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nostalgiachan · 8 months ago

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Do-Over

Twenty-Fourth Prompt: When was the first "I love you"?

Act Three Spoilers

Summary: Vier feels like she left some things unsaid that night at the cemetery, and Astarion wants to give her the chance to say them (1304 words)

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“You ever think about that night in the cemetery?”

“All the time, love. The way you looked pressed up against my headstone, how your skin seemed to glow in the moonlight–”

“I-I didn’t quite mean like that.”

As they tended to on the evenings when neither had much on the agenda, Vier and Astarion lay tangled together on the couch in their drawing room. That night, it was Vier’s turn to play the mattress, as Astarion’s fluffy-haired head nuzzled into her chest. Idly, her fingers played with his curls.

“Then what did you mean, dear?” he asked, red eyes looking up at her with genuine curiosity.

“Well…Sometimes, I think I should’ve said a little more than I did,” Vier admitted.

“Hmm? How so?”

Vier was honestly expecting a further lewd joke from the man - something about how he thought she’d said plenty when she’d called out his name in the throes of ecstasy, perhaps - so she quite appreciated his restraint. “If I’m being honest, I…well, I held back quite a bit that night. It was your moment, and I didn’t want to intrude on it with my feelings. I didn’t want to make it about me.”

Suddenly, Astarion lifted his head, his eyes rounded with surprise, and he propped himself up with his arms to look more directly at Vier. “Oh, darling, there is nothing you could’ve said that would have done that. If you remember it, I want to know exactly what you’d wanted to say to me that night. Here, I’ll even set the scene for you, if it helps.”

He pushed himself off of her and scooted into a seated position, legs tucked up beneath him just as they had when he’d sat before his own grave. “A moonlit graveyard in Baldur’s Gate’s Lower City, quiet as…well, the grave. My headstone, unkempt over the centuries, right over there. Where do you wish to start?”

While she felt just a bit silly doing it, Vier responded in kind, sitting on her knees and pretending as though they were reliving that night all over again. “How about, erm…you’d said you needed to figure out who you are, and what you wanted. While I asked what that was, honestly…for a moment, I wanted to tell you what I wanted. I wanted to tell you how much I wanted you, how much I loved you. But it just felt so…selfish of me.”

“And what’s wrong with being a little selfish? Especially when you’d given of yourself freely for so long, in more ways than one?” Astarion replied, gently taking one of Vier’s hands in his own.

“That’s just it, I still didn’t feel as though I had,” Vier continued. “There was this little voice in my head constantly telling me that I wasn’t being honest with myself. Even after everything, it believed I stood by you, cared for you, solely so that you would see me as your savior; a saintly hero garbed in the armor of the sun come to rescue you from yourself.”

“Well, if I may be frank: that voice is an idiot,” Astarion tutted. “Yes, our relationship started as a bit of mutually selfish exploitation.”

“As much as I’d love to forget that,” Vier interrupted with a grumble.

With a sweet, gentle smile, Astarion continued, “But you came to see something in me I could never see in myself, all because you’d been there before. You had the perspective I lacked. Someone had helped you mend your ways, and you wanted to pay it forward.”

“I…suppose so,” Vier sighed. It still felt self-aggrandizing to accept, but she couldn’t deny it was true. All of this was because one Dawnbringer had taken a chance on her so long ago, when, to borrow Astarion’s words that night, “that was an objectively stupid thing to do.” The guiding light of “what would Cyril do” was a constant of her life, and taking on a huge risk to reach out to the wounded is exactly what he would��ve done.

Gods, how she wished Cyril could have met Astarion.

“Okay, jumping ahead a bit…I wish I’d had nicer flowers to lay on the grave.”

“Oh, surely, you haven’t been beating yourself up over that one,” Astarion sighed, paired with a mildly exasperated eyeroll. “But if it’s that important to you, I accept bouquets of roses or Selûne’s Tears.”

“I’ll be sure to bring a wreath when I’m in Baldur’s Gate next,” Vier laughed.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean put them on the grave, I meant give them to me,” Astarion huffed, lips pouting just a bit.

“Wait, I thought you didn’t care for flowers?” Vier asked, vaguely remembering him snarking at some point or another that they “weren’t his thing”.

“Then perhaps I could be swayed into liking them,” Astarion spouted dramatically, as though Vier was twisting his arm over it. “Part of the whole ‘discovering who I am’ thing, you know.”

“Well, then, when we finish the rose garden we’ve planned near the temple, you’ll be the first to know. But, I digress. Next, you admitted you didn’t particularly care for me when we first met, which…well, we both know the feeling was mutual.”

“‘Drow in all but name’, I think you’d called me once. Which I rather took as a compliment at the time, if we’re being honest.”

“Point being, what you said next was…well, honestly, it was everything I’d wanted. You finally felt safe enough - to hope for a better future, to open your heart to someone, to…to come to care for me as much as I cared for you. And that set my pulse to racing so hard and so loudly in my ears that I almost didn’t hear when you finally said what I’d been longing to hear.”

Without missing a beat, Astarion pulled the words from memory which had been engraved on Vier’s heart: “I love you. I love this. And I want it all.”

“Gods, it still feels like the first time,” Vier sighed, lifting Astarion’s hands to her cheeks for a moment, that he might feel the blood rushing to her skin. “I had been aching for the day when you’d tell me you loved me and honestly, truly meant it, because…I already knew I loved you. I loved you, and I wanted so desperately to tell you, but I didn’t want to pressure you into feeling the same. You were already trying so hard for me, and…”

With more of a slump than she intended, Vier returned Astarion’s hands to her lap. “We’d worked so long to break Cazador’s chains around your heart. I didn’t want to turn around and chain you to me instead. So, I didn’t say it. I didn’t say I love you that night, either, because, well…you didn’t give me much opportunity to speak after that, ravenous as you were. But I’ll say it to you now, just as I have every night since, and as I will say it every night hence.”

Her eyes turned upwards to meet his, gaze filled with confidence, with determination.

“I love you, Astarion Ancunin. I am so unbelievably proud of you, and I will forever be grateful that you would have me.”

Slowly, Vier released Astarion’s hands. With a chuckle, she noted, “And then, of course, came the part where we rutted like rabbits on top of your grave.”

“And that’s the part where I get to have a little do-over of my own,” Astarion spoke with a hint of a devious smirk, leaning in just as he had on that night and pressing his lips to Vier’s. Mouths parted, tongues collided, before Astarion pulled back for a breath he didn’t need. “Because I can do much better than ‘rutting like rabbits’.”

The armrest of the couch would be standing in for Astarion’s gravestone that night.

#my writing #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion #drow tav #cleric tav #named tav #vier alurlssrin

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gurugirl · 3 years ago

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The House Maid Chapter 1

Summary: Daisy and Harry both work at the Archer House and don't quite see eye to eye when they first meet. Eventually, they can't resist one another and start a risky relationship that could have them both jobless. However, when jealousy and insecurities set in, things get ugly for the young lovers.

AN/Warning: I will have a * by the parts when smut is included. This warning list is comprehensive for all parts, not all contain smut or listed warnings. NSFW, smut, oral (male and female), 18+ only (as always), angst. I did a tiny bit of research on this time period (1915-1925 in the UK) and this is what resulted. If I get some historical stuff wrong it's because I'm not an expert on the genre/era (sorry).

Pairing: 1920s era House Maid Daisy x Groundskeeper Harry

Chapter 1

Daisy had always started her workdays in the main room of the house as Missus Smith, the head housekeeper, explained the daily duty to her and any extra help that was needed for household chores on that particular day. Today was like any other. It was only her and Missus Smith who would be taking care of the house, no extra help needed today. Lady Archer was at her sister’s for the next two days (and what a relief to hear that the Lady of the house was out – she was a stickler for perfection and even though Daisy was good at her job, no one was ever good enough for Lady Archer) and Miss Archer (the youngest Archer child) would also not be home for the next two days.

Daisy’s duties began with tidying up the bedrooms on the second level of the house. The house she worked in was not a manor, nor a mansion. It was a large house, with a large garden and nearly three acres of land to tend to, but the family of the house didn’t require, nor could they afford, more help than they already had. The occasional extra help was called in, but it was rarely needed. The Master of the house owned the local accounting shop. He prepared taxes and performed audits for the wealthy gentlemen of the town and made a decent living in doing so. Sir Cyril employed his two sons; Mister Johnathan and Master Bradley; as well as three other accountants to help with the books, audits, and taxes for all the local shops and families.

Master Bradley was still in his room fast asleep when Daisy began her rounds. She and Bradley were on good terms and could even be considered friends despite their class differences. He would often tell her all about his scandals and his dreams (which were also scandalous as he wished to one day be a fashion designer). When Daisy creaked the door open she wasn’t too terribly surprised to find Bradley splayed out on his bed, mouth wide open and snoring off the previous night’s activities. What she was surprised to see was another man laying on the bed next to him, naked as the day he was born. Both completely out cold. Bradley was the odd one out of the Archer children. He had light brown hair, grey eyes, a compact nose, and was short and a bit pudgy, while the other two were tall and thin with dark hair, pronounced noses, and dark eyes. And of course there was the fact that Bradley preferred to keep the company of men than women (though, that’s not to say Bradley didn’t experiment with women from time to time). Daisy quietly retreated, slowly pulling the heavy oak door closed with the intention to return to his room later to finish the chore of tidying the youngest son’s room.

She moved on to Connie’s room, Miss Archer, as she addressed her by. Connie was to return in two days and requested fresh linens, flowers, and new curtains (her old ones were too drab and cheaply she decided). Miss Archer was the youngest of the children, the same age as Daisy, 22. She and Daisy rarely spoke but Miss Archer was usually kind, if not a bit pretentious and picky like her mother. Though she didn’t have the underlying bitter anger that Lady Archer had, not yet at least.

Daisy was a tiny bit jealous of Connie. Connie was the same age as Daisy but the different classes they each came from meant that Daisy didn’t have the opportunities that Connie afforded. While Connie’s parents weren’t extremely wealthy, they were comfortable and had privileges that Daisy’s family did not. Connie was able to study and travel abroad, while Daisy was stuck within a half day’s train ride from her family home, probably for the rest of her life. It was doubtful Daisy would ever be able to travel anywhere much further than that from home. Connie was tall and lithe, with dark hair and big brown eyes, but by most standards she was plain – not ugly by any means, but not a standard beauty with her large nose. She’d never had a true suitor, something her mother seemed to be endlessly worried about. That was the one thing Daisy didn’t envy Connie; the idea that a woman must be married before the age of 25 and Lady Archer’s unforgiving and overbearing expectations that she held onto for her daughter.

After freshening Connie’s room and removing the old “drab” curtains from their pole tightly hung over the window, she moved to Mister Johnathan’s room. Throwing the old curtains into the bin near the door, along with the old linens, Daisy entered Johnathan’s room to find a flower and a note lying on his writing desk with a small candy atop the note. Daisy’s grin couldn’t be contained and she felt her heart rate hasten. She knew that this was meant for her. Johnathan was usually up before sunrise and working during the day at his father’s accounting shop. Johnathan was tall with lean muscles and long limbs, dark hair and dark eyes like his father. He had a long broad nose and a handsomely deep voice. He always smelled clean and never held back a bright smile when he saw Daisy. Daisy’s crush was a secret but Johnathan made it hard for her to pretend she wasn’t interested. It was forbidden, after all. Johnathan often gave Daisy small gifts when he saw her in person and would occasionally leave gifts for her to find when he wasn’t around to give them to her in person. He was generous and thoughtful, but never overstepping boundaries by giving her anything of monetary value that could be seen as immoral. He’d usually give her a flower, a note with kind, neutral words, candies or pastries – things of that nature.

Dearest Missus Marvin,

I found this growing in our garden and I just knew I had to give it to you. I wonder what it must be like to have the namesake of a flower, but perhaps the flower is named after you? I suppose it makes perfect sense that you share your name with a beautiful flower.

As well, Madame Hattie made confections yesterday and I snuck my favorite kind for you.

Please enjoy these tokens of my appreciation for all you do for the house.

Sincerely,

Mister Johnathan Archer

Daisy folded the note and tucked it into her bib and lifted the flower to her nose and inhaled. It was a lovely flower, that sadly she could not bring home without questions from the staff so she brought a vase and water and settled the single daisy inside near the window of Mister Johnathan’s room, hoping he wouldn’t mind, but knowing he’d understand the gesture. As she sucked on the hard licorice cream candy she finished tidying his room and felt her heart swell at his sweet intentions. It was innocuous, the note, the single flower, the one candy, but – it was something. She knew it. It could easily be disregarded as friendly but when he gave her these kinds of things in person she noted the way his skin heated starting from his neck, up to his cheeks and then ears. She understood his kindness to be kindness, sure, but it was more than just that. If they had not been in their current circumstance things might be different. He could perhaps be more forthcoming with his feelings toward Daisy and perhaps they could marry and live happily every after like he truly wanted. And she could maybe finally get a peek at what was underneath his trousers that easily displayed his generous sized bulge (she just knew he had a big cock with those big hands, that large nose, his deep voice – of course he was fully ample in that department, she just knew it). Okay, and yes, so maybe Daisy was a bit naughty with those types of thoughts but she enjoyed sex and men, what could she say? They were her own private thoughts she never shared with anyone else. No harm done in imagining.

The rest of Daisy’s day was typical and busy. After some hours she returned to Bradley’s room to tidy up (once he and his bedmate had long gone) and then she began to sew the new set of curtains that Miss Archer had requested but she would have time to finish them the following day as Miss Archer wasn’t due back for two more days (Friday). At the end of her shift Missus Smith reminded her to be early tomorrow to finish the curtains and for the beginning of planting season in case help was needed for the groundskeepers and gardeners. It would be things like getting baskets and seeds, or watering cans as needed. She may have to go into town to buy some things as well but it really depended on what was necessary for the new growing season. Her day would be very busy tomorrow so arriving to the house before sunrise was important as she had much work to finish.

Daisy’s walk home was inconsequential, like most days. She would have loved to have found a room in a home closer to the Archer’s home but then she wouldn’t be able to afford much else even if she had. The Archer’s home was in a small neighborhood full of beautiful middle-class homes with perfectly manicured generous sized gardens. Her room was in a home that was a third of a residential building that was about a 45 minute walk away. Each third had four rooms and one bathroom. Her unit was in the middle and her room was on the third floor, where the bathroom was on the second floor next to the large room with the large window. She rented the small room on the third floor of the unit and shared the rest of the unit with four other women. In the largest room on the second floor a pair of sisters lived, in the other room on the third floor next to Daisy’s, an older woman lived who Daisy rarely ever saw and in the bottom of the house in the basement lived another woman who had left her husband in secret. No one knew the woman’s name but everyone respected everyone’s privacy in living quarters such as this. Each woman must pay their rent on time at the end of each week and Daisy was always on time with money left over to buy herself snacks and send money home quite often.

The air was still quite cold out but the season was changing and soon spring would show itself with wild flowers, tree blooms, and fruits, as well as vegetables and hopefully later a wonderful fall harvest. Daisy felt herself lucky most days. Even with the long walk to and from the Archer’s her pay was good and she was allowed to go home every evening which wasn’t always the norm for her position. Missus Smith stayed at the Archer’s all the time and they didn’t need Daisy one day per week so she even had a full day off to sleep in, drink wine or sherry at the pub (the dingy one that didn’t mind women drinking in their facility as long as they paid their tab) and of course, hopefully finding a good fuck for the night, so long as he was cute with a big enough cock (she had some standards of course). Daisy was no saint. She enjoyed drinking and sex, and sometimes would sell off small wares she’s scoop up from the Archer home so she could buy a new frock or a whole bottle of gin to keep in her room perhaps. She didn’t feel great about it but she didn’t feel too guilty either. She’d been working for the Archer’s for nearly two years and saw them throw away money on useless things so a pretty jeweled barrette snatched up from Connie’s room (a barrette that Connie never once wore by the way) could get her shoes repaired and buy a book or two as well as some toffee pudding to snack on. She didn’t steal from them all the time, just when it was convenient and it was an item she knew wouldn’t be missed, and of course as long as it wasn’t something too valuable.

