, all of your quips and clever retorts running dry, a dizzy intoxicated sort of feeling rising up into your head. Rather than answer, you pretended to be very interested in a sculpture of an eagle. It stared down at you with beady and judgmental icy eyes, it’s wings folded and posture regal.

“Anyway,” Sylvain continued, “I’ve heard that you’re in Faerghus to stay.”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” you responded.

“You know, I was prepared to wait way longer,” Sylvain casually noted as you continued down the line of sculptures to a lion cast in ice, his mouth forever fixed in an intimidating roar. “I had an image in my head of how I’d try to woo you as an old man. I figure that I’ll be one of those graceful old grandpas who uses a fancy walking stick and everything. Obviously, you’ll age very gracefully. Probably would have had to get the ring resized for your old lady hand, though.”

Your heart thumped, the palpitation hard enough to make your head spin.

“Um… What?” you asked in a faint voice, your arm going limp and releasing his as you stopped in your tracks. Sylvain hesitated, his feet brushing against the stone as he half turned towards you.

“Don’t you remember?” Sylvain asked, confused. “The night that the war ended, we made a promise.”

“I remember,” you said, swallowing down a lump in your throat.

“Great! So, uh, where do you think I should begin?”

“Begin what?” you asked dumbly.

His eyes narrowed, a frustrated glare that accused you of being purposefully obstinate. “Wooing you? Y’know, proving the extent of my undying love and all that.”

“Oh, that,” you said, your stomach dropping and a cold breath catching in your throat.

“Yeah, that,” he echoed, his confidence fading a bit. “If this your way of politely rejecting me, it’s okay to just say it outright. I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

Winter’s unyielding touch pierced the bubble created by walls and warmth, a draft of cold air teasing your hair, slipping beneath your cloak and making you shiver. Snowflakes settled in Sylvain’s messy hair, sparkling as they caught the light.

“I don’t have anything to offer you, Sylvain,” you told him after it passed, your eyes flicking away from his to stare hard at the lion’s icy maw to keep your eyes from stinging. “I thought that if I took some time and tried, I could. I wanted to, but coming back here and everything… I am what I am.”

“And I wouldn't want you to be any different,” Sylvain said. From your periphery, you could see that he was frowning, his brow furrowed in concern. “What do you think you don’t have that I want… Or.. Or expect? I don’t mean to be crude, but I could get almost any girl I wanted. At the very least, she’d be compelled to marry me because of my-”

“Crest and title,” you filled in, your voice flat.

His lips quirked up like that was a funny thing to say, but his eyes didn’t change. “Yeah, that. I mean, that’s how it is, right? That’s the person I’ve always been told I was. The fate I accepted. Until I met you. You showed me that I can be more than that. And this past year…” He laughed dryly, a gloved hand brushing the snow from his hair nervously. “Well, to be honest, it’s been pretty miserable. But it made me think even harder about myself and about what I wanted. I’ve made my choice.”

“And what’s that?” you asked. And you knew what he meant but that knowledge was unbearably presumptuous, something you could hardly let yourself dream, let alone be given in real life. So you asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sylvain asked, “You.”

Dizzy and cold, you probably could have been knocked over by a particularly stiff breeze. “Me,” you said softly. Not a question, just an attempt to taste the word, to understand it. He didn’t even hear you.

“But…” Sylvain continued before stopping himself. He sighed, shook his head. “Now don’t get me wrong, I love the chase, but I’ll give it up if you tell me right now that you don’t want me. I can accept that. However, if there’s even the slightest chance that I can convince you that I truly, genuinely want to be with you, I’ll do anything.”

“I’m not worth all that,” you said, but your voice was hushed and cramped by your swollen throat, spoken to the ground because you couldn’t look at Sylvain and admit that. Not directly. Couldn’t he tell? Beneath the makeup and hair and dress and all of the things you’d done to grow, you were still the pathetic slip of a girl he found in that greenhouse. The same nothing girl you’d been your entire life.

“What?” he asked, taking a step towards you.

You looked up, daring to meet his dark eyes. The words hurt to say. Icicles piercing between your ribs. But you did. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You don’t deserve me?” Sylvain asked slowly, emphasizing the words as if to make sense of them. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he considered you, picking you apart with that too-keen gaze. “So all of this, the way you’ve been acting… I think I’m starting to get it. You think that you’re not enough… For me.” After saying that aloud, Sylvain laughed another humorless laugh. “Why, what makes me different?”

“Everything,” you said, speaking at a nearly inaudible hush because you didn’t trust your voice. “You’re my first friend, the only person who’s ever made me feel like I mattered. I couldn’t bear to ruin this because I…” Words weren’t your forte, they never had been. You knew that, he knew it. But you swallowed against your dry mouth so they could come out all the same, the warmth of your breath fading into the cold and carried away by the wintery air to the heavens above. “I love you.”

Sylvain didn’t react at first, staring at you in shock. Finally, just when the tension was ready to kill you, words emerged from his parted lips. “You…me…I...” He paused, then shook his head as if to clear it, to focus. “Come again?”

“I love you,” you repeated, the words coming louder now that they’d already been exposed, brittle in your mouth.

“Right…” He blinked once. Twice. “Do you remember earlier when I said that you were less hopeless than Felix?” Sylvain asked.

You nodded.

“I take it back.”

You purposefully fixed your gaze at the frosted ground with some mixture of embarrassment and nerves. Regret, too, it was tangy in your lungs. As it happened so often, you found yourself without anything to say. What were you supposed to say now that all of your damning insecurities were out in the dark winter cold? His tone was semi-playful with that last remark, but it was true. You were hopeless, you hadn’t really changed at all and now you felt like you were going to cry. Right here, in front of him, running your makeup, ruining the night-

Refusing to allow you to sink back into your own head, Sylvain grabbed your hands. Both gloved, his in leather and yours in silk. Despite that, you could feel the firmness of his grasp, remember the way his skin was calloused and rough against your own. You looked up to meet his eyes on instinct, confused and surprised by the easy way he touched you. But not displeased, not enough to shake off his grasp.

“I couldn’t bear to see you change,” Sylvain told you emphatically, his dark eyes serious and eyebrows raised. “Sure you’re a little weird sometimes and I can’t say that I always understand what you’re thinking, but I like that. I like the way that you listen to what I have to say and the way you try to understand me. Me, not my Crest or title or whatever. I like the way you smile and the playful look in your eyes when you say something clever. You’re intelligent and supportive and kind.” The words had an odd rhythm to them, like they had been practiced before but Sylvain couldn’t quite dole them out in the measured way in which they’d been composed. Each one was caressed by his voice before puffing out in a little cloud in front of his red lips, accentuated by the pleading, vulnerable cast of his eyes on yours. “I like you…” he told you, his fingers tightening around yours. “No, I love you. And if you’ll have me, I’ll prove it to you. I’ll show you how wonderful I think you are. I’ve thought up a few pretty compelling ways in this past year.”

From an outside perspective, you could imagine that you were standing as still as the lion made of ice. Rigid, your eyes wide, your lips slightly parted as if to make way for words you weren’t able to speak. In your own head, however, you just felt dizzy. Aware of the cold biting the tip of your nose and freezing your feet in their brand new fancy shoes. Your breath was held as if to retain Sylvain’s impromptu speech for a moment longer, as if you could parse out the meaning of his words just from keeping them in.

“Uh…” he finally said, frowning. “Are you okay? Maybe that was too much...”

“No!” you said, the word finally breaking through the barrier of your mind to your lips before you could rethink it. Too loud. You flinched, clearing your throat to more easily manage your voice. “N-not too much.”

Sylvain waited expectantly for more. But there wasn’t more. What were you supposed to say? How were you supposed to offer him something even halfway comparable to that confession?

“Should I give you some space?” Sylvain asked, his grip loosening around your hands.

You panicked, holding onto him tighter. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m trying to… I mean, I… I don’t know what to say.”

Slowly, hopefully, a smile tugged at the edges of Sylvain’s mouth. “Have I ever mentioned how cute you are when you’re flustered?” He seemed to ponder that for a second before adding, “Strike that, you’re always cute.” Another beat passed and his expression sobered. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t able to show you how wonderful you are before you decided that you’re not.”

“Don’t say that,” you told him.

He frowned, but nodded. “You’re right. All I can do now is spend the rest of my life making it up to you…. If you’ll have me, that is.”

“Sylvain,” you said carefully, trying to keep your voice even so it didn’t slip away from you. “Is this a proposal?”

“Huh, well, I guess it kinda is...” He frowned. “I hate to say it but I’m completely underprepared for this. I haven’t really asked your father and I don’t even have the ring on me, also, I was envisioning more flowers. But…” He paused to compose himself before nodding resolutely. “Yes, this is me proposing marriage to you. I’d be the luckiest guy in the world if I could spend the rest of my life with you by my side.”

Like sugar in tea, everything that had been holding you back from accepting him was dissolved away. All the reasons you’d clung to so you could justify your cowardice and insecurities were dwarfed by what Sylvain was offering. Because you were weak, because you couldn’t hold onto the martyr mentality anymore. Not like this. “Okay,” you said. It was barely more than a whisper because you could feel the tears coming back, making your throat tight.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” you clarified, just a bit louder. “I’m sorry I made you wait.”

Sylvain smiled. It was a look you knew well, one that you had treasured since the first time you saw it. He grinned and looked at you like you were worth wanting, worth caring about. Like he’d won something grand. “You’re a girl well worth waiting for,” he told you. “Although, we do have some things to make up for. I guess we’ve got time for that, though.”

Time to make up for the seasons apart. The thought alone made you feel giddy. Overwhelmed. Like this was a dream. Maybe it was, although you couldn’t say you minded the idea too much, assuming you never had to wake up.  

“Is that a promise?” you asked.

Sylvain pulled you in closer. He was warm despite the cold, he smelled good even though your nose was a bit stuffy from the tears and chill. “You’re the only girl I’ll ever want, the only girl worth looking at. I swear my heart to you.”

You blushed, looking away. “That’s-”

“Too flowery?” he butted in nervously. “Sorry, force of habit.”

“I don’t mind it,” you told him slowly, honestly. “Even though it’s embarrassing. Maybe you don’t remember but the first time we met, you told me that if we were flowers-”  

“We’d have a budding romance,” he said with a wry smile. “That was bad, I know.”

“It worked,” you said. “I never told you, but it did.”

“Really?” Sylvain’s eyes widened. “I thought you hated me for the longest time.”

“Never.”

“Even when I kissed you?” he asked. “You avoided me for a while after that, I was worried I had scared you away.”

“I didn’t want you to think that I felt like you owed me something for a mistake.”

“A mistake,” Sylvain repeated, his voice twisting the idea into something ridiculous. His leather-clad hand reached up to cradle your cheek, pulling your eyes up to meet his. Playful, dancing in the dim light. “Fine, what if I kissed you now?”