Daisy had eaten a big portion of the stew Hattie made and stole a bit of bread to dip into it when no one was looking during her break at the Archer’s so she wasn’t hungry and didn’t feel the need to stop on her way home to purchase food. When she arrived to her unit she entered the quiet and dusty house feeling relieved to be indoors, as her fingers and nose were cold from the cool air outside. She added a lump of coal to the stove before heading up the stairs to the bathroom to bathe and get herself ready to settle in with a book and some wine she hid in her room. She wished that Johnathan had given her a few more pieces of the candy so she could have a bit of something sweet as well but she couldn’t be too picky since she neglected to stop at the market on her way home, mostly out of laziness than anything else.

After washing herself and applying her face cream (that she was lucky enough to be able to afford thanks to her job) she went to her tiny room on the third floor and locked the door behind her. Pulling out the large bottle of cheap red wine and the book she had begun reading a few days prior, she snuggled into her bed and pulled her covers over her lap.

Her window faced the alley and didn’t let much light in but she could see it was already nearing dark out. She’d need to be up very early tomorrow so she could only indulge in a bit of wine but she intended to read until she dozed off like every other work night. She usually woke in the morning to her book either haven fallen to the floor or just next to her on the bed, and always with her place lost as she never folded the page back before falling asleep.

The candle flickered thanks to the small draft from the small window and the crack under her door, making shadows dance on her wall. She heard some noise downstairs and knew the sisters were home now too. She hoped they remembered to add coal to the stove before settling in for the night but they never did. As she read page after page her eyes began to grow heavy and the candle was nearing it’s end. She needed to read only a few more pages before the end of the chapter but her body didn’t allow it. She was fast asleep before the end of the chapter with the last bit of the candle going out only shortly after she’d fallen asleep as the book slid onto the mattress off of her lap.

Chapter 2

#1920s era #harry fic #harry smut #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #1920s era Harry

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mira-hildegard · 2 years ago

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Most of the time people call for alphabet reform, it is for All The Wrong Reasons – a crusade against "weird letters". Why does c have more than one pronunciation? Why are q and x a Thing? Unfortunately, in a quest to make things "right", reforms tend to be English-centric, incompatible, and a bit less beautiful.

But fuck beauty! May I present to you a very cursed script – a 1:1 mapping of Latin – designed for unambiguous symbols and theft. It is (hopefully) presentable using Tumblr's fonts, and preserves pronunciation meaning from scripts, but otherwise despite my best start at making it look pretty, quickly devolves into a melting pot of letters.

This is what happens when you give me coffee and Wikipedia after a few weeks without, so brace yourself for some dubious decisions!

∀ b c d e f g h i j k ʟ m n o p q ꝛ s̊ t u v w x y z

We start with a combination of uppercase and lowercase. We've promoted L to keep it from confusion with a watchful I, and also made the upside-down animal-with-horns A right again. It's a cute origin story for a letter! Also some easy Latin wins: we're adding s̊ where the circle above means "unvoiced consonant", and ꝛ, the scifi classical rotunda form of r.

∀ б c 𐌳 e f g η и j k ʟ m n o б̊ q ꝛ s̊ 𐌳̊ u v w x y z

Let's pare down the p-b-d-q nightmare. Four must enter, but only one can leave (q, obviously). We'll kill two letters with one stone: that's right, we've put some Cyrillic up in this б. Roughly speaking, this script is a syncretism of Greek and the Glagolitic script invented to help transcribe Slavic languages (for religion, of course). If you ever saw funky Slavic text like "ⰳⰾⰰⰳⱁⰾⱏ", that's Glagolitic, babyyy.

Because we no longer have capitals, we're at leisure to borrow the Ukrainian pronunciation for и. This letter originally comes from Greek η, Eta; we'll be evil and also steal this for h, its Latin descendant. In addition, we have Gothic 𐌳, which looks familiar due to its Uncial origins. I just think it looks very polite, y'know?

∀ б c 𐌳 e 𐤱 g η и j k ʟ m n o б̊ q ꝛ s̊ 𐌳̊ u 𐔟 ꦮ x 𞤴 z

Next, the fvwy four. These letters all share a common origin, so let's scatter that to the winds. Crossing over history, we've used eight 𐤱 from the Lydian alphabet and three 𞤴 from the newly-invented Adlam alphabet (ADLM being short for 'the alphabet that protects the peoples from vanishing').

Finally, we have the lovely ꦮ from popular Javanese, and 𐔟 from obscure Elbasan, a script which was spookily only ever used to anonymously write a single document. (Alternatively, you can just use 𐔟̊ and pretend it is the older and "better" form of 𐤱, keeping the whole "circle for nonvoicedness" theme. But beware: that makes you an Eight Hater.)

∀ б c 𐌳 e 𐔟̊ g η и j k ʟ 𑣖 Ն o б̊ q ꝛ s̊ 𐌳̊ Ꭴ 𐔟 ꦮ x 𞤴 z

Eagle-eyed viewers will note the c-m-n-u set of similar letters. Let's disambiguate! 𑣖 comes from the Warang Citi writing system used by about a million speakers in India. Now entering the Hook Dimension, Ն comes in from the Armenian alphabet, and Ꭴ from Cherokee. Shout out to my boy Sequoyah for inventing an whole syllabary despite being illiterate – it was so popular that shortly after his death the literacy rate of Cherokee people surpassed that of settlers to America!!

∀ б c 𐌳 e 𐔟̊ g η и j k ʟ 𑣖 Ն o б̊ q ꝛ s̊ 𐌳̊ Ꭴ 𐔟 ꦮ x 𞤴 z

So there you have it: a script which, while I tried to avoid angular letters, still looks a bit ugly. It's a bit reminiscent of faux Cyrillic or Greek, albeit at least here preserved some semblance of meaning. I'm not sure the whole result has any meaning, but it sure inflicts psychic damage whenever I look at it, so that's something.

The only survivors are the real freaks of nature, the real trendsetters you have to love. Shout out to Z, who was killed off in Latin in 300 BCE by some guy who thought it reminded him of corpses (later resurrected at the end of the list), G, which is genuinely just a C some other Roman guy added a line to, and O, because it's so unsuspecting I forgot about it.

Anyway, here's a random song:

𐌳̊o𐌳∀𞤴 иs̊ goՆՆ∀ бe 𐌳̊ηe 𐌳∀𞤴 𐌳̊η∀𐌳̊ 𐌳̊ηe𞤴'ꝛe goՆՆ∀ 𐌳̊ηꝛoꦮ и𐌳̊ б∀ck 𐌳̊o 𞤴oᎤ б𞤴 Նoꦮ 𞤴oᎤ s̊ηoᎤʟ𐌳'𐔟e s̊o𑣖eηoꦮ ꝛe∀ʟиze𐌳 ꦮη∀𐌳̊ 𞤴oᎤ go𐌳̊𐌳̊∀ 𐌳o и 𐌳oՆ'𐌳̊ бeʟиe𐔟e 𐌳̊η∀𐌳̊ ∀Ն𞤴бo𐌳𞤴 𐔟̊eeʟs̊ 𐌳̊ηe ꦮ∀𞤴 и 𐌳o ∀бoᎤ𐌳̊ 𞤴oᎤ Նoꦮ

you can't be remotely interested in linguistics and typography without occasionally wanting to redesign the fucking alphabet.

it's a mess. ignoring how bad it is from a non-phonetic standpoint, it's just badly designed shapes.

Here's some basic things that an alphabet/writing system should hopefully have:

no letters that are mirrors of each other, horizontally or vertically, or rotationally

no letters that can easily be mistaken for each other after very minor damage

only a single set of glyphs for given characters. two? why? fuck me, FOUR!? FIVE FOR AT LEAST ONE? (upper/lower print, upper/lowercase cursive, the nightmare that is the lowercase "a" and how it can be drawn in two different ways)

if we're not gonna drop the concept of case all together (and I'm not saying we shouldn't!) it should be easy to convert one case to another. how about, like, underlining? so "A/a" turns into either "A/A̲" or "a/a̲"

They're clearly distinctive glyphs and you don't have to memorize a second set of 26 shapes. And cursive can obviously fuck off. I'm personally gonna say we should go for uppercase + underline, just so we don't have to deal with the two-lowercase-a-glyphs nightmare, and the quadruple-disaster that is p/q/b/d. It's like some kind of damn logic puzzle in this alphabet! why not have four glyphs that are mirrors of each other on vertical and horizontal axises?

I don't like this alphabet. we should fix it.

#linguistics #conlang #please forgive me for what i have done #also please forgive me screenreader users this is Probably Quite Horrifying To Have Read Out

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burr-ell · 3 years ago

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I find it interesting that for all Dimitri is set up as Edelgard's opposite - and don't get me wrong, he is very antithetical to her - Claude has a lot more direct mirrors to her.

Claude is given short-time notice to evacuate Derdriu, he makes do and does everything to protect it - Edelgard in the same position hides behind her people

Claude calls himself a schemer and (essentially) a manipulator who's only out for himself, but proves that he either grows out of behaving in such a way or was just never that bad a person to begin with - Edelgard says that she cares for the people and Byleth so much and only "sacrifices" to help others, but proves that she can and will throw anyone (even Byleth) away as soon as they're done being useful to her

Claude calls himself the "embodiment of distrust" and yet it's Edelgard that ends up being the most distrustful character in the cast (with Claude actually lying about only a few things, most of which are personal details about himself)

Claude says in CF that he wanted to be "supreme ruler" of Fodlan, but always gives over rulership to Byleth and trusting it in their care (as he peacefully rises to rule Almyra) - Edelgard, meanwhile, actually does become a supreme ruler and never gives Byleth (or anyone who wasn't already a noble) any power to speak of despite their accomplishments in her war.

And so on and so forth. It's like Edelgard is what Claude tells everyone he is (an uncaring supreme ruler who's only out for themselves), and Claude is what Edelgard tries to tell everyone she is (someone who makes difficult decisions for the best of everyone around them). It's an extremely interesting dynamic (and possibly why they say that they're "so alike" even though they're ironically nearly opposites), and I wish it was acknowledged more instead of ignored for the "lol church bad bestie amiright" gimmick people tend to give them :/

i have few other words to add anon you're so based

Honestly, the fact that the game doesn't explore more of their relationship is a crime. They're such interesting foils to each other—really, Claude, Dimitri, Rhea, and Edelgard all foil each other in some way, and it's fascinating.

You can see it in how Claude and Edelgard interact with their houses and with Byleth, too. Both are untrusting and calculating, but Claude letting people in and growing close to them is part of his character arc, while Edelgard continues to lie and lie and lie to the class she's supposed to have grown close to, even as late as chapter 16. Claude reaches out to the other Deer and gets to know them, and they all have no problems treating each other like equals and family. Edelgard keeps the non-Hubert Eagles at arms length, save Dorothea, who seems to be more useful to Edelgard than anything else—Edelgard certainly doesn't seem to reciprocate Dorothea's level of devotion toward her.

And it's interesting that you bring up the "church bad bestie amirite" thing, because Claude and Edelgard are almost polar opposites in how they handle the church's issues. Claude realizes after the Remire Village incident that he doesn't have all the answers, and that going after the church's secrets may not actually be a good idea. He apologizes to Cyril for underestimating and misreading him, and learns from Cyril's experiences with Rhea that he doesn't have to make an enemy of her the way he thought. He listens to what other characters say, asks questions, and reevaluates his opinion when he learns he was wrong. Edelgard...does none of those things. She doesn't ask questions, and she doesn't try to find out the truth even when ample opportunities present themselves. She assumes she had the truth, all along, and that everyone else is just too blind or willfully ignorant to see it. She sees what she wants to see, and has no one to blame for that but herself.

And like you said, that dynamic is so much more genuinely interesting than "smash the church bestie!!!".

#fe3h meta #fe3h #claude von riegan #asks

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years ago

Text

Deal With The Devil. Yan Hades Giorno x Reader

Warnings: Isolation, implied kidnapping, forced marriage, brief non explicit sexual themes, and mentions of death. Word count: 3.2k.

Time alone is better than time spent in the company of someone you despise.

Skillful fingers run over the wilted stems of your carnations, a frown on your face at the current lifeless appearance. Dull shades of grey slowly turn to a vivacious green where your fingers pass over. Next are the petals, which are all but gone, a far cry from the flora’s typical beauty. At your delicate touch, it’s as if the hands of time are set in reverse. Soft fibers tickle your bare your skin, petals flourishing anew, now with a rosy glow. Standing from your bed, you return the revitalized carnations to their previous position on the windowsill.

The bright, pastel colors are in stark contrast to the obsidian colored walls that trap you. Darkness, like an everlasting night, cannot be cast aside by your pretty decorations. No matter how hard you try to do just that. The lone sources of illumination in the underworld, torches or lanterns, have also earned your scorn. How you had taken the sun for granted, the natural warmth it provided ethereal in comparison to this manufactured light. Sighing, you push the negative thoughts away, aware they do nothing for you. Wallowing in your grief harms the precious flowers you create.

The onyx marble flooring beneath your bare feet is cold and unnatural. Closing your eyes for but a moment, you remember how blades of grass used to feel in the summer and spring. Those blissful days traversing fields without a care in the world feel like centuries ago. You’ve tried to recreate grass as it is on the surface, but with mixed results, and now stick with forming flowers instead.

You take a mental inventory of the surrounding flora to check for problems. These creations of yours are a reliable pastime and bittersweet memory. No matter the life you instill into the delicate blooms, in the underworld, they wither away at an accelerated pace. Your days are spent reviving them or creating new bouquets to decorate this dreadful bedchamber. What else is there to do?

Nothing, you answer the question yourself, scowling. As if on cue, your poppies wilt at the sharp turn in mood, petals falling onto the ground and crumbling to dust. So the cycle continues. Understanding the passage of time when there is no sun is difficult, but if you were to guess, those poppies were just a few hours old. While you consider what to replace them with, a pair of eyes watch from nearby.

“In my brief time down here, this would be my first time seeing such beautiful flowers.” A feminine voice praises. Your eyes widen, head whipping around to find the source of the words. In front of your canopy bed stands a wispy figure. It takes the faint form of a human being, though lacking color and partially transparent.

It takes a second of tentative thought for you to realize what this apparition is. A soul. Not just any soul, a soul of a mortal, you presume. You haven’t spoken to a mortal in some time now. How did a soul manage to find its way to you, hidden away in the depths of the underworld’s palace? As if sensing your bewilderment, the soul speaks up.

“Is it true that I am speaking to the daughter of Demeter?” The soul questions. You nod, pushing down the agony of hearing your dearest mother’s name. “Then it seems I have hope after all.”

Silence settles in after the soul’s relieved statement. You take the time to contemplate the possible meaning of this soul’s words, reaching no conclusions. “How is it that you’re here?”

“... You will not call on his guards?”

Biting your bottom lip, you swallow down the bile that threatens to rise in your throat at the passing mention of him. “I will do no such thing.”

“Then lend me your ear for but a moment,” the soul’s voice is tinged with melancholy. “I am dead now, yes, but I was once alive. At that time I was Sotiria. I mothered three children, each splendid in their way, the lights of my life... I do not say this for complaining’s sake but to offer perspective. I never was given a decent lot in life, the child of a sickly widow whose face I can no longer remember.

Poverty was all I knew until I drew my final breath. I took work equally as it came, whether it was working the fields or being a companion to men at night. Anything for the sake of feeding three hungry mouths. But it was never enough. My youngest, Cyril, fell ill. To keep him alive I had to be by side at all hours. And so it goes… at my wit’s end from starvation, I had no choice, you must understand.”

Sortiria’s voice grows weaker, barely reaching your ears as she finishes her sentence. “I coveted, and I stole. Nothing more than I would need to keep my children alive for another day. When they caught me, well,” she motions to her phantom-like form with a pained smile. “I was killed.”

Your heart aches at her plight. “How terrible...”

“Yes, I’d agree so,” she doesn’t linger on the topic, eager to move to her final point. “But it need not end this way.”

“There is a reason I stand in your presence now. I heard rumors, waiting among the listless souls for Charon to ferry us to judgment. Rumors that gave me hope where I had none. That the god of the underworld had taken a wife, a wife who boasts a compassionate heart. You, [First].”

The pieces she’s presented you with fall into place. Your lips part, the world around you spinning, as Sotiria presents a final plea. “Please, go to him and ask that I may return to my body. That I may return to my children. Us humans have taken to praying to you for mercy when knocking on death’s door. I implore you, hear my prayer now.”

“I will not speak to him, no, I refuse to speak to him. Even if I did as you asked, who is to say he will listen to me? My cries for freedom have been denied, how would this be any different? I hear your prayers but have no power to answer them. My matrimony did not make me the goddess of the dead.”

Neither of you dares to mention Giorno by name, remaining cautious of what could happen, as he’s made aware every time his name is spoken. Even the mortals fear him, you think. And for good reason. You wonder if that’s how this was presented to the humans. A requited romance between the daughter of Demeter and Giorno, a union that gives hope to those dying. None of them know the truth, that you’re forced to remain here, tucked away from the wistful life you once had. That his self proclaimed adoration is nothing but suffocating and self-serving.

“You and you alone are the apple of his eye,” Sotiria insists with utmost urgency. “He will heed your words more than anyone else’s.”

“He has refused me everything of value that I have begged for.” The words are spat out with venom. You fail to notice that with your growing temper, the flowers you tended to prior shrivel up at unprecedented speed, a reflection of your distraught emotional state. Your chest heaves with each strained breath, fists clenching by your side until your nails pierce your skin. Does Sotiria not understand? How could anyone empathize with how the sorrow you feel? You stand in this saturnine chamber that remains your prison, Giorno the steadfast ward.

“I can not speak on what I don’t know,” she lowers her head. “But I do know this. You have his favor. You are his wife -- whether it was by your design or not -- and he holds affection for you in his heart. Go, speak to him, I beg of you. If not for my sake, then for my children.”

“But--”

“I can’t spend any more time here,” Sortiria looks around, her already faint form disappearing. “Please.”

Then she is gone.

You stare, eyes wide as a doe, at the spot Sortiria once occupied in your dim room. Nothing of her remains but the convicting call for action. Her words ring like funeral tolls in your mind, unrelenting, and weighing down on you. There’s no denying the effect her request has on you. Sortiria’s dedication to her children reminds you of your mother, who has tried everything to get you back. An ache in your chest pushes you forward, your legs moving subconsciously to the door.

She risked eternal damnation to speak with you. Leaving your room that never remains locked, you’re met with a similar color palette of midnight black and crimson red bricks. Hell flame is blinding at first, but when your eyes adjust, you catch the demonic guards stationed at your door looking in surprise. Giorno has granted you the freedom to traverse his palace as you please, but you rarely take him up on the offer, preferring to spite him by remaining in your room. When he searches for your company he knows where to find you. Loneliness haunts Giorno Giovanna like a plague, never warded off successfully until he acquired you.

No one dares question your intentions, averting their gaze to avoid eye contact as you travel down twisting halls. Your heart pounds against your ribcage through the journey, not knowing how Giorno will react to your uninvited appearance. This would be the first time you’ve sought him out of your violation. While wandering his palace, you can’t help but notice the difference in decorum compared to your room. He had tried to make adjustments to your personal space so that it would reflect a different aesthetic than the underground, fully aware of your displeasure with the gloomy architecture.

Not that it matters, you think. Nothing could make up for what Giorno’s taken from you aside from permanently returning to the surface. Rounding a sharp turn, you hold your breath at the sight. Cerberus towers in this grand hall and immediately picks up on your presence. The daunting creature lowers itself to the ground, three pairs of eyes piercing through you. A tense moment later, it seems content to let you pass, recognizing your position as Giorno’s beloved.

Behind Cerebrus is where your true challenge lies. Two monumentally sized doors that lead to Giorno’s throne room stand in your way. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, Sortiria’s words reverberating in your mind. Perhaps you are soft on the mortals, as your mother once warned you, but she was guilty of the same. Should you be successful, and Sortiria lives to tell the tale, you wonder if your mother will visit her and ask after you.

The doors open when you take a step forward. This palace is an extension of Giorno, you’ve come to realize, bending to your whims to please you. While lacking the necessary preparation to make a sound argument, you have an idea of what may convince Giorno to do as you bid. Any confidence you may have had from knowing you have his favor melts like ice in the spring when his eyes land on you. These eyes, that belong to one of the universe’s most powerful gods, feel heavy and cumbersome. Giorno nods his head in acknowledgment, a good sign. You wish you could hear his thoughts. His sculpted face is impossible to read as ever, in comparison, you feel like an open book.

You manage to force out a cordial greeting despite your petrified state. “I was hoping to have an audience if you’re not otherwise occupied.”

Giorno sits on his sizeable throne, presence imposing yet regal. In contrast to his spun gold hair, the throne is dark as twilight, embedded with rubies and numerous precious gems. He isn’t just the god of the dead, you remind yourself, but also the god of wealth. That’s all Giorno has ever felt like to you, some distant figure. Nothing more, not now or ever. His attempts to kindle an intimate relationship with you have been discarded like weeds. Now in his physical presence, reverence takes place of the disgust you normally feel towards him.

“If it pleases you.” Giorno’s voice is undeniably soothing, every syllable ringing clear as a bell. At his confirmation, you tread forward, over an expansive vermillion carpet. The walk feels like an eternal punishment. He takes the time to scrutinize your body language. You didn’t expect anything different, fully aware that he’d be taken aback by this bold arrival. Doubts in your head cry louder as you lessen the distance. That after all this time, he might see fit to punish you for this final act of entering his throne room without an invitation. Interfering with Giorno’s work might be the final insult he tolerates. You are his wife, but what respite has that granted you before?

You bow your head down as a show of respect. “I apologize for arriving unannounced.”

“Your presence is a welcome one,” Giorno seamlessly dismisses your concern. “Though, I might add, unexpected.”

Despite your best efforts, your posture goes rigid, likely playing into what Giorno designed. Your husband is as pleasant as he is efficient in his conversations, you’ve learned. It’d be a fool’s wish to think otherwise. Sortiria’s words, though you wish they didn’t, held truth. All have come to know Giorno’s affection for you through his special treatment. It’s a blessing and a curse.

“I would’ve come sooner, but I feared you were busy.”

Giorno gazes up at your through golden eyelashes, voice lowering as he speaks from the heart. “I will always make time for you.”

Is it wise to start with your true request? The clock’s ticking and you need to decide without further delay. Anxiety and regret battle for dominance in your mind, but you keep it at bay, recalling the true priority. A mother’s tender love for her offspring. There’s nothing more important to you than doing right by this tormented soul. Sortiria’s words resurface, “Us humans have taken to praying to you for mercy when knocking on death’s door”, she had told you. You were but a minor goddess until this point, and content as you were with that, there was nothing of astonishing value for you to offer the world. Creating and maintaining gardens was all you could do. Now, you have a real chance to do good, to reunite a family. The prayers offered up to you until give strength.

“Would you please stand?” You ask with a sheepish smile. It’s a simple request to test the waters and also a way to feel less intimidated. Giorno blinks but voices no complaints. From his throne, he stands, still towering over you but feeling less intimidating. You step forward, raising your hand and placing it to his cheek. His skin is cold and smooth to the touch. It reminds you of the flower petals you adore so much. There’s no denying Giorno’s beauty, you must confess, it’s almost like his face is perfectly sculpted art. You can tell he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Truth be told, there’s something that troubles me deeply,” you confess, to which he frowns. “That’s what I wanted to speak about.”

Giorno prompts you to continue. “And that is?”

The worst he can do to me is say no, you tell yourself. He’s had no difficulty doing that in the past when you’ve begged for freedom. No harm would come to you -- any spite Giorno might feel would be directed elsewhere -- but that doesn’t bring comfort. Sortiria would be punished if Giorno believed she was taking advantage of you. Sentenced to eternity in Tartarus.

“A single request. I wish to reunite a soul with her body, so that she may continue her life that was cut short,” you rub your thumb over his cheek. “Please do me this one good.”

“Sortiria, was it?” Giorno takes your stunned silence as confirmation, not that he needed any. The two of you were careful not to mention him by name. So he knew all along? It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but you still feel disheartened, blood draining from your face.

“It’s a rare occurrence that I permit a soul to leave the underworld,” he explains what you already know in a calm tone. “[First], you know I hate to deny you anything, but--”

“I wasn’t done.” You interrupt without thinking, overwhelmed by enough emotion to drown out logic. Giorno’s mannerisms and subtleties can be picked up on after all this time you’ve spent with him, and you know he was going to politely reject your request. Neither of you utters a word. It’s a split-second decision, but you set your qualms aside, considering the greater implications.

“Giorno,” you call him by his name for the first time, his eyes widening at the slight nuance. “If… if you do this for me, I… I will allow you to finally consummate our marriage.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire from the lascivious suggestion. There’s nothing else you can offer Giorno that’s valuable enough to convince him. Nothing other than yourself that is -- which you’ve vehemently refused him up until now -- swearing you’d sooner cast yourself into Phlegethon than let him lay with you. You hear your heart pounding in your ears as you await his final response. Giorno’s eyelids flutter shut, eyebrows scrunching together.

“This means that much to you?” He asks, not entirely convinced himself. This fiery passion you’re portraying is new. Days of passively tending to your flowers gave him a different impression of you. Now, faced with a cause you truly believe in, you’re willing to do anything.

“It does,” you confirm without further hesitation. “Please give me this single happiness.”

You don’t dare breathe until Giorno speaks again. He reopens his eyes and appears deep in thought. Dread clouds your mind, dominating any thoughts that might bring you comfort. You’ve done the best you could.

“Very well.” Giorno bends to your whims after a long moment’s deliberation. Joy blossoms in your chest, a genuine smile gracing your features. He places his hand over yours, shivers running down your spine from the cool sensation. The negotiations are far from over, as Giorno returns his attention to your prior claim. He wants to test your conviction and see if you’ll give him a piece of what he’s ached for.

He squeezes your hand gently, voice so quiet that only you could hear it. “Is what you said true?”

It’s the only viable option, is how you reaffirm yourself. A degrading option, you recognize, but no one aside from the two of you would ever know. It’s been a long and good fight that you’ve put up. Denying a god his desires is not an easy task by any stretch of the imagination. Goosebumps dot your skin, reality feeling so far away, as you seal your fate.

“You have my word.”

Giorno smiles -- in a way you’ve never seen before -- an unidentifiable gleam in his omnipotent eyes.

“Then I will see it done.”

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isles-of-man · 7 months ago

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“Is this your gift you surprise her with you two really are shit at gifting - a dog would have been better,” he said, taking the heat of his step-mothers glare and his fathers' outburst of his name and apologizing to their guest. It would be them to want her to settle down with a boorish Alan; controlling both their lives. It was the very reason he never stuck around family very long after getting accepted into the school he wanted. It was his protest to choose his own path from his father's business and without seeing Paige with Alan.

The man looked awkward enough, brushing off his greeting and saying a hello to Paige who sounded like a meek twelve-year-old. What did she even see in him? He cast her a brief glance at that question silently before taking his glass of wine to his lip. As he took a sip he noted her almost quiet noise beside him that he seemed to only pick up as the others ate. He smiled inwardly knowing what it meant; learning in the past few months what she likes and what small things tended to set her off.

He slipped his hand up higher up her thigh, taking his fingers to her pants and stroking the outer fabric of her panties. Cyril could already feel the dampness there. It would hardly be any necessary lubrication but her leaking fluids on his fingers to slip under and play with her. And so, as everyone tried to turn back to a conversation he did exactly that and stroked his fingers between her folds, searching for her clit and playing with the sensitive nub. His movements were completely disguised.

“I hate to break it to you all but I already heard her prattling on about a boyfriend. Sorry, Alan -” he said with false sympathy. “isn’t that right, Paige?” he asked, knowing that she wouldn’t say a word about their secret relationship as they still enjoyed the secrecy and wanted to choose the right time. “I hear he’s prick too,” he said, poking fun at himself as he knew once or twice she called him so when they were much younger. “Got a thing for pricks. Paige?” he teased, fucking her slowly with his finger at a familiar pace that he had that night before with his cock when he made love to her.

How time had flown by, it had been such a wonderful two months since their undying love proclamations, and Paige couldn't be more than thrilled with how their relationship had progressed in such little time. They were boyfriend and girlfriend now. All her friends knew that there was someone new in her life, she couldn't hide the juicy details from her girls and they were excited for her.

Whilst it would've been just a normal day, another year older but because of her current situation which she had the most amazing boyfriend they celebrated by numerous bouts sex a mix of lovemaking sessions and pure, primal fucking no doubt much like they had both fantasized for many, many years prior. He definitely didn't disappoint her as she was filled with complete and utmost love to the tenth degree. The brunette had been woken by him ravishing her, and feasting on her wet cunt til was she left shaking. She thanked him before he managed to escape to pack for their trip before their family dinner.

She found herself to be running late, partly because she was still sore from last night and early hours, but traffic mostly was to blame. Finding out to be sitting next to her dear brother she couldn't be more elated but in company of her mother and father-in-law she'd shown her disliking and discomfort for the seating plan for old times sakes. Confusion creeped upon her features as they were made aware of another guest for her birthday surprise.

Her jaw dropped and eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as she caught sight of her ex-boyfriend. Why the hell would he be here? Her eyes flew to her mother, noting she had a sickly, sweet smile. She shook her head confusion. Could this be any more awkward? "Hi.." she had to stop herself from saying twat, Cyril was a bad influence had rubbing off on her. "Alan. What a surprise to see you here," she chuckled softly, clearing her throat. She could feel herself start to heat up. "Take a seat," she gestured politely very much aware of Cyril's touch upon knee. In what meant to be comforting, was something else entirely different as she tried to stop the moan from escaping.

#isles-of-man #ship: cyrilxpaige #innocent cy is innocent

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omgkalyppso · 3 years ago

Note

Coffee Shop AU writing prompt for your FE OT4: :"There is a big storm outside and yes, we were all warned, but some people have to work and now there is this group of people starting to make this small café their own for the next couple of hours till the storm eases up or we get rescued"

Hi. Thank you for this ancient ask. I struggled with this. Although I love reading coffee shop AUs, I've never written one. Why would you hit on a cashier? So. This is Something. 2,454 words below the cut; 2,600 words total.

"This puddle is disgusting," Fae said, in dark water past their ankles. A chill ran up their spine as they tried not to think of why it might be slushy.

"This is awfullll-ugh!" Hilda groaned from her place on Fae's back, tilting her toes to purposefully avoid it.

"We just need to go into the next open business," Lorenz repeated with a frown.

A wall of sandbags protected them from the veritable river flowing down the main road, where blocked and overworked catchbasins failed. The depth of the water had rendered it unsafe to use the rental vehicle, some distance away, and Lorenz wondered whether it would ever start again, when the storm had passed.

"But what if—" Fae started to object.

"There!" Hilda interrupted, pointing to where a bar, a pizza place and a coffee shop stood in a line across the next side street.

They were only out here because of a job interview that she should have refused, and Hilda was eager to get her friends out of the storm. Even if she got the position, if they were unwilling to reschedule in these circumstances, they seemed like they would be a nightmare to work for.

They waited as the wind scattered a few more sheets of rain between them and their destination, and ran in an arc uphill to avoid the depth of the water on the main road when they made their was across the side street. Still Lorenz leaned out as far as he could, to marvel over where the sea threatened to spill up into the city of Derdriu, a dozen blocks away.

The bar was actually full, extra sandbags by their patio ensuring the safety of a crowd who looked out at the trio in the storm with judgment and incredulity. Lorenz exchanged a glance with the others, and then they continued past. The pizza place was empty save the staff, and they likely wouldn't want to face three relative tourists.

This meant that they ducked inside Tall, Dark and Delectable: a three story cafe that boasted of comfort and meeting spaces.

Though they couldn't see it, the uppermost floor had signage requesting quiet, intended for library-like study, and though they didn't know it, the second floor was tragically treated like a high school cafeteria by their usual clientele, messy and loud. The main floor had the smallest amount of public space, three scattered tables, two couches and twin armchairs, and a counter meant for take out.