Your eyes widened, flicking down to his smiling mouth. Wide, full bottom lip, constantly on the verge of a half-smirk. Sylvain was so close, it would be very easy for him to close the distance between the two of you. “If you want,” you said. His thumb brushed across your lip, making you shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. “Yes.”

It had been winter when he first kissed you. Now it was winter again and the air was cold but Sylvain’s mouth was hot, his arms wrapping you up in a scorching embrace. Whatever else you were, in that moment, you could believe that you weren’t alone. You could believe that you —nothing little you— were wanted in the only way you’d ever wished to be wanted. As yourself, as someone worth loving, a girl worth caring about. Beautiful, not in the transient way you’d always feared.

The two of you parted and your breath was quick and warm as you tried to steady it, your pulse racing. “I love you,” you murmured quietly, your eyes closed. Finally, those words felt comfortable in your mouth, like they had a right to be spoken. Sylvain laughed breathlessly, delighted, his arms still wrapped around you.

“I don’t think you have any idea how happy it makes me to hear that,” he said. “Beyond happy, actually. I didn’t think this was possible.”

“You make me happy, too,” you told him, peeking through your eyelashes to meet his eyes. Warm. Tender. Excited.

“When you smile at me like that… You know, I don’t think there’s a single more beautiful sight in the world,” Sylvain said in an unfamiliarly soft voice, his dark eyes adoring. “It almost makes me not want to share you with anyone else. What do you think about eloping?”

“Eloping?” you repeated, caught off guard.

“Yeah. Right now, tonight,” he said. “I’m sure we could find someone…”

“You’re that impatient?” you asked, halfway questioning the playful intent behind the suggestion.

“You did keep me waiting for around, what, five hundred days, give or take? It’s romantic to act with such passionate abandon.” Sylvain paused, a wicked smirk twisting up the corner of his mouth. “If we stay here too long, I might feel inclined to want you to dance with me...”

“No.”

“Not even if I ask nicely?” Sylvain asked. Although his voice was innocent enough, the way he’d raised an eyebrow and suggestively licked his lips oozed bad intent. And desire. For you. The thought was as potent as any liquor you’d ever tasted.

“No,” you repeated, your voice less firm.

“So there’s no chance I can persuade you?” he asked, leaning closer.  

You opened your mouth to refuse before rethinking it, your stomach tied up in a dozen wonderful, unknown sorts of knots. “You could try.”

[blkgirlblvd]

Ｃａｓｈ Ｒｕｌｅｓ

𝘼/𝙉: I hope everyone enjoys this, I enjoyed making it.

𝙏𝙖𝙜: @youbloodymadgenius

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧: Modern Ivar x Reader

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜: Angst, Cheating, Fluff, Swearing,

𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙨: 𝟹𝟹. ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀғʀᴀɪᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ. & 𝟹𝟽. ᴛʜᴀᴛ's ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ғᴀɪʀ.

Being with Ivar was a challenge. Not because of Ivar himself, but what came with being with him. The spotlight. 

He loves it, the spotlight. It was the only time when people would give him the attention he longed for, listening to his every word, but it wasn't what he wanted. He knew they saw a cripple boy, seeking acceptance like a broken man seeking a bottle, but he didn’t care since, at the moment, all eyes were on him.

After a few years, he began dating you, an aspiring indie singer, He strolled into your job, captivated by the melodic tone of your voice on the song. You wouldn't deny he caught your eye as well. not because he was a cripple, but because he was breathtaking to look at. 

"Ivar, this is too much.” Turning at the sound of his name, he found you, wearing the most expensive evening gown that he purchased. You told him you could afford your own dress, but he couldn’t help but spoil you. He thought you deserved the finest. 

“No no it's not, you look breath-taking y/n.” walking toward you with his cane, he touches your hands, gazing into your eyes. He couldn't believe how beautiful you looked when you put a gown on. You were a fairy-tale. His Queen.

"And you look very handsome, I say we cleaned up nicely." Smiling into the kiss Ivar gave you, you couldn't help, but feel the butterflies in your stomach rise inside of you. You once told him that and he called you a lunatic, but it was true. He made you feel good about yourself.

                                    ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Arriving at the party, you tried to put on a happy face, attempting to seem interested in the ball, yet everything was so tedious. The people you talked with were only interested in your status with Ivar, you lost count of how many times someone asked invading questions about you and him. 

"Love, come with me, I want you to meet someone important." taking your hand, Ivar moved through the crowd of people, searching for whoever he desired for you to meet. The bottom of your dress was tangled in your shoes, almost tripping as he dragged you to the destination.

"Ivar, where the hell are you taking me." Then you saw her, his mother. 

"No. I can't meet her here, let me go right now, Ivar Lothbrok." He couldn't even take you seriously. You've been asking to meet his mother for quite a while, and now that the woman was before your eyes, you acted like a little child. He thought. 

"Stop acting like such a Christian, she'll love you." Turning around to look at you, the fear was evident on your face. He could feel your hands shaking, trembling as he held onto them, too afraid to let them go he edged closer to you, feeling his warm breath close to your ears.

"I am a Christian Ivar, but that's not important. What's important is I can't meet her, she'll be so disappointed once she gets one good look at me." Looking down too ashamed to look at Ivar, he quickly raised your head with the end of his fingertips, wanting you to meet him eye to eye. Those sad, yet beautiful blue eyes he had.

"Well let's disappoint everyone, I'm in love with you and no one can change my feelings for you." 

"Promise me, Ivar Lothbrok." raising your pinky up in between your very close bodies. Ivar chuckled for you always knew how to make an intimate moment childish. Yet in a good way. 

"I promise." A smile couldn't help but land on your face after that confirmation. Telling Ivar you'll meet his mother. You could sense your nerves trying to crawl their way back into your stomach and hands, clutching tightly to your dress. You hope that would be enough to get you through this moment.

"Ivar, my beautiful son, give your mother a hug." Now that you were up close, there was no denying that she was the most beautiful person you've met. Watching the beautiful moment between mother and son, you couldn't help but admire how handsome Ivar looked with his hair neatly up in a bun to the striking way his muscles flex when he would hold his mother. 

"Mother, I want you to meet the most beautiful woman in my life...besides you, y/n." Standing closer to Ivar, you could feel the judging eyes of the people watching this encounter unfold. You knew how well respected Ivar’s family were, but you weren't from here, so you didn't know the full impact till you saw your face in the newspaper enjoying a date with Ivar.

"It's nice to meet you…"

"Aslaug. And your name is?" 

"Y/n." You couldn't even look at Ivar, yet you could sense him loving every moment of this. He wouldn't tell you, but he prayed his mother approved of you too, besides his mother no one was ever on his side voluntarily, after meeting you, you had his back not when he was in the wrong, but when people doubted his ability you were very quick to praise him on his achievements. 

“I must say you’re a pretty thing y/n, tell me you are keeping Ivar alive over at his place, he used to call me all the time asking how to use a stove.” Laughing at her remark about Ivar, you could visibly see Ivar struggling to work one. The moment you two became friends, he would immediately call you asking about how to use home appliances as if it was that difficult.

“I try to, I can’t let this handsome face cause destruction around the house.” Finally getting a glance at Ivar, You could see the creases of his lips forming a smile, enjoying the little banter between his mother and you, even though it was at the expense of his inability to handle living alone. 

“Ivar I’m taking her off your hands, find your brothers for me will you.” Walking with his mother to her original spot in the corner of the ballroom, you two discussed a variety of topics. You heard the rumors from people at work about the scandal with Ragnar, Lagthera, and her, but you didn’t care for the majority. You can’t help who you fall for and if he decides to tell you the truth when first meeting you just have to live with the consequences and try to make it work. She wasn’t a bad woman just fell for the wrong man. You thought. 

“Y/n, I want you to be honest with me. I can detect a lie quickly so it would be in your best interest, to tell the truth, do you truly even see yourself with Ivar or is this just a fame scheme?” Your heart stopped for what seemed to be a long time, looking Aslaug in the eyes, you knew you were looked shocked to the eye, but she still held her gaze awaiting your answer, you knew she would ask a question like this, but so after the first meeting. You heard many women tried to slither their way into the family and she easily got rid of them, you wouldn't lie and say that didn’t terrify you a little.

“You’re one of the good ones y/n be sure to hold on to my troublemaking son.” 

"I will...for as long as I can." Asluag sadly smiled as she heard the last bit of your sentence, hoping she didn't hear what you said, you excused yourself in search of Ivar, and found him where you most certainly didn't expect him to be. The ballroom floor dancing with another woman. Cameras were on them instantly and he enjoyed it, smiling brighter than you ever saw him smile, going along with the facade he likes to put on.

She looked as though she was enjoying herself as well, her hands were firmly placed behind his head pressing herself closer to him, hoping for more physical contact. Irritation and jealousy soon appeared on your face watching as cameras and eyes were all on them, they looked like a celebrity couple, soon irritation became embarrassment as people whispered among themselves watching you in pity as you watched the man you love dance with the beautiful woman.

"That's his ex-fiancee Freydis." Looking next to yourself, Hvitserk appeared. He was the only Lothbrok you could say gave you a normal welcome when Ivar introduced you to his brothers. Ubbe was overwhelming, to say the least, asking many questions about you and your family, Sigurd was rude and flirtatious, Ivar warned you he would act that way, and Bjorn was too focused on trying to find a new woman to lay with him so he was occupied, to say the least.

"He didn't tell me anything about her, but I can see why, she's pretty." 

"She is a beautiful thing, but trust me she has nothing on you, you encourage him in the best ways."

"Thank you, Hvitserk let me get your brother before he embarrasses me further."

Gracefully walking over to Ivar, knowing eyes were on you now, you tapped his shoulder, instantly he turned around, but the look on his face, you couldn't read if it was annoyance or anger. 

"Mind if I cut in?" Smiling at Freydis, the tension was evident as you watched her mannerisms toward you. She eyed you quickly, inspecting you as if you were something that didn't deserve to be her presence.

"Of course you can...Freydis meet my girlfriend y/n." 

"Mhm...hello." you immediately wanted to break away from the conversation, anger was quickly rising back into after her response. Ivar could tell you were mad from the way your jaw was clenched, keeping your remarks in.

"Did Ivar tell you I was his ex fiancee."

"No, because you're something left in the past...it was nice meeting you, but I'm very tired, and we have to leave." Before either of you could say goodbye, you were dragging Ivar by the arm, wanting to get out this event before you made a scene, and he knew you would.

The car ride home was silent. Neither of you wanted to speak, for if you spoke you would start an argument, and if he spoke he would make the situation worse. He tried to let you know he was sorry by lightly touching, but you always flinched away from him, as if he was something disgusting. Even as you both made it back to his apartment, you remained quiet leaving a big gap between you two in bed. 

He didn't understand why you were being so dramatic, he knew he should have told you about Freydis since he knew he couldn't avoid her, yet dancing with her shouldn't have affected you so much since you know he loves you.