The tables had been pulled from the front of the shop, the floor damp and occupied by a Caution Wet sign, because the large windows were opened to the storm, allowing rain to scatter naturally. Upon their entry, two of the three people in uniforms stood, one rushing to a mop by the door to tend to the scant puddle, and the other approaching them with a customer service smile.

Besides the staff, one of the tables was occupied with another crowd of four, and it made the intruders feel a little less self-conscious about their entry. They were regretful about being soaked however, Fae and Lorenz especially from the knees down, but the staff seemed more sympathetic than anything about the muck and water they dragged in around them.

Hilda's heel slipped on the slick floor as Fae set her down from their back, and she threw a hand back to try and catch herself, but ended up slapping the door so that it opened half an inch, but, luckily, Lorenz caught her opposing wrist to stop her from falling through it or back outside.

The server held up a hand in front of his chest.

"Nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Me too," Hilda peeped, brow furrowed and lips pouting, humiliated and fighting adrenaline as she let Lorenz squeeze her wrist and shoulder, confirming her stability.

"You're okay?" Fae confirmed, feeling guilty, moreso when snickers came from the occupied table.

"I'm fine."

"Sorry about..." Lorenz trailed off, gesturing behind him.

"Excuse me?" Hilda exaggerated, insulted.

"The puddle!" Lorenz said purposefully, offended that she would think him so insensitive about her momentary slip.

"That's probably some of our fault," the other server said in apology, sweeping the mop around the caution sign.

"So long as you're alright," said the staff member who'd come to meet them. "Maybe take a seat and not a sofa, though? At least until you dry a little. I imagine you're here for the long haul?"

"Is it likely to wind down?" asked Fae.

The server chuckled softly. "Uh, no. You might want to walk uphill and call a cab, but rideshares are ... sparse, charging a premium, and the wait'll definitely be a few hours."

"So might as well have a coffee," Hilda said, in better spirits, or trying to be.

"Now you're getting it," the server teased with a wink, extending a hand as Hilda walked past him.

"Do you have a reduced menu, under the circumstances?" asked Lorenz.

"Not yet, anyway. Might be fun if you pick something complicated."

"Oh?" Hilda balked. "A lot of teas. I'll try rose grapefruit?" She looked at Lorenz as she added, "Whatever's your largest size?"

Lorenz nodded, and the server asked, "Name? Nope. Sorry, force of habit." He rolled a pen between his fingers in a fluid motion. "I'll know who you are."

"Black rose?" Lorenz requested. "And Fae?"

"I'll try the chocolate earl grey latte?"

"Perfect," agreed the server.

"Should we eat something?" Lorenz asked the others.

Hilda sighed, as if disappointed. She plucked a sandwich from the fridge in front of Lorenz and left it on the counter, and he and Fae followed suit. Lorenz added a chocolate bar that could be broken into squares, and watched as the server rang them up for small sized beverages.

"Oh! Wai—"

"Don't worry about it," the server said with a wink. "You look like you need to catch a break."

Lorenz sighed, feeling guilty about their circumstances. He tipped ten dollars on top of whatever change he was owed, and shrugged at the man behind the counter as he stepped away to sit with Fae and Hilda.

They moved to the table farthest from the windows, as their damp clothes and the continuous breeze had Hilda's teeth chattering. The temperature was warm, but for the most part, the wind had a cooling effect inside the business, and Fae sat Hilda beside them and across from Lorenz, where they could wrap a warm arm around her, and he could extend a hand if he were feeling bold.

"Hey Cyril, you going to help me?" Claude asked when their latest customers moved to sit.

"No, thanks," Cyril said simply, dropping back down into one of the armchairs.

Claude rolled his eyes, partly because he didn't really need the help, but mostly because he was frustrated that Cyril was still holding Claude's uncle's decision to keep the shop open against him, as if he'd had any say in it. Having an aversion to working with or for family, Claude had been at this job for less than two months, and if anyone should have argued on their behalf, it should have been Hubert, but he had his own reasons to enjoy the work.

Currently in hushed conversation with his friends, Hubert was as distracted as he always was when that fair haired woman came in.

Claude was pretty sure she was slowly leaving an abusive household, whether romantic or familial he couldn't guess, but he could appreciate why Hubert was slow and awkward about expressing his affection, and why he never objected when she and her friends came in to loiter.

The windows rattled, and everyone turned to look at them, but when nothing broke and the wind died down, Claude went back to working.

He'd been surprised by the tip, but figured that his concern about strangers in the storm had simply been mirrored by the customer's sympathy for workers in the storm. It was really flooding now, it wouldn't be the first time he'd expect a boat to sound out that supplies and medical attention were available, but for now, the loudest noise in the shop was him clattering away at the equipment, preparing three extra larges.

He walked over to the destined table, where they were in hushed conversation, and hesitated in a way that he hoped wasn't impolite, catching sight of the three joined hands on the table's surface before they all snapped back towards their owners.

"Here you are," Claude said, by way of offering them their drinks.

"Thank you," said the pink haired woman with the rain smudge eyeliner. Her eyes drifted across him, and she added, "Claude."

He ran a hand over his nametag absently, smiling as he realized he wasn't being scrutinized — maybe.

"No problem." He could've left it at that, but instead he asked, "Tourists?"

"Mostly," agreed the green haired patron.

"How'd you get trapped in all this?" he asked, gesturing with a finger.

"I had a job interview," confessed the pink haired woman, swiping her fingers through her bangs, "but now I don't know that I'd even want the job."

"Well, from personal experience, I've found that moving to Derdriu for professional reasons is ... challenging," Claude said, leaning on the free chair at their table, and then he didn't know what he was doing, feeling as though he should leave them alone. "I work on whatever projects I can pick up for underwater filming."

"You go diving?" asked the purple haired man.

"Not in this," Claude teased about the weather. "But whenever I can. Have three homemade cameras to take with me."

Was it because he'd felt he'd walked in on something personal that he felt it was only right to open up? Was it that they were easy to talk to?

Claude sat one table over, still measuring how invasive he was being, but the conversation seemed amical, and easy. They didn't formally introduce themselves, but he easily pieced together their names, and a little bit more of their business than he'd intended to collect, while gossiping about what Derdriu was like for foreigners, and where they might want to check out after the streets finished draining in about two days.

He only hesitated again when, halfway through their drinks, their sandwiches finished, Lorenz opened and snapped apart the chocolate, offering pieces to each of his companions. It should have been companionable, there wasn't anything decidedly un-friendly about it, but Claude still wondered about the ritual of it, and what else they shared, with care and practice.

He was glad Fae was telling a story then, realizing how dry his mouth had become. He raised a finger to request a moment and poured himself a glass of water before returning to the table.

Hilda opened her mouth to speak, but found herself interrupted by a bang, the sound of an accident less than a block away, and half the cafe yelped as the power went out.

Claude rushed to the door just ahead of Cyril, and after a moment or two of muffled yelling, Claude was cursing as he forced Cyril back inside as he chased after him, water rushing in behind the duo.

"What the shit, Claude?" called Hubert, standing.

"Someone drove into the hydro pole at the corner," said Claude as he and Cyril secured the door as best they could. "It hasn't fallen yet, but it might, and when the guy from the Venomous Knight came out on his cellphone to put in a call about it, he knocked over three of the sandbags."

Hubert growled and disappeared into the back, soon followed by Cyril while Claude closed the windows. Claude wondered how they looked to the patrons in the cafe, as he joined in the march, piling seven sandbags around the door while Hubert tried reaching his uncle.

To no one's surprise, they were going to close. One of Hubert's friends had a house, and the destination of their crowd was settled. Cyril had his bike and lived uphill, and he was raring to leave. That left Claude's new friends of mostly-tourists, staying at a hotel that was maybe a twenty minute drive down the highway, but at least a two hour walk on foot.

"Is there a closer hotel that you know of?" asked Lorenz, and Claude felt his heart fall through the floor. That was a far more reasonable solution than his mind rattling around with the idea of inviting them back to his sixth floor apartment. Even if it was more expensive.

The crowd was escorted out the back of the shop, and Hubert scoffed when Claude implied he was going to walk their three latest customers to a hostel six blocks away, but that was fine.

It was slow going, with Hilda's poor choice in footwear and the wind, but also because of the continued conversation. Claude had dark brown rainboots and a bright yellow raincoat to change into, but he kept the hood down, even as water saturated his hair and rushed over his eyes, gossiping about other harsh weather and assuring the others every few steps that they were nearly there.

Fae pulled Claude into the hostel when they arrived, so they could bring their phone to life in a drier environment, and ask him about sharing numbers, maybe to thank him later, or else to ask about scuba diving in a few days. He wasn't sure there needed to be a difference, and against Ignatz's advice, texted them once he arrived home, to assure them he'd made it through the storm.

The hostel had rules against sharing rooms, and so Fae, Lorenz and Hilda found themselves crowded in the communal living room with two other couples, for the sake of keeping each other's company a little later into the night.

Lorenz sat on a chair by a window, Hilda in his lap. She would be warmer wrapped in a blanket in bed, but she was making due with leeching off Lorenz, one hand on her thigh and the other holding the back of an upper arm, cradling her close and transferring body heat. Fae sat in the windowsill and when their phone buzzed again, Lorenz looked to the clock on the other end of the room before expressing his surprise.

"Are you still texting him?" It was nearing midnight, and while there was little else to do at the hostel, Lorenz worried about boundaries.

"He's still texting me," Fae said in their defense. "Besides, what's the harm in making a new friend in Derdriu?"

"He was very kind," Lorenz agreed. "He left a very good first impression. But I wouldn't you to be lulled into complacency. He is a stranger."

Hilda snickered as she sat up from Lorenz's chest. "You sound like an old man."

"You're worried he'd want sex?" asked Fae, so nonchalant that Lorenz scoffed.

"I'm worried he'd be obsessive, or otherwise hurt you. Or us."

"That's fair," Fae conceded, leaving Claude on Read. "I just thought he seemed fun."

"And cute," Hilda contributed, her tone making plain that she thought so too.

Lorenz blushed and swept a hand over his lips, squinting in his own meager defense when the other two looked at him. He murmured, "Did you see his shoulders while he carried those sandbags?" When Fae and Hilda giggled, Lorenz rolled his eyes and pointed at nothing as he said more forcefully, "That's not a character assessment."

"No," Fae agreed, "but it might be enough to invite him to get ice cream or something, as a thank you."

#long post #faedolyn #claude. hilda. mc. lorenz #i don't think they'd 'hook up' with claude for months. he'd be a friend and they'd need to assess why his relationship would be different #to them than other friendships #my writing #i made this #the fanfiction i mean

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years ago

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Hades and Persephone

Summary: Rachel works at her family’s bookstore where she’s surrounded by stories and myths all day. So what happens when Camden Town’s myth, Alfie Solomons, walks in.

//Totally inspired by Hadestown, who am I even kidding?

The little bell above the door jingled as someone entered. Rachel was hidden behind a stack of books so she couldn’t see who was coming in the bookstore.

“'Morning!” She called brightly so they knew the store wasn’t empty.

Heavy footsteps walked across the creaky, uneven floorboards accompanied by the soft brief thud of a cane. Along with the footsteps was the clicking of toenails on the wood, the clanging of metal, and the distinct sound of a dog panting.

“You allow dogs in here?” A gruff voice asked.

“Oh, uh, sure.” Rachel rounded the front counter to greet the customer properly.

Alfie Solomons was the myth of Camden Town. The bogeyman, the shadow in every alleyway. His reputation was menacing and nearly everyone in the community had a story about him.

And yet, he didn’t quite look the part of a monster. He was a bit intimidating in the flesh, but he was just a man. A bit shorter than she anticipated, yet well-built and wearing simple clothing.

The dog beside him gave him a more humane look about him. The dog was big but had a kind eye to him and as he panted and slobbering, he appeared to be smiling.

Rachel was a little frightened to talk to the man, even if he did appear less wicked in person. “I-that’s a very nice dog you have.”

“Yeah, thank you. Name’s Cyril.” Alfie peered at the young woman. “You’re not usually here, are ya? Never seen you ‘fore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m the owner’s daughter, Rachel.” She didn’t know why she was apologizing.

“Right, well your father gave me a book and it was utter shit,” Alfie replied.

The comment made Rachel’s spine tingle in fear. Would a bad book warrant Alfie to do something in retaliation? Would he burn their store down? Kill her father?

“I’m sorry I could refund you or-”

“S’alright, love, just wanted something better.” He walked further into the bookstore, looking around the shelves of new and used books.

“Oh.” She let out a soft sigh of relief. “Well, what do you like to read?”

“I like good books.”

Rachel couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, don’t we all?”

He turned into one of the aisles to scour the bookshelves. Cyril followed obediently.

“Do you like fiction?”

“Yeah.”

“Historical fiction?”

“Sure.”

“Well, we have new works. All Quiet on the Western Front. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it.”

“Hm.” He grunted, still browsing the shelves. “What’s that about then?”

“The war if I’m not mistaken. Many people have enjoyed it, my father hasn’t been able to keep it in stock for very long but we just got some new copies.”

“Nah, nothing like that.”

There was a hint of bitterness in his voice and Rachel could only surmise that he was a veteran. “Further back then.”

“Sure.” His heavy boots trailed through the store, studying titles on the spines of books.

“I may have books on the royal family’s history.” She turned into the aisle only to see him disappear around the corner into the next one. Another grunt told her she was still heading in the wrong direction, so she put out a wildly different option. “Antiquity?”

It seemed to pique his interest. “Anything good?”

“Well, I’d only suggest good ones to you, I know you don’t like bad books.” She found him in the next row of books.

He barked out a laugh. “Yeah, well, not anything too long, yeah. M’very busy.”

“What about a collection of myths?” She offered; glad she was finally narrowing down what he was really looking for. “I find they can be enjoyable but not very tedious to read.”

He turned to look at her, curiosity in his eyes. “You sound very educated, anyone told ya that before?” He wondered.

“Well, I…” She shrugged. “Figure growing up with an infinite number of books around me would teach me a thing or two.”

He only grunted in response again. “Rare to find a very educated girl ‘round here. Your parents must not be very Orthodox, letting you get wild ideas from whatever book you can grab. Y’know there are some very scandalous books out there, love.”

She laughed softly and shook her head. “I’m aware, but every book has at least some little tidbit of information we can take away from.”

“And what do you think I’m gonna take away from these myths you’re offering me, aye?”

“The Greeks used gods to highlight man’s true nature in all its forms. Their gods were more relatable, better suited to explain how the world came to be, and how it works. So, I suppose it’s a commentary on mankind.”

He seemed impressed with the way she spoke, his brows lifting. “Right, well I’ll be the judge of that, won’t I?”

“I suppose so.” Rachel turned so she could look through the store’s catalog and find the book.

Alfie lingered by the front counter as she looked. He rested an arm on the counter and leaned over to see Rachel’s little setup. She had a cup of tea that was quickly cooling beyond consumption next to a book that had a ribbon in place as a bookmark. Curious, and a little neglectful of common courtesy sometimes, Alfie reached over the counter to pick up the book and see what it was.

This Side of Paradise. By F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Alfie read the dust cover with a frown.

Rachel returned with the book and saw him examining the book she was in the middle of.

“You like books ‘bout the war?” He asked, not looking up when she walked over.

“I wouldn’t say I like them but there’s a lot to learn from them.” She said, a bit taken aback at how at home Alfie made himself with her things.

“Yeah? Like what?” He turned the book over a few times before setting it back down next to the cup and saucer.

“The-I apologize but were you in the war?” She asked hesitantly. The last thing she wanted to do was try and assert her opinion on the war when she was in the presence of a veteran, especially if the said veteran was a notorious gang leader.

“I was a captain.” He made himself busy by looking around the rest of the shop, never meeting the shopkeeper’s daughter. “I wasn’t promoted by obedience or anything of the sort. I was promoted because I kept me men in line and I weren't dead. I don’t pretend to know why the fuck we were over there or what I gained from it. But that’s where I was for a number of years of me life.”

Rachel wondered if he had always been the way he was before the war or if fighting had disillusioned him. Nevertheless, she was certain that in all the stories she’d heard of Alfie, she never once heard that he was a captain in the war. “I suppose I won’t know what you know but I learn what I can from books like this.”

Alfie didn’t respond to that. “That for me?” He pointed to the book in her hand.

“Oh, yes, this is what you might like. Although, please let me know if there’s something else you wanted me to suggest for the future.” She handed the collection to him and went behind the counter to ring up his order.

“Right.” He examined the book like the one she had been reading, turning it over. “So your parents are Jewish then?”

Rachel paused as she was writing up the invoice. She wasn’t sure what she had said that would warrant the topic of religion. “My mother is, but my father isn’t.” She explained.

“Ah, another good Jewish woman snatched up by a Christian.” He tutted.

“He doesn’t believe in God.” She shrugged. “It’s the one thing they never agreed on.”

Alfie looked mildly amused. “And what about you? The half-theist, half-atheist?”

“You said I sounded well-educated. But I don’t have spiritual answers.” She smiled slightly. It was a strange conversation to have with a customer but she was oddly enjoying it. Alfie kept her on her toes, it wasn’t some mind-melting boring conversation about popular books. He was intrusive with his questions but almost in a well-meaning way even if he came off a bit gruff.

“Well, how about that.” He snorted. “I suppose books don’t have those sorta answers do they? Just scripture.”

“I do find it interesting that you’re a spiritual man who is buying a book about a polytheistic culture.” She said, continuing with the invoice.

“Well, figure you can read about it, right? Ain’t much of a sin if you know it’s utter garbage. It’s entertaining, innit?”

“Hm.” She nodded. “Eighteen pence.” She handed him the receipt.

Alfie dug into his coat to retrieve some coins. “What’s your favorite book, then?”

“I don’t have one.” She took the amount from him and put it in the till.

“Aye? Girl with infinite number of books at her disposal doesn’t have a favorite book?” He chuckled to himself. “Didn’t think that was possible.”

“I don’t pick favorites. They’re all different so why compare them?”

Alfie didn’t respond again. He looked down at the receipt. She had carefully written out his full name. He was certain that although she had given her name, he hadn’t returned the favor. “You know who I am then?”

“Pardon?” Rachel shut the till closed.

“Never mind.” He shook his head and pocketed the receipt.

~~~~~~~~~~

Rachel was minding her own business on her balcony. She was tending to her flower boxes trying to keep the little flowers alive in the smoke of London. It was her quiet time before opening up the shop downstairs. But there was a certain someone who didn’t care about store hours.

There was a sharp whistle from the streets below. “Oi!”

Rachel turned with her watering can in hand. “Oh, Mr. Solomons, good morning.”

“Gotta bone to pick with you, Miss Watkins!” He shook the book of myths towards her.

Rachel was a bit amused, albeit terrified. She didn’t recall giving him her last name. But the way he stood there with a grumpy look on his face made her stifle a giggle. Cyril was beside him, as per usual, his tongue lolled out as he happily panted.

“We open at nine, Mr. Solomons.”

“Right, well I’ll make sure that our conversation is over before nine.”

“Alright then.” She set her watering can down and ducked back inside. “I’ll just be a minute.” She called out the window before shutting it.

“Rachel, who’s that shouting outside?” Her mother was sitting at the breakfast nook with a cup of tea.

“Just a customer, mum, I’ll handle it.”

“You don’t have to open for another hour.” She reminded her.

“It’s alright.” Rachel assured her and went downstairs to the shop. Pulling out her keys, she opened the front door up. “Come on in.” She allowed Alfie and Cyril inside. “Was there something wrong with the book?” She asked.

“Have you read the one about Hades ‘n Persephone?” He asked.

“Yes, that’s a fairly popular one.” She agreed, not sure where he was heading with the conversation. But she allowed him to lead as if it were a dance.

Alfie set the book down on the front counter. “S’bullshit, innit? I mean, what am I supposed to think ‘bout it, aye? Ain’t romantic, ain’t heroic. Just a right shame, innit?”

“I mean…” Rachel shrugged. “It’s tragic. Lots of Greek stories are tragedies.”

“But he lets her out for however many months, yeah, so what? I’m supposed to think he’s some sorta hero for letting her go then locking her back up again?”

“Every piece of writing is supposed to elicit a reaction from the reader. I think this myth has done its job with you.” Rachel pointed out, not sure how else to placate him. She couldn’t exactly change a myth to suit his needs.

Alfie snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Do you sympathize with Hades or Persephone?” She went around the corner to tidy up a bit as they spoke.

“Who could sympathize with Hades, aye? Fucking god of death, ain’t he? Not supposed to sympathize with men like that.”

Men.

The use of the word men was very telling to Rachel. So, she probed deeper. “Hades isn’t the god of death really. He is the god of the dead and he’s the god of the underworld. The Greeks didn’t see him as evil, but they didn’t want to attract his attention either.”

“So, what makes him evil was kidnaping a woman,” Alfie concluded.

“Yes, but there was humanity in him. Didn’t you see that?”

He scoffed and picked up the book to flip through it carelessly. “Ain’t seeing any humanity here.”

She gently took the book from him and turned to the myth. “Go now, Persephone, to your dark-robed mother, god, and feel kindly in your heart towards me. Be no so exceedingly cast down; for I shall be no unfitting husband for you among the deathless gods. And while you are here, you shall rule all that lives and moves and shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods. Those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, shall be punished for evermore.” She read the passage.

Alfie’s brow furrowed. “He still did what he did.”

“Yes, but the Greeks were dramatic.” Rachel shut the book. “If you’d like me to find you another book…”

“You knew who I was the first time we met.” He interrupted her with something that had been weighing on his mind.

“Well-yes. I’d heard a lot about you. It’s nearly impossible not to hear anything when you live in Camden.” She shrugged.

“You weren’t afraid of me though.”

Rachel lost her train of thought when their eyes met. Before, he had been flitting about the store so she hadn’t been looking at him long enough. But now, well now she could see the ocean in his eyes. Just enough of the shop’s lights got under the wide brim of his black hat to reveal his true eye color. They were certainly green but there was a wave of blue running through them as well.

He raised an eyebrow at her when she went completely silent on him.

“Oh uh…no. I guess not. Why do you ask?”

He just chuckled; a bit bewildered. “You’re braver than most men are, love.”

“Should I be afraid of you?”

“Well, s’pose I ain’t the god of death or the dead, or whatever you said.” He looked amused, almost like her blind bravery was funny. “Don’t make me a saint though.”

“You’re only a man.” The words sounded foolish when Rachel heard them out loud, but Alfie seemed to enjoy her candor.

“Fucking hell, you’re something else, ain’t ya? Must be that half-Jewish half-atheist in you.” He shook his head and ran a hand over his beard.

“Maybe, Mr. Solomons.”

“Yeah, well you can call me Alfie.” He said, suddenly becoming a little less intimidating than he usually was. He was certainly struck by the young woman. So much so that it threw him off balance.

“Did you get the sense that Hades was lonely? The Greeks paid him no attention because they were so fearful of him. Perhaps he thought that if he found a woman to give him comfort, he wouldn’t be so lonely and he wouldn’t care if people were afraid of him. Now he didn’t go about it a good way, but maybe that’s why he did it.”

Alfie cleared his throat and shoved a hand in his pocket. She was getting right to the root of his being, passing through all his barriers and finding a nice cozy place in his heart. He was fucked. No one had ever gotten through to him so easily, if ever. “You get lonely all ‘round these books?”

“Always,” Rachel admitted with a shy smile. “When I was younger I used to use books to escape but now I’ve learned that life is just too hard to escape when you’re older.”

He fidgeted, scratching his cheek and messing with Cyril’s leash. “Yeah, I suppose I could understand that.”

Rachel could almost hear the words he wasn’t saying. I get lonely too.

“If-well I s’pose it would be nice to have someone to talk to ‘bout books. Can’t find enough people like that, now can you? So maybe I could stop by every so often, keep ya company.” He offered as if he was doing her a favor. When in reality he was being a bit selfish.

She smiled sweetly. “I’d like that.”

“Right.” Alfie took the book of myths. “Well, I’ll finish this and let you know what I think, ‘bout the rest of them, aye?”

“Alright.”

Alfie gave her one last look before leading Cyril to the door, letting the bell jingle as they left.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997 @tarafaithe

PB Masterlist

#alfie solomons #alfie solomonsxoc #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons one shot #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #ofc #oc #tom hardy #tom hardy character #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy fanfiction #one shot #peaky blinders one shot #hades and persephone

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fe-semi-decent-scenarios · 4 years ago

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How they act around their crush: GD edition

[This one’s for @glass-grapes. I saw your submission and am completely psyched that you love my blog! I know that I’ve only recently had it kick-off with a few posts, but I have been wanting to start one of these since January. Hope this is to your liking! (p.s I didn’t know if I should do pre or post time skip, so I did a little dabbling into both]

Claude:

We all know Claude here is both a go-getter and a tease

If he finds you interesting then there’s no reason for him to hide it. A battle of wits never hurt anyone, and boy do you two fight well

He is s a s s y. If you’re chatting with some other students he might stick his nose into the conversation to toy with you. It’s all in good fun, right? Just a little mini-game on his way to achieving bigger things

That’s what he tells himself

Some days he finds you a bit too alluring, and can’t help being self conscious of the other people around

Fiddles with his braid when you throw him for a loop

Will pay extra special attention to you in battle, and makes excuses to the prof. for why you should be near him. He really is a snake

Post-Timeskip he hides his bias even more. Not enough to fool his close comrades, but enough to avoid you receiving any extra attention from the enemy

Sometimes slips items in your room to distract from the stress. Tea, a new blanket, etc.

During the five year gap he keeps track of your whereabouts. After Garreg Mache fell he decided that his dream would take priority as planned, but also believed that one day you would be at his side

Wasn’t surprised at all to see you at the reunion, but that familiar urge to tug his hair returned too

Judith and Nader have already heard about you prior to your meeting. Much to his dismay they view his buried feelings as open range comedy

Lorenz:

We all know how Lorenz acts when he finds someone of interest. The guy is a huge flirt which causes the professor wayyy too much stress

He’s not as in-tune with his sense of romance as you would think. In the early stages he’ll treat you the same as all the other ladies: a potential partner for house Gloucester.

Date offerings, frilly words, gifts, acts of kindness. Ah tis but the duty of a noble, yes?

No.

One day he lets that stubborn side of his personality slip out, and you come back at him with just as much fire. He becomes so angered after it, but somehow hearing the words from you hurt more than if someone else were to say them

That’s when he knows that he’s in deep, and from then on he treats you more gently. He’ll watch his tongue around other women, and sets his sights on only you. His mannerisms are the same as before, but now he tries to learn more about you as a person vs. just the cold hard statistics

He’s a blusher. He has a naturally light pigmentation so it shows.

After the time-skip he’ll watch you like a hawke. Do you like his new hair cut? Surly it’s an improvement from before sorry bro it’s not

Sets his dignity aside to request that you be given a hexlock shield during battle, or placed near him. Claude won’t let him live it down

Ignatz:

He m i g h t avoid you, but please don’t take it the wrong way. That’s just how he is, you know?

Young Ignatz isn’t that confident in himself. You’re...well ‘you’. And he’s...well, ‘him’

Oddly enough he confides in HIlda of all people. It originally began with wanting to see if she was still on stable duty with him, but ended up with him working and her talking

When you’re nearby he chooses not to speak unless spoken to. If you didn’t know his tells he’d come off cold, but one look at his hands wringing together just proves he was nervous

Byleth puts you two on cooking duty together: que panic. He legit grovels at their feet to pick someone else. They don’t, and that evening he sketches a wonderful picture of you sifting through different seasonings

On your birthday he struggles to give you the gift he prepared. It ends up with Lionie giving you it while he watches from afar.

When you’re older he is much more verbal with his opinions

More often than not he lets those honey-coated words slip out, which usually end up with him excusing himself quickly

Invites you to join him during downtime at least once a week. Every day could be his last, and goddess forbid yours. He wants to spend time with you even if he isn’t the most graceful companion never mind that he’s a smooth-talking mofo

Raphael:

If there’s one thing Raphael is good at, it’s showing that he cares

The boy is a giant muscular teddybear. He will carry your things, he will spar with you, he will eat anything you cook without complaint, and he will hug you; hard.

Unlike everyone else he’s pretty open with his feelings. Life is short, you know?

If you make him particularly bashful he’ll laugh loudly. More so to cover up his own embarrassment than because he finds the situation actually humorous

Adopts this habit of constantly asking if you need anything. The guy loves to dote on people, and lookie here you’re the perfect target

Remembers all important dates like a pro. On your birthday he drops a gift right on your desk first thing in the morning

Goddess forbid anyone gives you trouble. Without the smile on his face he looks the murder type, and the guy uses it to his advantage. He will happily escort you anywhere you need to go

Once his sister is settled he might honestly stick with you during that five year gap. He’s made his feelings painfully obvious, and you haven’t chased him off. Why not stick around?

Hilda:

Yo she’s clingy

She knows you have to be a catch and a half to steal her heart, so who knows who else that you’ve smooth talked

Just like everyone else she’ll still get you to do her bidding...but, maybe a smidge less

She feels guilty, but won’t show it

Hilda will do all in her power to not let the news reach her family. The last thing she needs is Holst sending her more letters, or worse: showing up at the monastery

Y’all she will don her best perfume for you. She will push all her work onto Cyril and drag you to have lunch with her. This is normal Hilda behavior so she has no reason to be shy

Will flirt openly and proudly. If you recuperate she’ll go gossip to Marianne about how you’re ‘totally smitten’ with her

Post-skip she’s not much different. Most of her time is spent doing what she can for the cause, but when you see each other she’s more bold.

Like always she doesn’t like to have expectations pushed onto her. She does have one for herself though, and it’s to stay by your side.

Marianne:

During the academy years she tends to admire from afar

Her favorite memories are of when the professor signed you both up for choir practice. She loves your voice, and it was a time where there wasn’t any pressure for conversation

As time passes she’ll become less adverse to talking. Quiet greetings will be whispered when you cross paths, and occasionally you two have lunch together

Marianne is not as reserved as people assume her to be. She’s just had a rough time, and if you take things slow with her then she’ll gradually have a stronger presence in your life. She hopes that this comes true for you two

Eye contact hasn’t always been her forte. She does try to maintain it with you though

Her feelings remain at a stalemate through most of the academy days. Only when she bypass’ some more personal-issues does she let her emotions go free

About halfway through the war period she changes. Her stance is more vertical, and she becomes the one to take initiative in your relationship

She’ll still blush upon any physical contact, and in some cases she’ll lose her breath when you talk. Don’t take the momentary silence as a bad thing, she’s okay.

Occasionally she’ll be restless and unable to sleep, worrying about the future she now has in her grasp. You might find her scouring for a cup of chamomile late in the night

Lysithea:

She’ll deny herself immediately. For Lysithea the future is an anomaly. One of which that no amount of studying or research can uncover.

It’s painfully obvious that there’s a spark between you two. Anyone can see it, and Hilda has pestered her many times regarding confessing

If the situation was a bit different, she would. Lysithea is no push over, but she also doesn’t want to invest time into something that will bear no fruition

She keeps her cool around you for the most part...or at least until you’re out of hearing distance

Then she completely loses composure. Did someone say clammy hands? Because hers get slicker than lorenz’s hair gel

Leads to stress eating, not gonna lie. There are many late night trips to the mess hall, and many angry cooks over the missing sweets

Times are different post-timeskip though. She’s a bit more reluctant to let these feelings go

Occasionally there’s some open flirting on her part. If you recuperate then it becomes more frequent and less forced. The sassy banter between you two becomes the deer’s free entertainment

Leonie:

She’s commonly been viewed as ‘one of the guys,’ for her personality. So she’s very insecure about getting friend zoned

It’s not like she was actively searching for romance. It just happened, you know? One day something just struck a chord

She never took the time to picture sharing a life with someone. Most of her life has been spent worrying about her village, or working hard to attain some kind of recognition from the Captian

For a split second she considers going to Byleth for some advice. Now isn’t the time for school-girl crushes. Now is the time to be forging a path to the future

Decides to completely ignore the ache she feels when you’re nearby. Just...lets it go.

She’ll put hella distance between you two. The only time she’ll initiate contact is during sparring

After the timeskip she stays this way too. Well, until HIlda calls her out on her bullsh*t (if you haven’t noticed from all these. Hilda is a perceptive little cookie)

Just like anyone she’ll go through the moral dilemma of deciding to confess or not. She instead chooses to just let her feelings do as they please, and if something happens then it happens

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iturbide · 5 years ago

Note

Oh, 12 would be a great one for Claude and, really, any of the Golden Deer. Like, when he opens up to them that he’s Almyran, they want to show him that he’s more than welcome and he’ll always be their trusted leader and beloved friend. Maybe they organize a mounted archery contest? Tending to wyverns? I recall Claude enjoying a celebration in Almyra that was a ceremonial dance around a huge fire (my memory is a bit fuzzy, I am embarrassed to say as a Claude lover). I bet you have some ideas!

You know you’re right any of the Golden Deer would be great

so since i can’t pick why not all of them

12. Following their family traditions that they enjoy.

“Lady Judith!!”

She stopped, touching her rapier as she turned toward the sound of running steps…and relaxed, folding her arms over her chest as seven mismatched fighters came stumbling to a halt before her. She recognized them, of course: it would be hard not to, given that they were all generals in the Alliance army now, not to mention Claude’s old housemates from his days at Garreg Mach. “Should I be worried?” she asked.

“Did you know Claude’s Almyran!?” Raphael asked excitedly.

Some aunt she’d be, if she didn’t. But she only quirked a brow politely and nodded. “I did.”

“Why did you never make mention of that!?” Lorenz demanded.

It was hard to keep her hand off her sword. “What does it matter where he came from, boy?” she shot back.

“It matters a lot!!” Leonie insisted, hands fisted at her sides.

“He’s been here in the Alliance for, what, six years?” Hilda ventured, counting off on her fingers. Seven, in truth, though Judith made no effort to correct her. “And this whole time he’s never had any way to see his family! I’d be a wreck if I couldn’t go home once in a while to visit my father and brother.”

“He must have been so lonely, all this time,” Marianne murmured, folding her hands, “being so far from home, with nothing to remember it by…”

…well this had certainly taken a different turn than she expected. “What are you saying, exactly?”

“Claude’s been working so hard, trying to keep us ahead of the Empire, making sure the Alliance has what it needs to survive and win – the least we can do is show we appreciate it,” Lysithea huffed.

“And, well, what better way than trying to make him feel at home?” Ignatz added, adjusting his glasses. “Only…none of know all that much about Almyra. I heard from Cyril once that it has vast open plains, but…I doubt I could capture a likeness without having seen it myself.”

“My brother collects battle standards from skirmishes at the Locket, but that’s not much to go on where fashion and decoration are concerned, either,” Hilda sighed.

“We were hoping you might know more,” Leonie said. “I mean, if you knew Claude’s Almyran, maybe you know what it’s like there. What kind of food they have, that sort of thing.”

“With the Empire so close, we know he can’t go home, but…maybe if we could bring a little bit of home to him…” Mariane ventured.

“So will you help us out, Lady Judith?” Raphael asked. “Please?”

Judith smiled, running a hand back through her hair. Lucky Claude, having friends like these at his back. “Well, I can’t claim to know much,” she cautioned, “but I’ll gladly tell you everything I can.”

///

Claude sighed, rubbing his eyes as the ink started to blur on the page. It was getting hard to stay focused, which usually meant it was time to get up and go do something else…but things had been weird lately. Tense, in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on. His old housemates from the Golden Deer had been acting extra flighty, giving him a wide berth every time they happened to cross paths and making excuses whenever he tried to talk with them before beating a hasty retreat. Even Hilda, who usually loved shirking her chores to take breaks with him, had waved him off twice, saying she was in the middle of something (despite all evidence to the contrary).

It hadn’t been this way before Fort Merceus. But then, nobody had known about his Almyran heritage, either.

Raking his hands through his hair, he leaned back so far that his seat threatened to tip over. He’d been so certain that if anyone could bridge the divide between Fodlan and Almyra, it was his old house…and it hurt to realize that his secrecy at the academy had been justified.

Admittedly, none of this was what he’d wanted to focus on while he stepped back from his Enbarr siege tactics.

A knock came at the door, and he tipped his chair forward, sprawling across the map. “Come in,” he mumbled.

He wasn’t actually sure if he’d been loud enough to hear. But the door opened anyway, and Judith came striding in, grinning ear to ear. “You busy?”

“Kind of,” he grumbled.

“Too bad,” she replied. “Even Master Tacticians need breaks, and you look like you could use one.”

“Please don’t call me that,” he groaned.

“Would you rather I call you ‘boy’?”

“Like you do to Lorenz? No, thank you,” he scoffed, shoving himself more or less upright and trying to ignore the chorus of pops that accompanied his stretch; if his own regret at sitting too long weren’t bad enough, her glare only compounded it.

“You definitely need a break,” she declared. Any stronger and it would have been an order.

“Alright, alright,” he sighed. “I need to check on the wyverns anyway.”

“That sounds like more work,” she warned.

“At least I won’t be hunched over a desk, though, right?”

“That’s not the point.”

“You didn’t say what kind of break I needed.”

“Smart-ass,” she snorted, hooking his arm in hers and dragging him out the door, away from the stairs leading up to the roof where the wyverns had taken roost and toward the gate leading out of the fort they’d occupied on the march toward Enbarr. The rain that had forced their stop had long-since passed, but the dry ground and the clear skies above promised that they’d be free to resume the march with the sunrise. It would be a perfect night for stargazing, if he could escape Judith–

The aroma of wild garlic and roast fish almost knocked him off his feet. As it was, only Judith’s hold on his arm kept him stumbling in the right direction. There was a bright blaze visible through the trees, too big to be a campfire…and as they broke through the undergrowth, he realized it was a bonfire – a small one, filling the clearing with the sweet scent of cedar smoke. “What is this?” he asked.

“What’s it look like?” Judith grinned.

“It looks like I’m dreaming,” he replied, rubbing his eyes with the heel of one hand.

“Well, I can assure you that it’s real,” she laughed. “Now you’d better hurry up if you want to eat, I don’t know how long they can hold Raphael off.”

As if on cue, Hilda appeared at his side, grabbing hold of his other arm. “Thanks, Lady Judith!” she giggled, dragging him toward the fire. “We were starting to worry you’d never show up!”

“…did I miss something?” he asked.

She didn’t answer with anything but a smile. But as the firelight drove the darkness back, he realized that she was wearing a sash not so different from his own, complete with bright patterns and dangling ornaments. As the rest of the Golden Deer gathered around, he realized they all had them, the traditional green and gold accented with different colors for each of them. And they were all looking at him, waiting for him to speak.

He couldn’t find words for a minute. He just stared at them, every one of them smiling (even Lorenz!) and bearing familiar traces of his homeland. “What is this?” he asked again.

“It’s a party!” Raphael laughed.

“A celebration,” Lysithea corrected.

“Lady Judith told us about an Almyran fire festival,” Ignatz added, adjusting his glasses. “We couldn’t find everything she mentioned, but we tried to get as close as we could.”

“I got the food together,” Leonie beamed. “Spent most of today fishing and foraging and cooking, and I think it all turned out pretty great.”

“Sure did,” Raph agreed. “I got to taste test after I got the fire going!”

“I didn’t have enough time to make whole outfits,” Hilda sighed, “but I at least managed to make sashes for everybody. I tried to base it off yours, but I’ve never seen you take yours off, so I had to do a little guess-work.”

“But…but what is it for?” Claude asked, still hopelessly confused.

“It’s for you,” Marianne replied, playing with her sash. “You’ve been working so hard lately, preparing for Enbarr…we wanted to thank you.”

“And what better way than by giving you something from home?” Lysithea asked.

Claude couldn’t stop the smile from creeping across his own face. “…did Judith happen to mention that the Festival of Fire is part of the New Year celebration?”

They all stopped and looked nervously at one another. “I…can’t seem to recall,” Lorenz replied awkwardly.

“I’ve gotta say, you couldn’t have picked a better celebration,” Claude beamed. “The Festival of Fire always precedes the New Year festivities. It’s about burning away problems and bad luck so that we can go into the New Year without worries to drag us down. Andwe’re working our way toward a new dawn, aren’t we? One free from Imperial rule. This’ll make sure we come at the battle free of any burdens.”

Their anxiety melted away as he spoke, and by the time he finished their smiles were brighter than the bonfire. “Will you tell us more about it?” Ignatz asked eagerly. “The festival, and the New Year?”

“Of course I will – I’ll even teach you how to jump the bonfire without setting yourself on fire,” he winked. “Thank you all. This is…amazing.”

“We’re glad you like it,” Hilda giggled. “It’s the least we could do for you.”

If this was their least, he couldn’t help but wonder what else they might have done. This was already more than he’d expected. More than he’d ever thought to ask for. And as Leonie led the way around the fire to the blankets laid out with a feast fit for an Almyran table, he felt the warmth of their company burn away all his old fears.

50 Wordless Ways to Say ‘I Love You’

#answered #dorkling2 #meme #fanfiction #fire emblem: three houses #claude #judith #i love all the golden deer so much #i can't pick just one #and honestly it feels so fitting to have it as a giant team effort #everyone contributing what they have and what they know #raph gathering the cedar wood for the bonfire #leonie working on the food and prep #ignatz doing tons of sketches and loose paintings through the night #judith bringing claude's oud before she joins in so he can lead them in the music #all of them dancing together and leaping the blaze #it's just such a warm and wonderful image #thank you so much for this prompt #snippets

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satinechristian · 5 years ago

Text

dimyaweek: strangers on a crazy adventure

modern au

dedicated to @intoafterglow and her love of derek’’s baseball caps

“We don’t need to bring in a tutor to help Alexei with his Russian,” Anastasia complained to her father when Dmitry Sudayev first showed up. Well, not when he first showed up, as that would mean she complained about him in front of him and that was the sort of rude that was unforgivable to her parents and Nana. But the moment she had left the foyer from opening the door to see a teen boy standing there, wearing well worn clothing and a backwards baseball cap (of all things!) looking both beautiful and stupid, and marched into her father’s study. “Any one of us can do it.”

At this, Nicholas Romanov looked up at his youngest daughter, in a mixture of amusement and annoyance. His tone was set when he spoke, however, “And yet, none of you have.”

So it was true that her father had been asking them, mostly Maria and Anastasia as they were both still in high school and Olga and Tatiana were away at college and would have never allowed Alexei’s studies to drop to the level where an outsider would need to come in. Her oldest sisters were annoyingly perfect in that way.

“I can do it,” she insisted, mentally trying to rearrange her school and social calendar schedule. “What are even his qualifications?”

“He speaks Russian, he reads Cyrillic and he’s shown up to help Alyosha,” her father responded. “That already puts him ahead of my daughters.” Her father looked back at the work she had interrupted. “Nastyona, go be young and have fun. Enjoy the free time this allows you.”

She had left, but she wasn’t happy about it. Neither was her oldest sister, Olga, who had called her that night to ask her why she couldn’t have been bothered to help her little brother with his studies.

The second time Dmitry showed up, he wore an outfit similar to the one he had worn before except even more worn out, and the same stupid hat attached to his head. He didn’t even take it off when he walked into the dining room where her brother was set up to do his studies.

“Privyet, Dmitry!” Her younger brother greeted his tutor happily.

Her brother was always starved for male attention, complaining he was cursed with nothing but sisters and sisters. He had been close with Olga’s high school boyfriend, but they had broken up during her sister’s senior year and now she was away at Yale in college and so they never saw her current boyfriend. Little Alexei had taken the break up harder than Olga had, being all of 9 at the time it had happened. Tatiana did not date boys, and therefore never brought any home. And Maria never dated a boy for long enough to bring him home to meet the entire family. (She was still required to have them meet their parents, if they had no previous acquaintance with him or his family. As a result, she tended to date mostly within their Russian-American circle so she didn’t have to introduce them to her parents.) And Anastasia...well, she was entirely too picky according to her sisters and classmates.

“Privyet, Alexei,” Dmitry returned. And she resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the way he rolled his r’s when he did so. What a show off.

“Have you met my favorite sister?” Alexei asked, in English.

Dmitry’s gaze flickered over to her, dismissively and then replied to Alexei, “Not officially.”

“I call her Anya,” Alexei explained. It was true, he had not been able to pronounce Anastasia when he was younger and had always gotten stuck on the first two syllables. Ann-ya had softened to Anya eventually. “But everyone else calls her Anastasia.”

Dmitry looked back over at her, assessing her. “Anya,” he tried out instead of her actual name.

“Do you have trouble with your syllables too?” She asked, then put her hand to her mouth because it was a sort of thing to say that would get her in trouble with her parents and grandmother.

Instead of being offended, however, Dmitry merely laughed in response. She wondered if he truly was as simple as he appeared. Dimples popped out near his jawline when he laughed and she snapped her gaze away and towards her brother. Who was glaring at her. She supposed she was not currently the favorite sister anymore.

He pointed towards the next room with the staircase and with a rather good impression of their father for a twelve year old said, “Go to your room.”

She bristled at the tone coming from someone four years younger than her and snapped back, “Say it in Russian!”

Her brother gave a panicked look towards Dmitry who shrugged. Then Dmitry said the only smart thing she had ever heard him say when he told her brother, “I don’t think it counts if I say it for you, bud.”

Anastasia left, but she very purposefully did not go to her room. Later that night, however, her father came to her room and told her she absolutely must apologize to her brother and his tutor.

Apologizing to Alexei was easy enough, as he was one to forgive easily and he had most likely been over her fit of temper the moment she stormed out of the room. Apologizing to Dmitry would be more difficult and probably more necessary.

So, the next time he showed up and she opened the door for him and his stupid baseball cap, she swallowed her pride and said, “I’m sorry.”

He arched an eyebrow in response, “In Russian?”

Well, Anastasia supposed she deserved that. She let out an annoyed breath and said, “Mne ochen’ zhal’.”

Dmitry and dimples smiled back at her, “Proyekhali, Anya.”

Anastasia decided to pick her battles. As per the advice all the older members of her family gave to her.

She decided to make polite small talk, that may or may not also double as an interrogation. “Do you tutor many people?”

“Your brother is the first one,” he said. He was chewing gum. Of course he was.

“School credit?”

“Community service, actually,” he told her and she found herself back at her father’s study.

“Papa, he’s a criminal,” she told him. “He’s tutoring Alexei for community service credit.”

“I’m well aware, Malenkaya,” her father said patiently.

She narrowed her eyes at him because it was unlike anyone in her family to simply let anyone in and deal with their children. “What does Mama think?”

Her father let out an impatient sigh now, “Your mother is very disappointed that you and Maria couldn’t be bothered to help your brother with his studies but also believes in Christian forgiveness.” He frowned. “And also, Anastasia, with all this time you spend harassing your brother and his tutor I don’t know how you didn’t have time to help him.”

Properly shamed, she left her father’s study and avoided her brother and his tutor for his next few sessions.

Unfortunately, walking back from her friend Katya’s house, she found him unavoidable as he fell into step beside her.

She was surprised, as she had just assumed he had driven to their house every session but now that she thought about it she couldn’t remember seeing him coming to or from her house before.

“Do you walk here every time?”

He glanced over, startled as though he hadn’t expected her to speak to him. She supposed she deserved that. “I walk from the bus stop.” He gestured to his clothing. “I do not live in this neighborhood.”

She just nodded in response. “Was your license suspended?”

Dmitry laughed in response, and she didn’t know why she couldn’t help but be rude around him. “Do you want to know why I’m serving community service?”

“Yes,” she answered, a little too quickly.

He shrugged. “I got caught stealing food.”

“Oh,” she said. Something made her think it probably wasn’t just as a prank or whatever stupid reasons boys at her school stole from people with. “Where are your parents?”

“My father died a few years ago,” he responded looking straight ahead as they walked. “My mom died a few years after I was born.”

Well, now she felt every inch the spoiled brat she had probably shown herself to be.

“Who is raising you?” She asked softly.

“If the state asks,” he leaned over like imparting a secret to her. “My foster father is, but I’m pretty sure I’m raising us both.”

One more question, because Anastasia was nothing but curious. “Why do you always where that stupid hat?”

“You think my hat is stupid?” He teased and pulled off the cap and shook out his hair. Beautiful, thick and rather luxurious brown hair. It seemed unfair. She was hoping he had been hiding a deformity or a bald spot.

“Ah,” she said, glancing over at him. “I can see why you kept the hat on, you are obviously hideous.”

Dmitry reached over and set the cap (forwards) on her head, pulling the lid down low over her forehead and eyes.

“So I’m told,” he said in a way that told her he was definitely (truthfully) told the opposite.

She tugged that hat up slightly so she could see. “Are you trying to tell me I look hideous?”

“Yes, Anya,” he said, glancing over at her. “You are the most hideous creature I’ve ever seen.”

She had no idea why that made her blush.

The next time she opened the door to let him in for Alexei’s tutoring, he was not wearing his hat. Even though she had handed it back to him once they had reached the door last time. She wanted to have topped back on his head, like he had down to her but she didn’t know how to reach that high without physically climbing up him and she felt that would be awkward.

She did, however, greet him in Russian (he was very hideous indeed today) and he grinned and replied in kind and they kept it up as he got out the books for Alexei. Alexei came down at some point, taking his seat. He looked between the two of them, groaning when he heard Russian being spoken.

After a few moments of working on his Cyrillic worksheet as Dmitry and Anya continued to speak, Alexei put down his pen to glare at them.

Or, rather, her, “You don’t need a Russian tutor.”

“I know,” she told her brother in English. “But if you keep studying you won’t be so annoyed by this.”

Her brother gave her a sickly sweet smile, “Oh, I think I’ll always find you annoying, Anya.”

Dmitry whispered to her, also in English, “Are you sure you’re his favorite sister?”

She leaned back to respond in a whisper, “Yes, you should see the rest of them.”

Alexei threw a pen at her and she shrieked as it almost hit her. Her grandmother came into the room to tell her that she wasn’t behaving like a proper young lady and to go sit with her until she could settle down.

Dmitry winked at her as she got pulled away to the other room.

Alexei was still pouting when Anastasia joined him and Maria in the living room later on as they watched television. He merely grunted in a greeting to her.

“What’s his problem?” Maria asked her.

“I can answer myself,” Alexei said grumpily. “And my problem is that Anya has discovered Dmitry is hot and now won’t leave us alone.”

“Ah,” Maria said, unfazed by a Romanov sibling outburst. Then she looked over at Anastasia, who had forgotten to protest her brother’s claim. “I always knew you’d end up with a juvenile delinquent.”

Anastasia crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. Now Maria could deal with two grumpy siblings for the rest of the night.

“Hey,” Dmitry greeted her as their paths crossed once again outside her house. He, on his way to tutor her brother, and she, on her way to meet some friends at the movies because she had been declared too much of a distraction to her brother during his lessons. ‘I’m not the one she’s distracting,’ Alexei had muttered under his breath. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes,” Anya said. He was standing at the bottom of the porch steps, and she stayed three steps up and enjoyed the fact she was eye level with him for once. “I’ve been banished from my own home by a twelve year old boy.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and even though it wasn’t his fault, he sounded far more sincere than she had back when she originally had to apologize to him. “Can I make it up to you?”

“It’s not your fault,” but also she realized being eye level really meant it was easy for her gaze to flick down to his lips.

Lips that smiled. “What if I made it up to you outside of your dining room?”

Anastasia gasped, “You mean like the living room? Or even on this here porch?”

“I was going to get wild and suggest the backyard,” he replied.

“Oh, a bad boy,” she teased. Then she leaned forward and kissed him, because she could.

“I feel like you’re far more trouble than I could ever be,” Dmitry told her. “Meet me here after tutoring?”

She nodded, and let him pull her in for another kiss.

That was quickly interrupted by the sound of the door opening and her little brother saying, “Now that you guys have gotten that out of the way, can I please learn some Russian.”

Anastasia giggled as her and Dmitry pulled away from each other, “At least you’ve gotten him passionate about the language.”

Before he fully pulled away, he did lean in to whisper, “U tebya krasivye glaza.”

“U tyebya acheravatyel'naya ulypka,” she returned, with a smile.

Alexei groaned and stepped forward and pulled Dmitry towards the door, while shooing his sister away with the other.

See, her brother was finally understanding Russian enough to be properly annoyed by what they were saying.

#dimyaweek2020 #dimya #anastasia broadway #anastasia fanfiction #myfic #my fic #i didnt write this and yestedays back to back there was like a week or so in between #but i guess hats are the theme for the last two days!!!#happy valentines day yall

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currantlee · 5 years ago

Note

Rank all of the Ashe ships from best to worst, with explanations (OT3s not necessary, unless you want to include them)

Alright, let’s do this :) In order to keep it a little simple, I’ll only list people Ashe actually supports with, so if you want to know about another specific shipping which doesn’t have a canon support, feel free to ask away. I will also not include OT3s since I don’t know any in particular for Ashe, I’ll admit that… Also, I assume you are talking about shippings in a romantic sense, so I will treat this from the romantic perspective.

Keep in mind that this is entirely my own opinion. If your opinion differs from my own, then that is totally fine with me and I am not looking to insult or contradict you. Also, I am open for discussion about all of these, so feel free to send me a message :) This is also not to say that everyone who likes a ship I dislike for some reason is a bad person. Everyone is free to like or dislike whatever they want and it’s part of what makes us different from each other. I think being different is awesome because if we were all the same… We wouldn’t need to talk, would we?

As always with me, this is going to be a long post and therefore I am hiding the actualy content behind the Keep Reading button, just to not bother anyone in the tags. So buckle up and keep reading if you want to :)

Ashe&MarianneSeriously, those two are just really cute in my opinion. I mean, even Ashe calls Marianne cute in their C-Support (and he actually gets flustered about it - Shannon McKain really nailed that one!). I also really like how much Ashe tries to make her appreciate herself more and even offers to find her dream together with her when she is sad she doesn’t have one, which shows how much of a good person he is. In their ending, it turns out that Marianne made supporting and helping Ashe out her dream and quite honestly? She is the best person for it. She knows about all the things Ashe doesn’t, politics in particular, and in fact, they are supporting each other. Which is how it should be.

Ashe&HapiWhile their supports don’t strike me as being as romantic and cute as Ashe’s and Marianne’s support does, they do have an ending that makes me squeal: Ashe promises to make sure Hapi never sighs again. Which is just too cute to put into words! Hapi also cares about Ashe from their first support onward, which she shows in her very Hapi way, so it’s also not a one-sided relationship. Especially because she makes up for one of Ashe’s biggest flaws: he can be overly trusting and good-hearted, which tends to get him into trouble. Also, Hapi calling Ashe “Freckles” is just something to add to the cuteness. So yeah. It works just as fine as Ashe&Marianne in my opinion and quite frankly, depending on what kind of story I want to write, I’d probably prefer it over Ashe&Marianne.

Ashe&IngridThey both love books, they both strive to be knights and seriously, Ashe is the only male person aside from Dimitri who isn’t straight out chastized by Ingrid in some way. This would basically be the perfect fairytale if you ask me and it is what I love about this shipping: Ashe is a commoner, Ingrid doesn’t want to marry (at least not the ones her father wants her to marry). If I would ever write a fanfiction which is fairytale-like… Out of all fandoms, those two would definetly be the main characters! And yes, not even Sokai can beat the fairytale potential here, sorry Sokai.

Ashe&PetraYou can’t deny those two have romantic interactions. I mean, Ashe takes her out for dinner, which is painted as a romantic action within this game. Also, their A Support is just… Petra is going to do everything to make him stay with her, isn’t she? However, it is actually also where my problem with these two resides: they have too much going on. It just feels a little bit awkward to me personally and while I do think a romantic relationship would definetly be interesting if written well. If I should write a story including this shipping, I’d probably pick a CF-like setting to be honest.

Ashe&AnnetteThose two have a lot in common, but not too much in common. Quite frankly, I just love shipping cinnamonrolls together and these two are no exception to this. You have to admit it is cute how Ashe gets over his fear of the dark and ghosts to get Annette’s doll back from that tower… Plus, they were shown together in the introduction cutscene. However, I can’t really think of a specific scenario for a fanfiction including this shipping, which is why they ended up in the fifth spot.

And yes, I am aware we are pretty straight up until here. I am not a “straight pairings exclusively!” type of person, but it’s just not my cup of tea when it comes to Ashe. His relationships with other males just don’t really strike me as cute or romantic, mainly because Ashe strikes me as being a good friend to other males. So, sorry, but no yaoi in the Top 5.

Ashe&CasparI just can’t imagine those two kissing to be honest XD But I can definetly see why people ship them. Quite frankly, if those two were romantically involved, it would probably be a very good relationship, despite their ideals often straight out contradicting each other. They have this amazing ability to settle almost every dispute because they just hold this great respect and acceptance for each other. Plus, at heart they are actually not that different: both want to bring justice to the world and are really good people. They just have different ways. I honestly prefer them as buddies (also because I happen to ship Caspar with Hilda), but I can see their potential.

Ashe&CyrilIt would be a great romantic shipping - if it wasn’t for the fact that Ashe pretty much friendzones Cyril in their A support. Another point which makes me a bit rejective of that shipping is the fact how Ashe continues to care about Cyril over and over again, but Cyril doesn’t care that he does and he doesn’t even care about Ashe until his life might be in danger. I mean, after that there is room for some good romance, but until they get there it’s kind of a weird friendship if you ask me. So yeah. I think Ashe and Cyril do make great friends and would have romantic potential in the right hands, but they are a bit difficult in my opinion and there is just way better options, even in the “Can see this happening but probably won’t write it myself” kind of department.

Ashe&DedueAgain, I can see why people ship these two. They also got a lot of stuff in common and Ashe approaching Dedue despite initially being scared of him is just adorable. Their A Support is also a really great one and I get why people interpret it as romantic - because Dedue really cares about Ashe here and it is generally very adorable! The problem I have with these two though is that I really see Dedue caring for Ashe more on a family-like level, not a romantic one. But that’s just me. Again, I can definetly see why people ship it.

Ashe&MercedesOkay, so… Mercedes is just this character I don’t really ship with anyone (maybe, very maybe Sylvain, but that’s it), because she is just stuck in this big sister role in my head and I’d feel very awkward shipping her with Ashe for this reason.

Ashe&FelixSort of the same as the previous two ones, but worse. The thing is, Felix and Ashe have this relationship Felix and Glenn supposedly had: Ashe idolizes Felix, just as Felix supposedly used to idolize Glenn back when he was still alive. And Felix, though initially having problems with that, actually lets him idolize after he reads the story Ashe gave him, the story Glenn used to read to him. I feel like Felix was reminded on Glenn by Ashe (and also reminded on his younger self), which is why he asked himself what Glenn would do in this situation and acted like Glenn would have acted back when Felix was a child. And while this is absolutely heartwarming, it just destroys each and every romantic vibe for those two to me.

Ashe&DimitriJust because a knight serves his king and I feel like Ashe would be pretty awkward with an relationship for that reason, even if Kyphoon and Loog were romanticaly involved (which we don’t know and there are some hints that Loog might have had a romance with a maiden as well). It just diverts too much from the ideal he is striving to become in my opinion.

Ashe&SylvainSomehow manages to have even less romantic tension than Ashe&Dimitri, despite Sylvain not being king. The thing is… Ashe seems uncomfortable with Sylvain even when they are just friends. He doesn’t despise him, but he doesn’t approve of many of Sylvain’s actions, while Sylvain is also quick to exploit Ashe’s good heart. A romantic relationship involving these would probably turn out toxic for this reason, which is why I am fine with them being friends, but not them being romantically involved with each other.

Ashe&CatherineSame as with Sylvain, but here it’s actually worse because Ashe holds a grudge against Catherine. Of course, those can fade with time, but Ashe even explicitly states that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to forgive her, even knowing how she feels about Christophe’s death and regrets her actions every day.

Ashe&BylethI like to think Byleth emotionally adopts Ashe (in the German version of the game, Byleth even has the option to tell Ashe that he is a good boy, which is usually something parents tell their children, but not lovers tell their partners) after Lonato dies and acting as a parent replacement of sorts. On top of that, Ashe explicitly tells Byleth that he looks up to them, but doesn’t care for them in a romantic way. So this is just a no-no for me.

Did I forget something? Hmmm… *thinking hard and looking up the Wiki page*

Ashe&GilbertThe fact that I don’t even remember including this probably speaks volumes… Also, I just generally think that it would be a bit creepy considering Gilbert is married and Ashe is the cinnamonroll he is. I’m fine with them being friends and Gilbert teaching Ashe stuff, but romantically it’s just a big no-no to me.

And here we are :) This is my ranking. If you feel something is missing or want to know more about a particular one, feel free to send me an ask!

And now, thank you for your ask, Vee! It was a lot of fun to answer and I think I also learned something new about my shipping taste, just because I had to dive deeper into why I like / dislike a certain ship. So, thank you a lot!

#Fire Emblem #FE3H #FE Discussion #FE3H Discussion #Shipping #Shipping Discussion #Ashe Durand / Ashe Ubert #theeeveetamer #SeaSi answers

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vulpinmusings · 5 years ago

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Letters from Buxcord 2 - Razorback

After much delay, my RPG group returned to our Monster of the Week campaign for our second mystery. This time, Ash and his new companions look into strange happenings surrounding a rich family and an old slaughterhouse.

Samantha,

Any doubts I had about sticking around Buxcord are well and truly squashed now. It’s only been about a week since the Santa-squatch incident and I’ve already squared off with something much bigger and purely magical.

It started just a couple days after Christmas. I was trawling about town for more details on local legends in the hopes of finding some common sources or threads to follow, and wound up at Bayou Boating, the main tourist attraction in this small town. They had a list of “local cryptids” posted on the wall, but it included several creatures that, unless the names apply to different mythics than they do in Taryn, do not tend to live in or around wetlands. The one person on staff at the time – it is the off-season for boat tours – proved to be less than well-informed about the one local legend I asked him about. People occasionally go missing in the bayou after foolishly going out there on their own at night.

Well, I can’t really put all the blame for my not getting a lot of info on the clerk. I‘d only asked a few questions before I experienced a major pulse in the magic fields. It was almost a textbook example of the ripples caused by an inexperienced Mage casting spells beyond their ability. The pulse carried some lingering effects of the original spell, as I had a brief vision of a grinning shadow floating over the bayou. I set off in search of the source, but as messy as the spell had been it was also far enough away that the magic settled and the trail grew cold before I got more than a block.

Nothing else happened for a few days, until I crossed paths with Nollthep and Lea again. I hadn’t really seen either of them since the Santa-sqautch, and the simple fact that Nollthep was not in his shop and was asking after somebody should have tipped me off. Whatever that fellow is, he seems to work for some higher being and has little to no personal needs outside of running errands for his “Boss.” Lea is normal other than her instinctual persuasion magic, but her paths and mine just hadn’t crossed in the last week.

At any rate, we three happened to meet up at the local park where Lea was performing with some small-time Punk Rock band that sings in Spanish. That’s… I think the language matches best to Iberrian. Anyway, Lea’s singing was infused with a mesmeric effect that had everyone (except yours truly, naturally) in love with the whole performance despite her not knowing the language or the words very well. Nollthep wandered up to us after the show was over, asking everyone he came across if they knew of any Wiccans or anybody named Clemonte. When he got to Lea and I, his questions turned to the topic of whether or not humans need blood and hearts to live.

I don’t think I need to say how concerning that was, but I didn’t get a chance to press for details before our attention was stolen by a group of local law enforcement suddenly taking off in response to a call from a “Clemonte mansion.” That got Nollthep’s full focus, of course, and Lea finally recalled that the Clemontes were a wealthy but reclusive and disliked family in Buxcord. She alluded to some previous encounters with them that had left her particularly soured, but she agreed to lead us to the house.

The Clemontes live on a hill on the southern outskirts of town, with their driveway reaching all the way to the base of the hill. As mansions go, it wasn’t all that large, but the fountain in front had the ostentation of true Old Money. The butler who answered our knock at the door sealed the impression, and he would have turned us away on principle if Lea’s magic hadn’t kicked in and scrambled his senses enough to make him tolerant of three random gawkers intruding on his employer’s private business.

I don’t want to become to reliant on that kind of manipulation, but without the reputation I’ve got back home I might not have much choice for a while…

The police – a sheriff and two deputies to be precise – were in the living room questioning a young woman and paid us little mind as we peeked in for a look. The reason for the call was glaringly obvious: a disemboweled corpse had been hung on the wall over the fireplace with a graffiti-style pig’s head and the words “I’m back” scrawled in blood below it. A most disturbing sight, although only Lea showed any physical reaction. I, of course, am too experienced to let my revulsion get in the way of solving a problem, and Nollthep is too inhuman to even have a visceral reaction to such sights.

The sheriff and pair of deputies who were on-site were surprisingly fine with the three of us stepping in and asking our own questions. I’m hoping that it was just them thinking that we must be welcome since the we’d gotten past the butler, but it’s too early to rule out general incompetence yet. The girl was Sophia Clemonte and the corpse had been a security guard at the Clemonte slaughterhouse and had no reason to be in the family mansion. Sophia was shook up by the corpse, but she was more concerned about her younger brother, Cyril, who was missing. The police told us that the rest of the family were upstairs, so we decided to go up and interrogate them while the police were still busy getting Sophia’s story.

The Clemonte parents are named Archie and Penelope. Archie’s a bit of a boor and seems to hate magic on principle, while Penelope had the aura of someone with the talent for magic, albeit one she hasn’t used in many years thanks to her husband’s influence. From Archie, we got an explanation for what the message painted on the wall could have meant. About twenty years ago, an employee at the slaughterhouse had suffered a psychotic break after being fired and killed several people before committing suicide. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get more than that out of Archie before Lea insulted him and he told us to get out.

On our way out, we decided to check in on the last Clemonte, the eldest son Zachary. I didn’t get any sense that he’d inherited any of his mother’s ability, and he was callously unconcerned about the whole scenario and intent on heading out for a little walk despite all common sense.

Penelope caught up to us at the top of the stairs and, now out from under Archie’s gaze, opened up a little more about her history with magic as we headed back to the crime scene. She used to practice the Wiccan traditions, but gave them up years ago and hid her books away. Young Cyril had shown an interest in those books, and Penelope had given him one of the less dangerous tomes to look through. I convinced Penelope to show me where she’d hidden the rest of her books, and she took us to a surprisingly large room hidden behind a secret door in the kitchen. The room was full of not just books but all kinds of the stuff you typically find in the collection of those who follow ritual-based magic traditions. There was a book missing from the shelves, but it wasn’t the book Penelope had loaned to Cyril. Penelope said the missing book was primarily about summoning and controlling spirits.

(Be sure to clarify that I’m not talking about Spiriter Warlock stuff here when you relay this to the M’Dales. They’ll probably have a conniption otherwise.)

The sheriff had already had the corpse body-bagged when we returned to the sitting room, but I took a crack at searching the spot where it had been hanging, in case there was any lingering magic I could trace. I got more than I bargained for; somehow, I managed to briefly link myself to the mind of an otherworldly entity (other than Nollthep) for a few seconds. Demonic seems like an adequate adjective. I had to sit down and catch my breath, and Lea charmed the butler into bringing us some coffee while Nollthep went to search Cyril’s room and one of the deputies was sent out to bring Zachary back. Nollthep came back with the missing tome, and we discussed whether or not to let Penelope know about it. We opted to keep her in the dark until I’d had a chance to look through it.

After much too much time had passed without either Zach or the deputy returning, I felt a ripple of powerful magic underlaid with that same sense of the demonic and led the group outside to see what was up. Standing by the fountain, holding Zachary up like a stuck pig and with the deputy lying broken at its feet, was an 8-foot tall humanoid figure dressed like a butcher and wearing a leather pig mask that was bleeding from the seams. Reacting quickly, I wrapped the figure up in a Tangler while Nollthep produced a stack of playing cards and flung them one by one at the figure, as expertly as myself but without any spells attached. The thing barely reacted.

Lea ran over to try and save the deputy, but her magic betrayed her, draining life out of the man rather than putting more in.

I tried to engage the creature in conversation, just to establish that it wasn’t sentient, and then tried to see how it liked a bullet in the head.

Did I mention I acquired a revolver shortly after the Santa-squatch incident? It’s not my style, but without Carmilla around to handle the non-magical aspects of combat I have to make do.

Not that the bullet did any good in this event.

Nollthep tossed the spellbook to me and told me to try to find a counter-spell to whatever had summoned pig-head while he kept it busy. I quickly found a likely looking spell and started Weaving it together to the best of my ability. I hadn’t gotten far, though, before pig-head sensed the gathering magic and fled via dematerlization.

So, I learned that in this universe, evil spirits can sense when you’re trying to counteract the spell that summoned them to the mortal plan and can just get out of range before you’re done. That’s an unwelcome complication.

Once the dust had settled, an ambulance was called in. By some miracle, the deputy was still alive. Zachary, on the other hand, was missing all his internal organs as well as having bled out.

In the course of informing the Clemontes and the sheriff about what had happened in the driveway and some of our suspicions, Nollthep and the Sheriff got into a bit of an argument about whether or not magic is real. I could have gotten involved, but I was occupied with more important matters such as studying the spellbook and only rejoined the conversation when Nollthep left the room for a private conversation with Penelope and I overheard the Sheriff mention to Archie that there were reports of strange noises at the old slaughterhouse. Over Archie’s protests, the sheriff insisted that everyone stay put until the morning and left his remaining deputy to keep an eye on us.

Once the Sheriff was gone, I made it clear that I did not intend to wait around or leave the case in the hands of people who didn’t even believe in the existence of magic. I tried to conjure a basic mage-light to convince the deputy that I knew what I was talking about, but wound up with a tiny fireball instead. It was sufficient to convince the deputy, at least. Nollthep came back from his business with Penny and, naturally, agreed to accompany me. To my surprise, Lea also wanted to come along, because she figured that since I’d chased pig-face off once, the safest place to be was at my side.

It was a long walk to the slaughterhouse. It must have been abandoned shortly after the incident twenty years ago, because the place was empty and full of rusted equipment. I felt the presence of pig-face as soon as we entered the building. We decided that since pig-face had a… particular theme to him, we should start our search in the pork slaughtering section. The plan was to locate pig-face and figure out how to restrain him so he couldn’t escape while I cast the banishing spell on him.

In the pig area, we heard the sounds of actual pigs in the preparation pens and went to look. The things we found were mostly identical to normal pigs, but their eyes and teeth were more human than porcine, and they were munching on offal that included at least one intact human hand. Nollthep, working on the assumption that the pigs were sapient, attempted to cast a translation spell on himself and wound up just speaking gibberish and apparently losing his ability to comprehend Lea or me for several minutes.

Then we saw pig-face up in the rafters, holding a blood-soaked mallet. Nollthep produced his throwing cards and put some actual magic into them that briefly set fire to pig-face’s sleeve. The beast dropped down on us and walloped Nollthep. As I Wove a lightning bolt, Lea ran for cover behind me. She grabbed onto me briefly and, in that brief moment, the magic fell into place with my normal natural grace. The lighting struck pig-face, then arced off him and unlocked one of the pig pens. The pig-thing inside charged at Nollthep, but he swatted it up and into another pen with ease.

Pig-face came after me next, and I threw up a barrier to try and stop his mallet. I must have miscalculated, because the blow shattered the shield and knocked me back a bit. Could have been worse, I guess, but still…

Nollthep pulled out a chain of tied-up handkerchiefs and tried to tie pig-face up with them. It held for a few seconds, but not nearly enough time for me to even start the banishment. Lea suddenly ran off into the heart of the slaughtering area, and pig-face chased her once he broke loose. I got him in a Tangler, but it barely held him long enough for Nollthep to club him once. I heard Lea say something about finding the meat grinder that pig-face had first died in as I ran to keep up with the fight. I pushed past Nollthep and, in a bit of foolish desperation, tried to tackle pig-face and flip him off the walkway and into the machinery. You can probably guess how well that went. Pig-face had me by the neck and dangling over the suddenly active grinder before I could regain my balance. Nollthep whipped his hankie-chain around the specter’s arm to try and haul me out of danger, but pig-face resisted the pull and tossed a knife at Nollthep with his free hand. Then Lea found a meathook and chucked it at pig-face, and I was falling toward a mass of whirling blades and serrated rollers.

Reflex kicked in and I cast my Transport spell without thinking about how it would need to be adjusted. By pure luck, the spell not only worked but deposited me safely on the walkway away from the fight. As I made my way back to the action, I saw that my companions were in a bit of a panic thinking I’d just died (Nollthep apparently thought meat grinders just magically transmute flesh into meat or something and Lea didn’t see what happened). Lea’s grief was so great she actually summoned a big root up through the walkway and into pig-face’s arm just as the creature made a move to throw Nollthep into the grinder after me.

As for myself, I was starting to get annoyed. I’d cheated death by pure luck and pig-face was proving to very, very bothersome. Simply restraining him was no longer an option for me. He had to suffer a bit.

So I set him on fire. It didn’t do much on its own, but Nollthep threw on some sort of powder that exploded and knocked pig-face off the walkway. The creature threw the hooked chain from its belt and caught Nollthep by the shoulder, but I broke through the rusted chain with a simple Breaking before Nolly got pulled in after pig-face.

For reasons I don’t quite understand yet, being subjected to the same form of death a second time proved to be enough to end pig-face’s return to the physical world. Once he’d been thoroughly ground up, that persistent, buzzing sense of his presence vanished along with the human-toothed pigs. The gore they’d been feasting on remained, however. I took the hand I’d seen earlier for the police to check, in case it happened to have belonged to Cyril Clemonte. Nollthep went into a panic when I mentioned that theory and he swiftly dug through the viscera looking for anything that could be a heart. Once he found something, he vanished in a blink, presumably to deliver the goods to his Boss.

Lea and I returned to the mansion just long enough to tell the deputy what to expect when the cops went to the slaughterhouse and to hand over the hand. I then made sure Lea got home safely before returning to my hotel room.

When I arrived, I found a card on the bed. It invited me to visit a Madam Weaver, who apparently knows something that would be of use to me.

How useful it will actually be remains to be seen, but you may be seeing me or these letters sooner than I hoped.

With guarded hope,

Ash

#MOTW #Vulpin plays

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mygustavo7 · 5 years ago

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Fellow South Africans

Let me take the time to apologize for my absence in the last couple of weeks.

The National Lockdown has really weighed heavily on my shoulders and my table has been inundated with requests around doing my bid as an essential worker.

I have first-hand experience of the devastating effects the lockdown has had on businesses and individuals alike. It pains me to see how our already contracting economy is taking hits from all sides.

This amount of bashing reminds me of Mike Tyson’s killer punches in his prime. He was relentless, quick and vile, almost like a rabid animal when he smelled weakness in his opponents. That’s what we stand to become in the absence of good and decisive leadership…Mike Tyson’s opponents…laying on the floor, battered and bruised…KO’d without throwing a single punch.

Hahaha I just wanted to start today’s conversation with what has become synonymous with our president. Let me take the first couple of moments to applaud his efforts. By choosing to lockdown the country before the virus spread to precarious levels, to constantly employing mechanisms to protect and provide for the poor, to assist businesses and by remaining resolute in his stance on some of the issues that arose during this lockdown, I genuinely think he deserves so much credit.

I am truly proud to be led by you Cyril Matamela Ramaphosa. Bathi uCyril uphatha kamnandi…ehh bathi Cyril,Cyril,Cyril.

Hahaha see what I did there.

Now that I have your attention, I would like us to get to the real purpose of today’s Masterclass.

Unpacking the R500bn Stimulus package.

Disclaimer again, this presents my individual opinion and should not in any form or manner be misconstrued as advice nor does it present the opinions of any organization I am associated with.

To the real stuff.

I have long held the view that for our country to cap an increasing Debt/GDP ratio, unemployment rate, budget deficit and a widening gini coefficient, business needs to play huge role.

As forecasted, the Covid19 pandemic has really collapsed our economy and these unprecedented times have tested the core of our sovereignty. So how do we attempt to salvage a broken economy and position it to withstand Mike Tyson’s punches?

The president’s response:

R500bn stimulus package.

The number one question that all economists, analysts, researchers and normal citizens must have asked is WHERE WILL THE MONEY COME FROM MR PRESIDENT?

So the president advised that a huge chunk of it, 27% to be exact will be sourced from the reprioritization of our national budget. Which is fairly reasonable considering how cash strapped we are. Let me bring to your attention that for last couple of years, SARS has been under-collecting on taxes. This has had serious implications on the Fiscus and therefore expenditure, further widening our budget deficit. So essentially, we could not fully incur the whole R500bn.

Capital markets

So the idea that we could potentially pursue some form of instruments to raise the much needed capital was capitulated by the recent credit downgrade by Moodys. Moodys joined Fitch and Standard & Poor in downgrading South Africa’s credit rating to sub investment grade (colloquially known as junk). Furthermore, Moody’s labelled South Africa’s economic outlook as negative which basically prevents any form of a short-term recovery. This essentially means the cost of issuing new bonds to raise the much-needed capital will be higher than the actual capital. Meaning the amount of yields we would have to pay would be substantial than the principal amount raised. In layman terms WE CAN’T ISSUE NEW BONDS.

External Funders.

The president advised that conversations with the DBSA,BRICS BANK,IMF and World Bank have commenced around a relief package. It should be noted that no country decides to approach the likes of IMF and the World Bank if they have other options. These organizations are the lenders of last resort. A lot of it has to do with how they operate. Just a brief example: their lending comes with a form of analysis of a country’s policy framework, governance, economic situation, environmental and natural resource management, poverty and social factors. Therefore, they tend to get a high level understanding of a country and not really the intricacies involved. In our context, where we still have a heightened degree of policy uncertainty, contracting economy, bloated state wage bill, deteriorating SOES and a widening inequality curve…they can easily request that we cut the state wage bill in half, we sell off SOEs and cap social welfare spending in a bid to get financing from them. Now these are decisions that will throw the country into turmoil. COSATU and all trade unions will have a fit that their members are being retrenched, SOEs which have a social mandate to address previous imbalances will further augment them and the poorest of our nation will further be thrown into the dark trenches of poverty. The unending and unenviable consequences will be immense and that is not a price we should pay. Therefore, taking the relief packages offered by these organizations presents a better devil right now because they have relaxed their standards a bit and could offer up to no interest funding during this crisis.

Maybe one day we can have a debate around setting up a Sovereign Wealth Fund. To some of my guys that may not understand this term, it is basically like opening an extra savings account or a money market call account. So, the country will set aside funds, that will be held in a fund, the fund will then make investments on behalf of the South African government. The fund will have a variety of investment instruments however we should be able to liquify them (turn them into cash/withdraw) so we can finance any project we wish to embark on. This helps with reducing reliability on debt to finance things.

And perhaps the most unpopular of my suggestions is approaching pension funds. Pension funds are sitting on large cash reserves. Wouldn’t it be the most patriotic thing for them to do during this pandemic to lend money to the government. I mean the government will pay them back, there is minimal to no credit risk whatsoever. Think about it and perhaps we can engage on it.

I don’t really want to worry about a widening Debt/GDP ratio. I mean Japan has a 200% ratio. The challenge is whether we have the necessary mechanisms in place to ensure that we account for every cent borrowed and how its utilized. We can’t continue to lose money to corruption and malfeasance. That just puts us in a precarious position of need. Hence, we will always borrow. So, its important that during this process every cent is accounted for and is spent on what is meant for.

Comrades must stop stealing money the way they steal food parcels meant for the poor.

*ting ting ting ting ting*

This concludes ROUND 1 of my masterclass.

ROUND 2 will look at what we will be spending on and what we can potentially employ to mitigate certain risks.

Gustavo Signing out.

alutaaaa

#mygustavo7 #stimuluspackage #south africa #economy #mike tyson

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