                                     ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

You two haven't talked in days. 6 days to be exact, Ivar was counting. Every time an opportunity came for him to talk to you, you began walking away, locking yourself in the bathroom or just leaving the apartment completely. He was getting frustrated, he missed you and you ignoring him, made him not even want to be in the space as you. 

You noticed. He would come home later than he usually would, but you never said anything even though you wanted to question him as soon as he walked through the door. You needed him back, you wanted him back, the emotional separation was taking a toll on you and you thought you would lose your sanity if you didn't make it right with Ivar. But the hurt was there. He couldn't let go of the attention he craved and you thought you gave him enough to know he didn't need everyone's eyes on him.

As you went on with your day, thoughts of him kept interrupting you, you thought of the way he would claim your lips as sanctity from the outside world, you could remember him trying to braid your hair, failing since he couldn't understand your instructions, or the time you saw him in pain because of his legs, you'll never forget the way he looked at you as you helped him through the pain.

"Gina, I'm leaving early, but I'll be back." Running out of the underground club, you began running home since Ivar didn't work today, it was the perfect time to talk to him. Getting closer to the apartment, your phone began buzzing intensely, annoying you as you ran. 

As you took your phone out, you wished you hadn't. Looking at the first news article showed him kissing her. Freydis. He did it again. Enjoying the spotlight. Without any regards of the consequences, putting the phone away your right hand began to shake as you walked back to the apartment, you could feel the tears wanting to burst out, maybe even a scream, but not in public would do it, knowing these people might have saw it, you wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you broken.

Arriving at the apartment you could feel your right hand still shaking, holding it onto your Jeans, you breathed, trying to calm yourself down if you walked through the door. 

"Calm down, calm down, calm down." You whispered. 

As you put your hand on the doorknob, Ivar instantly opened it after hearing the sound of your voice, he wasn't expecting you so early, so to see you brought happiness inside him until he saw your face. The tears began to fall as soon as you looked into those blue eyes. Walking past him you say on the couch shaking your leg.

"Baby what's wrong?" Ivar answered with concern.

"How could you."

"Excuse me?" You kept your head down, but you could feel the puzzling look on his face as he rubbed your back trying to comfort you.

"How could you do this to me, to our relationship...was anything real to you Ivar?" Getting up since you couldn't stand the mere touch of him, you watched Ivar, the realization appearing instantly on his face. He quickly tried to come near you, but you shushed him to sit back down.

"You didn't think anyone was going to see you...dancing with her at the ball wasn't enough to humiliate me?" 

"That's not even fair." Ivar said. He couldn't think. He wanted to get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness, but that's not good enough. 

"Nothing's fair Ivar...and I was too damn stupid to think that this thing between could be something." 

"This relationship is everything to me...I just fucked up because I got caught up in-"

"Yes you did get caught up...in the fucking spotlight, the fame baby, that's your problem you want everyone looking at you, knowing they don't give a fuck about you as I do!" Ivar stood up, walking toward you with his cane, you could see he was pissed as you watched the way his nose flared up, but you didn't care. He hurt you.

Leaning up against the wall, Ivar trapped you, you could smell his cologne, attacking your nose, you wanted desperately to kiss him and give in to him, yet your emotions cloud any sexual thought that you had.

"Don't you dare try and talk about my issue, when you just as well have a problem...I'll admit I have a problem, but your emotions are infuriating, how could you ignore for 6 days, I was trying to reconcile with you and you kept pushing me away, I was sitting here just right here thinking you were going to end it all with me."

"Because I'm hurting Ivar...I thought me being with you would suffice." 

"You do suffice I'm just an idiot to not see anything clearly...please don't give up on me." Holding your hands, Ivar kissed them, you could feel the butterflies rising, yet your tears flowed harder, wishing you could stop feeling this way for this man.

"Stop Ivar...you want to know why I think you do the things you do...I think you're just afraid to be happy because nothing you truly wanted happened for you...your father, your legs, pity surrounds you as you think….but I saw you for the broken man you are and fell in love with it and it still wasn't enough so we should just separate from each other since my emotions are too much and you need the fame constantly." 

"It's not true y/n, you are enough, I love you so much, relationships are about making mistakes and working through them building as partners, this is just our moment...please you're breaking my heart." Ivar stared deeply into your eyes as the desperation poured off his lips. Staring back you tired looking somewhere else but your vision always reverted back to him. Looking at him in this depressing state you couldn't fight the urge to kiss him. To feel him before you completely broke his heart. Pulling you closer to his body he held your face kissing you passionately, hoping you would feel all the emotions he was pouring into this kiss. And you did feel it. The pain. The love. The insecurity. But you knew what needed to be done.

Breaking away the kiss, you shoved him off trying to get yourself together, knowing you looked a crying mess. Both of you breathing heavily from the kiss, all you two did was stare at each other, the hurt was in both of your eyes and you wished you could turn back time, so you could stop yourself from this tragic end.

"We shouldn't hold on anymore longer, I know we love each other and maybe we'll get back together, I don't know what's in store for me, but we each have things to work on." 

As you walked out the door, you knew you completely broke him and he did the same to you.

[geeky-introvert]

Not Sharing . Ivar X OC X Sigurd

Summary: Tired of their consent arguing and fighting with each other, Ubbe gifts both Ivar and Sigurd with a thrall to share and work out their problems somehow. Still, they argue, confusing the thrall and even bothering her with their nagging.....One-shot.

Even though I’m not part of the 5CW event run by the lovely @lisinfleur and @honestsycrets I had to do this for the fun of it. Hope it turned out alright. I had fun with this! 

Word count: 3463

Warning: Bit of arguing and smut.

Tagging: @lisinfleur​ @mdlady​ @didiintheblog​ @alicedopey​ @lupy22​ @rekdreams247​ @mblaqgi​ @oddsnendsfanfics​ @aphnxrising​ @happydaysandersen @therealcalicali @naaladareia @inforapound @captstefanbrandt @waiting4inspiration​ @tabalugax​ @p8tn0lish​ @igetcarriedawaywithyou​ @lordsexmachine​ @tgrrose​

If anyone else wants to be added to the tag list let me know please. 

Katya was born into slavery, it was the only life she knew and grew to like with the few simple rules. Be polite, obey and always smile, the men loved it. She belonged to a very wealthy master who took good care of her as long as she satisfied his needs. It wasn’t the worst, it could be, but this was how it was since she was sold a little over a year ago.

She comes from the lands of Russia, a foreign land for most travellers and it was the only home she knew of. This all changed however when her long term masters wife poisoned him and sold her to a trader within a blink of an eye.

No surprise.

Over the coming months Katya was moved, sold, bought and sold for high prices, her value only rising more at each passing man who held enough gold for her and enjoyed the moment before moving onto the next man eagerly wanting to buy her. Nothing was ever permanent, this she understood and never held much hope for anything. It was all about survival.

She finds herself in another cold part of lands that was very different from her home. Curiously she looked around from the boat she was on with the other slaves, a thick fur coat wrapped around her gifted by the trader in exchange for worshipping his cock. It was warmth she needed after all, she didn’t care about much else.

Her raven thick hair blew against her wind as her creamy skin that had barely touched the sun shivered against the cold. Dark hazel eyes scanned around curiously at this new place and wondered just what her future might hold for her.

On the docks they were lead to a house where other slaves were being sold or traded. Eyes were on her, lustful stares making her smile a little from the attention she got. She always enjoyed it and wondered just who might be her new master now. She’ll be very satisfied for it to be someone wealthy and very handsome, but she’ll take whatever is given.

As they all waited to be looked at she was approached by a very handsome young man, blazing blue eyes and blonde hair making her eyes sparkle with excitement. She overheard him being a prince, a son of Ragnar, a name she’s heard of before, the eldest son from his second wife, name he held was Ubbe. Travelling everywhere she was familiar with the north man's language making her even more value.

“Greeting’s, my lord.” She spoke in her thick accent with a soft smile.

Ubbe noticed her the moment she came onto the docks and had to get a closer look at her and inspect. For weeks he’s tried finding the right slave that just might work out but hadn’t had much luck, until he saw her and knew she was very different from the others.

“Hello.” He answers looking her up and down. “You’re a long way from home? Tell me your name.”

“Katya.” She answers him. “Looking for some love, attention and care, my lord?” She asked battering her thick lashes at him.

“I only have one question. Are you patient?” His question did confuse her a little.

“Patient?” It was something she’s never been asked before however she still answered him honestly. “Yes, my lord. I’m a patient woman.”

“Good.”

As soon as the trader comes over Ubbe tosses him a large bag of gold coins which he eagerly accepted. Katya followed Ubbe out then with the fur coat still around her as the trader was too busy admiring his coins and no one said anything. Besides, it was very cold and she wasn’t wearing anything proper for the weather underneath.

“What would you like for me to call you, my lord?” She asked walking beside him.

“Just Ubbe.” He responds before stopping and gently pulling her aside so they were out from the crowds together. “Listen, I didn’t buy you for me.”

Honestly, she was a little disappointed, such a handsome man he was.

“You’re beautiful, very beautiful.” He smiles and she couldn’t help but smile back. “But I'm happily married man, I have no need for another woman.”

“That’s too bad, you’re very handsome. But you wouldn’t be the first married man to buy me, Ubbe. Your wife is very lucky to have such an honorable man like you.” She answers back as he gave a kind smile to her.

“Thank you. Anyway, I brought you for my brothers. Before I take you to them I must warn you, they have problems. I mean they’re always fighting with one another, arguing over nothing and just always shouting. I thought maybe a beautiful thrall for them to share might help them. That’s why I asked if you were patient, because you’ve got to need it with them.”

“I see.” She says nodding. “Don’t worry, I’ve had many men in my life, I’ve seen it all.”

What she didn’t realise was just how bad it was and how soon she spoke.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ︵‿︵‿︵‿

The moment they entered the cabin together they were met with the shouting and chairs being knocked over. She stood back by the door as she watched with wide eyes as Ubbe tried breaking up the two other men wrestling one another on the floor.

“Knock it off! Both of you grow up!” Ubbe shouts looking very frustrated with them.

“The snake started it!” Ivar shouts back as he pushed himself up onto a chair.

“The crippled baby thinks I stole his knife!” Sigurd responds.

“Enough!” Ubbe’s had enough, and just rubbing his face followed by a long exhale was all she needed to see from him to know this.

Katya shifted on her feet in silence as the brothers tried to sort out on their own but judging from Ubbe she knew he’s had enough trying to deal with them. Now it was up to her, at least she’ll try. She’ll do her best to try and ease whatever tension is going on between them.

“Brothers, this is Katya.” Ubbe then introduces her to them. “She is a thrall. I just bought her for you both to share.”

“Share?” Ivar narrowed his brows before scoffing. “I’m not sharing with the snake.”

“Like you could pleasure a woman anyway.” Sigurd snarls back.

“I said enough!” Ubbe once more snaps at the both of them and moved his way passed her to head out. “Good luck.”

When the door closes again Katya looks at both Sigurd and Ivar with a tender smile. Yes, both very handsome, Ivar even more so with those blue glowing eyes of his

“My lords.” She says fondly to them. “I’m here to serve you both to your desire.”

It was going to be interesting though with them, that she admitted.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ︵‿︵‿︵‿

As expected, it was very intense in the room with them. Never once has she been brought and never not had sex right away, it’s all men wanted from her but these two seemed to be not interested in that much to her surprise. All her life men wanted her in bed and she spread her legs for them like a good slave. Now here she was, sitting near the fire, board. She had been sitting for hours waiting for either of them to say something.

Sigurd had left, already half drunk and hasn’t returned while Ivar remained but ignored her. She felt his eyes on her every now and again looking unsure as he sharpened his daggers and kept himself busy with anything he could find just to pretend she wasn’t there.

The fur coat she wore was now off since it was warm enough in the cabin with the fire going, leaving her in the thin dress she still wore she her last master who’s wife wasn’t very pleased. That didn’t last long and now here she was, board.

Looking over at Ivar she looked down at his legs and studied the braces he wore wrapped around them, tilting her head curiously and this caught Ivar’s attention as he scoffed at her.

“Never seen a cripple before.”

“Actually I have, my lord.” She answers softly.

It was like her answer wasn’t what he was expecting and went back to sharpening the same dagger he’s been holding for the last hour.

Standing she then comes closer and sits in front of him, still watching as he nervously focused on his dagger.

All she did was watch him, smiling a little as he continued to hesitate so nervously trying to focus on what he was doing and not her.

“Why do you stare, woman?”

“Where else do you want me to stare, my lord?”

Ivar looks like he was about to say something back at her but decided not to before looking down twirling his blade. Katya then sat back on the fur rug on the floor and spread out on it like a cat, moaning lowly at the comfortable feel of it but to also tease Ivar.

“Why do you make noises?”

“Because it’s comfortable, my lord.” She giggles softly at him.

Ivar felt himself smirk before shaking his head.

“I don’t understand why Ubbe brought you for us. Sharing you with Sigurd wasn’t going to happen.” He says bluntly and she silently agreed with him after what she saw happen.

“You can decide that, my lord. I’m here and ready, all for you.” She purred turning over onto her hands and knees as she slowly crawled towards him like a cat.

Ivar watched her, a flicker of fear in his eyes as she then pushed herself up on her knees before him and slid her fingers under his waistband of his trousers.

“Don’t!” He grabbed her wrist tightly causing her to gasp from his sudden movement, an action she wasn’t expecting.

“Is something the matter?” She asked calmly looking up at him.

Ivar was breathing heavily and looked like he was about to kill something as his face screwed up in frustration. Katya then sat up, his grip still on her but sat beside him at the table.

“You can talk to me, my lord. What’s bothering you?” It wasn’t anything new for her masters to simply talk to her, sometimes men needed another’s ear to speak truthfully about what they were feeling.

“Like I would tell a slave.” He spat glaring. “All the same, fucking gossiping whores…” His words didn’t affect her, she’s been called much worse.

“I’m only offering ears for you to speak to. Whatever you tell me stays between us.” He scoffs as she told him this. “My lord, this is what I do. I make men happy, I’ve done so my whole life and I’m good at it.”

“If you’re so good at it then why are you here?” Good question.

“Because too many men who brought me had wives and no wife wants their husband seeking company from younger and more beautiful women. Either they were forced to give me up or they were poisoned before I was sold to the next highest bidder.”

Ivar narrowed his brows a little at her unsure by what she had just told him and seemed to ponder over her words for a bit while looking away from her.

“So...you’re good? You’re skilled?”

“Yes, very.” She answers proudly.

“Can you make any man, hard?” His question did confuse her a little unsure why he was asking such a thing.

“Yes, I can. Why do you ask, my lord?”

Now he looked like a frightened boy. His emotions and expressions shifted so much all the time and she knew this was something she’ll need to watch with him more.

“The last time....I couldn’t. I never...could.” There it was. She now understood.

“Was that your first experience?” He gave a shy nod as she smiled softly and tilted his head to turn and face her. “My lord, that’s fine, it happens. Not everyone’s first experience goes as they want. I’ve had men just like that when I was in the whore house for a time. They were so shy and had trouble getting it up but I helped them and now they go on pleasuring many other women.”

“So...it’s normal?” He sounded surprised. “I’m not...broken?”

“If you allow me I can prove that you’re not broken and give you an experience you’ll never forget.”

Leaning forward she then kissed him tenderly. He shied away for a moment before slowly leaned into the kiss as she caressed his cheeks softly. Breaking the kiss she smiled warmly at him before tracing her hands over his short hair like he was a small child seeking comfort.

“We can go to the bed to be more comfortable, my lord.” She says standing up and making her way over with a sway from her hips. When she sat down she beamed a little brighter in satisfaction seeing him crawling towards her and pushing himself up onto the bed.

She helped him lay back against the furs before she removed her dress leaving her naked for his view and helped remove his tunic before untying his trousers.

“Don’t remove my trousers. Just...a little.” She understood that he wasn’t ready to show her his legs or if he’ll ever be alright with that. Either way it didn’t bother her.

“As you wish, my lord.”

Katya only tugged down enough to free his cock which wasn’t hard but that was soon to change. She carefully took his cock in her slender hands and started to stroke him which rubbing her thumb over his tip. Leaning up she kissed him again, her free hand tracing against his skin to build up his arousal with different ways. All men had different desires and ways to get a boner.

Moving down his body Katya gently took hold of his cock and started to move her hand along his length. Further down she lowered her head and started to lick along his base causing his breath to hitch from the warm strange contact she gave him. Her mouth then started to suck at his balls, humming against him and slowly worked at his cock with patience. There have been many times she’s done this, it was nothing new for her.

Moaning more around his cock she then started to suck around his tip that was leaking salty fluids for her to taste and savour it all against her tongue enjoying it. She looked up at him through her lashes, smirking around his cock as he watched her with dazed eyes looking back down at her as he panted softly.

Slowly she started to bob her head around his length and stroke at his base while massaging his balls in her other hand. There was no doubt he was aroused already, she felt his cock twitch under her touch as she continued to work on him.

Removing her mouth with a wet pop she giggled lightly as she kept her gaze on him while still stroking him throbbing member.

“How is that, my lord?” She asked in a low husky voice.

“It feels strange…” He admitted with burning cheeks.

Smirking softly she then let go on him while he let out a small sound of protest but stopped and watched her as she carefully straddled his lap on him. Guiding his hand she lead it down to her core where she had his finger brush over her cunt which was dripping wet for him.

“You feel that, my lord? This is good. Women should be wet for a man’s cock, otherwise it won’t be pleasant for her if she’s dry.” She tells him so he’d know if he was to lay with any other woman for the future, but deep down she hoped he wouldn’t and continue to lay with her over again.

Ivar listened and nodded, understanding what she was telling him as his eyes filled with curiosity. It looked so cute on him she thought to herself.

“I think you’re ready for me now, my lord.” She purred biting her plump lips softly.

Gripping his now hard cock again she then started the rub his tip through her folds and slowly eased herself down onto him while letting out a breath of pleasure. Even though he was so young he had an impressive cock. She’s seen and had it all, but his was surprisingly formed close to perfection. He had a good both length and thickness which she liked.

Fully settled on him she placed her hands over his bare shoulders, eyes shining down on him as she slowly rocked her hips against him, rubbing herself against his pubes and letting out soft breaths of desire against his face.

“More.” His word whispers softly through his pants. “It feels so good, I want more.”

“Easy, my lord. It’s all about. Patience. Trust me, it’ll last much longer and feel better. Besides, why the hurry? We have all the time we need.” She says softly caressing his skin as she continued to roll her hips.

“Ivar.” He suddenly says looking at her. “Call me Ivar.”

“As you wish, Ivar.” Calling him by his name only added to her desire and started to circle her hips against him letting out a soft moan. “Yes, you feel so good in me.”

“I-I...Katya, I don’t think I’ll last much longer.” He warns her and before she could even say anything he suddenly erupts his seed within her depths and cry out half in desire and surprise. She wasn’t bothered by it, after all it was his first orgasm

“Sorry….” He murmurs softly looking down in shame until she had him look back up at her.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s alright. Besides, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. I’m all yours to your desire.” I say through a happy smile making him smile softly back, so calm for even just a moment before we both heard the door to the cabin shaming open.

Sigurd was back and he was really drunk.

“The fuck you two doing?” He slurs waddling over past them. “You’re not...a fucking man! Boneless!” His words seemed to hit Ivar hard as he snarled but I gently placed my hand over his chest still on him.

“He’s drunk.” I answered softly. “Drunk words mean nothing.”

“His words hold hate.” He says back and he wasn’t lying.

“Get off his limp dick…” Sigurd sits on the second bed pulling himself out from his trousers and let’s himself hang there. “Get over here...I’m a real man!”

“Don’t go.” Ivar hisses to her but Katya gave a tender smile to him.

“It’s alright. Remember Ubbe brought me for both you and him, I must do as he says as well.” She answers before kissing his cheek and removing herself from him with a wet pop and coming over to Sigurd.

Kneeling in front of him she smiles but not in the same way towards Ivar.

“What do you want me to do, my lord?” She asks and he gives her such a sloppy smile through his drunkenness.

“Worship my cock!” It was something she’s heard before.

“As you wish, my lord.”

She then starts to tug his cock watching him carefully. There was something about to happen, she saw this and continued to play along. Less than a few minutes Sigurd then laid back against the bed while letting out loud snores filling the room.

“Did he just fall asleep?” Ivar asks seeming shocked but couldn’t hold back an amused smirk either.

“I’m not surprised. He was very drunk and won’t wake up until morning.” Katya answers before tucking him back in his pants patting the area and eagerly returning to Ivar. “He’s not a man, you’re more of a man than him.”

Hearing this from her seemed to please him as she crawled beside him again tracing her fingers over his chest.

“Can we go again?” The way he asked was no innocently making her smile fondly.

“We can go as many times as you want, Ivar. There is so much I can teach you and many ways to bring pleasure to a woman. The women will be lining up for you soon enough.” She answers wanting him to feel special.

“No.” He answers shaking his head. “I don’t want any other women, I only want you.” This made her smile a bit brighter before she kissed him tenderly.

“I’m all yours, Ivar. Have me as many times as you desire.”

And he did, very much.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Stakeout (3)

Loki x fem!Reader

Prompt: @marvelrose had this awesome idea of taking Brooklyn Nine Nine’s episode Stakeout and turning it into an angsty fic. Will it end in smut or will it end in more angst?

Warnings: none. you know what that means, right?

Word Count: Now that the weekend is over, I can feel a little sting of anxiety coming back. Just a little. So deep breaths. Deeeeep breaths.

Masterlist in bio

“Alright. Keep an eye on the informant. I’m sure his boss and boss’ right-hand man will gather there soon.”

“‘Kay,” you barely heard your hoarse voice respond.

“I must say,” Tony implored, forcing both you and Loki to gather a lungful of air as he went on, “I had my bets against both of you. But you two seem to be keeping it quite civil.”

And suddenly the events from this afternoon flashed in front of you, making you eye Loki, who apparently had the same thought. Neither of you replied to Tony’s praise.

“Hello?”

“Yes,” you finally spoke, “we’re still here. Alive.”

“Good. Stay that way. Over and out.”

The silence proceeding the disconnection was a blur between relieved and exhausted.

The weight on your shoulders and crippling throbbing in your arm made you sink your head in between your legs where you sat.

“Truce,” you announced into the cold air, “how about a truce and never telling Tony we nearly sabotaged a mission because of one beer bottle.”

Loki’s brows initially looked at you with a steep judgment stare before realising he was as much at fault as you were. But the thing that really bothered him was having to hear Stark rant about his wrong doings that came at a cost. Not to mention Thor.

“Truce,” he acknowledged, bringing forward his hand that you shook to close the pact.

“Great,” you sighed before getting up and smiling, “now I just need to take a shower, down something edible and plan how to murder Clint for giving me rotten beer before I fall asleep.”

Unzipping your jacket, you stopped again today, this time keeping all the pain inside as you tried to find the best route out for your internally wounded arm. Only this time you couldn’t move it much either way, making the task ten times more difficult.

Remember this next time you try to fight over a freaking beer! your insides shouted at you.

A thought crossed your mind. A delirious thought of asking Loki for help. A thought that you looked at with a twisted lip, judged to its entirety, asked it ‘really’ in your sarcastic voice before picking it up and throwing it out of the window in the darkness. And just as you were walking away, from the open window, you realised you were the only one standing in the metaphorical space- alone and in need of help.

“Hey Loki,” you blurted out before you found any other dark thoughts lingering outside waiting for a chance to pounce on you as you picked up the one you had just thrown out, “can you help me out a bit?”

Scratching a sudden itch under your ear with your better hand, you looked at the confused God.

“A truce is all you get from me. No mo-”

“I just need some help with my jacket,” you interrupted him before he shut you out, “my arm's not...doing well.”

The slight fury in Loki's brows relaxed. His eyes shifted to the arm he had seen you use cautiously before exerting it during the beer fight. He knew there was a reason you'd stopped spewing awkward remarks after the tussle, he just didn't know it had something to do with increasing pain.

His parted lips came to a close. His gaze shifted back to your eyes asking for help. His thumbs did a little run over his fingers, thinking some things through before taking a step towards you to close the distance and subconsciously make you hold your breath.

“Just do as I say,” his low toned, soft and slightly husky voice still had the weight of authority in it, sending a spiral of spark down your limbs. You wanted to nod but for some reason, you just stood there waiting for further instructions.

He raised his hands from either side while you waited for some impact on your body, fearing you might flinch at his touch and give him enough dirt to talk about for the rest of your life.

But Loki stopped midway.

“How and when does it hurt?”

The unexpected question surely made you jump as it brought a red-faced you out of the two steps down into an unmarked dungeon you were dreaming of exploring.

“Uhh…there's the occasional sting of pain. And it hurts when I raise it. When I try to raise it. It's good when it's resting in one place comfortably, no matter the angle. Oh! And sometimes it hurts when I bend it.”

Loki's face showed no signs whatsoever, making you wonder if he was ever going to help you out. With that idea and flushing embarrassment, you were about to step away when you felt his fingers gently grab yours.

“Keep it raised till the point of your comfort,” he directed you softly, raising his hand that was in yours to help you go against gravity.

He's helping me, your insides exclaimed in surprise but your heated ears and cheeks were already going on a road less travelled.

Leaving your palm, his fingers came for your jacket’s zipper half done. With one hand fixing the fabric in between its pale- almost white- fingers, the other hand took the zipper down in one smooth move, undoing the teeth till the end.

You do realise not even your dates have had the opportunities to undress you like this, don’t you?

That should have been the end of the ocean waves inside you swirling, carrying mammals of some undiscovered thoughts in the depths. But when Loki's fingers ran up the length of your jacket, feeling the teeth and the fabric till they reached your shoulder, you discovered it was less of a swirl and more of a whirlpool.

“Move your arm in,” he spoke softly as he, taking the side his fingers had just run over, pushed it out and away from your right shoulder.

Moving your arm away from the opening, you flinched a little as it made contact with Loki's cold fingers, driving the other arm away from the position you'd been holding it in and sending tiny pricks of pain that didn't stop for the next one minute.

“Keep it steady!” He announced, almost scolding you.

Freeing your better arm from the warmth of the soft fabric, he inched a little closer to pass it from one hand to another from behind you, leading you to face his chest and notice the sweet and forest-y scent lingering over his own jacket.

He does smell good.

Pressing your lips together you tried to suppress the involuntary flutter inside you.

Stop it before you do something stupid and regrettable, you told yourself gravely.

“Shirt too?”

“Hmm?”

You nearly shivered as you replied, coming back to the present to see your jacket being neatly folded in his hands and the air around you playing with your skin, teasing you for the unsaid things you both knew about.

Looking down at your shirt you tried to remember through the haze set in your mind if you had worn something underneath.

Of course, you did! You have your bra and the tank top, thank you very much.

“Ye-” you cleared your throat, trying to buy time to settle the shiver in your voice box- “yes.”

Putting your jacket on the bed, he faced you again, bringing his hand forward, wondering- for some unknown reason- if was asking for a dance. Without even waiting for his words, you put your left hand in his, which he gripped gently and placed on his shoulder, stooping a little for better support.

He is asking me for a dance?! But I thought he was-

“Here,” he patted your arm that rested on his shoulder, “let it rest here and don't move it around more than necessary. “

Oh. Ohh! You felt the heat rise up in your ears again. Oh.

The much-deserved embarrassment made you close your eyes and curse at your idiotic thoughts, ultimately leading you to blame it all on your pain.

The pain made me stupid.

But we all knew what the real reason was.

This time when Loki's fingers came for the hem of your top, you felt your skin tighten.

Loki had noticed the change in the air too. He felt this unexplainable tingle in his stomach when you’d asked him to undress you- not completely of course. He was trying to be cautious not to touch you in any formidable way. The foolish physical arguments were one thing, but consciously standing so close to you to do anything other than what was part of a mission or a verbal spat was really new to him. And for the better part, it was really testing his limits.

It was the first time he was truly noticing your lips so closely- a bit dried from lack of care. The way your brows crinkled whenever an impulse of pain drove through you- which, for some reason would strike some underlying strings inside him the wrong way. He knew it might be inappropriate but he had still gone against his better judgement to ask you if you needed help with the shirt as well. He thought it was either this or watch you struggle like a seal in pain flipping about and the thought- though hilarious- was not that comforting.

He confessed to himself that it did feel weird to have your arm over his shoulder for something that had nothing to do with strangling him to death like you were always warning him; it even felt good for some reason.

Making a conscious effort to not disturb the aching limb, he helped your other one out first before sliding it off your arm and folding the shirt away neatly.

He tried not to stare at your form. But he failed, quite miserably.

He had seen you like this before- in the gym, on the run, lounging about in the facility in just the tank top and yoga pants- but right now the air around him seemed to have escalated to a different level as he couldn’t help but admire what stood in front of him.

“Thank you, Loki,” your soft voice of gratitude left you before you picked up your towel and change of clothes and went inside the bathroom, quickly, for the fear of choking by lack of air in your lungs.

Loki stood there in open space, wondering what had just happened. Why was there a sudden change in his breathing when you had been around him a few moments ago? Why was he thinking about your lips and your bare shoulders all of a sudden? You were the last person he wanted to be stuck with, that is what he had been telling himself all this time. And yet you were the only thought running through his incredibly organised mind.

TAGLIST

Permanent

@magiclolipopqueen @choke-me-sweet-pea @smexylemony @hazzastyles2471 @lokis-lady-death @lokixme @l0kisbitch @tarithenurse @joyofbebbanburg @itheoneofmanyfandomsi @nalokoniloki @fuckidontknow @qualitynerdwasteland @cryinglots @unipanda1006 @literalangels @meganlikesfandoms @kcd15 Loki @avenging-blackwidow @yzssie @wishrains @ultraslytherwin @loki-the-fox @awkward-dr-strang3rman @royaldork @arianna-17-11 @uranusismyfavoriteplanette @marvelrose @gotta-get-back-to-johnlock @moonlightprime @keepingupwiththelaufeysons @writingpromptsstuff @auroraborialis15 @marvel-cinematic-universe0123 @henloamkitty @alexakeyloveloki

[myjoyfulstarlightcollection]

Close Encounters (AU Reylo fanfic)

He’d been dreaming of her again, the beautiful girl with sad eyes. He kept trying to tell himself that she was just a hallucination…nothing more. But with each passing day she was becoming so clear he could almost reach out and touch her. In his dreams…she was waiting for him. Hoping he would make a choice that was not really his to make. In spite of himself he wondered what it would feel like to hold her gaze and offer her the world that had been so cruel to her. He wanted her in a way he could not explain… and in this private moment with her he was lost. Lost in her quiet smile, her soft skin, the smell of rain in her hair, the taste of her…

            “REN!” a tall intimidating ginger’s voice suddenly broke the trance his friend was under.

            “Yea?” Ren questioned slowly (as if he had just returned from hyper sleep from another galaxy).

            “Man…I’ve been calling you for the last 5 minutes. We’re on!”

            “Now?”

            “No…in 150 years. Yes now! Snoke is about ready to have both our heads if you don’t get your sorry ass on stage!”

            “Aw crap! Ok man I’m ready let’s go”

            And with that…Ren grabbed his guitar and ran onto the stage. Normally, Hux would badger his best friend about why (on the biggest night of their professional lives) he had decided to take a nap before their set.  Hux had known Ren for most of their adult lives and his recent habits were borderline worrisome. Now was unfortunately not the time to berate the famous “Kylo Ren”…they had much bigger fish to fry at the moment.

As they rounded towards the stage a crippled aged man stood anxiously by the curtain. His skin was so weathered and wrinkled it looked as though it could possibly blow away in the wind. Anyone could tell that this man was downright furious at Ren for his carelessness. The withering man could sense the young foolish men drawing near and began drumming his fingers across the cool steel railing leading to the stage.

            “You’re late” the man croaked angrily

            “I know Snoke…couldn’t be helped” Ren tried to explain

            “All excuses Ren which will not help win this competition!” Snoke had this incredicble talent of being completely terrifying without raising his voice above a whisper “You have a gift Ren...and it’s something you should cherish not waste. I am here because I believe in your talent but I won’t be if I think you are wasting my time. Are you wasting my time?”

            “No sir…definitely not wasting your time” Ren replied sheepishly.

            “Good” Snoke replied with characteristic confidence “Now run along…quickly! Phasma is already on stage and Maz is about ready to introduce you. Remember you’re training and crush them.”

            Ren took a deep breath as he stepped onto the large stage. True to Snoke’s word…Phasma was on stage making sure the sound quality was good. Both Hux and Ren plugged their instruments into the amps…preparing as quickly as they could before Maz made her appearance. Ren had hoped he’d be able to walk onto the stage and tune his guitar in peace. He was, of course, wrong.

“Well look who decided to show up” came the sarcastic voice of one Phasma Storm. Standing at 6’3” with platinum pixie cut blonde hair shaved on one side...she was not someone you wanted to mess with. Ren was used to her snide remarks and sarcastic attitude so most days Phasma’s intimidating personality didn’t bother him. Unfortunately for Ren, today was not one of those days.

“Phasma…could you do me a favor and maybe wait to chew me out until after we finish our set?” Ren pleaded harshly.

Phasma’s initial response was along the lines of “Fat chance” or “Hell no”…however before a word could be spoken an elderly woman of 70 (although she looked more like she was 50) stepped onto the stage. She was a short little woman with obscenely large glasses that accentuated her bright round eyes. Her greying hair was tied back into a tight bun. The only way one could sense the years she’d endured was in her voice which held a thoughtful strength one only can acquire with age.

“Good Evening everyone and welcome!” the little woman’s voice demanded to be heard amongst the crowd “As many of you know my name is Maz and I’m very excited to welcome you to the 15th annual Light-Speed Records Battle of the Bands here at the Takodana Cantina.”

 A thunderous round of applause was the response Maz received.

“Thank you…thank you. You know…I’ve always been such a huge lover of music. How it seems to flow into ones soul without saying a word. Connecting us all in ways many of us can’t quite understand. It’s for this reason I really pushed for the Battle of the Bands to be here this year despite the fact that I am supposedly an old woman who has no business organizing major competitions.”

 The hollers that came from the female attendees following that statement were deafening. For some reason Ren felt there was one voice that carried more so than the others but he couldn’t understand why the hairs on his forearm were standing up at the sound.

“Out of 50 bands that auditioned for this contest only 10 are left to perform tonight. The bands that will be performing this evening will be judged by you (the audience). The 5 bands with the most votes at the end of tonight will move on to day 2. And of those 5 bands only 2 will be able to perform at the Grand Finale on day 3. The winner of the Light-Speed Records Battle Bands will not only win a record deal with Light-Speed Records but also $100,000 either to help them make their first album or drink themselves silly here. So, without further ado…I welcome you to the first night of the Light-Speed Battle of the Bands!”

With that the crowd burst into a thousand different cries of excitement and Ren could feel his stomach drop. He knew it was foolish to feel nervous…he and his band has this competition in the bag. With Phasma on drums and Hux on bass there was no other band that could even come close to winning this thing. But as the curtain widened forcing Ren to look out into the vast crowd he could feel is pulse quicken and palms begin to sweat which he never did before a show. The question was why? Forcing himself to ignore his fear he grabbed the microphone. He hoped he’d be able to get through a sentence with the spotlight being right in his eyes.

“Hello everyone!” Ren began his voice a little shaky.

“Wow. It’s wonderful to be here at the Light-Speed Battle of the Bands and to see all of you…even though I can’t really see you I’m assuming you’re all there. I’m sorry but could you move the light just a little?” With that the blinding spot light shifted and Ren could see slightly better and continued “Oh…that’s better thank you. Anyway we’ve got a great show for you guys. On bass we’ve got the ferocious Hux. On drums we’ve got the stellar Phasma Storm and boy can she beat those drums! You may know me as Kylo and together we are the Knights of –”

Ren stood there frozen. His vision seemed to blur…what he was seeing couldn’t be real. Yet there, in the middle of the crowd, where the blinding spotlight had once hit his eyes was now in her face. The face he’d been dreaming of for what felt like his entire life. And before he could stop himself a single word escaped his lips…a word that would shatter everything.

“—Rey?”

So...what did you guys think? This story just kinda popped into my head and I had to write it. Obviously I do not own Star Wars or it's characters...I just love writing about them. The beautiful artwork is not mine it belongs to @haloren1st they were just kind enough to let me borrow it for this story. I hope you all like it and I will update soon. Thanks--

[hyperfixatin-blog]

HOW TO WRITE A SELECTIVELY MUTE CHARACTER.

I’m seeing a lot of writers making the decision to make their character what is called ‘selectively mute’, and while I’m so happy that the S.M. community are finally getting some representation, I would much prefer that it could be portrayed as accurately as possible. I’ve found a lot of ‘how to write mute characters’ guides, but I’ve yet to find many that specifies completely on this disorder. This guide is written by someone who has personally suffered from selective mutism as a child and somewhat as a teenager. If you wish for your character to have this condition, I’d encourage you to read on and perhaps learn a few things about it.

Please bear in mind that most of what I’ve written below are from my own personal experiences and that everybody deals with the condition differently! I am also not a doctor or a health professional, but I hope that this guide will at least be of some help to you!

WHAT IS SELECTIVE MUTISM?

Selective mutism is defined by wiki as: “an anxiety disorder in which a person who is normally capable of speech cannot speak in specific situations or to specific people. Selective mutism usually co-exists with shyness or social anxiety.”

So yes, for me it was the acute and intense phobia of socialising, or more accurately (and perhaps the most important aspect to distinguish) the crippling fear of being mocked and ridiculed. It is not a fear of speaking. I, for example, could talk quite comfortably to very close friends and nuclear family, but was suddenly rendered speechless when surrounded by my school friends, teachers, and most of my extended family members – however it must be noted that for my extended family, I would eventually warm up to them after a day or two.

DESTROYING THE COMMON MYTHS:

“So you basically couldn’t speak?” – Now that is a different kind of mutism, one that is usually caused by a health condition or likewise. If you wish for your character to be rendered speechless because they are physically unable to (for example, if your character is hard of hearing etc.), then this isn’t the guide for you and that isn’t selective mutism – although it is completely possible for your character to have both! Just as long as you recognise that they’re two completely different conditions. There was nothing physical preventing me from speaking but my own crippling social anxiety, a little ‘voice’ in my head that told me that whatever I said would be stupid and therefore not worth voicing.

“It sounds quite cute/adorable” – That whole stereotype of the shy girl who’s adorable because she’s quiet and blushes needs to die, right now. Selective mutism almost completely ruined my childhood. As a kid, bullies would seek me out at school because they knew I couldn’t ask for help. It got so severe that I had to move schools.

“You obviously went through some trauma in your life” – In some cases this is true, other times (like mine) I was just very socially anxious and belonged to a family with a history of diagnosed (and undiagnosed) mental disorders, which just so happened to include anxiety. There have been cases where certain individuals have been through a traumatic event and perhaps they feel they are unable to speak to the person involved in that event – whether that be due to the fact that they were part of the trauma, or the cause of the trauma, and speaking to them would stir up a fear of the event repeating itself.  

“You were just being defiant/stubborn” – FUCK NO. I don’t think a lot of people understand that we didn’t choose to become selectively mute; it’s a chemical imbalance in the brain like all mental disorders. It’s literally like saying to someone with a broken leg to ‘get out of their wheelchair because they’re just being lazy’. I can’t stress this enough. I honestly can’t tell you what it was like being a kid and wanting to fit in and talk to people, yet believing that whatever I said would cause havoc for myself. It’s possibly one of the lowest forms of self-esteem you can have.

“So you chose who not to speak to?” – Yes and no. Like what I said above, I didn’t choose to be selectively mute, but there was definitely a pattern of which individuals I found myself not talking to. These were either strangers/people I didn’t know well, because I had no way of predicting how they’d react to my comments and that terrified me; most of my friends from school because I cared about their opinion too much to supposedly ‘ruin’ it; and then a collection of extended family members which is a combination of both my reaction to friends and strangers, which really depended on who it was. If you watch The Big Bang Theory, Raj’s inability to talk to women is a perfect example of what I’m talking about (although please note that he is not the paramour of selectively mute characters).

SOME COMMON SYMPTOMS:

Avoiding eye contact – For me it was always this weird superstition where I thought that looking into someone’s eyes meant that they could judge me harder? It’s also just a natural sign of submission AKA I really didn’t want to fight anyone. I still can’t look people in the eye and I haven’t suffered from the condition in years.

Fidgeting – Ignoring the fact that I also have ADHD, I’ve heard cases where fidgeting (mainly with the fingers, hair, clothing, or by wiggling the leg while sitting) can be an effective way of expelling that nervous energy when finding ourselves in social situations, or just in an attempt to distract ourselves from our own shitty thoughts. My fidgeting were mainly oral fixations (which also helped my ADHD – so hitting two birds with one stone) like chewing on literally everything: my sleeves, my nails (and the skin around them), my lips, the skin inside my mouth (which has caused some weird internal Joker-like scars), and stationary like the ends of pens and pencils. All of these habits have stayed with me into ‘adulthood’. Your character can have all, some, or none of these! It’s entirely up to you.

Blushing: Good evening, my most hated side effect. This occurred pretty much every time a person of authority (that weren’t my parents) talked to me. The worst part was that I could feel myself flushing, and since I knew what it looked like combined with my social phobia, only made it worse. Let the vicious transformation into a tomato begin.

SEEMINGLY UNRELATED SIDE EFFECTS:

Difficulty expressing emotions

Fear of change (feeling most comfortable with a routine their familiar with).

Difficulty with facial expression

COMMUNICATION:

Gosh, there are so many ways you can communicate with someone who is non-verbal and it really depends on the person and their personal preferences. But here are a few suggestions and what your character could use:

Flashcards: this is what I used. I had little pieces of laminated cards which I’d use at school. They didn’t have masses on them as you can imagine, but simple sentence starters and words like the basics greetings (hello, goodbye, good morning, good afternoon etc.), a card that requested ‘help’, yes and no, and whether I had brought a lunch or required food from the cafeteria. So it wasn’t exactly a full blown conversation, but it was enough to communicate the basics.

Sign language: I’m not saying your character should be able to know sign language off by heart (I certainly didn’t), but even just a few words that would communicate what was on my flashcards helped a lot. To be honest, for me the only reason why I picked up bits of sign language was because my younger brother, Sam, was autistic and didn’t start speaking full sentences to anyone until the age of four. So it also helped me and my parents to communicate with him as well as me.

Written communication: pretty self-explanatory. Whenever there was something I wanted to say but couldn’t communicate through my flashcards, I’d get a piece of paper and write it down.

Once again this is totally flexible. Your character can use all of these, some of these or none of these! It all depends on personal preference and the environment they grow up in. I’ve also not included every single way to communicate non-verbally because that would be a hella long list.

SCHOOL:

Okay, so my school experience was pretty shitty because of my selective mutism and here are a list of reasons why:

TEACHERS: I couldn’t ask for help. Yeah sure, I had a flash card with the word ‘HELP’ scribbled across it but, uh, I had severe social anxiety y’all I wasn’t always comfortable with drawing attention to myself. Especially since it was usually followed by the most painful few minutes of trying to communicate what I didn’t understand without words. It got so bad that I didn’t know how to add, subtract, multiply or divide at ten years old, and had to do Kumon (an intense Japanese tuition styled programme to help me get back on track). Having said that, I did have undiagnosed ADHD so that would have made everything 10x worse in the education department as I wasn’t always, y’know, listening.

BULLIES: ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, so this was a biggy. I’m not going to go into my sob story but it got so bad that it was one of the main factors in why I moved schools when I was seven.

MISUNDERSTANDING: okay, so I was thinking about this last night and remembered something really fucked up. I was told by a qualified teacher at the end of year 2 (I was seven years old) that if I didn’t speak by the start of year 3, I would fail school. Yeah, fucked up right? I genuinely remember the crippling anxiety I felt when she told me that and how mad my parents were when I told them. ANOTHER THING: my teachers did not tell all the staff about my mutism. I was queuing up for lunch and I pointed to the thing I wanted and when I didn’t say please, they almost refused to give me lunch and called me rude in front of my entire year. It’s this misunderstanding that caused me anxiety that could have easily been prevented if everyone had been better educated about the condition.

WHAT I’VE GAINED FROM THE CONDITION (positive):

Strong empathy

Above average perception/inquisitiveness

A strong sense of right and wrong

So there you have it, selective mutism. I really hoped this helped give a better understanding of what the condition is. Please don’t take this disorder lightly because it’s an ugly, ugly thing to have and it should never be a cute ‘quirk’ for your character. Also I must stress that you shouldn’t take this guide as your only research. Google it, look on the selective mutism/actually mute tag, research research research; it’s the best way to portray anything accurately. This guide is very basic and does not involve everything because that would take me forever. 

If you have any questions regarding selective mutism or this guide, send me a message and I’ll be happy to direct you the best I can! <3

[sheroars95]

The best way I can explain it is imagine being in an emergency, like someone's following you down a dark street at night, but you don't have any access to a phone, police, help, anyone to help or stop it, and the emergency has activated a flight or fight mode, certain receptors are releasing stress hormones and coping hormones and it’s “MAYDAY! MAYDAY!” in your head during this DISASTER and your ability to ironically get out of it which is the goal of your brain putting you in JUST SURVIVE THIS mode, is compromised because in a disaster, your body tenses up, you can’t think straight and you just, as mentioned, FIGHT or FLIGHT while feeling extreme peril and hope your clouded, loud and debilitating mind doesn’t land you into a deadly situation..The DISASTER feeling non-anxious folks have during very rare moments of disaster, is an ALL THE TIME feeling, no-exaggerating for anxious people.That’s why so many of us say even getting out of the house is a huge accomplishment. Non-anxious folks, when feeling anxiety for a few minutes or hours once every blue moon during a crisis can’t overcome it, don’t know how to function with it and need help and usually get it. We went through that, and the fear never went away so we learned to function despite that crisis mode. Imagine writing an exam with the same feeling you’d have as if you witnessed a murder. Imagine making small-talk, finding somebody to be with, maintain any sort of a life? To function in an emergency state is hard, but if that emergency state is permanent as in the case of an anxiety disorder, some of us have no choice and some of us make permanent solutions that show everybody else just how hard life can be with anxiety and little compassion for it from society or even those closest to us. So if you don’t have an anxiety disorder and think back to when you had a crisis and how scatter-brained and not yourself you were until a solution was found, and you barely handled the maximum couple days of excruciating stress you had, imagine how much strength anxious people have for not only handling A LIFETIME or since-trauma of time until death of THAT EXACT DEAFENING CRIPPLING FEAR feeling. There isn’t a situation to be fixed, situational anxiety is human: and that may be the worst part. Imagine in that mindset, doing anything let alone getting an education, having friends, having a relationship: basic life expectations are milestones for the anxious because, as mentioned, to be above ‘just making it through the terror’ is defying physical, chemical wiring saying ‘no, you will hide or run and not advance in life’ with actions, because anxiety tells us how to feel and if we can’t act opposite to how we feel, it would take us under.Achieving things is hard when you’re just focusing on surviving today and not killing yourself over the limitations anxiety has on your life which depress you: just fucking stop hating on anxious people for 'just not getting a job,'  'being inside all day' ,'being lazy':imagine if during a crisis you were asked to socialize? Enroll in classes? Work from morning to night? You wouldn’t be able to at all if anxiety hadn’t become a frenemy you learned to eventually live with. So when an anxious person AVOIDS triggers, because we can never fully have assurance as our anxiety is not situational which would be fixed with a solution, or a crisis-state which ends with eventual relief, we can experience less anxiety, but it never goes away. If not socializing until we are able to helps us handle life, at least we are not driving ourselves insane and ruining our lives pushing ourselves to do that which OUR DISORDERS DO NOT ALLOW. If we have to plan our lives around avoiding panic attacks because anxiety is inevitable, and our brain chemistries or PTSD, other disorders have to be accomodated like any other illness, who the fuck are you unless you have this to deal with, to judge? If you were a diabetic not scheduling your life, plans, choices around what you can and cannot do because of it, you’d probably end up really doing some damage. So yes, we also wish hanging out with us was more fun and we could just ‘stop being anxious’ or depressed for a bit so you could have a good time, or so we could enjoy our own damn lives but it does not work that way. WE SUFFER ALL THE TIME how non-anxious people have experienced rarely and were given all the comfort in the world to recover from it swiftly and keep leading normal lives.Lucky bastards!

Anxiety feels how non-anxiety disordered people do when they're nervous (first dates, interviews, rollercoasters, first day of school, driving for the first time) but non-stop, always. Try thinking and planning your life, making good choices, even talking, if you felt like you were about to miss the only bus coming in 5 hours and had to run to it- you can't talk to anyone, get out your phone, take a break- you're just trying to make it through and settle that fear by conquering it. Thing is, anxiety is a disorder, there is not a situational reason, but a chemical response luckily non-disordered people don't have triggered all the time and it is diagnosed as a disorder, not exagerrated as 'nervousness' because it affects social, personal, professional and all aspects of a person's life negatively. So please understand if your anxious friend doesn't keep plans, goes away for a while, any of that, they're doing their best and fuck, I have seen many good people lose their lives because living with this supposedly common and 'not a big deal' mental illness is too underexaggerated in terms of pain, and it's one of those things you suffer alone. The depression resulting from the isolating nature of an anxiety disorder is the worst and I don't care if you're ignorant enough to believe every human's experience of depression and anxiety at some points is what having an actual disorder is like, but I've read too many obituaries of my fucking friends because of exactly that.I had someone taking Psychology who used to be my best friend tell me my depression was 'too negative' for her when I was having an incredibly hard time. With anxiety you can't really ask for help unless something bad, which is exactly what we're anxious about happening, happens, otherwise it's like "hello friend? i have an anxiety disorder and am anxious can you please be there for me as you would always have to be because I will always be anxious?" and eventually you realize you're a burden, no one wants to hear how hard life is for you and you lose the desire to share any of your experiences, because they're all bad,lmao.Basically, if you don't get a mental illness or disease that the DSM-IV classifies as such and people who have medical degrees can diagnose, it is not 'a trend', too common to be serious and respect it as any illness and educate yourself about how to not worsen the symptoms in those who have it because one day you might witness something unforgettable that makes the world turns bright and crack into other experiences you may have had before , which felt just as horrible, and the PTSD nightmares will have you waking up in cold sweats and during the dy you'll be checking behind you, making sure that it won't happen again and everything will seem like a trigger letting you know IT WILL HAPPEN again and when you experience anxiety, which is common because TRAUMAS CAUSE ANXIETY even in non-anxious-disordered people....that's what happened to me...you will have the sympathy and love of people who can help you because you were kind to their anxiety and they can save you through yours. It's like a little community where we hate everyone else but find out you feel that way too? Come here nugget! You know? So just know that's what it's like and anyone can get it-it's the mental cancer we treat like a trend instead of an epidemic which is fuckkkked.. TAKE ANXIETY SERIOUSLY PEOPLE KILL THEMSELVES OVER IT OR SOMETIMES IT LEADS TO WORSE MENTAL STATES AND PEOPLE DO EVER WORSE THINGS SO TAKE IT FUCKING SERIOUSLY AND DON'T SUGGEST DEEP BREATHS BECAUSE YOU WERE NERVOUS ONCE AND THAT HELPED.

Obviously this post is directed to a specific sort of ignorant bastard and all of us who are fed up with this bullshit. 

  #stopbeingignorant #anxiety is worth accommodating #dontbeadick

[infinitehouseofbooks]

YOUNG ADULT FRIDAYS - Splinters

  Welcome to Shannon Muir’s Infinite House of Books!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS by YA Bound Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

  Splinters (The Prospero Chronicles #1)by F.J.R. Titchenell & Matt CarterGenre: YA Horror/ScifiRelease Date: June 6th 2017 Summary from Goodreads:

Under normal circumstances, Ben and Mina would never have had reason to speak to each other. He’s an easy-going people person with a healthy skepticism about the paranormal; she’s a dangerously obsessive monster-hunter with a crippling fear of betrayal. But the small Northern California town of Prospero, with its rich history of cryptid sightings, miracles, and mysterious disappearances, has no normal circumstances to offer.

When Ben’s missing childhood friend, Haley Perkins, stumbles out of Prospero’s surrounding woods and right into her own funeral, Ben and Mina are forced to work together to uncover what happened to her. Different as they are, their unlikely friendship may be the only thing that can save the town, and possibly the world, from its insidious invaders.

Advance Praise:

“A snapping, crackling, popping homage to classic horror.” —Kirkus Reviews.

“Whip-smart dialogue… genuinely terrifying Splinters, the descriptions of which will have fans of monster films utterly enthralled… A promising series opener, this will satisfy those readers who like their scary stories to be as clever as they are chilling.” —KQG, the Bulletin of The Center for Children’s Books. 

“The stakes are high. The action is intense.” —Washington Independent Review of Books.

  The Splinters ebook is on sale for only $0.99 now through July 6th!

Buy Links:

Createspace | Amazon (Paperback) | Amazon (Kindle) | Barnes & Noble (Paperback) | Barnes & Noble (Nook) | iBooks | Kobo | Google Play | Smashwords | Indigo | Books-a-Million | Indiebound

  Excerpt

1. The Funeral Crasher

Ben  

I’d never been to a funeral without a casket before.

Then again, I’d never known a missing person before.

This trip was full of firsts.

The funeral home had managed to fit about eighty folding chairs into their cramped, stuffy parlor, and they were all full of mourners and well-wishers. This wouldn’t have been so bad if the funeral director’s promise of having the air conditioning fixed in twenty minutes had actually been true. The mid-summer heat had transformed the room into a pressure cooker that smelled heavily of sweat and flowers. I couldn’t leave. I wanted to, if only for a minute so I could clear my head, but I couldn’t because I had to be there for my mother, and she had to be there for the dead girl’s mother.

Missing. Not dead. Missing.

Where a casket would have been stood a large yearbook picture of a pretty blonde girl wearing a nice, not-too-fancy dress. Her smile was gorgeous and hopeful, unaware that less than a year after the picture was taken it would be blown up and surrounded by more flowers and teddy bears than you could count.

Haley Perkins.

We were friends, once. Not close friends, not even good friends—when we were both six, we’d liked each other well enough, and, since my mother was best friends in college with her mother, we got used to playing together during my mother’s infrequent trips to Prospero. It didn’t last long, as we each soon entered the age where playing with the opposite sex was considered gross, but we were nice enough to smile and say hello and spend a few polite minutes together whenever our mothers would force us to.

I wasn’t that choked up about her death (disappearance), but there was still something surreal about actually knowing the person whose funeral you’re attending.

The program said that the services were set to begin in ten minutes. Some of Haley’s friends and my mother would deliver eulogies about how lovely and special a girl she was, about how she had brightened all of their lives, and how the world would be a much worse place for not having her in it. Standard stuff. The kind of stuff that would break any audience into a chorus of tears and moans of grief.

Any normal audience at least. This audience’s behavior was anything but normal.

Don’t get me wrong, there was plenty of sadness to go around. About half the audience, mostly high school-aged, probably Haley’s friends, were emotional and, if not already crying, were on the verge of tears. The older members of the audience, on the other hand, the parents, the select representatives of the Town Council who had decided to attend… their reactions were a bit off. While most of them put their best sad faces on, more than anything else there seemed to be an air of fear, even frustration as they occasionally whispered amongst themselves. Even stranger, I could swear that a few of the older people looked happy, as if this were a day of celebration instead of mourning.

This is why I never really looked forward to Mom’s trips to Prospero; it’s just oozing with small town strange. Big city strange I can deal with. I expect it. In all the noise and anonymity, I can avoid it.

Small town strange is another beast entirely, that kind of strange where you know, you just know that everybody’s watching you and judging your every move… I don’t know how anyone could handle that for long without going completely insane. Top it off with Prospero’s tourist-friendly reputation for the bizarre….

I needed some air. I tugged on my mother’s sleeve.

“Mom?”

She looked at me, daubing her puffy eyes with a tissue, “Yes, Ben?”

“Can I go get some water?”

She smiled, faintly, looking to the woman wrapped in her arms, “Sure. Could you get a cup for me and your Aunt Christine as well?”

“Sure,” I said as I got up and walked down the center aisle. Late arrivals milled around the back. Among them was a gawky-looking girl in a long-sleeved black dress that might have belonged to her grandmother, who looked like she had only been told how dresses worked just in time for this memorial service. Her curly red hair hung haphazardly around her face, a striking contrast against her pale skin. A pair of thick, black-framed glasses made her eyes look enormous.

I couldn’t be sure, but she seemed to be staring intently at me as I walked into the next room. I’d have been unsettled even if the town itself hadn’t already put me on edge.

In the next parlor over, a buffet table had been set out with a selection of hors d’oeuvres and bottles of water in ice. I grabbed a few, cracked one open, and took a long, grateful sip.

When I turned to head back to the service, the red-haired girl was standing in my way. I was startled, almost dropping my bottle to the floor. Up close, I could see that she stood barely five feet tall, and if it hadn’t been for the intensity of her gaze, I could almost have tripped over her before noticing she was there. She didn’t move.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” she replied. An awkward silence followed. Though I could already tell she was hardly the world’s greatest conversationalist, given the day, I wanted to be polite.

“I’m Ben,” I said, holding out my hand.

She didn’t take it. She only said, “I know.”

Again, that unsettled feeling was grabbing my stomach, but being too polite for my own good, I couldn’t act on it. “Well, then you’ve got me at a disadvantage?”

“Mina. Mina Todd,” she said quickly, her eyes leaving me for a moment as if worried someone might overhear her. Satisfied that she was clear, she smiled briefly. As odd-looking as she was, she had a radiant smile.

“Did you… did you know Haley well?” I asked. Though this could have been a minefield, it did seem like the safest conversation topic.

“Better than she knew me,” Mina said, shrugging.

She did not elaborate.

This was getting a little too weird for my tastes. I could have doubled back into the parlor easily, but considering the stifling heat, I decided on a different approach. I reached for my pocket, pulled out my phone, and forced a surprised look on my face.

“My phone’s vibrating, I’ll be right back.”

“No it isn’t,” she said simply.

“It’s very quiet,” I explained, starting to turn away from her to make my escape.

“No it isn’t,” she repeated. She looked at me, worried, clearly wanting to say more. She was weird, I understood that, but something really had her on edge.

I quickened my pace. Thankfully, she didn’t follow.

It was nice outside. Hot, but nice. A faint breeze brought in the scent of the redwood trees that surrounded Prospero. I realized then that, Prospero’s strangeness aside, I could probably deal with summer in Northern California, better than a lot of the places we’d lived at least. Better than Virginia and Texas, and those three weeks we spent in Phoenix. That quick escape was one of the few times I was glad my mom liked to move around so much.

I sighed, took another sip of water. This trip was another excuse. I knew it. Mom wasn’t happy with her job and she hated our landlord. When she said we were coming up here to offer comfort to Aunt Christine and she didn’t know how long we’d stay, I knew, I just knew that it would be her way of quitting her job. Something would happen, she’d decide to stay longer, and then, the way she had at least once every two years since Dad died, she’d say it was time for a change.

If it had been funny, I’d have laughed. Instead, I kicked a stone across the funeral home’s parking lot. It bounced harmlessly off the tire of a Jeep parked near the exit. I watched it skip out into the street, wondering how far it would go.

Then I saw her.

There was a girl walking down the middle of the street, dirty and barefoot, wrapped in a tattered old Army blanket. She looked like a zombie, unmindful of the cuts on her feet, how little the blanket covered up her probably naked form, and the car that was barreling down the road toward her.

It was going too fast, and the driver wouldn’t see her in time around the blind corner.

I didn’t think; I just ran.

The car rounded the corner.

The squealing of brakes filled the air.

I collided with the girl, knocking her off her feet. We fell into a ditch full of dry pine needles by the side of the road. The car swerved, missed us by inches and ran into a lamp post in front of the funeral home. Its hood crunched inward and glass scattered everywhere. I don’t know what was louder; the unending blare of its horn after the impact, or the sound of the lamppost falling down and crunching another car in the parking lot.

Someone screamed.

I looked down at the girl, rolling off her when I realized, shamefacedly, that she had broken my fall.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I meant to do that better. Are you all right?”

She was coming out of her trance. The vacant gaze was soon replaced by the look of a person coming out of a deep slumber.

Sitting up, I repeated, “Are you all ri—”

Then I saw her face. She’d lost some weight, needed a shower and some shampoo, and was a little bloody, but there was no denying it was her.

“Haley?” I asked.

Her eyes focused on me, shocked and fearful. Letting out an animalistic scream of grief and fear, she wrapped her arms powerfully around me and wept. Comforting crying girls had never been one of my strong suits, let alone beautiful girls who’d been missing for two months and declared legally dead and then showed up naked outside their own memorial services. I like to think I did my best as she hung on to me.

People from the service had started filing outside, checking out the accident. Some were already calling 911, which gave me one less thing to do, thankfully.

“Can you walk?” I asked, getting only loud sobs in response. I took that as a no.

Carefully, I cradled Haley in my arms and picked her up, making sure the blanket covered her. She was so light. Too light. As quickly as I could, I made my way to the accident site and the crowd that had gathered around it.

“We need help here!” I called.

With a car accident to look at, they noticed us slowly, but when they did, we were swarmed. There were all the reactions you’d expect on an occasion like this. Shock. Excitement. Elation. I set her down, and though she regained her footing for a moment, she soon sat down on the curb, holding the blanket around her protectively as people hugged her, questioned her, or just stood around crying. People called for her mother, and soon she came running out with my mom in tow.

Aunt Christine screamed in surprise, tears of joy running down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around Haley and me. She babbled incoherently as she kissed first Haley, then me on the cheek, and though I was soon pulled aside by the crowd for congratulations from a couple dozen strangers, I did catch her saying the words “Thank you” and “hero.”

Within minutes there was a police car parked in front of the funeral home and, five minutes after that, an ambulance to take Haley and the driver to the nearby medical center. By then I’d had my hand shaken and my back pounded so many times I was thinking of asking for a ride over there with them.

It was right around the time they started to load Haley into the back of the ambulance that I felt the insistent poking on the back of my shoulder. I turned around, expecting another well-wisher or congratulatory handshake.

Instead, I got Mina Todd. She looked at me, almost frantic, as she wrote furiously on her funeral program with a marker and thrust it into my hands.

“We can’t talk here. It’s not safe. Just… call me, okay?”

Before I could ask what she meant, she darted off into the crowd and disappeared. I looked back to Haley as she was loaded into the ambulance. She smiled at me, grateful, and for a moment, it almost looked like she said “Thank you.”

I was a hero. A hero. I gotta say, it felt pretty good. They wouldn’t call me a hero for much longer, not the guy who just saw her wandering in the street and decided to help, but I was going to enjoy it while they did.

It was almost an afterthought when I finally looked at the message Mina had scrawled on the back of her funeral program. Beneath her phone number, in large block letters, she had printed three simple words.

THAT ISN’T HALEY

    About the Authors

F.J.R. TITCHENELL is an author of young adult, sci-fi, and horror fiction, including Confessions of the Very First Zombie Slayer (That I Know of). She graduated from Cal State University Los Angeles with a B. A. in English in 2009 at the age of twenty. She currently lives in San Gabriel, California, with her husband, coauthor, and amazing partner in all things, Matt Carter, and their pet king snake, Mica.

 Connect with F.J.R. Titchenell on:

Her blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Pinterest

     MATT CARTER is an author of horror, sci-fi, and yes, even a little bit of young adult fiction. He earned his degree in history from Cal State University Los Angeles, and lives in the usually sunny town of San Gabriel, California, with his wife, best friend, and awesome co-writer, F.J.R. Titchenell. Check out his first solo novel, Almost Infamous, or connect with him on:

His blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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YOUNG ADULT FRIDAYS – Splinters was originally published on the Wordpress version of SHANNON MUIR'S INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS.