#not only over his own body but over how others perceive him and bear witness to his vulnerable parts; literally and figuratively

[jackalmeat]

One of my favorite little understated illustrations of the pains Viktor takes to keep others at a distance when he's struggling is his way of addressing Sky Young.

He says her name on only two occasions over the course of the season: the first when he bids her good night in the lab, and the second when he calls out to her in a panic as he realizes that she's been consumed by the Hexcore. The first time we hear him say her name, it's polite but impersonal -- 'Miss Young'. The second time though, it's an instinctive, hysterical 'Sky!'

And it only becomes clear that 'Sky' is probably how he usually addresses her, as opposed to 'Miss Young', when we see him default to it in this moment of tragedy and scrambled emotion. Which in turn retroactively suggests that his earlier use of 'Miss Young' was a more purposeful snub than might have been evident at first glance.

It's easy to handwave, "Well, 'Sky' is shorter and less formal, so it makes sense that in a panic he'd just blurt out whatever name was faster to say!"........except for the fact that that doesn't really make sense. Or rather, that's simply not how stressed, disoriented brains tend to work. If you're accustomed to calling someone "A" in your usual dealings, it's unlikely that you'll spontaneously be compelled to switch to the less familiar "B" in a moment of extreme emotion, precisely because that's the kind of finnicky little decision that our brains really suck at making under duress. Instead, the brain (and subsequently the mouth) is much more likely to leap to the name that's the most familiar and natural.

Point being: 'Sky' is likely the form of address that Viktor is most accustomed to using with her, since that's where his mouth immediately defaults when the chips are down.

Follow-up point being: if the above is true and 'Sky' is his typical way of referring to her, then that also suggests that it was a wholly conscious decision on his part to instead address her like this--

--in the earlier scene where she encouraged him to step away from his work for the night and spend a little bit of friendly, low-stakes time with her. The dismissal here is two-fold, emphasizing both physical distance (declining her invitation to walk home together) and emotional distance (referring to her in a polite but decidedly less personal way than is suggested to be his usual). If we assume that he indeed usually addresses her simply as 'Sky', then his choice to revert to 'Miss Young' at this particular moment would have been all the more marked to her, and would probably have had about the same effect as if he'd literally closed a door directly in her face.

(Which would also explain why her eyes immediately go distinctly tearful in response to this line. She isn't merely disappointed that the man she admires and cares about is choosing to keep working rather than walk home with her. She's hurt because, in just a couple of pointedly polite words, Viktor has essentially drawn a boundary around himself and let her know, 'I'm not interested in getting personal in the way that you're asking me to do. Back up. Stay behind the line, please.')

Regardless of whether you believe that Viktor is aware of Sky's romantic feelings for him or not, he's absolutely aware of the fact that she's inviting him to spend a little time with her not simply as a coworker, but as a companion. She's inviting him to make a human connection -- and he refuses it by rejecting both the invitation itself as well as the basic intimacy of even using her name. Not just ignoring the figurative outstretched hand, but actively pushing it away from him; and doing so not because he's cruel, lacking empathy, or dismissive of her, but because the walls are closing in on him, and 'alone' is what he knows when it comes to dealing with his own problems.

[scriv3lloirl]

mr scriv3lloirl do you have any tips on drawing chubby orin 🙏🙏🙏

"Mr Scriv3lloirl"? Heh. Y'ur funny. But y'all can jus call me Orin (or Sen, I s'pose. But Orin is really preferred.)

I'll be yappin a whole ton, so check under the cut fer' the lengthy response I'm boutta givin ya.

I ain't the best at givin art advice or tips, so bear wit me if I end up talkin bout random shit.

I have Aphantasia, look it up if ya don't know what it is, so references are my one true love. My phone gallery is constantly full of art pose, tips n things I find online cus the way an artist drew or explained somethin was/is super helpful.

The biggest tip I can give is references.

I also tend t' use m'self as reference for how I draw Orin too! Cus the way I draw Orin is near identical t' my own endomorph/pear body type so it's real easy t' throw on a tight shirt n snap a picture or two of the pose I wanna draw Orin in, instead of scourin the damn interweb for a pose that's somewhat similar instead of exact.

Lookin at fanart helps too! Ya might have t' go diggin round for some fat Orin art, but I've found plenty here on Tumblr so it isn't impossible.

Usin only circles, I find, gives the body a bloated appearance instead of jus fat. Fat sags! so give it that gravity.

Ovals are better than circles anyway, but that doesnt mean they aren't useful. Jus don't use circles ev'rywhere on a body when shapin it out cus usin jus plain circles can seem inappropriate n fatphobic in a way or make the character look off. There are plen'y of other shapes t' use when drawin fat, plus size, or chubby characters.

You don't jus have t' use round shapes, but the reason why they are used so often is t' give a softer appearance.

Fat can be distributed in bodies differently everywhere, so again, references help tons!

My Orin has wide hips, big thighs n arms, smaller shoulders, fat tits. He's not meant t' be perceived as thin in any way, shape, or form. He's not meant t'be perceived as young either.

Eve'ytime I draw Orin, he's always intended t' be older as when Steve Martin played Orin in the movie, he was in his 40s, so now my version is middle-aged (38-42.) His age also plays a big part in his body type n how I draw it. He has wrinkles near his eyes n deep eyebags plus a few other things that give him a more longer face. All these older features can also play a part in his larger build. Which they do.

The little details are important. Don't flake out on drawin the lil squishes n rolls when skin touches. But don't over do it with the folds, it'll look.. well. Not good.

But you also don't wanna add too much detail at the same time, y'know?

I have more difficulty drawin fat in the face than in the rest of the body as I'm still learnin n practicin, so apologies for not bein able t' give as good advice there for ev'rythin else. One thing I can say, however, is when you draw the neck? Draw it thicker than you normally would.

Yea, so. I think that's it? This is all the advice n such I could think of, hopefully I didn't jus go in circles. Hope this helped a lil, Anon!!

TL;DR - Use a lot of references for fat bodies, n practice makes perfect.

[todoscript]

monopolize

SUMMARY: Having realized Bakugou and Midoriya’s infatuation with you, Shouto decides to make a firm point at showing that you’re his and his alone.

pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader (feat. bakugou katsuki & midoriya izuku)

genre: smut. slight angst. pro hero au.

word count: 8.0k+

warnings: 18+. characters are aged up. dominant!shouto. possessive!shouto. (!!!)coercion. exhibitionism. bondage (kinda). slight degradation. praising. squirting. humiliation (bakugou & midoriya receiving).

author’s note: so the idea for this fic came to me one day while i was studying chemistry and it kinda got out of hand the moment i started writing it...haha, oops... but anyway, shoutout to rosie ( @shoutogepi​ ) for listening to me ramble about this and encouraging me to write this shit, love you lots babe! <333 also a reminder to please look over the warnings before proceeding, thank you!!!

If your open jaw is not enough to emphasize your shock, then the bag that hits the floor after escaping your grasp does that job for you. It also alerts the three existing presences in the room of your arrival, to which all eyes maneuver to the door of your shared bedroom, witnessing your appalled state at what is lying in wake.

Lounging on the futon, Shouto breaks your awed silence. “Welcome home, love,” he greets, warmly as per usual whenever he arrives home from work before you do.

You’re utterly surprised by how indifferent he sounds despite the two additional faces in the room. After all, it’s not every day you’d ever expect the Pro Number One and Two heroes to be here in your very bedroom, bound by what you have to assume is your boyfriend’s ice.

Unsure how to go about your reply, you instead opt to slowly walk into the room, assessing the situation. Your wary gaze darts between the angry red eyes of Bakugou Katsuki and the strained green ones of Midoriya Izuku. “I... U-Um… Shouto? What is all of this? What are Midoriya and Bakugou doing here?” You finally manage to address the elephant in the room, yet Shouto does not tackle your questions with as much haste as you are hoping.

He gets up from the bed to meet you in the middle, gathering you in his arms before his lips find your temple—the kiss he presses soft and tender, but the fact that there are two other pairs of eyes glancing over at you from such a compromising position warms your cheeks buried in his chest.

You don’t catch how Bakugou practically wrenches at the sight while Midoriya turns away, abashed. There’s hurt discerned in their expressions that can only be akin to pure jealousy. But you don’t know that. Well, not yet anyway.

“Let me explain, love,” Shouto starts, his voice a meager space away from your ear that he tucks a hair behind, “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed or not, but are you aware that these two both—”

“That’s it! I don’t have to stay here and listen to this crap!” Bakugou’s loud voice bursts out, cutting the rest of Shouto’s words short just before they fall to your ear. Watching as a fever of energy begins emitting from Bakugou’s palms trapped in the ice, the dual-haired hero quickly acts by erecting another glacier to impede the blonde’s abilities, effectively keeping him trapped there. Bakugou can only grit his teeth as he remains bound. Meanwhile, you gape at the lengths Shouto goes to prevent these two renowned heroes from leaving this space.

The chill that diffuses throughout the atmosphere of the room pairs fittingly with the frigid stare Shouto points at your guests. Ensuring the cold doesn’t affect you, he regulates your temperatures with his fire side while your body is still pressed against him before continuing. “As I was saying, these two men in front of you both harbor the same feelings for you as I do,” Shouto says. You slightly turn to meet his heterochromatic gaze with confusion written on your face, unsure what his words exactly imply.

Reading this, Shouto’s hand at your waist travels to your nape. “I’m sure you must have realized it by now, love... The way their touches linger on you for far longer than necessary whenever you meet them...” His calloused hand rubs at the back of your neck, the other traveling up your chest that yields a strained noise from your mouth.

“Or how they flirt with you whenever you visit my agency while they’re there, thinking I don’t notice. Telling you how good you look or how pretty you are.” His words meld into your skin as his lips meet below your jawline, the sensation of his nibbles manifesting your noises into frail moans that lights blushes in your spectators’ cheeks. All attempts at disregarding those cases as friendly compliments are hindered when your attention is captured by Shouto’s wandering hands and hypnotizing voice.

“Though I wholeheartedly agree with every statement, I think it’s only right of me—your boyfriend—to be a little concerned when they’re always giving you those looks.”

You bite your lip in hopes of suppressing the next noise that threatens to spill from your mouth before curiosity overtakes you. “What looks?” you pry yet not entirely ready for the answer. Shouto breaths in closely next to your ear, voice guttural and full of weight.

“Like they want to fuck you.”

His claims have your eyes blown out wide, timbre compelling goosebumps across your skin at something so vulgar departing his mouth. You try to muster out a comprehensible thought for the sake of the two heroes, but the words are drawn back in your throat. Shouto catches your guarded look.

“Now, don’t go saying they’re just being friendly with you, baby. I mean look at them. Are those the faces of two men who just want to be friends with you?”

The air has suddenly grown tense, the tension so taut it could be cut with a butter knife. Hesitantly, you shift to meet Bakugou and Midoriya’s eyes to gauge a response from them. To your surprise, all you can perceive are the sheer expressions of shame painted on their faces—red smearing their cheeks with humiliation as they can’t help but glance at anywhere else but you.

“Well?” Shouto chimes in after you’ve fully grasped the reality of the situation.

Peering into his icy heterochromatic eyes, you gulp. You know you have no right to be lying to his face, no matter how much you insist it isn’t so.

“N-No,” you admit.

A grin curves on his lips before he kisses your cheek.

“Mm, smart girl.”

Despite you waving your white flag, Shouto doesn’t stop his touches from wandering your body. He palms at sensitive areas that leave you burning. Those whimpers you’ve desperately tried to conceal unfetter from your lips when his hands inch upon skin hidden beneath your clothing. His touches are firm with a mixture of warmth and coolness that has you holding your breath. The sensations cloud your thoughts, making you forget where you are as the other presences in the room now in the back of your mind.

Midoriya and Bakugou can’t bring themselves to look anymore—can’t bear to gaze at such intimacy they can never hope to attain. Especially when your cute noises leave a twitch in their pants, a feeling they fail to cast off in shame.

“Todoroki... you made your point, now please let us out of this ice,” Midoriya says through his dry lips. Though the verdant-haired hero knows he could free himself on his own with his strength, if Shouto has anything to say about it, he’d just conjure another pillar of ice as quickly as a snap of a finger to replace the shattered ones. Considering that’s what he’s done to keep the two of them from leaving thus far.

“You can’t be fucking serious about leaving us here, Icy-Hot,” Bakugou adds with far more hostility in his tone as he shoots a glare at the red and white-haired man.

The reminder that the top two Pro Heroes are still present in the same room as you while Shouto trails his large hands at every expanse of bare flesh he can find delivers a jolt of embarrassment throughout your body. Embarrassment that somehow kindles a lick of heat in your abdomen.

“On the contrary, this is only part one of what I have in store for you two tonight,” Shouto says, lips playing on the fine line of a smirk. “In fact, I plan on ingraining in your very minds that my love belongs to me and only me by making you two watch her come undone on my cock.”

There’s disbelief throughout the room, trying to comprehend the lengths behind his words.

“W-Wait, are we really doing this in front of them?” you sputter.

“If you’re that uncomfortable about this love, then I’ll simply leave them in this room and fuck you in the next one so they can at least hear every little thing I’m doing to you,” he offers, tone descending multiple steps that rack shivers down your skin as he circles your body, standing chest to your back.

“But having an audience entices you, doesn’t it? After all, look at how wet you are.” He hooks an arm below your leg, lifting it slightly so his free hand can slip into your panties beneath your skirt, no longer blocked by your thighs clenching together. You find yourself winding an arm behind his neck to keep balance. Your eyes shut tight from both mortification and pleasure at how he strokes your slit in front of the two heroes. Sure enough, there’s an abundant amount of slick gathered at your center, the shameful squelching at your throbbing cunt not eluding anyone’s ears in the room.

“Mmm, already such a drenched fucking mess. It’s like the fact that all three of us lust for you makes you even wetter,” he whispers into your ear like a red-winged devil professing your sins to you—sins you should feel disgraceful for, yet you can’t help the exhilaration simmering in your chest. After all, having three powerful, attractive men vying for your attention is nothing short of every girl’s dream. To deny the effects this has on your body would only add dishonesty to your list of sins. Shouto takes your silence as confirmation.

Parting from your panties, he reveals his fingers coated in your shiny essence to everyone in the room. Bakugou and Midoriya water at the sight, groans stifled under their breaths as the many nights of dreaming about how sweet you taste come back to hit them all at once. The saccharine dripping between your thighs is so close, and yet so far as Shouto remains firm on his word about keeping them bound throughout his show of dominance.

Though driven in such compromising circumstances, the two Pro Heroes can’t find it within themselves to tear their eyes away from you. Perhaps in actuality, a deep, dark longing inside them secretly confesses to wanting to watch you unravel amidst the throes of pleasure, even if your undoing is due to someone that isn’t them.

“What a naughty slut you are, admitting you get off at the thought of more than one man wanting to ravage this body of yours.” His lips brush against the shell of your ear, heightening your mortification and the ever-growing wetness at your center.

“However, I’m all you need, isn’t that right, sweetheart? I’m the only man that can reduce you to this soaked, quivering mess from just my voice alone, and the only one whose cock makes your body shake with pleasure that leaves you sore for days.”

“Yes, Sh-Shouto…” you airily whimper in reply.

Shouto’s index finger presses against your trembling bottom lip, slightly smearing your slick on its plushness before he cups your face to stare directly at Bakugou and Midoriya.

“Go on then. Tell the Number One and Number Two Pro Heroes who you belong to,” he commands lowly in your ear. Before you can speak, heat ignites in your cheeks. You glance down and take note of the prominent bulges within the two’s tight clothing, their cocks positively aching to break free from the confines. The fact that the two seem to be getting off on the sight of you manhandled by Shouto is something to acknowledge.

“I… I belong to you…” Your voice wanes.

“Who? Be more specific, baby.”

“I belong to the Number Three hero, Todoroki Shouto,” you say, more clearly this time. The response is sufficient enough to satisfy the man behind you, who turns your head so your lips can connect in a passion of teeth and tongue dancing together that leaves your lungs gasping for air, detaching with ragged breaths. While you’re recovering, Shouto tugs you closer by your chin, pressing your foreheads against each other, where you gander into the depths of his gray and turquoise eyes swimming with lust.

“That’s right, and no one else is going to fuck you like I am tonight.” He sneaks a side-glance at his fellow heroes. “They can only watch as I drive my cock into your pussy over and over again, wishing they were me.”

Midoriya remains silent, letting his troubled expression speak for him, blush persisting on his face. Bakugou, on the other hand, decides to spit a few words out.

“Fuck. You.”

Make that only two words. Still, the venom dripping off each one gets his point across, in that he’s absolutely livid. But sadly for him, it has no effect on the calm and collected Todoroki Shouto.

Taking you by the hand, he leads you to the futon, sprawled out flat for your small audience to behold the entirety of your fucking tonight. Shouto kisses the back of your hand before leaving you to continue standing. He settles himself on the sheets with his arms propped behind him to view up at you as you obediently wait for his orders.

“Well, love, you know what to do. Take off some clothes for me,” he says gruffly. You oblige, slowly peeling off layers. Your skirt piles into a heap on the floor at undoing the zipper holding it in place, quickly followed by the blouse tossed over your head which leaves the remaining clothing on your body your mismatched lingerie. The dainty, silk intimates are the only thing separating you from being fully exposed to everyone.

Even given a sparing view of you from behind, Midoriya and Bakugou readily eat you up. If they somehow haven’t been undressing you with their eyes before this, then they certainly are now. Bakugou zeroes in on your pert ass, emphasized by your panties, and itches to grasp its softness in his own palms, desiring to squeeze, rub, and spank till his heart’s content.

Contrarily, Midoriya has his sights set on the clasp of your bra. What he wouldn’t give to unfasten it from your body and have the article of clothing slip off your skin, putting your beautiful breasts on display, nipples likely stiff and begging for the attention of his fingers and mouth.

It’s unfortunate for them that no such fantasies will come true tonight. After all, you don’t belong to them. You belong to Shouto.

Feeling incredibly vulnerable, you rub your thighs together to create some friction between your lower lips, trying to subside the throb growing in your belly. But you can only endure for so long when Shouto is staring at you with such scalding intensity. You’re struggling to hold onto the remnants of your dignity before it’s stripped away from you at the next command.

“Baby, you’re gorgeous, but,” Shouto hums, admiring the view for a second longer before cutting to the chase, “I want it all off.”

Not wasting any time, your thumbs hook under the waistband of the silk, quickly casting the panties to join the pile below your feet. The way your web-like slick connects your folds to the material before breaking off as your panties reach the ground does not go unnoticed. Your bra, of course, is the next to be discarded—unhooked and tossed, unveiling your tits to the chilly air.

Defenses torn down, you stand bare and exposed to all eyes in the room. You don’t miss the glint flitting in the mismatch of Shouto’s eyes, staring at you like he’s uncovered a beautiful pearl beneath the ocean. Though this is far from your first time engaging in your sexual desires with him, you always fall prey to that carnal look of his, which seemed even more lecherous tonight. He runs a finger on his lips pulled into a seductive smile, eyes piqued at your naked form.

Prickles of arousal travel down your spine. You can’t discern whether it’s the very thought of your vulnerability or the fiery looks you swear are piercing into you at every angle that has you tingling with anticipation.

Either way, such spark coursing through your veins drives you into Shouto’s waiting arms as he beckons you to him. He welcomes you onto his lap, allowing your thighs purchase next to his own while his large hands grope at your soft skin. It isn’t long until your lips meet again, Shouto coaxing—no—prying them open with his tongue as it finds yours, brushing the underside and chasing with zeal. His roughness has you at a loss for words, quite literally as all you can respond with are the airy moans leaking out between each fervent lip-lock. When Shouto grabs at one of your mounds, index finger circling your perky nipple, you let out a surprised squeak.

Your two bystanders’ dicks stutter in response at the noises, having absolutely nothing to do but watch and listen in envy. Every time they hear such a sweet succession of sounds from you, they fidget in their positions, attempting to pathetically generate some pressure against their clothes to alleviate the pain in their cocks.

Shouto does not miss the way they struggle within his periphery, smirking at their pitiful attempts to find any form of relief. At this, a sly thought flickers in his head.

With his hands on your hips, he guides your body further against his own. You find your knees supporting you up while your upper body leans over Shouto, hands gripping his shoulders to keep you steady. The position he’s led you in doesn’t grant you many options, besides obliging to be pliant in his hands.

Peeking over your shoulder, you flush with heat when you realize your ass is perked in the direction toward Midoriya and Bakugou. The troubling thoughts of whether you should feel flustered or flattered by their mesmerized state at how spread you are, hovering above Shouto’s lap, is ripped away when the Pro Hero begins cascading his hands across your skin. His palms waver back and forth within the boundaries of your ass and thighs, every now and then squeezing your warm flesh during his crossings between the two.

“Mmm, Sho…” you whine, the palpable neediness in your voice begging for him to touch your throbbing center already. Bakugou and Midoriya wish for the same, tormented by how slow he decides to take his caressing. If it were up to them, they’d already be tongue deep in your pussy already, perhaps even bottoming their cocks inside your walls, considering how soaked you must be. But no, Shouto wants this night to last. And he’s going to set the pace however he sees fit.

One of Shouto’s hands creeps beneath your leg to maneuver them further apart before his palms find their place at the underside of your poised ass. A short sigh floats amid your parted lips at how he spreads your cheeks, exposing your cunt freely to the two. You hear a groan, followed by an obscene “fuck…” that has you wondering what the view must be like from their perspective to render them so awestruck.

And man, if only you could see your pretty little cunt—wet, glistening, and fluttering on nothing, pleading for stimulation. Stimulation that Shouto grants sparingly as his middle and ring finger suddenly prod your slit, tearing a surprised gasp from your mouth while you toss your head backward.

Your slippery pussy coats his fingers in an opalescent sheen. He hums at the debauched image of your body yearning his touch. “Such a slutty, needy pussy… So messy, even though I haven’t even taken my clothes off yet.” Shouto takes the sullied fingers into his mouth, swiping his tongue at your delectable taste abiding his digits. It’s obscene how he makes a show of drinking up the honey from your thighs to taunt Midoriya and Bakugou, groaning between licks like it’s the one thing keeping him sustained. Well, then again, Shouto could probably survive on your essence for days if he tried, considering his favorite places to be is between your thighs anyway.

Head tilting in the direction behind you, you could’ve sworn you saw one of the two licking their lips while the other swallowed a large, heavy gulp. Before you can question it further, Shouto’s words resume ringing in your ear.

“It’s all for me right, love?” he asks as though he doesn’t already know the answer.

Your body quivers as he dives down to continue prodding your cunt before you can even respond properly. “Y-Yes, it’s just for you, Sho— Ah..!” You try your best to muster the words out. But his fingers give you no moment to spare. A jolt of pleasure spikes through your body as he reaches your clit, leaving your voice hanging in the air.

“Unnf... f-fuck...”

Shouto is relentless this time, attending to your bundled nerves at an excruciating rhythm that has you swaying your hips into his hands. Then all coherent thoughts are whisked away when you feel two fingers penetrating your sloppy pussy, thrusting into places you could never reach on your own, and prepping your walls for what’s to come.

“Baby, you take my fingers so well, you’re practically sucking them in,” he praises, reveling in the way you writhe in pleasure at him playing with your cunt. Whining, your legs move further apart involuntarily, allowing him deeper access.

You shake amid his ministrations, teeth pulling at your bottom lip at every sultry sensation rushing through your body. Wrinkling the fabric of his white shirt, your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails sinking deeper into clothed skin when you feel that familiar ache boiling in your abdomen.

“Your thighs are trembling just trying to hold you up. Going to cum soon, love?” Shouto asks. He chuckles at how vigorously you nod your head next to him, knowing your voice would fail you by the moans threatening to unravel precariously from your lips.

“Good, I want you to fucking scream. Show them how well you can cum from my fingers alone, yeah?” he murmurs beside your ear, not giving you much warning than that before suddenly increasing his movements on your cunt.

“Ah, Sho..! Sho!”

There’s nothing for you to do other than to chant his name over and over again like a mantra. You squeeze your fingers into his skin to make sure you don’t end up dissolving in his hands from the fire flaring inside you, threatening to melt you entirely.

And he loves every bit of the needy noises you make. Knowing it’s his name that echoes in the room around them, resounding in the very minds of his rivals who witness firsthand the way you scream out amidst the throes of pleasure—the scene better than any imagination of theirs they’ve conjured in their delusional fantasies—feeds Shouto’s ego deliciously.

The strained gasp you choke out when his lips make contact on your jawline has him smiling against you, the kisses he plants there blooming loving blemishes on your skin. You struggle to keep yourself together from all the sensations storming you at once. There’s something euphoric yet… foreign coursing through your body that you can’t discern, and you’re half-worried of what’s to happen when you reach your imminent release.

“Sh-Sho, wait..! Oh god, I’m gonna—!” you warn, but that only compels Shouto to speed up his pace in a last push for you to cum. From his bruising bites to his fingers methodically working you with skilled ease, it isn’t long until your escalating high peaks into intangible relief.

And god, the throb feels almost uncomfortable but so blissful at the same time.

The pressure builds up to an intense climax that has your walls clamping around his fingers, and your thighs shaking beside him while you yell out Shouto’s name. Holding you through every step of the way, his fingers steady inside you as you convulse around them. The ones at your clit continue rubbing your sensitive, swollen bud throughout your release to widen the intensity.

As your whole body trembles at the haze-induced orgasm, you lean against the hero for support.

“Ohhh baby...” His purrs rumble deep within his chest, an extra lick of delight in his tone. Your eyes are shut while you stumble down from your rapturous high, whimpering when Sho removes his fingers from your pulsating pussy.

“D-Did she just..?!” Midoriya questions incredulously, to your surprise.

“Fuck! I can’t believe she fucking squirted!” Bakugou follows.

At that, your eyes shoot open. You muster the energy to lift your body off Shouto’s lap and reveal to yourself the evident damp spot left on his pants from what you very much have to assume is a result of you gushing your release on him.

Trepidation creeps underneath your skin, swallowing you in mortification.

You really did that.

Squirted in front of the top three Pro Heroes in the country, making a mess on Sho’s pants with your flowing, translucent cum. The very reminder of it spouts your head with your overthinking.

“Wait, I didn’t mean to— I-I mean... I didn’t think I was ever a squirter. It’s just—”

“Love.”

A single word is enough to dispel your ramblings. You look up at Shouto like a deer caught in headlights, expression harrowed by apprehension. At that, he holds your shoulders, pulling you forward so he can press a reassuring kiss against your forehead. The tender gesture numbs the uneasy static racking through you, moving away to glimpse at the endearment hidden within the smoldering fog swirling in Shouto’s eyes.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he assures through hushed words he embeds unto your skin, hands warmly running down your sides. “Besides, you squirting on my fingers was so so sexy.” His seductive allure returns almost as quickly as it disappeared amidst his soothing tone. His touches and the extra flair in his voice makes you hot all over again despite just cumming.

“I must have made you feel incredibly good, getting you to cum so hard like that. Even giving those two over there a show. Just look at them...” Shouto whispers closely, nudging you in the direction of your onlookers whose reddening faces visibly recoil when your eyes cross. It’s as if they’ve gandered into the abyss—anxious at what’s to come yet can’t seem to look away. You flutter between their expressions, gauging their blushes and furrowed brows, before lowering your gaze at the prominent stain on the crotch of their pants, pre-cum seeping at the surface due to the arousal built watching you ruined on Shouto’s very fingers.

A part of you wonders how pent up they must be. Your curiosity dances upon lewd thoughts about how stiff their cocks are and how their lengths would look freed from the constricting clothing. Veiny, hard, and painfully red all because of you. All because of what Shouto is doing to you.

It evokes you with a newfound surge of confidence, finding solace in your sea of uncertainty. And coupled with Shouto’s loving demeanor, you don’t seem to remember what you were ever so self-conscious about to begin with.

“Look at how depraved these sad men are.” Shouto clicks his tongue, a voice in his head confirming of what he already long knew. Deep down, he at least assures himself that his former classmates are aware of their place. In which they’re only allowed to look—not touch—and if they so much as plunge into forbidden territory, he’d rise above the waters to bite their heads off. He recognizes this from just a simple inspection of their faces.

Deterring after hearing Shouto’s words, Midoriya’s eyes cast downward to the floor, brows softened with hurt. His expression is burdened upon not only stigma but guilt, lusting after a woman that isn’t even his while allowing the absurd thought he could steal you away from the fire-and-ice hero to ever cross his mind.

Meanwhile, the blonde mulls over in defeat more so than shame. Although never one to yield from a fight, Bakugou had long realized this battle was over before it even began. You were deftly out of his reach. All he can settle for now is the afterimage of your undoing played back in his head, the recording surrounded by a thick cloud of envy.

Shouto reads their compliance clearly—a wordless surrender witnessing your aftermath of pleasure. As a result, a grin surfaces his lips. Unfortunately for them, the sly devil latent inside him is far satiated. Perhaps it’s time to move onto the next course.

His fingers brush along the underside of your chin, leading your half-lidded eyes to him.

“Baby,” he says, and the way he calls to you in that low baritone makes you receptive to his every word, “why don’t you go over there and help our guests get their cocks out of their pants, hm?” You nod slowly, half-wondering if he read your mind during your indecent contemplation. Shouto kisses the corner of your lip before you stand from the futon and saunter toward the two pillars of ice resting in the room.

Your steps are slow and languid, the consistent sway of your hips hypnotizing to both sides. Reaching the two, you lower to your knees, bending forward and offering Shouto a view of your exposed cunt that still drips of your essence. He bites his lip, palming his bulge through his pants until he begins freeing himself of the unnecessary clothing that would have been discarded by now if he wasn’t so absorbed in your climax.

In the meantime, you kneel in front of the top two Pro Heroes, mooning over who to approach first until your red and white-haired boyfriend answers for you.

“Midoriya first. And then Bakugou.”

You can practically feel the fire lighting inside Bakugou at the command, knowing Icy-Hot gives the order in favor of Midoriya just to get under his skin. You do well to ignore his malice by crawling over to the green-haired hero, hovering above his bound form, and meeting his emerald eyes that are wide and fixated on your every move.

The proximity between you two has the air trapped in his lungs. He holds his breath out of fear that if he lets go, you’d vanish into a mirage. But his throat hitches the very moment your fingers trace up the fabric of his pants, disembarking across his thighs and toward his painful erection that twinges at your touch. It’s fortunate enough for him that you don’t disappear and that the sultry look you give him as you drag the zipper of his pants down isn’t a figment of his imagination. You catch a glimpse of his briefs, along with the head of his dick peeking above the waistband, still strained by a single layer of fabric.

Midoriya swears he can cum right then and there when you lightly palm his hardness—the first relieving sensation he’s felt all night before it’s surmounted by you tugging down the waistband. Cock released from its confines, it jumps forward out of excitement before slapping back against his navel. Midoriya hisses at being open to the air, his feverish skin stinging surrounded by the coldness throughout the room.

As you predicted, the Number One’s cock stands stout and protruding red at being neglected for so long. It begs to be touched.

“P-Please…” The whisper is almost inaudible, but you discern the desperation in his tone.

Midoriya’s pleading expression staring down at you nearly sways you to grant pity on him, but you know you’re given no position to do that. So sadly, you move on. The hero laments you leaving so soon, a whine quietly squeaking from him, left with nothing but his length stiff on his abs as you make your way to Kacchan.

Unlike the former, the blonde actually makes an effort to free himself one last time, a struggle you pick up on when you near him. He’s gritting his teeth together, heat slowly radiating off his body stoked by his anger. Yet that somehow all dissipates at a simple glance of your face. There’s a glassiness in your eyes that renders him silent.

His narrowed stare wanders toward your plush lips, looking so damn soft and kissable. If only he could muster the willpower to break free and move forward to capture them in his own, seal them tight so he wouldn’t have to hear Icy-Hot’s name spilling out of them anymore. But your steady gaze on him freezes him into the ice, halting his motions as if you were medusa. He hears nothing but his racing heart palpitating in his chest as he waits for you to make a move.

“Hm, Bakugou’s been a bit of a brat tonight, wouldn’t you say, love? How about you tease him a bit?” Shouto suggests mischievously.

Turning in his direction, you see him sitting on the bedding, naked and stroking his cock listlessly as he waits for you. The sight encourages you back to Bakugou’s erection to finish the task you started, thighs shuffling against each other at a glimpse of your prize between the Number Three hero’s legs.

As if you couldn’t get anymore seductive, you adjust yourself right between the blonde’s spread form, carelessly brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you bend forward, back arching. Bakugou has no idea what he’s in for, fearing for the worst knowing you plan to tease him. He starts muttering a question that never reaches your ear, the words splintering off when he deftly realizes you’re pulling his pant’s zipper between your fucking teeth. Making sure never to break eye contact with him, you drag the metal down at an excruciating pace, each tooth of the zipper undone so slowly it’s practically torture to him.

“Shit... Y/n…” he groans wantonly as you reach the end of your destination. After being contained all this time, it seems his cock wants to come out with a vengeance. You gasp when it suddenly springs past his briefs, nearly making contact against your cheek.

Bakugou sputters an filthy amount of curses, finding the image of you wincing in shock and glancing up at his thick cock towering next to your face with the tip oozing of his pre-cum to be utterly pornographic. Well if this is truly reminiscent of a porn scene, you’d be wrapping your hands around the base of his cock by now, fisting it before delightfully enveloping the tip in your hot mouth. But the call of your name behind you cracks that fantasy into pieces.

To his dismay, your attention swerves from the embossed vein lining Bakugou’s dick to Shouto’s muscular body, idle on the futon, where he gestures a finger at you. You return to your usual place atop his lap, except this time there’s no longer any barrier of fabric to prevent you two from feeling each other’s heat.

Shouto grazes his hands on your back, humming into your neck. “Well, baby, you saw how hard their cocks were. How does it feel to have the top three pros all craving you at once?”

You pause amidst your reply, the little kisses he brushes on your jugular serving to distract you for a moment. You have to ask yourself if your boyfriend is throwing a trick question at you. Giving it some thought, you decide to tackle it honestly.

“It feels... pretty good,” you murmur, a tad squeamish while he maps the expanse of your neck with his lips. It’s an answer he anticipates according to the next question he follows up.

“But of all the cocks in this room, whose do you want the most?”

“Yours, Sho.” Compared to before, your answer is given promptly. Shouto grins at how eager you are for him. “Only yours.” You affirm one last time, effectively hammering a nail into Midoriya and Bakugou’s chests. Shouto’s hands traverse your waist, then to your thighs, giving your flesh a solid squeeze.

“That’s right, you’re my fucking cock slut and no one else’s.” You almost choke when he lurches forward to grind his erection against your wet core, emphasizing your innate effect on him. Whimpering at the slippery friction of his hardness on your swollen clit, you find yourself moving in tandem with his motions.

“My my, still that needy even after you already squirted all over my fingers? Your pussy is just so so greedy for me, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes... F-Fuck, Sho, please let me put your cock inside me. I want to cum on your cock so much!” you plead, voice rising at every insufficient jerk of your hips. It isn’t enough to just rub your sensitive little pearl against it. You need the thing inside you since yesterday, and you’re more than willing to throw your last fragment of modesty out the window to get it.

Luckily for you, your neediness seems to work in your favor as Shouto has no objections at granting you your pleasure.

“Don’t worry, baby. I told you I’d be driving my cock in and out of you in front of them, didn’t I?” He runs his fingers on the edge of your cheek, admiring the cute desperation readable over your features—eyes glazed, skin hot, and cunt positively dripping. “Of course, I intend to keep that promise. But first…” He lays you two into his favored position, maneuvering your body until you’re straddling his thighs. He peers up at you while nestled back on the sheets.

“I suppose since I forced them here, the least we can do is continue giving them something to remember. It is going to be the first and last night they’ll see you like this anyway,” he reasons. The two mentioned pique hearing the statement. You yourself grow considerably hotter, realizing he’s angled you in a way that grants your audience another enticing view of your body above him.

“Well, princess, why don’t you start riding your stallion then?” Shouto incites his request as more of a command than anything else, and you begin earnestly catering to him by lifting your hips. You align his length toward your entrance. His calloused hands spread on your thighs at the anticipation of watching the head of his cock enter your wet heat.

“Ooooh yeah, keep going baby, take it all in,” he encourages through purrs reverberating in his throat. With each inch you swallow between your folds, his expression knits into pure bliss, brows narrowed at how well your tight pussy hugs his cock. He looks up and catches you slowly unraveling before his eyes. You strain to keep yourself together, eyes shut in pleasure at the delicious burn swelling in your stomach.

There’s a stifled noise parting your mouth that hangs open as you gradually envelop him to the shaft. Shouto’s thick cock slowly bottoms inside your walls and makes you feel so complete. While he lets you adjust to his sizable girth, his palms grope your skin, soothing the tense burn churning inside you.

“Mmph…” you whine, hands trying to find some leverage, laying flat on his abs. You give yourself a second, followed by another until the short pain you feel morphs into a delectable buzz.

“I… I’m going to move now, Sho,” you tell him before flitting up and down his long length, progressing tentatively. His heterochromatic eyes are dark and murky, watching his cock glisten in more of your sheen while you glide it into your pussy at a steady tempo. You make sure to take everything offered to you to the fullest, from the tip to base where his balls brush the underside of your ass. Shouto is more than endowed and you don’t ever plan on taking any part of his gift for granted.

“Mm, even after I prepped you, you’re still so tight for me,” Shouto groans, your cunt rippling waves in his body. Despite being consumed in your ministrations, you have to note how sinful he looks below you, sweat shining on his skin and tufts of red and white hair sticking to his forehead. It’s hard to believe a man as handsome as him could be so possessive with you, going through such lengths to prove to his rivals that you only belong to him. But man, do you find it to be hot. The notion once again has your cunt clenching considerably.

“It’s because—ah—you’re so th-thick,” you tell him, and in turn, he gives you a devilish smirk that adds fuel to the fire lighting in your abdomen. Before you can conjure another thought, he suddenly thrusts his hips up to meet yours, reaching a particular spongy spot that causes you to cry out.

“Why don’t we increase the pace then? Ride me faster, love. I want you to cum hard on my cock in front of them.”

Oh boy, he doesn’t have to tell you twice.

You swiftly nod, gathering some ardor in your thighs that helps you bounce more fervently on top of him. What was once subtle claps chiming in the room escalates into a concert of skins slapping against each other. Gripping your hips, Shouto meets every heavy drop with a firm thrust upward, continuing to reach the same place that induces heaven across your entire body.

Your moans are uncontained now, flittering out at how good Shouto’s cock is making you feel. The sounds are beyond intoxicating to him, like a midnight song he could get drunk on and gladly switch to repeat.

Every slam into your spread pussy steals your words away while reducing him to hissing between his teeth, your folds enshrouding him with unimaginable euphoria that has his onlookers glaring in envy.

The sight is one that Midoriya and Bakugou will surely replay throughout their wistful days after tonight. Your breasts swaying in time with your sloppy movements is a marvel to gawk at as the two implant your glazed body bouncing atop Shouto into their memories, their deluded imaginations going to work at inserting themselves into the fray.

Your hips plunging in sync at each surge of Sho’s cock has stars twinkling across your bleary vision, eyes rolling in the back of your skull. His cock penetrates you in ways no one else could, brimming your body with sublime rapture that you relay honestly in your wails.

“Fuck, you feel so good—” Shouto mutters his praises. He effortlessly keeps up his drilling and angles himself perfectly so the tip reaches your erogenous zone throughout. His hands are digging so deep into your skin, you have no doubt your hips will be daubed purple by the end of the night.

Sweat thoroughly coating his body, his aggressive rutting into your velvet walls has his cock twitching inside you. He recognizes you’re nearing your climax as well when you slowly grip him like a vise. “Gonna milk me, love? Squeeze all the cum out of me and into that slutty pussy of yours?” He asks the question through grunts he spits between his teeth, the sounds coming out on the cusp of feral growls. He’s amused by how your tongue lolls out of your mouth as you try to form any kind of response. The rampant motions make it hard for you to grasp any sense of reality other than the sensations that collide your nerves.

“Y-yes, yes! I’m so close, Sho— Please—!” The moment you have a hand on your wheel of cognition, you start begging like it’s second nature, uncaring of the other two in the room as tears dot the edges of your lashes for relief. And how is Shouto to deny you when you’re playing such a lewd act?

“Need it so bad, n-need to cum— Ah—!”

In the very next second, your body dives to where your back forcibly lands snug on the futon, choking your words to a startling puff. Shouto shadows over you, leering down like he’s sizing his prey one last time before going in for the kill.

“Hm, since you’re begging so nicely for me, I’ll gladly help you reach your bliss, baby,” he says, tongue running along his bottom lip before he resumes driving into your pussy.

He hooks his hands beneath your knees to spread you apart further, giving his cock no repercussions on pistoning forward at unbridled speeds. Your fingers delve into the sheets, gripping the cloth like it’s your lifeline. You feel your lower body slightly lifting off the bedding due to Shouto wanting you two impossibly closer, cock thundering against you.

What you’ve yet to realize—trapped within your tornado of ecstasy—is your spectators freeing themselves from the ice, glaciers reduced to pieces at their powers. The whole exhibition had been too much for them to handle, quite literally snapping their restraints. Their clothes are gone within a flash, articles of them thrown half-hazardly on the floor. It leaves nothing to stop them from finally granting some form of bliss on their neglected cocks, fisting their lengths in conjunction with your symphony of moans.

That aside, they don’t matter to you at this moment. All you have eyes for is the man above you, whose heterochromatic gaze returns your shared adoration with equal fervor, if not more so.

“Well, love, you wanna cum, right? Then you know what to do,” Shouto grunts, lowering his torso so he can close a bit of the distance between your faces, “Tell me, who’s making you feel this fucking good right now?”

Brain a scrambled mess, you’re thankful the answer you scrounge for is a simple one.

“You, Shouto! Unnf, it’s your cock that’s making me feel good!” you exclaim, your back bowing off the bed when you perceive the coil tight in your abdomen nearly about to break. Your wanton reply has him sending his satisfaction back tenfold into you through the expert rocking of his hips.

“Yesyesyes, oh fuck— Y/n, cum all over my cock! Let go, baby!”

You scream the moment the order is given, Shouto slamming into your g-spot the impetus you need to come undone in violent spasms. Firecrackers spark beneath your skin at the ecstasy hitting your every nerve. Seeing you reach the apex of your high—eyes lidded and limbs trembling as you throw your entire body into the sheets—encourages Shouto toward his release, pumping himself in and out of your fluttering walls.

“Fuck! Y/n!” he pants raggedly before snapping his hips in place, dick twitching inside you. A gasp rips your throat as you feel his thick ribbons of white cum fill you to the brim. Shouto remains inside you for a good minute longer, hovering over your sluggish, sweaty body to seize your lips in his while you two slowly descend from heaven. You move sweetly and slowly against him, savoring the moment in the presence of his tender loving.

Meanwhile, Midoriya and Bakugou have already blown their loads all over themselves, creamy spurts painting their skin. They lean back to find their groundings, unable to even speak after what was surely an excruciating event for them both.

You’re still unsure how to go about confronting the aftermath of it all, deciding to only imbed your eyes onto Shouto due to the embarrassment that starts simmering in your mind now that you’ve come down from your highs. Your fingers rise to swipe a few stray strains of damp red-and-white hair off your boyfriend’s forehead, murmuring something kept between the two of you.

“Going through all of this just because you were jealous? You sure are insatiable, Sho.”

He chuckles at the jest behind your words, giving the other Pro Heroes a once over before he comes back to you with a satisfied grin plastered on his face, making you question whether his devilish tendencies have truly left him after tonight.

“What can I say? I guess I just want to monopolize you, baby.”

[lestwritewhilewaitingforajobcall]

The Odd Rumble of Thunder - Thor x Reader

(A/N)

Hey guys! I wanted to personally thank you all for the kind comments and messages, they really inspire me to continue writing more and the support truly means a lot! Also, I just found out how to access post replies, I apologize I haven’t gotten to reading them since my first story, I’m still trying to figure out the gist of things here on Tumblr! Anyways, recently I’d only been posting more on Poseidon, so here’s a special one for our Norse god of thunder (aka the god I simp for the most). This idea came to me while out on a camping trip, I hope you guys enjoy it! Feedback would really be welcomed and appreciated!

This is for entertainment only. Record of Ragnarok belongs to Shinya Umemura, Takumi Fukui and Ajichika. I also do not own you, the reader.

The Odd Rumble of Thunder

Thor x Reader

Even before the news spread like wildfire, Thor had become under the tyranny of a good habit to bringing his wife with him wherever he may go. It stood to reason that he would never be so careless to invite you over to danger, hence why, at a god’s ephemeral notice, he had stopped seeking direction for his combative side, but when, at last, he had to venture, he made much quicker work of it than when he would have otherwise.

Inarguably, if you’d wanted to lay down and rest instead, it was a surety you’d receive your meals in bed, unbothered. But for Thor there was no guarantee he’d ever have to worry about you, so the whole of Asgard knew by now he’d drop whatever he was doing to accompany you, uncaring about diplomacy in the first place.

Not that Odin nor Loki minded either; especially since the Allfather knew more about the concerns of a father expecting their first child. Moreover, Loki enjoyed shapeshifting into his cousin during days he was absent. It was much more fun to cause mischief legally, as he would say.

Today, Thor stood by his wife who sat comfortably in her rocking chair on the porch, allowing a full view of the hills that sloped gently down to the grand gardens. You were seven months along, approaching the eight month, the swell of your stomach now far more prominent.

At the very moment you had begun to show, you had a companion of whom would almost never leave your side, your husband’s absence in the kingdom gradually becoming more frequent, more lengthened, till at last his presence among his people became an exception. Despite your constant reassurances that you would be fine, Thor insisted on staying, casually sweeping aside your thoughts regarding his habitual sense of duty.

“I would only be gone for nine months to tend to my wife and child, they should fare well on their own lest they are more incompetent than I would’ve thought.” Thor had told you once before, and you’d decided not to question him further on that. You understood your husband’s concerns, to be truthful, you had a few of your own as well, so having Thor assist you alleviated some of the stress and worry concerning your child’s safety.

Especially now that you were nearing your due date. For instance, you were having the toughest time moving, suffering primarily from the weight in your belly and pains in your back and legs that made walking and even standing difficult. What made the physical strain worse too was your child’s eagerness to know you and Thor both, unable to stay long in one position, much like their father’s enthusiasm for battle.

“How are you feeling?” Thor’s question rested upon a rather precise calculation of the last time he had asked the same only a short moment before. It was quite visible in his actions that he did not want to cause any negative feelings if he could help it, though desiring you to avoid stress as much as possible.

You smiled. “Come close. You’ve been standing there for ages just ogling at me.” You opened your arms out wide. “Are you not tired?”

Truth be told, despite Thor’s constant need to remain close to his wife, he felt a real, undeniable fear of touching you, specifically, your abdomen. He closed the distance between until he was right in front of you, staring down at you with hard eyes. Longing leaped like a flame reaching out in his celestial yellow orbs.

“Love, I am always grateful for your concern for me. And I am feeling much better just knowing you’re beside me.” You raised yourself up, pushing against the chair to try to stand. Thor rushed forward, held you then put his hands under your arms to lift you up. Your child was growing fast. “But how about you? How are you feeling?”

You inched closer, your fingers playing with the locks of his hair that you could reach. “Aside from the stress of waiting, I’ve noticed that you have something else weighing on your mind.

“Tell me, what is it?”

At the sight of you through his warworn eyes, his mind was filled with bliss. For that loving glance of yours, he felt a divine presence and holy atmosphere that seemed to pervade everything around you. Having an inkling of what you were hinting at though, he broke your gaze, in an attempt to avert the guilt you conferred on him.

“Please. We’re in this together, I would want nothing more than to help you back as much as you’ve helped me.” Thor felt you shift in his arms, get more comfortable. He felt the bulk of your child across his legs, the weight no doubt pulling you down. Seeing you in pain like that, was sad and unbearable, and the gnawing feeling grew stronger. And since he knew you were always so full of strength and determination, always unrelenting in your attempts to make him feel better, he began,

“I am afraid.” Red eyebrows drew together.

“Afraid of what?”

“That I might accidentally hurt you and our child,” Thor took a deep breath in then let it out in a sigh while taking a step back. “I do not want that to happen, even if I want to be at your side at all times. And this frustrates me to no end.”

Thor did himself a favor by giving attention to anything other than his wife, refusing to be a witness on the sadness and any he may have caused. Dealing with his own disappointment was nothing new, but he had trouble dealing with the fact that he was the cause of yourpain. He wished he could take his troubles which escaped, hanging in the air, and all the bad feelings on himself and let things continue as they were, but he knew it didn’t work that way. You needed to know that he only wanted you and your child safe and protected, even from himself.

He could not understand how the cosmos could play such a cruel joke on the both of you: you, bore so much pain because of one of the greatest affairs of life, and him, the strongest deity in the Pantheon, was powerless against the natural laws of existence.

Strong shoulders slumped, head bowing as stray strands of red hair fell over Thor’s brow. Not again. He did not wish to be reminded of the cautious sympathy his father and cousin had approached him with. His stomach lurched whenever the subject of your frailty came up. Dread and a terrifying fear overwhelmed his soul for the first time, the thought of losing you−

“Hey,” Your voice which lingered on the gentle breeze brushed against Thor’s face, pulling him out of his stupor. He refocused, turning his gaze onto your sweet face.

How were you able to hold yourself up well despite your obvious pain and suffering? Did you not bear the same nervousness as he did? The answer was obvious, practically screaming in Thor’s ears but became deaf following his guilt and clouded instincts. For a long time since you’d first told him about the news, he bore these worries in silence; but when at length he’d been perplexed by your introspection−or seeming lack of it. Why, in fact, did you concern yourself with him at all? Compared to you, there was hardly any threat to his own life posed. Why had you always done more to make him feel better when you were the one who needed it most?

Cutting through the haze he found himself in was the shape of you, or maybe your hair billowing in the wind, a wisp of it across your face, and then suddenly the feel of your skin, the sense of your head on his chest. Even if it were fleeting, that alone brought him the possibilities of comfort that he’d so needed. Oh, how he missed this; you cupped his big callously marble hands around yours, caressing them so tenderly, as if he were fragile and might break, so short it could never be pulled back.

As he relished the warmth of the blaze you gave him for the winter of unease, he’d realized much sooner that the coldness that inched its icy fingers up his spine still threatened to battle your kind words, you, his very own wife, and he detested himself for being unsure whether or not it was of his own doing; was he pushing you away when you’d only wanted to offer your help?

Thor’s immediate impulse was to pull back from you, abruptly halted by your fingers which slipped between his now splayed hand. You wrinkled your nose in a delightfully unguarded manner that caused his breath to hitch in his throat.

“Do you remember the first time we said our vows?” If only you knew the way Thor perceived you: in his eyes, your radiant smile reflected the morning sunlight of Valhalla, for a split second picturing the moment you’d walked down the aisle, that headpiece on your head instantiating the paradox of mystery that once lifted revealed your beautiful face, marking it the best day of his long life. Something warm bloomed in his chest once again and spread its heat out through every vein in his body. He remembered the smooth feel of the veil against his cheek after sealing your promise with a kiss, his lips parting with a breathless sigh.

“Your hands caressed my fit of nerves with light, tender touches and then inspired me with hard, passionate embraces,” With effortless ease, you lifted your intertwined hands to your mouth and kissed his knuckle. Thor watched with great admiration your every move, the desire to distance himself was now but an afterthought. Nothing would ever separate him from you when all you’d ever done was pull him closer than ever.

Then, you sought out his hand, kissing his palm as he stroked your face. You clung onto his arms, gripped at his chest as if you were searching for warmth, as if you needed his touch, and much like him, couldn’t bear to be even an inch away. His mind was still slowing its racing to let him mutter something in response, so he allowed himself to be entranced by how smooth and sure of yourself you were, with nothing to mar the calm serenity of your features. Your smile seemed to be a natural adornment, the utter gentleness in your eyes, reminded him of every morning when he woke up, he would see you by his side, as well as your sleeping snoring face. Right at that moment, the silly scream finally made it to the deaf god’s ears:

He was your haven,

The place you called home and went to find peace.

As Thor immersed himself in your smell, your sparkling eyes, he felt the excruciating cold all melt away in your warmth. No more seeds of doubt with which to sow and seek his destiny. Slowly, he began to see his surroundings from a keener point of view, realizing, then appraising them: from the passing wind your hair messed which he pushed aside, tucking it behind your ear, to how his sash seemed to fit him better indeed, rather than cling onto his skin even tighter as brutally as it had done before. He noticed the minute changes since he’d last taken a good look at you months ago: a little flusher on your skin, lines around the eyes a little deeper, a little increase in body temperature.

He pulled you closer, his actions not arising from calculation instead led by instinct. You let him take more of your weight, your belly pressed against his stomach as you sighed, his fingers working wonders on massaging the muscles that had been much abused in carrying the baby’s weight. A sudden wrenching through his sash struck Thor’s heart and had him holding his breath.

The baby had moved, and he’d felt it.

Bending down, he buried his nose in your hair, closing his eyes as he drank in your scent. Your arms wrapped around his back as he connected in this loving embrace, feeling his heart beat in rhythm with your own.

“Our child would no doubt love to be enveloped in their father’s safe arms,” With a light, gentle touch, your fingers ran through Thor’s hair, making him shiver with delight.

On that day, only the beautiful gardens of Asgard became privy to nothing more than a moment in which husband and wife reached for the same comfort and their concerns met. These gardens were simultaneously the very same place where Thor had first avoided the problems that plagued his mind, but also became exactly the same place where he’d find solace in the arms of his lovely wife.

Resting his hand on where his child was, he recognized that familiar feeling turning up, but upon realizing the bittersweet irony of and within these gardens, the revelation came to him: happiness could also come from the very object of fear.

And as you had an unmovable trust in him, there was an unspoken mutual understanding that he too, should put his trust in you.

[strawbabysimp]

Eneru Relationship HCs

God among men♡

He wants to take care of you but freedom does not come with the perks of dating a man who considers himself a God. It's become a regular occurrence for you to tell him your plans for the days, always keeping him updated even though he'd be sure to find out anyways. He'll press kisses into your neck in the morning as he whispers against your skin his question, his smile more of a smirk as he listens to you go on. When he doesn't like something then he'll simply say not to do it, no explanation needed, the hierarchy he's created not allowing for anyone to be on his level.

He loves when you pamper him, feed him, even wash him, his ego feeding off of the acts. He tries to always eat his meals with you simply so you can bring the food to his lips, sitting you down on his thighs whenever he wants a snack.

Eneru lays his head down in your lap when the two of you are alone, your fingers running through light strands. It's moments like these when he seems far more man than God, but you would never tell him that. You're able to see the darkness that spans underneath his eyes up close, the sparks that would usually draw a person's attention elsewhere nowhere in sight. You wished he could be like this all the time. But sadly, that was not realistic, and you were forced to concede to his version of reality if you wanted to be able to love him.

He loves the look of you adorned with gold, skin accentuated with the precious metal. His fingertips always manage to find your wrist, toying with the bracelets he'd placed on your body himself casually. You catch others' eyes latched onto the jewelry, the importance of your presence evident in the way the Sun reflected off of your limbs in golden rays. Eneru's confidence seems to amplify whenever he's beside you, feeding off of not only his God status but also his public image that was often accompanied by your own.

Praise was common from you, but not for the reasons that others might think - at least not entirely. Your place in his life allowed you to bear witness to his own inner turmoil, insecurities riddled deep inside him coming out in the form of lighting that sought to strike down anyone who opposed the persona that had taken over his reality. Eneru's narcissist mind couldn't help but view every interaction as an opportunity to further prove his superiority, but with your added admiration of not only his power but his worth as a being outside of his devil fruit abilities, he found himself eased into a sense of belonging.

Being an important person in Eneru's life - the only person really - came with a power over him even he didn't fully understand. He looks so far into your meaningless actions, mood affected heavily by how he thinks you perceive him. You've seen his spiral into depression from the littlest of things, slight criticism having to be handled very carefully to not implore his wrath or self-destructive tendencies. When he does experience these lows, you are the one who takes care of him, bringing him food and gifts to lift his mood, making excuses to his followers about his absence.

He'll jokingly call you his "little servant" but few have made the mistake of treating you as such. The first time the name rolls off his lips far more affectionately than anyone around could have expected, it acted as a sign that you were more than a passing form of entertainment. Eneru doesn't acknowledge the onlookers' wide eyes, simply continuing on with whatever he was saying to you, but retellings of that moment would quickly spread across the sky lands, stories of how someone had managed to not only prove themselves to Eneru but hold value to the seemingly all-powerful man.

[lordoftermites]

You Never Break ⚜ Part Ⅰ

⊰ ☘ ⊱ Cardan's POV: The Queen of Nothing, from the end of Chapter 13 through Chapter 17. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ A massive, pterodactyl-screeching thank you to my dearest punishment @euridce and the bombastic @figonas for dealing with my bullshit and allowing me to subject them to betaing this (and literally everything else), but especially for being my Hype Train Goblin Queens and not letting me lose to my perfectionism. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ { edit: the wordcount actually turned out to be 3,765 because I added more shit after I copypasta'd here but I literally cannot be arsed to change the graphic lol. }

≼ FIC MASTERLIST HERE≽

Contrary to erstwhile thinking, it is not quite as simple a task to travel at any expeditious speed whilst carrying a half-dead goblin through the biting nighttide—whilst also taking care to keep yourself and aforementioned half-dead goblin undiscovered by those who would very much like to lop your kingly head right off of your kingly shoulders.

And, if all of that is not enough of a juggling act, appending the minor detail that you’ve just taken flight on a steed conjured from the ragwort in your pocket, after leaving your wife below (at her behest and your protest) to fend for herself with naught but a magical cloak and her unspoken, mortal promise to do as you say...

Well. There are reasons you are not lauded for your prowess as a jester, just as your Queen is even less admired for her graces of verity.

Yet, surely by some feat of fortuitous magic, Cardan does manage it; the concealing mists part just enough to allow the flying mount and its travelers to slip through.

Braving a glance over his shoulder, he watches as the fog coils and swirls closed like a protective curtain behind them. It's disorienting—very like taking an overconfident step forward, only to find the ground is not quite as close as you first perceived. Even as one often besotted with wine and other such stupefacients, Cardan does not particularly enjoy that feeling.

Sea fret mingles with the haze of preternatural clouds as they begin a descent. It veils his lips, clings to his wool-spun clothing and weighs down his hair. He shakes the dampened curls from his eyes just as the four isles of Elfhame begin to take shape in the darkness beneath him, and lets out an unsteady breath; he wonders, absently, if he's exhaled at all since leaving Jude on the ground.

He cannot help the inglorious relief that the Roach, in his state, does not hear it.

It’s an odd sensation, to observe your kingdom from such a high vantage point. Perhaps, before now, he disallowed himself to feel the full measure of his obligation; the sobering comprehension that this vastness of soil and sapling and stone, along with all its inhabitants, will thrive, or decay, under his governance. Looking down at the land—his land—brings that realization crashing down upon him with as much force as one of Balekin’s punishments.

Cardan tightens his grip on the animal’s leafy mane against a bout of dizziness, abruptly wishing he had something a bit less insubstantial with which to steady himself.

The Crooked Forest rises to meet them, gnarled limbs twisting upward as if to embrace their sovereign. That seems illusionary, though Cardan does note at once the marked shift in the air; while still cool, no longer does each inhale carry an icy jab to his lungs or bite at the tips of his ears. It envelopes him and his company, gently carrying them above the mossy heads of slumbering root men and women. None of them stir, thankfully, but Cardan isn’t altogether sure his arrival goes unnoticed by them, either.

Welcome home, young King, the wind seems to whisper in his ear. Cardan shivers, and it has nothing to do with the weather.

Alighting just at the edge of the hollow hill, Cardan takes a half-breath to think—and reproaches himself for not doing more of that before they had landed; the Roach’s etiolated complexion, rattling breath, and stiffening limbs are not an entirely promising combination. Then, there is yet the matter of finding Liliver, who might not even be in the palace. And even then, there is the very real likelihood that he is already too late, that the deathsweet’s effects may have already reached its peak.

Cardan has to swallow against the bile creeping up his throat at that unsettling thought.

If only Jude had just come with him. Mistress of strategy and scheming, she would have drawn up a clever plan before they even took flight, as well as a surfeit of contingencies. Moreover, she would know better than he whether or not they held the favor of time; her province of poison is concerningly vast, as she had proven when Cardan himself very nearly shuffled off his immortal coil in dissolution.

Jude had known in an instant, merely by tasting the wraithberry that had stained his lips. How she knew its savour, to say nothing of how she knew it so intimately, Cardan knows not and she has yet to divulge. It is but another closely-clutched secret he must tack onto the growing list of queries for things a man really ought to know about his wife.

In the interim, the High King of Elfhame—and, more regrettably, the Roach—must rely entirely on himself.

Not much of a comfort, that.

Keeping a hand on the Roach to prevent his suffering an unnecessary fall from the horse, Cardan swings himself off of the thing’s back. With care, he lifts the inanimate body of his mentor into his arms. A low, distressed groan comes from the Roach at being jostled—the first sign of cognizance he’s shown since they left Grimsen’s forge. As pained as the sound is, it nonetheless gives Cardan a small hope that perhaps he hasn’t been too late after all.

Its magic spent, the ragwort pony dissolves in a puff of yellow perianths; an indolent breeze scatters some of the remnants across the dark hill, while others continue their aimless drifting to pollinate elsewhere on the isles. Cardan watches a lone petal catch in the wiry hair of the Roach’s brow and without thinking, he brushes it away. He justifies this allowance of rare gentleness with the fact that no one is around to bear witness to it.

As friendship goes, Cardan is all too aware he hasn’t known much in the way of loyalty or for reasons beyond selfish gain. His former companions had desired only what they could glean from him, the immunity his sway as a prince that had granted them the ability to carry out whatever deviant fancy they could dream up. Even Nicasia had had her own contrivances for being his lover, until she had ultimately found more excitement in the stories—and bed—of Locke.

He is not experienced in having a friend simply for the sake of it. In having someone—or a few someones, for that matter—enjoy his wit and cleverness and skills. That enjoy him, Cardan Greenbriar, rather than what advantages the crown atop his head can give.

Perhaps it is dangerous territory for a king to have bonds extending beyond those of mere allies. Perhaps the trust that comes with such friendships is a bit like handing over a blade to your enemy, freshly sharpened, and saying, Here you go, this holds all the ways with which to kill me. I’ll just turn my back.

Even so, when all you have known your entire life is the contempt and malignancy of those who ought to love you, it is not an entirely stunning realization that you would hand over that blade so willingly.

And he had done, in earnest; in his naivety with Nicasia. In his camaraderie with the Court of Shadows. In everything with Jude.

This is doubtless the reason Cardan’s feet begin to move now, carrying him and the Roach in his arms to the palace entrance with some new swell of confidence. Perhaps it is a detriment to believe that these new friends would not be so hastened and flippant as the last to betray him, but he believes it nevertheless. He also knows, albeit by way of unfortunate experience, that when the situation had been reversed, they had not wasted an idle moment in saving him.

So on he goes, through the wall and into the brugh, careful to keep the Roach’s pallid face hidden in the crook of his arm and denying any assistance his guards offer with a firm shake of his head. They move to follow, but halt at once and return to their posts when Cardan waves them off. Of the merits that come with being King, Cardan is especially grateful that denying explanations is one of them.

Even more fortuitously, his journey is not further hindered by any member of the Living Council—who have undoubtedly been tearing at their beards and skirts attempting to locate and descend upon their unruly monarch. Cardan imagines even now they are in the war room or assembled in his chambers, pacing and theorizing and crying out in panic. At the thought of the Minister of Keys pounding his fists on the table and cursing his luck for having such an impudent master to serve, the corner of Cardan’s mouth twitches. If only the wizened Randalin had the sense to make himself more difficult to nettle, perhaps Cardan would try to do so less.

Though the hill is yet alive, with lingering revelers still clutching the edges of twilight and servants clearing the remnants of food and drink, the many tricks of sly-footing he has been taught manages to keep him out of sight from any who might notice; it takes no time at all to slip through the hidden passage, into the wine cellar and emerge on the other side of the new Court of Shadows.

Cardan had hoped to show and consult Jude on the plans for these rooms, including the strategy chamber he had in mind for her—of which he was particularly proud: he had designed it himself—after she pardoned herself and returned to him. That hadn’t gone entirely the way he had imagined, and so they had gone on with the rebuilding without her. Cardan resolves that now, he can simply give her a full tour of them, should she come back posthaste. Should she decide to come back at all.

No, he rebuffs that line of thinking. Jude will return, just as she promised. When she comes home, Cardan will lead her through the rebuilt Court, and she will ooh and ahh and find him so ridiculously clever she’ll be too awed to do anything but kiss him for his prodigiousness.

She will forget she had ever been angry with him—or, at the very least, spare him the full measure of her wrath. She will forgive him for his trickery and assure him again that she had not fed his letters to the fire; she will tell him how desperately she missed him, that the mortal world is awful and terrible and nothing worth going back to. He will kiss her hair and tell her they need never be parted again. They will begin their reign as they should have done the moment their vows were made, and all will be just fine and well and as it should be.

These are all of the things Cardan tells himself as he steps into the main chamber.

He chuckles quietly to the darkness, a sudden incredulity sweeping over him; after all his prior distaste for mortals and those little hopeful deceits they allow, to wish away an awful thing or to make that awful thing seem less terrible, he has caught himself doing just that. He wonders what Jude might say, if he said her mortality was rubbing off on him?

Upon entering the main hall, Cardan is met with a collective gasp—either from the sudden, unannounced arrival of the High King or at the state of the Roach, he doesn’t know, nor does he have time to find out; before he can call for her, Liliver is already there, her dark face paled and taut. She does not seem to even notice Cardan, her frantic, wide-eyed gaze fixed on the Roach.

“What happened to him?” The Bomb demands, seeming to realize Cardan’s presence only as an afterthought, though he does nothing to reprimand her for her tone. The current circumstance, along with the raw fear on the rogue’s face, is enough to cast any necessity for formalities into shadow.

"Darts, poisoned with deathsweet," Cardan tells her, elaborating when Liliver's piercing glare flickers up to meet him. "We... misestimated the cleverness of the traps Grimsen set to protect his forge." The Bomb frowns at that, and Cardan is sure he’ll have much more explaining to do before the night is through and she is fully satisfied, but neither of them need reminding of the more important matter at hand. “Let’s—let’s get him to a bed,” Liliver says. Though her voice wavers, her eyes never leave the disturbingly still body of the Roach as she leads them into a small room carved out from the main one.

She steps aside to allow Cardan to enter and lower the Roach onto the single bed, before seating herself on the edge of it. A bundle of tinctures and salves rest in her lap, from where or how she procured them so quickly, Cardan doesn’t know and isn’t inclined to ask. By the deep-set furrow of her brow and the way she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, she is calculating the situation and he wagers any unnecessary queries might hinder—or annoy—her deliberation. So he simply stands there, silent and helpless, watching her work.

The light emitting from the small orbs hanging above their heads does little to illuminate much of the Roach’s features, but it’s bright enough to view the waxen sheen of his skin, the odd way his limbs lie rigid at his side. He looks as close to death as one could appear, and if not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, one could easily believe he had already gone. Cardan swallows and looks away, as if staring instead at the rough stone floor will quash the disquiet he feels.

If the Roach succumbs to the poison, he knows with whom the fault will lie, and there will be none among them to scorn him as much as he will scorn himself.

As Liliver works, sifting through the assortment of small glass bottles in her lap until she picks one filled with a thick, amber solution, Cardan gives her as much detail of the night's emprises as he can in short order: their attempted (and rather unsuccessful) rescue of Jude, of the Roach’s poisoning; of why they had entered the smith’s forge in the first place.

Upon hearing the truth behind the Ghost’s betrayal, the vial slips from her hand and Cardan barely manages to snatch it from the air before it shatters on the ground. The Bomb’s eyes are wide as saucers as she takes back the bottle, but Cardan thinks he catches the smallest glint of hope in them, despite their current predicament.

“You mean, all this time... he was being commanded? Controlled by Locke and Madoc?”

Cardan nods. “Doubtless by my brother as well, though Jude didn’t say one way or another.”

He wouldn’t have considered it debasing of Dain's character to control someone in such totality. In fact, he has no misgivings at all that there was anything, save perhaps a grubworm, that had been beneath his brother. He shakes his head and shrugs, more to his own thoughts than the Bomb's question. “I’ll let her tell us which it is, when she comes home.”

It is too afflictive to imagine she will not, that he has yet again voraciously lapped up a lie she has fed him. He cannot believe that as he waits, Jude is riding off through the air with her sisters back to the mortal world, laughing as she tells them how effortlessly she has fooled the desperate High King of Faerie.

He will have time enough to wallow in his own selfish, agonized reveries; Cardan wills his attention back to the present, back to the Bomb and the Roach, who appears even less on the fortunate side of time since they arrived.

“Will he…” Live, or die. Both words are there on his tongue, but he cannot bring himself to say either and the question lingers, thick and unfinished in the air between the three of them. Liliver doesn’t seem willing—or able to answer, only giving him a small shake of cloud-white curls as she keeps her back to him.

Watching how carefully she wipes the Roach’s forehead with a damp cloth, hearing the hushed, unintelligible things she tells him, the understanding that Cardan perhaps ought not intrude further becomes all too clear. He has completed his task, what he promised Jude he would do. There is nothing more required of him.

With Liliver’s promise that she will send word of any changes, good or ill, Cardan excuses himself from the Court of Shadows.

Cardan spends the remainder of the day in his chambers attempting sleep, because he has proved himself of little use elsewhere, there is nothing else to do, and because if Jude were here she would tell him a High King needs rest if he is to go delegating and answering petitions and doing whatever else there is that good, proper kings are supposed to do.

However, it is precisely because Jude isn’t here that he cannot rest.

Though he does give it an honest effort. He tries lying on his back, drawing forth tiny white blossoms to count as they bloom above his head, aiming to bore himself into a stupor. He counts and counts and counts. The mingling fragrance of several different flowers permeates the room and penetrates his nose. When he reaches six hundred forty-seven for the third time, he gives that up.

Exasperated, Cardan flops onto his side, stretching an arm across the sheets. He stares at the empty space beside him, where Jude had rested the first night they had spent together—the night he had convinced her that becoming Queen of Elfhame, his wife, was the better choice for both of them.

It had all been true, of course: everything Cardan had said to get her to agree. There had been no deception or scheming in his words; he had desired his freedom, as desperately as Jude craved power, and their union had the ability to grant both in absolution.

The Living Council had become insistent on the idea that their King should take a wife anyway, for their own overboring political reasons, and so Cardan had.

The only addendum to all of this, the only detail that he had surreptitiously kept from both the Council and Jude, was that he wanted to marry her. Not Nicasia, as the Council had wanted, as Cardan had once believed he should and could enjoy. Not the hag Mother Marrow’s daughter, who likely would have found some clever way to cause his demise so that she might live on as the sole ruler of Faerie. None of them would have been well-suited for him, nor he well-suited for them. None of them could give him what he wanted, because what he wanted was Jude.

That is all he wants now—to have her home and here in his bed, to fill the space that has been empty since she left. Since he made her leave.

Cardan pushes himself off the bed in a frustrated huff. Deciding he could do with a little less sober thinking, he calls for wine, and when the servant arrives with a fresh decanter and goblet, he fills it to the brim and drinks it to the dregs. After repeating this process a few more times, Cardan rounds the large desk—his father’s desk, he cannot help to remind himself, no matter how many times he sits at it—to continue the speech he’s been writing. He picks up the slip of paper between two fingers and holds it to the guttering candle flame to examine it. It’s already a rather lengthy speech, admittedly, but more important than any he has articulated yet. It is one explaining to Jude that her exile had not been methodically planned, that he thought she would work it out much more expeditiously. He would further explain he had not accounted for the fact she hadn’t worked it out at all, and that he had come to fully regret his own cleverness midway through his second letter.

Of course, Jude had told him she hadn’t received any of those letters.

He cannot help recalling how she looked at him then, the last time they were here in his rooms: skittish and trembling, desperate as a wild animal backed into a corner.

Hardly a fortnight has passed since Madoc had taken her, believing he had heroically rescued her twin from nigh execution. And yet it feels as distant as any half-remembered dream upon waking, blurred on the details and every attempt to grasp the memory only causes it to slip further away. Like a hand waving smoke.

Except a dream is something usually pleasant; smiling faces, a kiss one might yearn for in the waking world and only receive when they close their eyes. Dreams are things of wonderment. Pretty visions and heart’s desires.

No, it had not been like a dream at all—not the way she had looked at him.

That hatred, burning into him like white-hot iron, the fear she could lie away with words but could not conceal from her face, the venom in her voice when she spoke. It was more terrible than any of Cardan’s nightmares.

Everything you say to me, everything you promise, it’s all a trick. And I, stupid enough to believe you once.

He had wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand and tell her his trick had been only that, a hasty plan to keep her out of Orlagh’s grasp. He had wanted to pull her to him and breathe in the comforting scent of her hair, to feel her warmth against his chest. To beg her forgiveness and will away her anger with a kiss.

Then he had seen the glint of the blade in her hand.

Even after Vivi’s flustered explanation of her sister’s capture, after he and the Roach had set out from the mortal world to find her—even after their brief moment in Madoc’s camp just hours ago, when Jude swore she hadn’t thrown in her lot with her betrayer of a foster-father, Cardan cannot rend from his mind the image of her holding that knife.

He passes the paper through the flame and watches it burn until it is nothing but a stain of black ash on the desk.

Waving away the lingering smoke, he rises and goes to dress for the night ahead, without rest, and knowing that no amount of sleep or drink or honeyed words will erase what he has done—or may yet do.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ okAY so this first bit turned out a lot longer than I'd originally intended (legit this whole thing was supposed to just be a oneshot lmfao) but if you made it this far, I'm very sorry but thanks for taking the time to read. I hope you enjoyed it, and as usual—if you didn't, don't tell me about it.

If you want to be added to my tag list, just yeet a reply to this post and I'll add you.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ @euridce @figonas @jurdanhell

[bunchofstraydogs]

Dazai Osamu character breakdown as I understand him

Meaning that this might be inaccurate and your opinion and visage of him might differ from mine, which is just fine. We perceive the world and the people around us through our experiences and expectations. I'm curious to know how you guys see a complex character like Dazai, just please respect everyone's opinions.

Warning: Manga plot mentions, s2 spoilers, BEAST light novel spoilers, Dazai Osamu

Dazai Osamu was introduced into the scene of Bungou Stray Dogs at 14 when Mori found him.

Even at that young age, Dazai had suicidal tendencies and had been wrapped in bandages similarly as he is in the present. Already dealing with too much trauma for a child his age, the fire is fuelled as he was forced to bear witness to the death of the Port Mafia boss at the hands of Mori, the person that took him under his wing. To use him; which was becoming very apparent to Osamu if he hadn't been aware since the start. Now, I'm not saying that death of the previous boss left a particular scar on Samu, he even agrees with it and is something he himself would have done. But that that is the scene that bore fruit of the following quotes:

"Or could it be that you're afraid, Mori-san? That one day i will slit your throat and take over as the boss?"

followed by

"Everyone seems suspicious to those who have an axe to grind."

This tells us right away that he can tell what type of person you are just from the way you perceive your surroundings, which is logical, but not something many think too deep into.

Even less who have their evaluations of others on point like he does. And he has to, since Dazai's plan is always to understand his allies, his enemies, possible allies and possible enemies. He also takes into account important neutral parties that can still, in one way or another, affect the outcome of his plans or decide to align with one side out of common interest. After comes realising the main goals, along with side achievements (just in case some of those maim his allies or ruin the future plans he made) of every party. Taking in their morals and motivation, and being familiar with the ground the confrontation will happen on, he now has the view of the whole chess board and it's pieces in his head. He moves his allies in the right places, knowing how they'll react in the situation to come, and awaits the enemies with open fire arms. He was tought to think like that. At all times. Mori made sure of it. You know how specialists never really stop thinking in their areas of expertise, like doctors, for example, will naturally notice people's posture and look for scoliosis or whatever? How your foot hits the floor, if you're walking straight, your knees and shoulders, etc. Same for Dazai. His brain maps out person's expressions, reactions, choices, personality, etc. in great detail. I'm pretty sure he has eidetic memory, if his conversations in manga with Fyodor are anything to go by.

Another thing his brain does is think of worst possible outcomes.

Not in a fear of what if things go wrong, but as a possible route. He uses it to determine how big of a threat the opposing force is and what steps they'll have to take to achieve that. Knowing that, he'll know how to intercept them. Also, like everything else, it's not something he can control since we're talking about thought process here and that's just how his brain works. Can't magically turn that off. It's especially annoying to him when he's genuinely enjoying himself with, let's say, ADA members and then his brain goes brrr.

•"A lot happened recently and we're a torn in many people's eyes." *Tanizaki and Atsushi drinking punch* "There's a possibility, while a small one, about 8% at this very moment, but as time goes on will increase, that an organisation outside of Yokohama decided we're an unavoidable threat and poisoned the drinks. Don't drink that. Nothing will happen, they'll wake up tomorrow in pristine condition don't drink th-"

Yeah, i feel bad for him too.

He has PTSD and insomnia, besides the hectic brain,

so he's not getting proper amount of rest. Actually, he drinks almost every night by himself at home. Pretty sure it's canon as well, because if you search for a picture of him in his room, you'll see him surrounded by multiple bottles. Two of the PTSD symptoms are hallucinations and night terrors (no, that is not the same as a nightmare). What people usually do is use opium to cause hallucinations in a safe environment so that there's little chance of them happening uncontrolled. He's probably using alcohol to numb himself while he's reminiscing, since if he does still have hallucinations after years having passed by (which isn't impossible), they're probably few and far between. Not saying there's no chance he isn't using opium. He would know where to get what he needs, after all.

Osamu's haunted by his own actions as well, not just by trauma caused to him.

At an uncountable amount of occasions, he found himself looking into a mirror and not really comprehending his image. It was like dissociation. Looking through a fog at what's supposed to be your carbon copy, but not knowing all of your features perfectly, so whatever you're seeing could only be an impostor, yet you're not sure because that would take comprehending physical proof of your life to the fullest and how it works and he just... can't. He can but he doesn't want to. He already knows he's despicable and broken, doesn't really feel the need to see just how much. He can't, for all his perfect memory, remember the faces of the people he has killed. He hadn't even seen all of them, but he was responsible for their demise. Causing havoc and misfortune in general through other crimes besides murder as well. We've seen his expression when he listened in on Atsushi talking to Kyouka over the earpiece how the 35 deaths don't matter anymore. He knows they do and he knows that the change of heart won't justify what he's they've done. Ango thought him to value each life. But he also knows that even murderers can change and become good. Oda did that. It's also what's keeping him in the agency.

When Oda died, his last words mentioned that Dazai doesn't care about good or bad and that was correct for Dazai Osamu back then. I genuinely think that his present self does mind the difference.

He believes in necessary evil and will do dark shit to get the good outcome he's envisioned.

He doesn't separate outlaws and lawful people, however.

He knows that generally speaking, the line is thin and easy to cross and that many were born or forced into the situations they are. Those that fight the life thrown at them are an exception, not a rule. That's also why he likes Atsushi, probably the main reason. The boy has every right to hate the world and yet. Dazai is envious, he doesn't really have the same capacity.

I want now to talk about why does Dazai Osamu do what Dazai Osamu does.

The reason he attempts suicide, joined the mafia, made friends at all, is because for all his intelligence and observations, ability to understand others, he doesn't really understand himself.

He doesn't understand his worth. He doesn't understand his purpose. In all of that confusion, he finds no reason to live. He laughs but can't get the high, he bruises but can't fully heal. In all of the things people find happiness in he can't feel joy from. He is emotionally stunted. He thinks too logically. He doesn't understand actions out of emotions because to him, it doesn't make sense. Emotions cloud your mind and when you're not thinking straight, you make mistakes. Plain and simple. He just accepts it, that most people simply cannot control themselves and prefer lashing out instead of methodical approach. All the better for him, he has leverage. Even when he does act on impulse, which is incredibly rare and not as explosive and dramatic, his brain rationalises it as to why his actions were a good way to go. And if his reaction was one that bore fruit, than it was a tactical one.

"If you place yourself somewhere close to raw emotions, where you're exposed to raw violence and death, instinct and desire, you can brush against man's true nature. I though that way i could find a reason to live somehow."

From this, i can tell that he was hoping that, in a situation where he's pushed far enough, he'd realise what's important to him, what he wants to protect or destroy, what's one thing he wouldn't want to leave unsettled before dying. What is that one thing he'd regret dying before achieving? What should he fight death for. What is worth living on for? To him, it doesn't matter if that something is good or evil as long as he gets to keep it in his life.

It seems he hadn't found it exactly, but is satisfied with what he has for now, in the agency, to just keep going. But he still tries to commit suicide, hoping that one day, when the clear picture of the world around him is fading away, when he's becoming light headed from the lack of oxygen, when he's loosing control over his body and thoughts don't seem to flow well, there will be one thing, anyone, screaming at him to fight it. New day new chances. It didn't happen today, better luck tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomo-.

Now, like Mori, Dazai feels the need to, at all times, be in control of the situation. Including people.

That means no one, but perhaps Ranpo due to his own abnormal intellect, is aware of their own role. They know their mission, but they're not expecting to be given that particular one because they'll come across an obstacle they would react to in a way that would satisfy Osamu's plans.

Dazai Osamu is more of a chemist, than a chess player, if you ask me.

Throwing different people into the mix, under different conditions at different times and is noting down their reactions in safe surrounding if possible, so that when the time calls for it, he'll be able to make a perfect concoction for the predicament. A chemist and his substances; A chess player and his pawns; A puppeteer and his puppets. Now, Dazai is meticulous and never rash, but like everyone else (except effin Lovecraft what is he even) he's only human and he bleeds when he falls down and humans aren't perfect. He isn't always right. That means he makes mistakes. The issue with big shot players that control the board is that, when they fall down, everyone on their side crashes and burns as well. So the day Dazai fucks up everyone else will follow because of lack of insight on their part that's completely out of their control. All it takes is for him to underestimate or overestimate one person and chaos ensues. There is no such thing as happy little accidents small mistakes for someone like him. I have crippling anxiety and a sole thought that one hiccup could blow up in everyone's face... damn. I would try committing suicide myself. But it's his fault, he brought upon himself an obligation and pressure like that. To be fair, it was Mori that drilled that type of thinking where no one should know what you plan because they can't ruin what they don't know If they turn against you, they can't stop you.

For his own sake, and everyone else's, Dazai needs to learn how to show his cards and share the burden.

Again, going back to the emotionally stunted guy that has commitment issues (where he either can't commit or can't let go) trope.

He never outright does something good for someone where people would acknowledge it, he uses his underhanded tactics here as well.

He casually makes himself look like a bad guy, an asshole, to conveniently move attention from the inner turmoil a person is struggling with to a present problem at hand that they can fix and let their frustrations out on. But he hopes that, one day, someone just might notice his intentions for what they are and do the unspeakable- see through him.

"I'm a very private person. You don't ask, i don't tell."

Yes, and your whole existence is just a huge cry for help. He wants to be asked. He's begging for attention. A specific type of attention. One that will see him without making him feel imposed on. One that will understand his sins without making a big deal out of it. Accept him as a person he is, makes him feel like one as well. Makes him feel alive. Makes him feel... period.

The day he finds that thing is the day he completely turns his life around and fully dedicates to it. It's where the part of not being able to let go commitment issue ensues.

Since Oda's death he's been secretly keeping an eye out on possible ways to bring him back. If you've read Beast AU you know that when Dazai gets his hands on the book, he'll create a universe where Oda doesn't die. Should he find an ability user that can bring back the dead, just tell him what it will take, he's ready to destroy his own soul for it and if that isn't enough, well, he'll have no hesitation ruining theirs. After all, BEAST!Dazai Osamu never actually met Odasaku, he just had the memories he'd gotten from his canon self and that was enough for him to do everything he did.

He's incredibly selfish and has a weird come in but the door is a wall dynamic he rolls with in his self imposed solitude.

It's like the walls of the space in my brain are ugly and terrifying, so i closed off the entrance to keep myself in. I'm doing you a favour but please break the wall down and tell me it's okay to come out i don't want to be here-

Happy little thoughts woah woah yeah~

That's what i got from what I've seen of him. I may have missed some things, some things might prove to be wrong as the series progress further, but yeah.

There is, however, one more thing i want to put out here. Since Dazai was already like this before Mori found him, that begs to question as to why? What happened to him?

Now, since the characters are based on real people, is it crazy to say that Dazai Osamu has had a horrible childhood because of his father? Real life Dazai was terrified of his dad and was very intimidated by him. He always tried to stay in his good graces out of fear of punishment. Neither of his parents felt like a parent to him, actually. His father didn't care and his mother was often ill, but did care for him when she could. Both of them died eventually.

This could be the plot Kafka based Dazai's background on, but we'll have to wait and see.

[thesoulspulse]

When Blue Eyes Meet (Good Vlad AU ~ Oneshot)

Summary: I couldn't sleep and got this beautifully heartfelt idea in my head about how my Good Vlad met his cat Madison for the first time and how she helped turn his life around. It's about she adopted him, sensing how bad Vlad needed a friend after Jack and Maddie moved on with their lives until they finally meet again at their college reunion. Warning, this mentions character death.

Vlad's POV

I'll never forget that day, the day I met a very special little lady.

I had only been fully discharged from the hospital for a few weeks but...after I insisted on making sure Jack and Maddie could move on with their own lives without me since I wouldn't drag them down, but once returned home I was suddenly reminded of how alone in the world I really was now. Both my parents had passed away before I started my freshman year of college but they left me with everything I would need to secure a bright future, even the house which gave me a place to return to in the first place since we had no idea the accident would result in me being bedridden for several years.

But as soon as I stepped inside the house, just like my heart it felt so...hollow.

The warmth I used to feel there was long gone, and it had nothing to do with still needing to pay the heating bill. And I suppose it's fortunate that the money I had set aside to pay for my school supplies and my half of the rent was enough to pay for my hospital bills so I had just enough left over to invest in gaining a new lease on life after the accident. It would take time, but I was confident I would be able to go back and continue my studies eventually, but for now I need to focus on figuring out how to cope with the other huge transformation I had undergone.

I almost had to laugh at the irony because perhaps I'm only living a half-life since the accident turned me half-ghost. It was difficult at first, hiding the truth about my condition not only from Jack and Maddie, but the nurses and doctors as well. Thankfully, I inherited my father's sharp wits and managed to conceal my powers fairly well. As for the rest, it was just easier to let people assume they were only seeing things whenever they saw a strange light or my hand seemed to pass through solid objects. After all, who would ever believe that a human with ghost powers could possibly exist...?

Still, I suppose one good thing about returning to that house is that it was nice to finally be able to relax somewhat knowing I wouldn't need to hide my powers from anyone, or at least not nearly as often when I was still a patient. I would still have to be careful if someone came to visit me, but honestly the odds of that happening ere  highly unlikely. I say this because I have no living relatives left. No parents, no cousins or siblings, just me.

Sighing I set down my bags and started unpacking boxes. I needed something else to occupy my thoughts because I still hadn't quite gotten over the fact that I lost my scholarship. Realistically I knew that couldn't be helped given what happened to me so instead I turned my attention to the things I still could control, such as ensuring I still had a place to live since I was no longer a student and Jack wasn't my roommate anymore.

Speaking of which, right from the start I wanted make sure to avoid living somewhere with too many people around so although my original plan was to move back here after graduation I made the decision to return to this town ahead of schedule in light of my extenuating circumstances.

There were still faint traces of my old life here back from when my parents were still alive such as my father's desk and my mother's cooking supplies. And quite honestly, being back here and suddenly feeling their absence all over again...it made me sad. I missed them, just as much I miss Jack and Maddie but I had to start moving on too. So I shook my head, turned our old record player, and kept myself busy by unpacking my belongings.

Luckily I had everything I owned in the dorm moved here after it became painfully clear I wouldn't be able to attend classes anymore due to my critical condition. Jack and Maddie offered to do it for me personally but I declined their kind off because for one thing I didn't want them to find out where I live before I had enough time to gain full control of my powers, and for another I wanted to make a clean break for their sake...

I was dangerous to be around whether I liked it or not so exposing them to danger while my powers were still a bit difficult to control was not a risk I was willing to take. Especially since those two are all I had left and someday...I really hoped I'd be able to meet them again and tell them the truth about my powers. But until then, all I could do was try my best to start over and hope for the best.

~

Once I settled in, I began testing out my powers more, taking notes, pushing my limits, and yet the more I learned about myself the more I wished I had someone to share my discoveries with. Jack could be overzealous at times, but I missed how excited we both felt after making a new discovery about ghosts or ectoplasmic energy. And Maddie, she always knew how to reign us in so we could look at things more objectively even though she was usually just as eager to find out more too.

Having no one left to talk to or come home to had finally started to get to me and sadly as a result that's when the nightmares started up again too. Just like back in the hospital I would wake up in a cold sweat, clutching the sheets in both fists as the ghostly blue glow of my eyes cast flickering shadows on the walls. I had gotten careless because I thought I would be alright as long as I didn't have to worry about a doctor or a nurse walking in at any second and seeing my eyes glowing in the darkness.

That's when I realized I had to do something about this before things escalated even further and my emotions spiraled out of control again without some sort of outlet. I needed to make a connection, a way to overcome this shadow looming over me, so I considered seeing a therapist to prevent these nightmares from overtaking me. But I was afraid that if I did talk to someone...what if I became too emotional and exposed my powers to them? That could be a huge problem. I could always overshadow them, but I'd still be avoiding dealing with this terrible helplessness I felt.

That day, I was wandering around town in a daze, conflicted about how to deal with the problem when I happened to enter a local animal shelter. The people at the front desk were friendly, but I had never considered how my...ghostly attributes might make most animals wary of me since they have a sixth sense for the supernatural which quite honestly made me feel even more detached from the person I once was. As a boy I got along well with most animals but I never felt particularly attached to them. Dogs were a bit too energetic for my tastes and I had to deal with that enough with Jack but cats on the other hand, well I have always appreciated their independent spirit but I never considered them to be very affectionate animals...

That all changed the instant I saw her.

On my way out the door after satisfying my idle curiosity about how animals seem to perceive me now that I'm only half human I noticed this sleek black kitten staring directly at me with the most stunning blue eyes I've ever seen and when our eyes met, what I felt...I can't even describe it. It felt as though she was looking right at me, into my heart, and for the first time since the accident, it was like someone had noticed how lost I was and there was this unmistakable look of gentle sympathy in her eyes.

Mesmerized by her gaze, I turned around and asked the person at the desk more about her and they told me she had been abandoned which I could relate to to some degree. To be fair I hadn't been abandoned necessarily, but I felt that way sometimes since it was gradually becoming harder and harder to wake up alone in that empty house every morning, not sure what I should be doing with the rest of my life now that I'm all alone and don't have friends to confide in anymore I can visit whenever I want.

Impulsively I asked if I could hold her and they agreed, smiling at me secretively as if they already knew I felt an instant attachment to her and as soon as they handed her to me...she clung to me like her life depended on it and then crawled up onto my shoulders, wrapping her tiny body around my neck as much as possible and as soon as she was comfortable she started purring. It was like a hug of sorts and I had no idea how starved for the gentle contact from another living creature of any kind from someone that wasn't just another doctor poking and prodding me that all I remember is falling to my knees soon after, sobbing and resting my cheek against her head as she rubbed against me, licking away my tears.

Finally, I thought, this is what I've been searching for ever since I came home. I've missed having someone there who cares about me, someone to remind me that I'm not alone, someone who can stay by my side so I don't have to suffer in silence anymore without a friend there to comfort me just when I start to think I can't bear it anymore.

I'm sure everyone who saw me that day were just as stunned as I was by my meltdown, but I didn't care. I needed her. And she needed me, no, for reasons I cannot even begin to fathom she WANTED to be with me and no one else. It's like she had been waiting for me to walk in that door from the very start. Waiting for me to give her a home, a family, and most importantly...a name. And that name would become a bond that could never be broken, not even after her tragic death some years later when she returned to my side once more as a ghost because she knew I still desperately needed a friend-

And that's how Madison became my closest and dearest companion.

We’ve been inseparable ever since.

[k-s-morgan]

What He Grows to Be: Snippet 5

Thank you to everyone who expressed their preference over what they’d prefer to see in the snippet! Tom watching Harry’s memories about the Chamber of Secrets got the most votes, so here is the draft version of it. Though since it’s almost 4K long, maybe calling it a snippet isn’t appropriate :D 

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

Talking through a diary was an interesting idea. Tom wasn’t sure what kind of magic this was, but now that he’d seen it, he could figure it out. He and Harry would be able to have immediate conversations instead of relying on letters or Patronuses.

Then again, considering what this diary had led to, perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. The last thing Tom wanted was to add himself into Harry’s collection of negative associations in one more way.

He didn’t see how Harry had managed to get into the Chamber of Secrets. One moment, he was staring at the bloody inscription on the wall; the next one, he was standing in an entirely new vast space. Tom still had no idea where it was located or how to access it.

His heart sank in disappointment, but when the full implications hit him, it stopped entirely.

Harry had excluded this memory on purpose. He didn’t trust Tom with the knowledge of where the Chamber was. He showed him the core events but not the details because his trust and his faith were already gone by that point.

And the ritual made it even worse.  

An uncomfortable itchy heat began to radiate from Tom’s chest. The sensation was entirely unfamiliar, so he pressed his palm against it, confused and hoping to squash it down.

He couldn’t name it, but it felt a little like shame. He’d never experienced it to this extent before, and it was never mixed with this kind of almost desperate hurt.

He’d been trying. For years, he’d been trying to be someone Harry would approve of. The craving, the longing for his acceptance stayed his hand so many times that now Tom couldn’t count them all — he even allowed that scum Morfin to blackmail him, no matter how maddeningly outrageous the whole situation was, simply because he refused to risk Harry finding out.

He’d made mistakes, but they were minimal in comparison to what he would have done if he hadn’t been trying. And yet Harry still didn’t trust him.

The shame began to curl away, giving way to dejection. Loneliness suddenly felt sharp and uncompromising, and Tom wrapped his hands around himself, watching how Harry’s head snapped up.      

“She won’t wake,” a voice said. It was soft but cold, so it took a moment for Tom to recognise it. His eyes quickly moved towards one of the pillars, and something in him shuddered from what he saw.

It was like watching his reflection in someone else’s dream. Something was wrong with the boy he was looking at, and it wasn’t just about the fact that his physical contours were blurred, as if he was being held together by magic alone.

No, he was simply different. He didn’t have the splendour Tom prided himself on. He was thinner and hollow-cheeked; his clothes, while neat, came from some cheap store Tom would have never stepped into. He was but a shadow with empty vicious eyes and greed that swarmed around him in a cloud — greed Tom wasn’t sure he could relate to.

He longed for things. He longed for Harry. But even from here, he could read the shallowness and the arrogance written all over his twin’s face, and he didn’t like it one bit.

This wasn’t him. This was Tom Riddle. Someone he could have been.

“Are you a ghost?” Harry asked. He was staring at Riddle with such earnestness, like he trusted him entirely and couldn’t see what a hollow shell he was. This was the first time Tom would disappoint him — the first in a long line of failures and betrayals.

“No,” Tom murmured to himself, shaking his head briefly. He couldn’t keep blurring himself and Riddle — that way madness lied. Despite some superficial similarities, they were completely different people. He might have let Harry down, too, but their story was different. This abomination was dead and could never touch it.

“A memory,” Riddle replied. His voice was quiet, but its sinister and bitter undertones were as loud as shouting. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

Tom’s brows furrowed. What? A memory? That must have been some ritual. Why would he condemn himself to this kind of existence? To give Voldemort more power? Maybe Voldemort had managed to subdue his will and make him into a brainless soldier somehow. This was more plausible than any version of him feeling such loyalty to some monster that he would follow him blindly and sacrifice his life force for him.

How did one become a memory in the first place? Even Tom with his knowledge about all possible forms of dark arts couldn’t figure it out.

Riddle burst into an animated, mostly one-sided conversation, and several minutes later, Tom had to admit that listening to his own voice was surprisingly challenging. Riddle’s arrogance was distorting his words; his excitement over successfully breaking an 11-year-old girl was embarrassing — Tom had felt less enthusiastic when he killed Charlus, and that happened back when he was a child himself. His first impression had been accurate: Riddle was worlds away from him. He was stupid, and Tom would have never believed it if he wasn’t witnessing it with his own eyes.  

“I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here,” Riddle said pleasantly. His eyes were fixed on Harry in an intense, hungry way — and well, they did have something in common, after all. “I knew you’d come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter.”

“Like what?” Harry spat angrily. He didn’t look intimidated in the slightest — his anger and righteousness made him appear taller, and his blazing eyes were furious enough to stop anyone in their tracks.

“How is it that you, a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent, managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time?” Riddle wondered. The pleasant notes were disappearing again under the piles of bitterness and odd envy. “How did you escape with nothing but a scar while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

By the end of it, a red gleam entered his eyes. It looked unnatural enough for Tom to make an instinctive step towards Harry.

This was unnerving. Magic was one thing, but what would turn his eyes — Riddle’s eyes — red? Humans couldn’t do that, it went against all laws of nature. Unless… Unless Riddle wasn’t human.

If so, what was he?

“Why do you care how I escaped?” Harry asked slowly. His own gaze was narrowed in a dawning realisation that Tom couldn’t decipher. Did Harry have a theory? How could he — he was only twelve. “Voldemort was after your time.”

Riddle smirked at him, looking almost giddy, and Tom had to amend his opinion. This impostor wasn’t simply stupid, he was crazy. He grew excited over irrelevant things and reacted inappropriately to every logical question Harry asked.

“Voldemort,” he uttered, “is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter.”

Pulling a wand out of his pocket, he slashed the air with it, writing three rapid words.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Tom studied them, his stare lingering on “Marvolo.” Something about it stood out. Something was strangely familiar.

Before he could follow the clues, Riddle waved the wand again, rearranging the letters. The syllables shifted and clung to each other briefly before assuming their designated places.

I Am Lord Voldemort

His mind went utterly blank. Time stopped. The existence of the world lost its meaning. Tom stared at these words, re-reading them again, and again, and again.

I Am Lord Voldemort.

Tom Riddle. Voldemort.

He was Voldemort.

He was Voldemort. All this time, he was watching himself, and he didn’t even realise this.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Tom recoiled from the damning words so violently that he lost his balance and collapsed onto the wet floor. His body didn’t feel the impact — it couldn’t, he didn’t even have it here, but it still burned, it still groaned and shuddered, as if the weight of his mind and his feelings was too much for it to bear.

“It can’t be,” he tried to speak. No words reached his ears, so he did it again. “It’s not possible. I’m not him.”

Still nothing.

Acid burned at the back of his throat. His stomach contorted in pained shock, and then the terrible screaming something filled his ears, crawling in them until it was the only sound they could perceive. It was violent and shredding — it echoed in his very bones.

He was Voldemort. All along, he was Voldemort. He’d killed Harry’s parents. He tried to kill Harry. He made so many Horcruxes that he had gone insane, losing his mind along with his powers, losing the respect of his followers, leaving only fear in its place.

He wasn’t the right hand of Harry’s nemesis. He was his nemesis. Harry had spent his entire first life hating and fearing him — he had single-handedly ruined Harry’s existence so thoroughly that Harry was forced to escape into the past. To accept guardianship over someone who tortured and destroyed him.

An icy fist closed around his lungs, clawing and squeezing the remains of air out of them. Tom gasped, his body jerking in odd abrupt movements that he had no control over. The next second, the contours of the Chamber of Secrets faded, melting back into Harry’s bedroom. The phantoms of the past were gone — they stayed trapped in the Pensieve, but their terrible echoes remained with Tom. They latched onto his mind with hungry vengeance, throwing an image after an image of the pictures he had seen when he was first watching Harry’s memories.  

It didn’t matter then. Those pictures were just that — the images of a monster he didn’t know and had no direct relationship with. But recalling them now and putting his own face onto them…

His mind rebelled. Tom pressed his hands to his ears, trying to silence the screaming, but it kept getting louder. It hurled accusations and mockeries, painted every crime he committed, every time he hurt Harry and raised his wand against him.

There was no silencing something like this. The only thing Tom could do was outcry it, so he screamed, too.

He found that he couldn’t stop.

***

That night, he added just one sentence to his letter.

Why would you love me?

*** 

The sleep didn’t come. The desire to tear into his skin and shred it until physical pain remained the only sensation was strong, but every time Tom raised his wand or his hands, he stopped.

He wanted to hurt himself. He didn’t want to hurt Harry.

It was easier before. In Harry’s absence, for a long time, he’d been putting his own hurt above everything, even above Harry himself; he’d marred his skin without care, wanting, needing acknowledgement.

But he couldn’t do it now. The thought of leaving even a small scratch on Harry made him sick.

That cursed ritual.

Tom managed to stay physically intact throughout the night, yet he spent it curled into a tight ball, shaking under the pressure of ache and grief and emotions he couldn’t identify. There were so many of them — they were crowding his chest, interfering with his heart, making him feel like he was about to explode with them.

When the morning came and nothing changed, Tom made himself get up. He cooked breakfast, then stared at it silently, knowing that he could never eat it without vomiting it back.

He needed… something. Something comforting. Harry wouldn’t return; Harry’s blanket and things no longer produced the same soothing effect, so it had to be something new.  

If he could capture Harry’s Patronus into some vial… if he could consume the letters Harry had written him…

The letters. He still had the letters. They were the last thing he’d gotten from Harry — they had his personality, his handwriting; they had a whole part of him because Tom could easily trace the story of their creation. From the pressure Harry had applied to a quill in different instances, it was evident where he hesitated, where he took a break, where he got anxious or passionate. It was the closest thing to him Tom had in his possession now.

Without thinking further, he returned to the bedroom and grabbed the last letter. His eyes immediately zeroed in on three specific half-lines.

…I’m going to keep explaining until you do.

…I’ve promised you’ll always be my priority.

…I might consider returning.

A promise of future communication.

The use of future tense.

Future possibility.

This was evidence. Whatever Tom was, Harry didn’t give up on him. Harry still loved him. He might still return.

Tom closed his eyes, nuzzling into the letter, and finally, for the first time in hours, the ache lessened. The sick feeling grew dimmer, too, and he felt solid and grounded again. When he pulled back, his gaze dropped to another passage.

Watch those memories. Don’t contact me until you do.

Tom pressed his lips to these lines, trying to breathe them in, feeling how their rough surface scratched his mouth.

Permission to contact Harry. He still had it. He was simply supposed to meet Harry’s condition.

That meant that he had to return to the Pensieve. The sooner he was done, the closer to Harry he could feel again.

Carefully, Tom folded the letter and put it in his pocket. If things got bad again, he could always touch it and remind himself of the future.

The memories weren’t a punishment. They were a chance to improve things.

Tom couldn’t really be certain, but he preferred to cling to this notion.

This made things easier at least to a small degree.

*** 

He chose to return to the start of the memory. Silently, he watched his shadow speak with Harry, lingered on how it hissed the words of self-admiration and hung onto its useless pride.

“I fashioned myself a new name,” Riddle boasted breathlessly, “a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

“You are not,” Harry said quietly. Despite his age, his resolution was steely, and if Tom had to choose whom he admired more at this moment... it wouldn’t even be a competition.

“Not what?” Riddle snapped. Insecurity and rage were twisting his ghostly face — it was a pitiful display. If the words of a 12-year-old boy had the power to affect him, then he had not only failed at greatness, he was also a failure of a sorcerer.  

“Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore,” Harry said hotly. “Everyone says so!”

The reasoning was… like that of a child. Even though his stomach was clenched into a tight knot, Tom smiled a little, suddenly overcome with a rush of gentleness and fondness for this particular version of Harry.

He was trusting. He was pure in a way that even his Harry wasn’t — he didn’t see death and destruction yet; he was not betrayed by Dumbledore.

He was not betrayed by Tom.                              

The smile disappeared, leaving Tom hollow.

When Dumbledore’s phoenix burst into the Chamber, carrying the Sorting Hat, Riddle laughed, and Tom laughed with him — only his laughter was hysterical because all pieces in his head suddenly clicked into one clear picture.

Dumbledore. Of course. Of course it was Dumbledore’s plan all along, how did he not see this from the start?

Harry hadn’t sneaked into the Chamber secretly — Dumbledore allowed him to. Dumbledore was likely watching him even now, invisible, waiting for the outcome.

Harry was a Horcrux, and Horcruxes could be destroyed with basilisk’s venom.

This was a test. Dumbledore wanted to see if he could get rid of the Horcrux inside Harry without necessarily killing him. The Hat was here to give Harry the Sword — with his mindless bravery, it was not a surprise that he could pull it out. The phoenix was here to decrease the chances of Harry dying and to heal him after he was stabbed.

Clever. And enraging. Because for Dumbledore, Harry was a game piece. For Tom, he was the world.

He would have let Voldemort live for a thousand of years. He would have allowed him to destroy this universe until nothing was left if it meant he could keep Harry safe. Dumbledore would never prioritise one over a billion, and for that, Tom hated him.

“Kill him,” Riddle hissed. The words sent a jolt of automatic panic through him, and Tom moved between Harry and the basilisk before he could think rationally about it.

The snake was magnificent, there was no denying it. Even the first time, when he’d been distracted to the point of ignorance, he stopped to watch it because it was breath-taking in every way.  

There was only one drawback. It wanted to kill Harry, and it meant that Tom would see it destroyed.

Harry broke into a run with his eyes shut. He managed to half-cross the room when he tripped and crashed down, his chin colliding with the cold stone. The sound of it launched Tom into immediate action again before he could stop his stupid feet.

Feeling this protective for such an extended period of time was exhausting. His heart kept hammering relentlessly and his hands were itching with magic, needing to pour it somewhere to protect Harry and to make sure he never got hurt again. How could anyone live in such a state?

The basilisk roared from pain when Dumbledore’s phoenix attacked it. Its tail whipped across the floor, approaching Harry with deadly speed, and Tom’s heart stopped. It stumbled forwards again only when Harry ducked, crouching, dirty and bloodied but with determination still burning brightly on his face. He was beautiful and desperate, and Tom would have cradled him in his arms if he could touch him.

A gust of wind sent the Hat right in Harry’s face. He grabbed it, put it onto his head, and threw himself to the side when the basilisk’s tail snapped forward again, almost crushing him into nothingness.

This was all strategic. It wasn’t a coincidence that the phoenix appeared immediately after Harry pledged his loyalty to Dumbledore. This was training — training in blind devotion, in recklessness, in self-sacrifice. And Harry had no idea.

At least this Harry didn’t. The adult version knew everything yet he still seemed to hold deep respect for Dumbledore.

Perhaps some training was too ingrained to ever fade from one’s core. This explained… almost everything about Harry. If Tom got another chance to make things right, he would dedicate himself entirely to removing these suicidal ideas from his head once and for all.

Harry pulled out the Sword from the Hat. He spent only a second on contemplating it — the next one, he was already standing and pointing it at the basilisk.  

Nothing about this picture was palatable. The sword was too heavy for a child his size: Harry was struggling with it, and the basilisk kept thrashing, hitting everything in sight. How he survived was a matter of miracle. If he had died… If he’d died, this would be it. Tom would never be the person he was now. He would be limited to a memory in his own diary, to a ruin incapable of human thought. He would never get his second chance, and the life as he knew it would never exist.

Terror that rolled through him could only be rivalled by the sheer horror of witnessing the basilisk’s fang separate itself from its mouth and plunge into Harry’s arm. Static electricity burned somewhere above his elbow in a phantom sensation of pain Harry had to be experiencing. It wasn’t real, but Tom’s breathing still quickened, and his fingers wrapped around his arm convulsively.

He couldn’t tell if the fang fell out because Harry had aimed his Sword there or if it was Dumbledore again. Either way, Harry was dying, and even though Tom knew he’d survive, watching this was no less excruciating.

“Fawkes,” Harry murmured hoarsely. His eyes were fluttering shut in an image that came straight from Tom’s worst nightmares. “You were fantastic, Fawkes.”

Giving praise to an impervious bird when life was bleeding out of him. Harry was insane. He was the Harry — his Harry. It was no wonder that an overwhelming longing for him had been and was going to be Tom’s undoing in every life he lived.

“You’re dead, Harry Potter,” Riddle crowed, and Tom turned to face him with a snarl.

He hated this version of himself. Hated him. It was just a shard of him, dull and shallow, and if this underwhelming thing was ever his future, he would have preferred death.  

Riddle wasn’t a powerful wizard. Even now, when faced with a dying wandless boy, he was too wary of making his own move. He let the basilisk be his weapon; he was watching Harry die and not intervening because he was intimidated.

Though perhaps it made sense. Maybe even Riddle could see Harry’s brilliance despite his narrow-mindedness — maybe, beneath the hatred and the fear, he was fascinated. Tom knew he would be.

Harry might not have much power, and he certainly didn’t at the age of twelve, but he still managed something no other wizard had tried. He’d defeated a giant basilisk with a sword; his agility was almost otherworldly as he twisted, crouched, and ducked from the heavy blows.

This was worthy of admiration. Even Riddle couldn’t be that blind so as to miss it.

When the phoenix healed Harry, Riddle didn’t cry out in alarm or anger like Tom might have expected him to. Instead, his face shifted between different conflicting expressions, and his eyes regained the hungry glint Tom found intimately familiar.

“It makes no difference,” Riddle spoke confidently, with only the tiniest twitch of uncertainty underneath. “In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter... you and me.”

The surprising jealousy raised its ugly head, making Tom tense. He didn’t know in what way his shadow meant these words — he didn’t like to think about it either. It didn’t matter any way because there would never be such thing as Riddle and Harry, not until Harry came back to the past and gave the real Tom a chance at rebirth.

Without answering, Harry stabbed the diary with the fang, his eyes glistening with fevered hatred. Even Riddle’s piercing scream didn’t shake Tom the way this look had. He barely heard a sound through the sudden roaring in his ears, the sudden realisation that this was Harry’s first and last meeting with an actual Tom Riddle. Voldemort was a monstrosity with a face Tom refused to claim, but physically, Riddle was him.

How did Harry feel, watching him grow up? Had he ever looked at him and seen Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets? How could the feeling of love prevail over the feeling of hatred the 12-year-old Harry was currently wearing?

Tom turned away, unable to keep looking. His throat was dry, and as his knees started to shake, threatening to buckle right under him, he thrust his hand into his pocket, gripping the letter there.

In some other world, this moment had been Riddle’s end. But it wouldn’t be his.

He could do better. He would do better.

He’d finish watching these memories, he’d complete his letter to Harry, and then he’d start working. Harry would never look at him like he had at Riddle. In years, the memories of the Chamber of Secrets would fade; Riddle would become a shadow of a shadow, and Tom’s image would outshine him. It would take precedence in Harry’s mind.

This determination washed away the worms of doubts and self-hatred. When the new wave of memories swept him along, Tom felt prepared to face them.  

[lucycola]

The Lone Survivor: Part 2

Spock x Fem!Reader

Premise: Fem!Reader accidentally bonds with Spock when rescued from her own starship crash. The Golden Trio realize the footage from the wreck could wrongfully incriminate the reader. They attempt to find a way out of this. PART ONE HERE

SLOW BURN. Eventual smut in later parts. More Bones dialogue than probably necessary but WHATEVER. Fatherly Bones. There will be more one on one Reader and Spock in part three. Right now it plays like a normal episode with build up because I’m stubborn. 

WARNINGS:  Movie amnesia, sexual themes if you squint, mentions of death, and implied one-sided matrimony.

Part 2: The Night We Met I Knew I Needed You So

There was no mistaking the final moments illustrated in the found footage from the Calvary. It was you assaulting the crew on the bridge-you setting a course straight to destruction on Toravalve 9.

However, Mister Spock had disagreed. He had reached into your mind and saw you in your own eyes. It couldn’t have been you.

After carrying you back to the medbay you were put safely back in your bed with a Doctor McCoy who hovered over you like a disgruntled mother bear. With the tricorder at your forehead you pleaded with him to relax. 

Captain Kirk had been summoned to hear what you both, or rather, Mister Spock had to say. For some stranger reason Spock omitted the existence of the orange tape. He deliberated his own findings via meld instead. 

“A copy of sorts, Captain.”

“And you’re sure you saw the Lieutenant looking...at her own self?”

“As unlikely as it may seem, it is was I saw. Although it was also demonstrated that the Lieutenant received a severe head injury before witnessing her own self attack the crew members.”

“And you’re sure it wasn’t some kind of...” Kirk deliberated for a moment, “... out of body experience.”

“Also unlikely. Although it is perceivable Lieutenant L/N maybe have suffered delusions after cranial trauma I possess a suspicion that an illusion was made unto the Lieutenant and the crew.”

Kirk glanced at you for a moment and back to Spock, quizzically at first, but then with a dashing smirk. “A hunch, Spock? How very...human.”

Spock quirked a brow, hands still stonily behind his back, “All endeavors begin with a hypothesis.”

“You believe me,” you murmured, from your bed still although no longer in your white, medbay gown you were graciously presented with black Starfleet fatigues. Nurse Chapel had gently maneuvered your unruly waves into two pleats that were coming undone slowly.

A stark contrast to the pristine, polished head science officer.

The fingers on Spock’s right hand flexed at the sound of your voice.

He only turned his head to look at you, “Empirical data is what needs to be obtained-whether I believe what memories are buried in your subconscious is incidental.”

“They still don’t feel real,” you admitted. Not even your name felt real.

“Such an admission will not help your case and I advise you keep that opinion to yourself, Lieutenant.”

You felt like he was chiding you. Your ground your jaw slightly and you knew he could feel it: the aggravation, the impatience. Fear.

His right fingers flexed again, but his expression, unchanging as ever, gave nothing away.

The electric pool of warmth in the back of your mind hushed you, told you to remain calm. Diplomatic.

How could looking at your own self feel real? ‘She’ seemed so real. You had walked around the corner and met yourself, squaring you up instantly. She lunged for you and you wrestled with her, shocked at the fact that you had your own hands around your throat. They weren’t your hands. It was an imposter. 

How? That was the real question. 

“How do we find proof then, Mister Spock?” Kirk asked, reinserting himself.

“We locate the imposter and confirm my hypothesis.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Kirk replied.

“Indeed it will not be so. Commander Craft is aware of the meld that took place and will order me to testify my findings against the lieutenant. Until the Lieutenant’s sanity can be declared-”

“I’m sure I can help with that,” the doctor said, almost appearing out of nowhere.

“What is left is concrete evidence,” Spock added.

“The imposter,” Kirk finished, nodding. 

“Who’s Commander Craft?” you asked.

He turned to look at you. You were made to feel the oblivious child with everyone in the room talking about you. However, you listened and you absorbed. You were careful with your input. Listen first, talk later, you thought to yourself. The presence in the back of your mind hummed in monotonic approval as if to say, good girl.

You wondered what those words tasted like on Spock’s lips. You shuddered in embarrassment and turned your head away.

Spock coughed uncharacteristically, “Commander Craft is the elected official heading the investigation crew from the Federation. We were contacted yesterday and were to present a full report of our findings and happenings.”

Which included the bond. That detail in itself was still above you, not fully explained nor understood. You could feel it for what it was and knew he was there. Not why or how, however. 

 “We must garner more time,” Spock continued to his captain, “And possibly keep myself from testifying.”

“We could declare you insane,” the doctor quipped earning another brow arch from his opposing.

“You’re asking for a loophole,” Kirk stated.

“Essentially, Captain.”

Kirk seemed to know there was more to it, the way he pursed his lips and put his fists on his hips. You knew yourself that if Spock testified against you with what he saw in the meld then there was no evidence against you truly-just what you yourself witnessed. However, Spock would be asked to tell the whole truth and that included the tape. If you were deemed crazy then your own experiences would be null and void.

Did Kirk already know about the tape?

Kirk sighed,” Spock, I...we’d be misleading not only Starfleet, but the Federation. This isn’t the first time you’ve-”  he glanced at you, “-taken the unorthodox route to obtain justice.”

“Then I am asking for your trust, Captain.”

Kirk’s eyes narrowed then softened. He relented and with a sturdy tone which meant business as he relayed, “I suppose you already a loophole in mind then?”

“Indeed, Captain.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

Spock paused, fighting to look at you.

“Well, aren’t you gonna tell us?” the doctor asked.

“Proposals are not so elementary to make on Vulcan, even when it is logical...but also yet not as it could fare unfavorable circumstances. Especially if one party is unwilling.”

It took Kirk a moment, and even the doctor even longer.

“You mean...?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“You’re willing to marry her so you don’t have to testify?” he asked incredulously.

You were stupefied, impressed, but stupefied. The stoic Vulcan could play dirty. An actual proposal.

“You’re going to marry her?” Bones asked, mortified, “She’s a person...not a pawn! This is her life we’re meddling with. Marriage is a serious thing-”

“You’ll find, Doctor, that I am quite serious.”

“You could wreck her life.”

“I intend on saving it.”

Spock, your heart breathed.

“It seems like a reach for you, Spock,” Kirk said, “They would never believe the both of you, even if Y/N did agree.”

“It will be most believable as the Lieutenant and I have already made a bond.”

Silence befell everyone.

“You can’t be serious,” the doctor said finally, a fierce protectiveness in his voice. “At a time like this-”

“It was not intended as I am careful to shield my mind when partaking tactility with other forms-but, she called to me.”

And he had found you in the dark.

“She accepted it-although it is possible that may be due to the extreme duress she was suffering.”

“And you were there to save her,” Bones finished, a grave distaste in his voice.

“Such a bond can be mediated by a healer with moderate difficult just as a Terran divorce can be secured.”

It was a slap to the face. He was as willing to ‘save’ you as he was to dump you and leave you for dead. Red hot turmoil threatened in your core and you clenched your blankets. What was the point then?

Your crew was dead, your reputation tarnished, and everyone thought you were a murderer.

Let me die, you thought, just let me die.

“Certainly not,” Spock said quietly. Both the Captain and the Doctor eyed him wearily as this random statement.

“So you...negating your-”

“No, sir. I am simply waiting for Lieutenant L/N’s input on the matter.”

“There’s no way in hell she’d agree to this. The bond is clearly one-sided, Spock. How could you be so irresponsible?” Bones chided. 

“A explanation escapes me.” He was still looking at you with smoldering eyes, with bright stars dancing behind them. Cold, but fierce.

What other shot did you have? How else could you bide time while searching for this monster? You wanted to give up. It would be easy.

Kirk leaned in to his second in command and suggested softly, “Perhaps you should ask more properly, Mister Spock. She is a lady. Bones is right. It’s her life.”

“Lieutenant-”

Kirk elbowed him.

“Y/N,” he corrected himself, “Will-”

“Yes,” you blurted in a hushed voice, “I will marry you, Mister Spock.”

x

You were left in your bed again under strict supervision this time. You reveled in the shock of what you’d just agreed to, and even the shock of the situation in its entirety. Rediscovering the monster that claimed your crew and your identity was still fresh and seeing it through your own eyes again with the meld drained the life out of you. You were exhausted, but your mind still raced. ‘It’ was on the ship-it had to be. They didn’t find a copy of you or anyone else in the wreckage. You wondered how recognizable some of your crewmates were and you had to still your frantic thoughts. 

“What ever is going on up there it needs to stop. You heart rate is very high.” Doctor McCoy was already readying a hypo. 

“That...thing. It might be here-”

“We’re on high alert, looking for any copies of ourselves. It’s not the first time this kind of thing has happened,” he tried to assure you.

“There are no red lights.”

“They get annoying after awhile. Whatever it is, it’s damn good at hiding. But we’ll flush it out. The Captain has a plan.”

“Did Mister Spock tell you the imposter can read your memories? That’s how it tricked me. Did he tell the captain?” you asked, wring your hands with the blanket. 

“Your guess is better than mine.”

You thought back to Spock’s omission to the orange tape. Always flipping back and forth between elusive affection and monotonous professionalism. Marry me. Divorce after. 

“He’s hard to place sometimes.”

“And you agreed to marry him.”

“I did,” you blurted stubbornly. “We’re bonded.”

Bones suddenly became eye level with you, bracing both hands on the rail. “But do you know what that even means?”

You arched a brown similar to Vulcan fashion, “Do you, good doctor?”

Bones shook his head and instead asked, “Sleep now or later? Does it help with the nightmares?”

“Yes, I think so. Now, I think. Doctor?”

“Yes, kitty?”

“Thankyou.”

x

Sleep was apart of the healing process and being roused from it interrupted that. That was at least what Bones tried to argue when the captain requested your presence in the conference room. Flanked by your fiancé and the kindly captain himself you were expected to hold an interview of sorts with Commander Craft via telecom before his arrival at the crash site. Several ships had already come to help clean up. 

“What am I supposed to say?” you half pleaded with them, “I’m not good at lying.”

“You do not have to be deceitful. However, if you find yourself under duress the commander may suspect a guilt as I had sensed upon our initial meeting,” Spock replied, one arm linked on your good side. 

Your other arm supported a crutch when had a nervous hand floating behind it via the captain. 

Kirk shot a reassuring look your way. “I recommend the truth. Tell him what you told me, and you’ll be fine. He’s a bit of a stickler for rules and he’s tough on the stand-”

“Jesus,” you muttered. 

“Or...a bit of theatrics couldn’t hurt if you get too overwhelmed. You did just lose your crew.” 

“How could I forget?” Your lip quivered. 

You three paused at the door. 

“I trust my first officer, Y/N,” Kirk turned to face you, “As unorthodox as this has become, I put trust into his melds and by what he has told me you didn’t do anything wrong. That thing-that monster did.”

You couldn’t stop the tears dribbling. “Captain, I let my crew die.”

“Any death having occurred was unintentional on your part, Lieutenant, ”Spock said in his chilly tone, “As was demonstrated in your memory you tired to apprehend and fend off the creature, but to no avail. You did everything in your power. The human emotional phenomena your are experiencing is common upon singular entities having being spared from genocide.”

“That is?” Kirk asked. 

“Survivor’s guilt,” you sighed, finishing the statement for you fiancé. 

x

Commander Craft was not unkind, nor did he smile. He was neither young or old and his questions were fairly basic as the captain’s were three days earlier. You recounted all you could remember, and it was stressed by you and the captain that you had lost most of your general memory due to head trauma. Whether he seemed convinced was unknown to you. You tried to hold back in your distress. The warmth in the back of your mind wrapped around the little knot that pain and anxiety was birthed. It was squeezed it slowly, like the grasp of a hand. You delivered your answers calmly. 

“The double of yourself, you saw. Did you see it transform from your father to yourself?” the commander asked.

“No sir.”

“Have you seen a copy of yourself since you boarded the Enterprise?”

“No sir.”

“And no foreign entity has been detected on the ship?”

“No sir,” the captain replied. 

“Mmm,” the commander paused for the first time in what seemed like hours. “L/N, had you ever experiences delusions or hallucinations before?”

“I don’t remember.”

“And did you experience the trauma to your head before or after you saw yourself sabotaging the ship?”

“I...” you glanced, “I’m not sure. After?”

“Do you remember hitting your head at all?”

“I remember the copy throwing me hard against the wall and everything going black.” You tried to strengthen your voice, but it kept cracking. You heart continued to race. “And-”

It flashed. 

“When I let my father on the ship. I went black there too. But I’m not sure if I hit my head that time.”

“And Mister Spock you were able to witness what Lieutenant L/N saw?”

“Affirmative.”

“But...through her point of view.”

Fuck. You had a feeling he would try to pull the crazy card. 

“Were there any observation tapes recovered from the crash?”

“My  crew obtained few, but to my knowledge they are still processing them,” the captain answered smoothly. 

“Has any other information been made available to any of you?”

You could feel the edges of your vision blacken. You couldn’t make eye contact with him. Cold sweat had broken from your brow.  A cold, steady hand placed itself to your brow. The natural warmth on your mind shimmered. 

“She has a fever, Captain.”

“I won’t tolerate any nonsense, Lieutenant-”

“Commander, she has just lost four-hundred members of her family to a people-eating imposter!” Kirk bellowed lowly, “She’s kept it together well so far. I commend her efforts. You have the wrong idea about her.”

“Until I can find proof of this ‘imposter’ and until her psyche can be cleared by one of our doctors then we’ll see. This isn’t the first time the Federation has had to deal with the Enterprise’s shenanigans.”

“People eating?” you whispered in disbelief.  Oh my god. 

Spock caught on to Kirk’s unnecessary honesty. “It was discovered the imposter’s prime directive was to use the Calvary’s crew as sustenance.”

You toppled forwards and were caught and cradled by your fiancé. 

“Take her to the medbay, Mister Spock,” Kirk ordered. 

“Call for the doctor. I am not taking my eyes off her until we arrive!” the commander snapped. 

“By the time Doctor McCoy arrives she will succumb to shock. I must attend to my t’hy’la in the most logical and efficient manner possible.”  

Kirk fought the need to smile, not realizing that your theatrics weren’t really theatrics. 

x

PART THREE

[hopeaterart]

Mario Odyssey: Paper Kingdom AU

Or: The AU where I adapt Paper Mario characters into a kingdom in Mario Odyssey because while my brain is small, it has a big mind that keeps thinking up new ideas. This tackles the kingdom’s backstory, it’s travel brochure, why Mario ends up going there, and the frankly ridiculous political context he stumbles into. I might tackle the characters in another post.

Backstory

A long time ago, a creature made out of shadows and thin as paper rose out of an island. Calling itself- or herself- the Shadow Queen, the malevolent spirit could wield the power of seven stars, and her heart was pitch-black and full of chaotic hatred. She reigned over the land with an iron fist, terrified painted shadows at her command.

Until one day, a small faction of her own people turned against, led by four heroes and eight mages. They studied her magic, and turned it against her, folding themselves like paper get close to her and stealing her stars to destroy her body, the eight mages using their magic to separate her heart from her spirit

Enraged, her spirit lashed out, cursing the four heroes into suffering the same fate as her, reduced to spirits enclosed in coffins just as she unleashed the full power of her heart. But before she could turn her wrath on the other rebels, the eight mages sacrificed themselves, turning their souls into pure energy and setting it on the Shadow Queen’s heart, ripping it out and sending both the heart and the soul of the Shadow Queen into a deep sleep.

The only thing left was a prophecy- a warning. If a cruel monster and a gentle maiden marry each other in a farce, the Chaos Heart will rise again. If this happens, the Shadow Queen’s rise is imminent, and she will take over the body of the maiden. The only way to stop her is to find her Seven Stars, and use them to destroy her soul once and for all.

The throne of the Paper Kingdom is left symbolically empty, and the country is ruled by a council.

-

Travel Brochure

Population: Sparse, but plentiful

Size: Wide

Locals: Shapeshifters

Currency: Paper fortune teller shaped

Industries: Construction, stories

Temperature: Average  73 °F

A craft for the ages

Multi-level: The Paper Kingdom is made of multiple levels carved within the plateau, and all of them have something to offer. From the charming beach town of Rogueport to the looming Castle of Chaos, this place is vibrant and full of carefully crafted layers.

Rich History: The Paper Kingdom’s history is something for the ages: A demon rising out of the earth, her own people standing up against her, a battle ending in tragedy, and a prophecy! And they know it too! Their own history is so rich and captivating, they transformed telling people about it into a spectacle. If you’re ever in the need of someone to give a grandiose speech, a Paper Kingdom storyteller is what you need!

Origami Festival: If you visit the Paper Kingdom during their fall season, you might bear witness to the Origami Festival! While considered unorthodox and dangerous, Shapeshifters recognize origami as an incredibly powerful type of magic, allowing one to become anything their heart wish. As such, they have festivities centered around this concept that lasts a week, where they put up tons of different and incredible origami displays celebrating the concept.

-

How it fits in the game

For it’s location, it would be a decently sized island between the Luncheon Kingdom and Snow Kingdom, and would be the last place you go to before Bowser’s castle. From above, it would look rectangular, and most of it would be very elevated (think of a plateau, but in the middle of the ocean.) While it would seem small at first glance, the truth is that most of the earth is hollowed out, and there’s a lot of communities that live underground. You would be able to visit the two surface ones (Rogueport at the base of the plateau, and Castle of Chaos (Equivalent to Castle Bleck) on top of it) from the start, and at least one additional area under Castle of Chaos would unlock after the main story.

As for it’s place in the story, a wedding needs an officiant, and Bowser decided to get a storyteller from the Paper Kingdom because they’re known to give quite touching speeches. Bowser was originally planning to make his announcement of his marriage to Peach, take someone by force if he got denied, and leave the kingdom in disarray as punishment for denying him.

So you can imagine his surprise when not one, but two storytellers volunteered to be his officiant: Dimentio, royal jester and local agent of chaos who’s starting to find the current situation in the Paper Kingdom boring because it’s stagnating (albeit because they want to stop the hostilities temporarily for the upcoming Origami Festival), and the Beldam, eldest of the shadow Sirens and actively trying to resurrect the Shadow Queen. 

Let’s be clear, here: Neither of them are really interested in Bowser’s marriage, but both are after the power of the Chaos Heart, which has the potential to arise from this union: Dimentio to create even more chaos, and Beldam to harness it’s power and bring the Queen back to life. He picked the storyteller who had actual experience with being an officiant: Dimentio, who officiated multiple noble weddings- and left a fuming Beldam behind. In her rage, she decided to make the King of Koopas not choosing her as an evil marriage officiant everyone else’s problem and promptly started freezing everything in sight.

And that’s where Mario and Cappy come in, looking for Power Moons...

-

What’s going on?

A few weeks before Bowser shows up, the wedding of Blumiere, the son of an important count, and his human girlfriend Timpani (I don’t know from where she could be, probably New Donk CIty), was happening. However, in part due to a sinister prophecy that foretold the rebirth of the Chaos Heart if a furious monster lord (Blumiere is not human, and he has quite the unstable temperament) and a fair and lovely maiden (Timpani is a bit shy, cares for everything around her, and is nothing but kind) got married, and in part due to being a racist fuck, Blumiere’s father tried to stop the marriage by lethally attacking the bride.

Big mistake.

Blumiere ended up flying into a rage, messily killing his father with his bare hands and the assistance of a surge of magic, and destroyed the wedding venue. He then took Timpani, who was dying, to the origami craftsman, who earned himself a reputation of defying nature’s law by creating Olly and Olivia for an Origami festival, which was. Not planned. He then more or less forced him to heal his bride. 

The craftsman was absolutely able to say no: Olly brought to life multiple office supplies and all of them are ready to attack on sight, but he still went and healed up Timpani, albeit altering her physical appearance permanently due to having to heal her up using Origami Magic. Olly does not take his father being threatened into helping someone well, and barges into Castle of Chaos two weeks later and self-proclaim himself king with the assistance of the office supplies, which he dubs his Legion of Stationery, because of a perceived disrespect toward his family.

He is twelve.

Blumiere- who renamed himself Count Bleck following his father’s death- is understandably outraged, and denounces Olly with the support of his companions. Said companions are: his wife lady Timpani whom he (and most of the kingdom) adores, a small bat-like woman and his spokesperson Nastasia, the strong but dimwitted warrior and champion O’Chunks, the robotic but emotional Mimi who works in banking, and local shit-bastard jester Dimentio. This is due to Bleck being a direct descendant of one of the eight mages that sacrificed themselves, and he’s forced to make a claim to the throne to be taken seriously in trying to stop Olly.

He does not want to take the throne.

So now, there’s a twelve years old and a pissed off count who murdered his father in a blind rage fighting over the throne of the Paper Kingdom, neither of them know what they’re going to do next, and no one is happy about this situation. The instability allows a third party to make an appearance and grab for the throne: The X-Nauts, a race of robotic aliens led by the tyrannical Sir Grodus. Their goal? Resurrect the Shadow Queen and use her power to remake the Paper Kingdom, and eventually the planet, in their image.

The good news is that neither Olly nor Bleck want the X-Nauts to succeed. Bleck because he knows they’re planning on resurrecting the Shadow Queen and he does not want that to happen, and Olly because Grodus’ second in command was mean to Olivia once. This means that they are able to put their difference aside, which means there’s still hope an all-out civil war can be avoided.

Speaking of Olivia, poor girl think her brother went evil and wants to reign over the Paper Kingdom like a tyrant. This is understandable, as he’s a irritable twelve years boy with six killing machine at his command and also starting his emo edge lord phase, and she’s a literal ray of sunshine. As such, Olivia decided to find other people willing to stop Olly, Bleck and Grodus from burning the country to the ground in their squabble, not realizing that, as the leader of this group, she is also making .a claim for the throne.

She is also twelve.

And now, there’s Beldam losing her shit over being turned down and freezing everything into unmoving sheets on the walls. Ironically, this common enemy might just be what’s needed to calm everyone down.

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

31 Days of Apex Legends

Little bit behind, but I combined Days 1 & 2 (Pride & Friendship)

Chapter 1 of an upcoming fic I am still writing.

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

Title: Pride & Assumed Prejudice

Chapter 1: Masks

Something sour lingered on the tip of his tongue, on the razor’s edge of every thought; like a granule of poison sinking slowly into a beverage, unseen as the hapless victim takes a sip. Unnecessary, unnerving, and oddly enough, inducing a curiously debilitating sensation of anxiety for the first time in well over a decade. An emotion long-ago thought cordoned off, and utterly aggravating in its resurgence.

One could theoretically shut it out with enough mental fortitude and regimented distraction, but this tended to only provide short-term relief, for it always returned; faster, stronger, more pervasive than the last time. A creeping sense of wrongness that seemed to seep through every vein, clutching tightly to each breath as it worked to enter his lungs, twisting his stomach at random intervals, and reigniting old memories best left buried in unmarked graves. Unmourned and unwelcome.

At least, that is what Caustic tells himself.

There seems to be some level of psychological impairment at work, he rationalises in the depths of the night when he can barely think for the voiceless fears that make his heart race and air withdraw from ravaged lungs before it can fully impart its gift. The only hypothesis that makes even the vaguest sense is that there is likely a chemical agent of some kind, a poison, being introduced into some facet of his daily routine that is affecting his mental faculties?

Caustic is perplexed to find that his bloodwork runs clean each time, as do random samples of his food stores, lab equipment, clothing, cleaning products, furniture, air filtration units, plants and even toothpaste. Though he runs them often, at random, in hopes of locating the culprit for these uncomfortable sensations, these distractions from his research. Randomising events on his mental schedule each day in order to avoid any other human or non-organic being from identifying his routine again; if they ever even had. And yet, it persists.

Denial is perhaps the only shield that he will not admit to using, in this instance. Though for all his great logic, his knowledge and emphatic belief in the fundamental laws of science… there is still a strange feeling that persists in coursing through his veins. If he would allow himself but a moment to acknowledge it, to let it in and experience the sensation then it may lead to a breakthrough… but at what cost? If the facade falls, then who would he be?

Yet still his whole body feels electrified from within; as if sensing a change coming, like the increased atmospheric pressure before a thunderstorm. Everything that had been built was starting to decay, and it was not clear why now, why this year… why this ridiculous event was the catalyst. Even though such an obvious connection between this heightened emotional state and the particular time of year never actually occurred to the unnaturally overwrought man.

As the days between the present and the event grew shorter, and the other Legends began to ramp up their ridiculous displays of personal expression, the odd physiological effects increased exponentially, until simply existing in the same dwelling had become almost unbearable. It was merely because the others were younger, more prone to ludicrous displays of ebullience, constantly impeding his research with their tomfoolery… yes, that must be it. The reassurances ring hollow, even to his own mind.

Yet still the simple fact remained… that the year previous, as a new Legend, this whole event had been laughably easy to ignore. So why did it bring such distress, such melancholy? What variable had changed between these two points in time that was bringing this insidious juggernaut of disruption to his mind, body and experiment schedule?

Despite what he, at the time, perceived as his best efforts to provide a front of general indifference and borderline contempt for the ‘nonsensical festivities’ of the majority of the other Legends; it became apparent that these actions were not nearly enough to stave off the eyes of the irritating coworkers. Without even realising, Caustic was shrinking away, becoming distant once more and this, in turn, naturally raised a few eyebrows.

Certainly, he was not the most extroverted or beloved amongst their ranks, but at the insistence of Miss Pacquette, that damnable Gibraltar, and the unerringly difficult to evade Salvonian he had been making small forays into socialising in the name of increasing battle compatibility with the others. In the name of increasing battle efficiency, of course.

Caustic’s sudden detraction from even the few low-key communal activities he had begrudgingly begun to attend on a generally regular basis in their shared lodgings, such as the occasional movie night or weekly shared meal, was a blatant signal to the more empathetic and suspicious of the Legends that something was not right here. Some moved immediately to paranoid delusions, others queried if the scientist was unwell or had been caught up in work and forgot; Caustic could always feel Miss Pacquette’s eyes on him these days. Waiting for him to do something she could no longer forgive.

The sting of her derision only made matters worse, silencing all explanations he might give to the others when they arrived at his assigned room; so that all any who arrived saw was a brief silhouette before the door slammed shut in their faces. Assuming hostility, when the words were simply trapped inside; not wanting to admit this disgusting weakness that clawed, bit and screamed every moment of every day.

However, it was the unintended actions that gave rise to what came next; and he could blame none other than himself. For, as the foolish often do, a handful of those in the complex began to conjecture… rumour, if you will, and they spread like an unchecked wildfire. Caustic was not able to tell if they had been an errant thought turned unintentionally malicious or the deliberate attempt of one of his detractors like Loba or Crypto; and as much as he wished to close off the side of himself that felt anguish at these new beliefs swirling between his coworkers… he could not.

To say the rumours were incorrect would be an understatement, but even he could see how the gossip-mongers amongst their ranks had extrapolated a tenuous but alluring hypothesis that slandered his character, from such limited data points as were available. Especially after their foray to… the planet of his youth, most recently.

It seemed wherever he went, that blasted Crypto seemed to be hovering nearby with a smug look on his face; as if waiting for the opportune moment to mention a few inconvenient truths. Did the younger man realise what was happening to him? Could he use that drone of his to deliver a toxic compound into Caustic’s chambers when the scientist was absent? No, no of course not. Mystik would never forgive him… unless he could provide a plausible alibi. Even that particular train of thought was beginning to wear on him, feeling more tangible each time his brain brought the concept up. Actual poison was not the hacker’s style; but social poison, the slow and cruel kind that seeped from mouth to mouth, assassinating without a blade… that might be plausible.

These days, Caustic found his pulse always quickened when he caught sight of the hacker in the living complex, the anxiety making his mind rush through the worst possible scenarios of his secret being openly divulged to the masses without warning; even though some seemed utterly ridiculous. What would happen, after all? The worst case scenario? Repulsion from the others would be one thing, a natural consequence of their newfound awareness of his misdeeds and discovering the depths of his past, somewhat less than legal, activities. A strong possibility that perhaps the Legends would take the rash step of immediately contacting authorities to attend the Legend dwellings; something even Caustic would understand as rational.

Yet still, with his normally formidable intellect being absolutely and utterly subsumed under false assumptions and fallacies; the kind only a mind shuddering on the verge of collapse could generate… far worse fates arose like apparitions behind his eyelids. Such as the bizarre and somewhat infuriating insistence of his anxiety-ridden mind that the other Legends could hear of his past and simply decide to take matters into their own hands; pretending all is well until an opportunity arose to publicly execute Caustic themselves, mid-match with his beacon deactivated, for all the world to see. To denounce him in such a way that none could ever assume they had kept his secret; the disgust on their faces as they would wipe his blood from their skin would be proof enough.

Often in the depths of night Caustic muses on this highly improbable outcome. Yet, he finds that the variable of the scenario that keeps him awake is simply that, in this outcome there was the uncomfortably very real possibility of his Mother inadvertently bearing witness to the second death of her son; a thought that makes his chest constrict with a nameless horror. She loved to watch the games, according to that brat she favoured so much… and he could not put her through that grief again.

No matter how nonsensical, the idea and an uncountable number of similarly impossible scenarios would repeat over and over again every waking moment of the day. And again throughout every second of sleep he managed to wrest from this endless void of uncertainty, until it felt like the only true outcome. Caustic was aware he was not thinking logically, or even assessing all the variables… but his mind clouded it all out with whispered worries to distract, to isolate and distress.

These imagined ends and their outcomes added an almost unfathomable heaviness to his existence; adding unearned gravitas to the myriad of little concerns, worries and secret guilts until they felt like a thick fog that obscured all rational thought. Every little concern, so often hidden from his own conscious mind by a never-ending series of experiments and day-to-day tasks he employed to quiet the thoughts he did not wish to entertain, was now screaming inside. Some days he felt not unlike a speaker, reverberating from the harsh beating of his heart, and almost surprised none other than himself could hear.

No, this was ridiculous. He could not allow this to continue, not if he wished to remain Caustic. As a Legend, as a researcher with endless funding as long as he gave the right results in battle, as a scientist seeking additional data, and… as reluctant as Caustic was to admit it, as a member of the rag-tag team that shared the Apex-funded lodgings. A collective, almost like a-...

The thought always shut off there, twisting to a rapid mental analysis of the other Legends for the sake of anything else to focus on. Certainly some of the other ‘champions’ were irritating and he found it difficult to deal with them for long; but others he had to concede were fascinating, and startlingly brilliant in their fields, many of whom were willing to engage in discussions about their expertise and experiences. Even with mild distrust guarding their words to begin with, until passion for the subject overtook their misgivings.

But, as loathe as he was to admit this to even himself; to Caustic... the legends themselves were something he was starting to feel part of. Somewhat like they were a-... the word lodged in his chest like a blunt knife, something that could cause harm if he ever admitted how far he had fallen into the illogical void of social intelligence. He railed against the term, but logically it was the only apt one available to describe this group of strange people; and that was… family.

Bile scorched the back of his throat as he allowed the thought to flow through him like a soundwave, the sentiment of it far more distressing than the physical sensations; as Caustic been under the strong impression of having successfully managed to cut off all sense of sentimentality, along with his fingers, on Gaea. This feeling, this potential vulnerability, was therefore repulsive.

However… it could not be denied that recently the increased socialisation had brought out some surprising connections and insights with the others. Even simple interactions such as providing a gruff thank you to a teammate for pinging a weapon component whilst looting was noted by the others; and the way that Caustic made certain to inoculate his squadmates before a match. Inconsequential activities, but seen… apparently. He had never noticed their eyes on him during these moments before… and now he felt as if they never ceased their burning gazes on his every breath, every twitch and thought.

As it stood, he was closer to some Legends than others; and had forged several, somewhat tenuous but holding, connections he was not wholly ashamed to admit.

For example, Caustic found Horizon’s expertise on astrological matters an excellent way to pass sleepless nights, when both found themselves in the kitchen for coffee at 2am. Minds full of half formed ideas, or regrets, and unable to speak them aloud to anyone; there was an odd companionship between the Legends, so close in age and so vastly apart in lived experiences. Or, at the least, the experiences of their alibis.

Even through the distress he felt, Caustic could not help but smile as he recalled that their first two meetings at such a location and hour had not gone quite so well as in recent times. For the good Dr Somers had been blissfully unaware that a rather prominent side effect of Caustic’s initial and continued toxin exposure often expressed itself as a bright green glow about his irises; therefore the first time they had met in the pitch-black kitchen at an ungodly hour, the astrophysicist had said some truly profane things and thrown a mug of hot coffee in his direction. Lifeline had not been pleased to deal with burns at that time, no matter how Horizon had insisted they needed a proper assessment of the damage, but the young woman seemed to have found the whole situation quite humorous in hindsight. Often making smart ‘Be careful, Doctor, that’s hot!’ quips when she caught either of them holding coffee.

Ah, but their second meeting of this nature had been different. Caustic had merely been resting his eyes at the kitchen island when Horizon had carefully crept inside the darkened room, footsteps barely audible, and proceeded to make herself coffee on the quietest setting possible. It was, in fact, the sound of her sipping the beverage that had roused Caustic, and Horizon had promptly performed an almost perfect spit take in shock at his ‘sudden appearance’. The stain in the wall had never quite come out and neither of the older Legends had bothered to inform the younger Legends how it had manifested. Though some had their suspicions...

There was a calming energy to Dr Somers, and she seemed to have a distance in her eyes that he could relate to without ever broaching the subject. When they spoke of stars, of technology to traverse the time and space between the worlds, there was a communion of unspoken camaraderie there that soothed in an inexplicable manner.

Of the others, Caustic had occasionally found himself ensconced in fascinating discussions and discourse with Mirage when the pair had found themselves trapped in a social setting, such as lunch in the common area, fumbling for topics. Or more accurately, Mirage visibly sifting for a safe topic to be polite, and Caustic pointing at whatever the man was tinkering with at that moment, in silent question. It was rather intriguing how the younger man’s stutter settled when he was intensely focused on a subject he enjoyed. Although it must be said that now the scientist knew entirely far too much about holographic projection technology, and he was hard pressed to find an application for just such knowledge in his research.

On a more irritating note, was Gibraltar’s continued attempts to convince Caustic that attending events such as karaoke night or some roleplaying adventure evening with the rest of the Legends would be fun, positive, and a good bonding experience; and not at all humiliating, bizarre or definitely subjecting himself to the mortifying ordeal of being known by the other champions. Disgustingly, Makoa Gibraltar was a weapons-grade optimist with a sharp mind behind that disarming smile of his.

Recognising that the current stratagem was not working as it allowed the subject too much free will, Gibraltar had added additional variables to his socialisation experiments with Caustic. Even since, Gibraltar had been occasionally dropping by with a small portion of some homemade meal or other; often with one of the other Legends as an unspoken form of backup. More often than not, in recent times, Fuse would be the person of choice.

The rescue specialist was a very large, very polite man who had gracefully accepted the times Caustic would shut the door in his face to avoid allowing anyone to breach his inner sanctum of isolation and research. Walter Fitzroy was decidedly not.

Fuse was a very charming man, but he genuinely believed that any closed door was an invitation to trial his knuckle clusters on it, ‘in the name of friendship’. The pair would then invite themselves inside, and somehow a conversation would occur about the most randomised of topics, amidst the hidden garden-like interior of Caustic���s quarters. After weathering the scientist’s myriad of multisyllabic protestations about property damage and right to privacy, with mildly amused expressions on their faces, of course. Now that he thought about the subject in detail, the visits had been increasing in duration rapidly in the past two months or so; detracting from his research, yes, but at the same time… Caustic had begun to find himself not wanting to reduce this contact in the slightest.

Rampart had recently asked Caustic, in a quiet moment, if he wanted something strong enough to withstand a knuckle cluster barrage whipped up, because he was more often without a door than with one these days. Caustic had found himself smiling under the mask as he declined; not catching her sly grin of understanding in response. “It’s your funeral mate…” she teased as she left. He still had not had a chance to analyse her meaning or motives in relation to that interaction.

Still skeptical of his motives, but warming, was Lifeline. On the odd occasion, the healer would simply come into the common area to ‘hang out’ with whomsoever was present, and initially this had been a frustrating strain on his limited social endurance. Especially if the runner joined in, or she decided that the volume was far too low for her chosen programs at the time. They had engaged in arguments, which tended to resolve when he left, seeking solitude and silence in his own quarters.

Although, to review the past month or so in subjective data; Caustic was intrigued to find himself less irritated by Lifeline’s choice of audible and visual entertainment than previously.

However, the woman’s unerringly pleasant but smug grin as she would turn and catch Caustic’s fingers tapping the datafile laden table in subconscious adherence to the rhythm of the background music, was still a nuisance. At present, if he attempted to tell her so, Lifeline would laugh or roll her eyes and throw a quick, ‘Whatever yuh say, Doctor…’ in his direction.

Caustic believed that the newfound camaraderie between Lifline and himself was either in relation to a number of recent matches wherein he had had to shield her bodily from a hail of incoming fire while she revived a teammate; or pertaining to his begrudging assistance in formulating an altered version of stim for Octane, with lower health impacts. While it seemed counterintuitive to his stated goal of wiping out humanity; the challenge of forcing a volatile substance into a different composition to improve health on use rather than detract from it, had been exhilarating. While the current formula, Stim 2.3, was by no means perfect, it could always be improved in future testing. In fact, Caustic had been surprised to find himself looking forwards to improving upon the newly created formula with Miss Che in future. Her mind was agile, quick and experienced around medical, political and Octane-related matters. Verbal sparring with Miss Che was akin to mainlining caffeine, and possibly her persuasive arguments may have something to do with how thin his facade was feeling at present. How he was starting to regret his actions, when previously they were buried deep, untouchable, as Lifeline skillfully pointed out fallacies in his logic and ideologies.

Of all the Legends, the hunter Bloodhound, he hunter, was a mystery that continued to intrigue and distract from his research. Caustic had honestly been certain that there it would be highly improbable for the pair to have anything in common; given they were from a world that despised the very technology that his homeworld had embraced with open arms.

He had also felt that perhaps the hunter would avoid him, given Gaea’s reputation around such things as diversity in attraction and gender identification; he knew what was said and not all of it undeserved.

Somewhat surprisingly, it was a shared interest in plants that began their interactions; as the hunter had peered from their room at the right moment to catch Caustic returning home with a new specimen of unknown origin. The GAVN 1.2 bot stationed at the nearby Solace City plant nursery had no knowledge of what species it may be of, but the important matter was that the machine had recalled Caustic’s request to contact him if anything ‘interesting’ came through. Bloodhound had stopped him to ask how a Crentular Vynth bush had made its way to this planet; and Caustic had been so distracted by the conversation that followed that he did not realise they had moved to Bloodhound’s room until his second cup of herbal tea.

That had been the oddly auspicious beginning of… whatever this was. Whether they were now coworkers, or something slightly below comrades in arms, their companionship had been cemented nearly a full three months later on Olympus, when a bullet shattered Caustic’s mask mid-match.

Things had not been going optimally at the time. Their third squadmate was dead; some nameless human who had dreamt of glory and fame, and was now likely in a respawn pod beyond the arena commiserating their loss with the other failures.

Bloodhound was in the process of scouting for activity within and without the building they were currently camping inside; at the far end, if the faintest of footsteps could be believed. Skirting carefully about Caustic’s traps despite the pre-match inoculation provided that assured temporary immunity for the other two.

He had been calculating the potential ring trajectory of the next round, and automatically reloading the mozambique in his hands mechanically, when a careless step had placed him directly before one of the many damnable slatted windows of the building. The first he became aware was a crack, and a split-second realisation that made him jerk back just in time for the kraber shot to hurl his mask clean off and away.

Ducking automatically, not risking a second looking for the person who was definitely chambering a new round in anticipation of taking him out, Caustic had snatched the shattered mask up and slid through the rails to the floor below. Landing with a jarring impact that raised dust, forced air from his lungs, and inspired a violent coughing fit. Panic began to stir, as the reality of his vulnerability became apparent.

To counter this, Caustic set off a nearby gastrap deliberately, obscuring himself amidst the swirling green smog; allowing a moment to focus purely on the issue at hand, and forestall the intense anxiety that the cameras could be observing his features or condition too closely. He could already see the mask was beyond repair, the hoses hissing upon his shoulders as his filtered supply fed into nothing; despair was starting to claw at his chest, tightening it until it burned...

And then Bloodhound was there. Without a word, those impassive goggles took in the scene in its entirety as they crouched down by his side; pulling a small spare mask from one of the many pouches on their belt, without the slightest hesitation, and pressing it to Caustic’s face. “Here, breathe easy felagi fighter.” they said, nothing more, nothing less.

The filtration hoses hissed a moment more before the hunter had them shut off at the valve, so as not to waste more of the carefully balanced components. The mask adhering quickly and filtering the more violent components out of the air automatically; as Bloodhound needed, given their own damaged airways. Caustic may not believe in their All-Father, but he could almost admit to himself that it was very fortuitous they had been there that day.

When the smog cleared, vanishing as it dispersed to a minimal level, the crisis was over and his panic subsumed. Bloodhound clapped a hand to his shoulder and rose, making a statement of thanks in relation to receiving ammunition. A weak cover, but one they hoped viewers would be satisfied with; feel no great desire to dig for more information on this brief ‘green-out’.

“Come, there are three squads remaining, we have foes to slatra.” they offer, and he rises quickly to follow. Win or Lose, Caustic had felt confusingly like he had already received some small victory that day; though to put it in words was beyond even his skill.

Unfortunately, the downside of increased awareness of other human beings was that they tended to request opportunities to strengthen the bond. Of all things, the Hunter and the Salvonian now wished Caustic to go camping with them; in Kings Canyon or some equally feral locale, where they may all die of undercooked food or rabid wildlife. As disagreeable as he found the idea, Caustic found himself rapidly running out of excuses as to barriers that would forestall his presence on such an experience. And just the other day, before this intense sensation of dread descended, he found himself considering purchasing a prowler-proof sleeping bag… which had been a definite call for self-reflection at the time.

Indeed, when he thought back over the past few months… Caustic found that he had had at least one small interaction of moderate-to-positive success with all of the other Legends. Even with that know-it-all Crypto. Though Caustic strictly maintained that the whole scenario had been pure happenstance; and not any display of coworkerly or implied sibling affection.

If the young brat had just so happened to be tinkering with his little drone at the kitchen island and required a tool that Caustic, also present and working on his own project, had just so happened to have on him at the time… so be it. Truly, Caustic was not even certain if Park had realised who had supplied the multitool that had readily slipped into his grip on request; although, the fact that it had been returned nonetheless to his quarters, possibly by drone through a window he had forgotten to close overnight, gave a different impression.

Ironically, whenever Caustic finds himself thinking about the other Legends recently, shades of distress, distrust and uncertainty began to fill his limbs with lead and his mind with a million illogical questions. Did Loba’s smile at breakfast mean she was intending to out him to the others? Was it normal for Revenant to ask to view his research on gases with compounds that could corrode organic metals? Was the laughter between Wattson and Wraith about him? What made Bangalore watch him instead of the screen during the movie night two weeks before? Why did so many whispers stop when he moved closer? When was the last time Gibraltar had used the phrase ‘hey buddy, you doin’ okay?’ with any other Legend?

Who. When. Why. How. What. An endless merry-go-round in a carnival of horrors, all of his own devising… and there was no way to signal to the ride operator that he wished to exit. What was wrong with him?

Or, was there something wrong with him, at all?

Perhaps this was normal, for someone whose life was close to its ending. Didn’t people feel distress over regrets and mistakes in their life?

Desperate for a concrete reason, Caustic ran diagnostics on his blood and biometrics at least twice a day, and yet felt disappointed to find no significant progression in the disease. For if not the disease… then what was this?

Days wore on as he remained confined to his quarters for all but the most necessary outings. He did not see or hear how the household was becoming more and more colourful and the Legends pre-celebrating. Glancing out his window at the billboards in the city beyond, his lip curled derisively; ah, the corporations became more sycophantic as time wore on, disgusting. But all he could focus on was the manner in which this swelling sensation of anxiety was drowning him; Caustic was awash in a sea of tumultuous negative emotions with no sign of rescue. Quietly hoping that none would come.

It felt, constantly, as if he had an anchor bound to his ankles; the chain a cruel twisting thing, cold and rattling in the currents, always just long enough so he could bob above the despair for short periods of time before another wave crashed down. Caustic was beginning to wonder if it was worth trying not to drown at all...

Unbeknownst to the scientist, his absence was noted, and some were more concerned than others. The sudden withdrawal from household life drew attention from concerned parties with irritating accuracy; and he found himself subject to gentle half-questions that sent his blood pressure skyrocketing, his hands balling into fists to hide their shaking, and his mind racing to decode the hidden trap within the questions. Overwhelmed, Caustic responded by pulling back from the internal life of the Legends with greater fervour, trying to handle this situation himself; hating that it had come to such a ludicrous turn of events as this.

It was only when he was in the depths of despair and fighting to hide this from himself, that Caustic himself began to hear the rumours swirling about. Abhorrent, pervasive, and inaccurate… but easily believable if you lacked critical thinking skills. They made him feel more vile and misrepresented than the original advertisement campaigns for his arrival as a legend ever had. All that fabricated nonsense about being a verified and diagnosed sociopath; when it was only partially true, mixed with showman’s flare for the sake of selling him as the villain to the public. But these rumours… gossip rag conjecture, utter debasement and filth. Easy to believe… and in the mouths, hearts and minds of the people he had somewhat began to trust.

~)0(~

“It ain’t his fault, he’s from Gaea, yuh know?” whispers one legend to another, in a tone so casual that the sentence was doubly alarming to have come from seemingly out of nowhere. Caustic nearly drops the mug he is holding, mind shocked into momentary pause, at the statement. At the implication behind it.

The other sighs, “I know they’re, uh, different about things… but I thought that being in Solace City this whole time might have…” There’s a pause. “Well, you know, shown him a different reality… he’s already made progress in being an okay human, or something like it. Thought things were going okay, caught him smiling at one of Rampart’s jokes the other day… ”

“Yuh best keep it quiet though, don’t want the media gettin’ wind of this or it’ll be a problem.” hisses the first, acutely aware of how the media at large takes any vague hint of something, right or wrong, and runs with it. For the last six months magazines had been declaring that she was ‘going to propose to Wraith anyday now’ because they’d been snapped shared a sandwich at a Legend event a while back. The online forums were a constant minefield, even if some of the fanart was well-done.

“Oh yeah, I’m not going to put anyone through that deliberately, my dearest fiance-to-be…” the other laughed back. “You think surprise-portalling him into the middle of the parade would help? Or do Gaeans drop dead if confronted with new ideas without any warning?”

Just as despair was filling his heart like a lead weight, the rumours like tiny knives in his heart, filleting the memories he held about someone now lost… another combatant enters the ring. So to speak.

“Enough!” snaps a third, highly unexpected but nonetheless welcome, voice. The word hissing between what can only be clenched teeth, in a normally serene face.

Caustic finds himself holding his breath as he presses close to the kitchen wall nearest the common room entrance; desperate to hear more, despite his stomach churning, wanting him to flee this whole situation. It boggled the mind, after all he had done… Miss Pacquette, coming to his defence? How could she find it in herself to speak on the behalf of such as him?

“Listen to me, and hear me when I say that not all of Gaea’s citizens think in such a backwards manner… you cannot assume because people are poor, from a small place on their world, or work on farms that they all perceive things so narrow-mindedly. There is acceptance on Gaea, in much the same way that there are pockets of intolerant people on Psamanthe and Salvo who believe that robots are not sentient, or people of different races cannot be allowed to love one another. There are good people there too...” Wattson says, voice rising with the internal fervour of righteous anger. She was so very like her father, unable to allow someone she cared about to go undefended when people brought slander to their doorsteps. If someone raised a knife to his back, she would put up a fence to bar their way, and then continue to tell him off for his inappropriate actions from the months before.

In the brief silence following her statement, shuffling is heard, and it is clear something is happening though he dare not attempt to see in. He would be sighted for certain.

In a calmer tone, almost too soft, Wattson continues. “I once knew a man from Gaea when I was very small. He was… very important to my Papa, and to me. They worked together for many years, and I believe that they loved each other just as deeply as Papa and Mama did. He was always very kind to me, like a father you could say, even on his darkest days he was always ready to make me feel happy.” She took in a shaky breath. “Many of my youngest memories involve him, from my first baking soda volcano, to my recovery from the ‘ghost’ incident; not to mention the first attempt to create my sparks… and then the hour or so we spent resetting the powergrid for the whole map due to the short we made. He was a good man, if very obsessed with his work; as Papa was. Driven, you could say.” She sighed sadly, in a way that made even Caustic’s shaking arms want to wrap around the younger woman in comfort. “But he was forced to go home many years ago because he was having a disagreement with the company overseers about a new project they assigned to his research team. He was so angry when he left, and I wish I could have had a happier memory to keep of him. I only discovered later why he was so… you see, Papa mentioned that his team was assigned the goal of manufacturing a way of purging unwanted biological urges through aerosolised disbursement in the general population, and, well… he did not agree.”

There’s a sharp inhalation of breath from a few too many voices for simply two other people to be present in the common room. Given what the ruling bodies of Gaea were known to stand against, it did not take much guesswork around the applications of such a project.

Caustic had always liked to break accepted ethical conduct on the odd occasion to get breakthroughs that pushed science to the edge of a new frontier, but even he had been abhorred by the very concept. Caustic closed his eyes, recalling the very arguments he had had with his then-superiors about the situation; and how he had even held out the ‘impeding human rights’ card as a final way to thwart the project. The cold smirk on thin lipped faces as he was informed that none who would be affected could be counted as a true human until they were cured of their odd notions… it was a miracle he had restrained from using his fists there and then.

His ‘compliance’ was bought with a simple reminder of how very important the company’s healthcare policy was to Caustic’s mother, at the time, and how it would be a shame to have it terminated alongside his employment. Feigning defeat, and hating himself, he had made a show of deferring to their wishes. Those pompous, self-inflated fools had taken him at his word. That was their first mistake.

Caustic jerks slightly, as if he has fallen out of his own memories and back to the present, bodily. Finding Miss Pacquette still speaking, her voice growing ragged with emotion.

“He… he died shortly after leaving us. I was devastated that he was gone, but even more so for the way it had happened. I could not imagine the fear and sadness he must have felt as the lab burned around him, with his entire research team. All they ever found was a charred corpse and two fingers that had enough DNA remaining to confirm his identity.” A soft sob shocked out, before she masterfully pushed it back. “U-Unfortunately for the company it seemed that all of his research and specimens on the topic burned with him; and some kind of alternate chemical residue coating the lab after the fire made the building unusable. Sometimes… I wonder if it was deliberate, for him to have taken it all with him. To be honest it would not surprise me in the least, he was as stubborn as Papa…” Natalie trailed off, clearly upset by the recollections. “Oh mon dieu, I do not mean to be so silly… I just miss him and Papa so much! And now you are all being so awful about the only person who… who reminds me of them, and I know he is difficult but there is good there, somewhere.”

Caustic’s teeth grind until it is agony. He longs to comfort her, even now as a full fledged adult and not the doe-eyed little girl who always wanted his attention... but how would that look to their comrades? Would she accept it after what he had tried to do? The anxiety wrings his stomach out like a wet rag, and locks both legs firmly in place. The scientist is disgusted with his weakness, debasing himself internally even as he countered with the simple truth of not being able to fight your own brain when it had decided on a Freeze response to distress.

He can clearly hear Lifeline and Wraith providing quiet soothing statements to Miss Pacquette, and it lessens his own distress over hers. Until he hears the one voice he would prefer never have been party to the conversation, speak up. “What was his name?” A general query, curiosity and a hint of foreboding there, as if the puzzle pieces were sliding together in the younger man’s mind.

Caustic’s heart freezes in his chest. Of all the Legends, why must Park be the one to overhear this tale? He who knows too much already...

There’s a soft muffled sniffle, muted most likely by Wraith’s shoulder, before Wattson replies; utterly unaware of how she was putting the final nail in his aliases’ coffin. “Oh, did I not say? His name was Alex… or I suppose Alexander. Dr Alexander Nox…”

The sound of Crypto’s drone clattering to the floor almost swallows the high pitched shattering of the ceramic mug meeting the kitchen floor. Almost, being the operative word.

By the time anyone has a chance to check the kitchen, Caustic has long since made a tactical retreat to his room. The racing thoughts feel like they are wrapped about his throat, constricting his chest until he can barely breathe. Hoping that none saw his frantic flight back to the safety of familiar walls.

~)0(~

[im-the-king-of-the-ocean]

Rose Puppetry Ch5: Caught in the Web of Mr. Spider

Summary:

A century ago or so, Atlas set out to conquer the world.  Penny was built to be a spy, an infiltrator meant to find weaknesses in Vale’s defenses before the invasion.

She did.  Then she fell in love.  And rebelled against the kingdom that had created her.

Ch1.  Ch2.  Ch3.  Ch4.

Chapter Content Notes: graphic imagery of spiders, violence, character death, attempted murder, stabbing, references to actual character murder, mind control/possession, comas

I would like to take a moment and remind everyone that this fic is roughly inspired by the Mechanism’s album Once Upon A Time (In Space) and that that narrative’s climax is rather gruesome.  Additionally, this chapter especially was influenced by the Magnus Archives, which is a horror podcast.

Please take those facts into consideration prior to reading.

I would also like to remind you all that there is one more chapter after this one, and thus the fic does not conclude here.

“Ruby?”

Penny speaks her beloved’s name over and over again.  Her voice, a cracking repetition of a broken, almost hopeless recording caught on a looping tape.  The mechanical girl who had come and fought so hard can do nothing but stare.  She hopes the sight before her isn’t real, that she’s mistaken, that this isn’t how their story ends.

Some history books will say it is.  They will narrate the story of a miserable failure of a military project.  One who rebelled against her creators, her masters, and cost not only herself, but the one she loved her life.  These history books will be produced in the harsh, cold printing presses that remain loyal to the faltering Atlesian throne.  A desperate attempt to rewrite history in their favor, but not much more than that really.

Other books, ones with a bit more accuracy, will know better.  For even if there is a ‘happily ever after’ or a ‘the end’ to a story, there’s always a moment after that.  Something that happens next.  Right up until the final end of death comes for the characters.

And neither Penny nor Ruby are quite dead yet.

So it really would be a sad, sorry tale that reaches its conclusion here, wouldn’t it?

The rebels infiltrate the menacing fortress to save the innocent girl and are felled by her hand, now corrupted by the darkness that had ensnared her.  No hope of a happy tomorrow.  Simply a brutal, violent end and a laboratory awash in blood.

For that’s what happens when you wander into a spider’s web.  You tend to get caught by the spider.  And, you know, eaten.

The thing, the crucial detail, that must be taken into account about this tale, though.  The one thing those Atlesian history books will try to wipe away and conceal and keep the public from knowing.  The little detail that keeps this ending from being the true ending of the story.

It’s simply that Ruby Rose is not the spider.

Of course, she is something, and historians (and, after them, archivists) will have quite a wondrous time debating amongst themselves what exactly she is.  But, what she is not, is the spider.  The hungry arachnid who waits so long for its prey to come, who binds its meal tightly in silky thread for later consumption.

Some, and they will have fairly strong evidence for their cause, will argue Ruby was simply the first caught in the spider’s web.  Those ones have a valid, if not entirely understanding of the circumstances as a whole, point.

A spider’s web is a sticky, tricky thing.  When you’re all alone in it, you may see little hope of escape, of anything but the spider’s looming, menacing legs, its snapping jaws, or its eight dark, beady eyes.  But that’s only if and when the spider chooses to focus on you.  They are, after all, creatures that can be distracted.  Ones that can decide to eat something—someone—else.  So, maybe Ruby was the spider’s first chosen meal, but she was one left unfinished due to the arrival of an enticing, delectable follow up.

A spider’s web also happens to be a delicate thing and, if put under too much weight, may potentially collapse.

Let us now return to the scene and become observers, ceaseless watchers, to what happens when this particular web takes on quite a bit of weight.

Are you scared yet?  You’re probably wondering if you should be.  It’s natural, of course.  Debating whether or not you should trust the words you read.  Should you stop here?  What if it gets worse?  But, it’s pretty bad here.  Do you really want this ending to be the ending?

What happens when you don’t stop, though?  When you continue reading the words, bringing them into the reality of being Known?  Didn’t expect to be trapped reading a tale without recourse on how to know if the true end is horrible or not without going along with it until it reaches it’s natural conclusion, did you?

Have you considered that, perhaps, it is you who is trapped in the spider’s web?

So, tell me, how much do you really want to know?  You’re curious, aren’t you?  Driven.  Eager to witness all that happens here.  Why would you remain otherwise?

Let’s see how it goes, shall we?

Our story, our statement, resumes.

Ever so slowly, Ruby turns her head and looks at Penny.  There is no recognition, no emotion of any kind on her face.  Ruby blinks, or, rather, she closes her eyelids and opens them again in a movement that could be perceived as a blink.  A movement that makes her a stranger to Penny.

“Ruby,” Penny repeats, as if the simple utterance of the name will break the spell.  No such enchantment that can be so easily undone exists.  Not here.  Not now.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?”

New footsteps echo through the laboratory.  Penny spins around.  Dr. Watts makes his way over from the door.  Each step he takes is measured and calculated.  His past projects, those horrible menaces whispered about in fear, file into the room behind him.

Cinder looks at the scene laid out before her and smirks.  Tyrian laughs.  Hazel blocks the doorway with his bulk.

“For a super weapon, I expected you to be smarter than to simply walk into what was so obvious a trap.”  Dr. Watts chuckles at Penny.  “Foolish of me to underestimate the weakness of love, I suppose.”

“Let.  Ruby.  Go.”  Penny clenches her fists.  She raises her daggers.  She doesn’t have the advantage here, but that won’t stop her.

“If you insist.”  Watts waves a dismissive hand.  With his other, he takes a remote out from his pocket and clicks a button on it.  The clasps around Ruby’s wrists and ankles snap open.  He turns to walk away, but pauses before he exits the laboratory.  “Do try to leave at least some of them intact,” he tells Cinder, Tyrian, and Hazel.  “It would be a pity for so many good bodies to go to waste.”  He exits.

Penny turns to Ruby one last time.  “Ruby…”  This time it’s a begging sob that escapes her lips.  “Please, no.”

Ruby stands.  She reaches around herself, to the sheath attached to her belt.  Her fingers wrap around the hilt of the blade there.  Ruby withdraws the weapon.  There’s no sign she recognizes the desperate plea in Penny’s eyes.

The sword slashes through the air.

Penny dodges.  She retreats away from Ruby’s attack.  Her daggers hover around her.  She can’t bring herself to command them to retaliate.

“Ruby, please, it’s me, it’s Penny!  You have to recognize me!”

Ruby draws back.  For a brief, hopeful second, Penny thinks she’s gotten through to her love.  A small smile appears on Penny’s lips.  It almost immediately falls away.

Ruby lifts her hand not holding the sword.  Around it, thick, black sludge forms.  It branches out into a limb all of its own.  Bleached white claws emerge at its tips, like grotesque fingers.  There’s a second where the Grimm arm moves and shifts, as if adjusting to its own weight.  A twisted smirk appears on Ruby’s face.  She looks between her new appendage and Penny.

Penny’s daggers come to bear a defensive position in front of her without her telling them to.  The Grimm arm tries to dart around them, but the daggers cut through it like butter.  It disintegrates into dust.  Ruby screams.  Her voice is loud, hoarse, and pained.  Penny hesitates, doesn’t take the opening.  She can’t… she doesn’t…she needs to…but it’s Ruby!  RUBY!

She can’t just kill her.  Penny glances behind her, at where she knows her team is, but there is no aid to be found there.  Cinder, Tyrian, and Hazel are on the attack.  The less said about that carnage, the better.  Penny is on her own.  She turns back to Ruby and, with every fiber of her being protesting, she prepares to fight.

I’ll make it quick, Penny tells Ruby in her head.  You don’t deserve this suffering.  I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry.

Penny ducks Ruby’s sword, and feigns to the left.

I’m sorry that this is how it ends.

Penny commands her daggers to cut through the Grimm limbs Ruby keeps painfully forming and sending at her.  She refuses to allow herself to wince at the agonizing screams.

I’m sorry you didn’t get to live a long and happy life.

Penny sees her opening.  Ruby has faltered.  Penny allows herself a second to take a breath, and then she lunges.  Her daggers all are pointed forward, ready to complete the death blow.

I’m sorry you ever had the misfortune of knowing me.

Penny’s killing blow doesn’t make its target.  Ruby faked her out.  Midway into Penny’s attack, she dodges.  Penny has no time to change course.  Her eyes widen.  Ruby’s Grimm limbs surround Penny, grab her, hold her.

Horror takes over Penny’s face.  She knows what’s going to happen right before the final Grimm arm makes the plunge into her chest.  Her mind goes blank with the pain.  Whether or not she’s screaming, Penny has no idea.

Ruby’s darkness, her corruption, seeps into Penny, worming its way to the mechanical girl’s heart, her core.  For Penny can only be destroyed if it is.  The Annihilation reaches its target.  It circles its prey, completely surrounding it.  It surges in for the kill.

In that dreadful moment, Death doesn’t come.  It was never going to.  It has, shall we say, a feel, for these things.  It knew, all throughout this battle, how it would end.  Death knew it would not be necessary to send its Reaper here.

The Silver Eye, which had protecting Ruby’s soul and had waited and waited and watched for its opportunity finally found its chance.  When the Grimm entombing it reached out to destroy the one its guardian loved, the Silver Eye, for the first time in its existence, felt something.

Remember, the Eye, on its own, had never been a whole.  It was forged, by the King of Vale, out of the remaining half of the Staff of Creation.  Though it could exist on its own, it never truly stopped longing to find its missing, stolen part.  And, when its prison made that final, almost deadly attack, through those dark tendrils ensnaring it, the Silver Eye finally felt that echo, that reverberation, that it had ached for for so very long.

In that moment, it wakes up and reaches.

Blinding silver light shines out through the laboratory.  Every vestige of Annihilation’s power, every bit of Grimm, inside a person or out, is disintegrated.  For those who have long since opened their arms to Destruction and allowed its influence into themselves, this means Death finally comes for its dues.  For Ruby, who the Silver Eye loves and cherishes, this means purification from her corruption.  For Penny, this means her life is spared and, from within her, the Silver Eye is answered.

Once upon a time, the General King of Atlas found the blueprints for an old inventor’s creation.  He saw it as a grand opportunity to build a great weapon for the glory of his kingdom.  To fuel it, he saw no better resource than his kingdom’s relic itself.  He split the Staff of Creation in half, stored one part away for later use and fashioned the other into a core for the new automaton.

Unbeknownst to him, in doing this, the General King created a mirror to the Silver Eye; the Winter Soul.  A new entity all of its own, it was.  One curious, fascinated about the world around it, and ever so willing to learn.

Is it such a shock then, that was built to be a weapon of immeasurable power turned its back to this objective and instead chose to attempt to understand and love the world it found itself in?  Is it such a shock that it came to love one who would be later chosen to preserve life itself?

Much has been written and recorded about the Fall of Atlas.  There are numerous accounts of the sudden surge of blinding light that shone across the kingdom.  Many theorize, but they do not know the truth of its source.  What they do know is that it wiped out the city’s mainframe and, for the first time in history, Atlas was left vulnerable.  It didn’t take long for the Rebellion’s ships to rise from Mantle and begin that final, gruesome attack after that.

Later, the Rebellion’s charge into Atlas Academy, of their slaughter of the robotic forces of the Atlesian Military, will be dramatized into something far more glorious and far less bloody than it was.  The retellings will focus on the storming of the throne room, of the General King being forced to his knees in surrender, the capture of the notorious Dr. Watts.  They will applaud the victories of the day, and blatantly ignore the executions of the weeks to follow.

And so, Atlas’s web of power collapses, crumpling into a thousand twisting, tangled threads.  The spider, the warmonger, who sat at its center, weaving and warping the world into something that suited him and only him, and growing fat off the results, is squashed.

Those two who were responsible, who gave the world the chance it needed to rid itself of the boot pressing down upon its throat, they were never known.

For Ruby, now saved from the Grimm but forever scarred by it, looks down upon the sleeping form of her fallen beloved, sees the full extent of Penny’s injuries, gathers her up in her arms, and steals her away to where she can be repaired.

In peace.

[theyoungkleinwriter]

Mini Myths #1: The Epic of Gilgamesh

Well for the first of my mini myths I think it’s only appropriate to start with what is considered the oldest written story in the entire history of the world. Now the way I’m going to structure these little mythological segments is by first looking at the context of the myth and then go into the actual myth itself before finishing off with a short piece about how they myth has been used and perceived in the modern day.

Context

The Epic of Gilgamesh is considered the old text of literature and is consider the second oldest religious text dating all the way back from the time of ancient Mesopotamia and is dated roughly around 2000 BCE. The epic itself was written on stone tablets with five Sumerian (The people Gilgamesh ruled over) poems being discovered. The Old Babylonian tablets dated around 1,800 BCE are the oldest surviving tablets for a single Epic of Gilgamesh narrative. Other tablet fragments have been dated closer to 200 BCE and 100 BCE suggesting that the epic is a widespread story in Sumerian culture. The most recent version of the story referred to as the Akkadian version and also called the Standard Babylonian version, consists of twelve tablets and was edited by Sîn-lēqi-unninni, who is thought to have lived sometime between 1300 BCE and 1000 BCE. Essentially the story is made up of several tablets that we have collected from different centuries to generally try to piece together a singular narrative. It bears noting the the I will be using the standard Babylonian version which is known for the Twelfth tablet being different from the others and thought to have been written at a later date.

The Epic of Gilgamesh

In a time of the old world when gods still walked the earth there stood a great and noble kingdom in ancient Mesopotamia. This was a rich and fertile land between the twin rivers of the Tigris and the Euphrates that provided its people with plenty and bountiful harvests. This rich land was populated by the great kingdom of Uruk, a kingdom ruled over by a man named Gilgamesh. Now Gilgamesh was not just any ordinary man, he was born two thirds a god and one third a mortal man. However this combination of divine birth and mortal fallacy helped to craft Gilgamesh into a cruel tyrant of a king who abused both his menfolk and the women, using them as he pleased with no regard for their lives.

In desperation the people of Uruk called out to the gods for help. And the god hear their pleas. From clay they craft a perfect equal to Gilgamesh, a divine being known as Enkidu. As he arrives in the mortal world he first meets a trapper who asks the gods to stop Enkidu from destroying his traps. The sun god Shamash send a temple prostitute to Enkidu and for nearly a fortnight the two spend time together in the warm embrace of lovers; and she teaches him all she can tell about the world on man, and of the civilisations born on earth.

The prostitute introduces him to a shepherd where he learns the craft of the trade until one day from a passing stranger he hears of the plight of the people of Uruk. Incensed by Gilgamesh’s heartless cruelty he races to the palace and faces down the king of Uruk. In that instant the pair fought with fire and fury and divine wroth as the engaged in a battle so fierce it compelled even the gods themselves to bear witness. Yet after a singular mighty blow Enkidu was brought to his knees and acknowledged the king, Gilgamesh, to be the superior of the two. And as a result the two naturally struck up an intense friendship that even the god themselves could not predict.

The pair shared in each others company and comforts as they travelled on many adventures together. They visited Gilgamesh’s mother the goddess Ninsun who adopted Enkidu as her own son. Later on they travelled to the Cedar forest where they defeat the guardian of the forest Humbaba and take his head as well as several of the strongest trees with the strongest of these to be used by Enkidu to craft into a gate for the temple of Enlil.

Upon their return the goddess Ishtar, queen of all that is fertile and ripe, falls for the king of Uruk and pursues him. However when Gilgamesh rejects her advances she used her immense powers to cause devastation throughout the lands of Uruk, lowering the level of the Euphrates and ultimately summoning Gugalanna, the divine bull of heaven to destroy Gilgamesh and Enkidu. But the king and his companion were too strong and overcame the powers of the bull, slaying it and offering up its heart to Shamash much to the displeasure of Ishtar.

And yet on this occasion the two companions had gone too far in their quest for fame and glory. In their anger at the deaths of Humbaba and Gulalanna the gods curse Enkidu was horrific dreams until, after twelves days of horrid torment Enkidu succumbs to his sickness. In one final moment he reached to the sky and cries out to his friend, who holds him in his arms as he passes into the world of the dead. Yet the king of Uruk had more faith in his friend than that and clung to Enkidu’s body, refusing to believe he was dead until a pale white maggot, dropped from his nose and into the kings lap.

Gilgamesh wailed at the death of his friend, his lament reaching the heavens themselves and bringing even the gods to tears for what they had done. He calls out for the mountains and trees, the rivers and deserts, to all beasts of the land and to all the peoples of the world to mourn for the death of his dearest friend. Gilgamesh provides ample gifts from his endless treasury to help his friend ensure a favourable reception in the world of the dead.

Then the mighty king left Uruk and wandered the wilderness in nought but animal skins, lost in both body and in spirit. Yet it was among the far and wasted lands that the king became fearful for his own mortality and sought to spare his mortal soul the pains of death, seeking out Utnapishtim (The Faraway Lands) and learn the secret of eternal life.

In his quest Gilgamesh faces set back after setback though his own malic and wrought feelings of self-importance. He rejects warning after warning and presses on relentlessly for his ultimate goal. Upon reaching Utnapishtim Gilgamesh tells him his story however the immortal man warns him that fighting the common fate of humans is futile and diminishes life's joys. Utnapishtim was a survivor of a flood that wiped out the last race of humans and as a reward for surviving the god Enlil blessed both him and his wife with eternal life. Utnapishtim points out that his immortality was a unique gift and not something most mortal men were meant to achieve however Gilgamesh reminds him that he is not mere mortal man. To test him Utnapishtim challenges Gilgamesh to stay awake for sic days and seven night but tragically Gilgamesh is still one third mortal and he quickly succumbs to sleep. 

Yet Utnapishtim was no cruel or spiteful and he offered Gilgamesh one more chance, he could not grant the king immortality but he told him of a plant at the bottom of the sea he could use to restore his youth. Thanking the immortal man Gilgamesh tied stones to his feet, sucked in a mighty breath and dove to the bottom of the sea. Finally, after many travels the king reached the plant and seized it. Feeling part of his hunger for life sated he made to return to Uruk where he would use the plant to restore his youth. Yet greater than the gods was the cruel hand of fate. As he returned the king made to bathe himself in a small lake. In that moment a slithering serpent darted from the undergrowth and snatched up the plant leaving the king once more with nothing. Broken the king first weeps then is seized by uncontrollable laughter as he realises how foolish it was to chase immortality. He returns to Uruk, where the sight of its massive walls prompts him to praise this enduring work to Urshanabi the man who ferried him to Utnapishtim.

Tablet twelve features a tale after these events where Enkidu is still alive and of a journey he make to the underworld to retrieve some of Gilgamesh’s possessions. It ends with Enkidu recounting the tale of his journey through the underworld with Gilgamesh.

Learning from the past

In the modern day the Epic of Gilgamesh hasn't had as much mainstream focus like the Greek pantheon or Norse mythology. However it has found a home in some popular media with a version of this tale being explored in the anime TV series ‘Fate’. Despite a lack of popular interest in the epic of Gilgamesh in western media however in the archaeological circle it has seen a lot of research and assigned significance. Interestingly in 1998 American Assyriologist Theodore Kwasman discovered a piece believed to have contained the first lines of the epic poem in the storeroom of the British Museum which has been used to determine that Gilgamesh may have been a real Babylonian king. The epic ha been translated and used by different people for different purposes with a definitive version published in 2003 by Andrew George which is considered the most significant work on Gilgamesh in 70 years. Yet on the other hand there is the case in 2004 as Stephen Mitchell supplied a controversial version that took many liberties with the text and included modernized allusions and commentary relating to the Iraq War of 2003. Clearly the Epic of Gilgamesh may still yet be used and have relevance in the modern world, particularly in the world of the Middle-East. 

What i find we can learn from the epic is it provides clear context for views on how Sumerian’s valued particular morals and the tale helps to provide insight into Sumerian society and culture. It become key to aiding our understanding of ancient peoples and what they valued, providing points of comparison to the world we live in today with its moral teachings; particularly about the fruitless pursuit of things like immortality.

[linkspooky]

Gyomei Himejima: Worthless Strength

There are several things apparent about Gyomei’s character immediately just looking at his character design. He’s a mix of religious iconography, he has prayer beads while at the same time there’s scars on his forehead which resemble a crown of thorns. His build is an immediate signifier to let the audience know how strong he is, he is basically built like a rock. Even his marks when they manifest indicate that. They clearly resemble cracks in stone, as if any demon fighting against him is trying to break a stone wall in front of them with their bear hands. His main weapon surrounds his body with heavy silver change, which are a symbol of the burden he’s always tied down to, that he uses his strength to carry no matter how impossibly heavy it is. 

There’s one thing you can say about Gyomei just from looking at him, he looks strong. Even tied down by chains he has no problem at all carrying the weight on his shoulders. The main trio of Kimetsu no Yaiba is always striving to gain strength in order to protect what’s important to them, but Gyomei already had that strength to begin with. Despite being one of the strongest, if not the strongest of the pillars (He made Hashira in two months the only other one was Tokito), in the end he’s still unable to protect what is important to him. Gyomei has all the strength in the world, but he cannot protect anyone. I’LL EXPLAIN MORE UNDER THE CUT. 

1. Gyomei is Blind

Gyomei is drawn without pupils in his eyes due to the fact that he is physically blind. However, his blindness itself is a symbol for obfuscation. That is, concealed eyes tend to symbolize when a character is unaware, or fails to perceive something important. In that case the character’s problem is not so much their physical blindness, but rather how they fail to perceive the emotions and the feelings of other people around them. It’s not physically being unable to see, but rather a lack of awareness that’s greatly needed. 

Gyomei in general is a very offputting person on first impression. He’s hard to communicate with, in another sense. He has a tendency to spontaneously start crying, or mumbling prayers to himself on the spot. A running gag is what a terrifying aura he projects despite being personality-wise essentially just a gentle barefisted monk archetype. 

His lack of communication skills apply to his teaching as well. Genya even states this directly, that the ideas behind Gyomei’s training are actually really solid and helpful, but Gyomei is such a terrible teacher that most of his class ended up just leaving because he kept throwing them into waterfalls suddenly or threatening to light them on fire. 

This is once again a breakdown of communciation. If Gyomei had simply explained the point of the training instead of tossing people into the river, more people would have likely seen the benefit of the sudden harsh training that they were expected to go through. 

Gyomei is someone who fails to understand the others around him in general, and also fails to be understood by them. For exmaple there’s most of the people who like Zenitsu assume he was just born massively strong and that none of this is the result of training. However, Genya figures out that what makes Gyomei so strong isn’t necessarily his massive body so much as the way he’s learned to put his emotions behind his strength. 

Gyomei himself is a deconstruction of the idea of strength presented in most shonen manga. His strength doesn’t just come from the strength he was born with, but also his emotions, his anger, his regret, his pain from the past. Just like Sanemi, the scars on his body are a sign of his strength. Strength for him is something tied directly to his emotions. Rather than the stoic persona Gyomei seems to put on, he’s actually a deeply emotional and sensitive person. (If the fact that he’s always crying as a running gag didn’t tip you off). 

Despite the massive strength he has Gyomei is someone who never wanted to be strong in the first place. He was living his life blind to his own strength before that point. In fact you could say he was much happier before he discovered he was strong. 

The happiest days he spent was when he thought he was nothing more than a useless blind man. The time he spent with other abandoned children taking care of them were the closest he has ever been to other people. Those were his most precious days. He did not need to be strong then, he just needed to be together with other people. 

As a result of his trauma, Gyomei started categorizing children into good children and bad children. 

Because a child turned against him he forgot what was most improtant to him. He was not fighting to be thanked or appreciated. He was fighting to protect his family. What Gyomei thought he learned was the true selfishness of children, but Gyomei is often blind to the true meaning of things as I’ve said before. What Gyomei really lost then was the sense of family he had with the other children around him. What he was reeling from was the trauma of losing his entire family in one night. However, for Gyomei it’s easier to rationalize it and blame it on the selfishness of children rather than just an unfortanate and tragic accident. 

1. The Weakest Saves the Strongest

Gyomei is blind to what he was fighting for. What motivated Gyomei at the time were his strong feelings towards the children he wanted to protect. However, Gyomei has forgotten those connection and instead focuses on strength alone. Which is why we see him instead of making connections with others, or returning to his role as a caretaker which is when he was happiest in life instead meaninglessly pursuing more and more strength. Despite being the strongest pillar already, Gyomei must somehow get even stronger. 

He’s forgotten his reason for fighting isn’t simply to be strong, but rather to protect. Gyomei’s complex about good and bad children is merely that, just a complex. It’s a mechanism that allows himself to stay distant from everyone around him, believing that the only peopel that are worthwhile of getting close to are truly good children. But, Gyomei himself is a caretaker not a fighter, the time he was happiest was when he took all children in regardless of background. It’s just that Gyomei himself is terrified of experiencing that loss again so he keeps everyone at a distance. 

However, if Gyomei is not aware of what he is fighting for, then his strength cannot accomplish anything. As a consequence of failing to realize what he truly wants to fight for, Gyomei’s strength cannot protect anything. 

It’s been pointed out over and over again that Gyomei is at the absolute peak of human strength. There’s no one more refined, more dedicated to getting stronger, more disciplined than he is. However, that empty strength is not enough to protect what matters. 

However, Gyomei himself does not really see a future beyond fighting and dying against demons. After he lost the children at the temple he lost any kind of desire for himself other than to be some kind of perfectly refined weapon against demons to be used and discarded. He takes it as a point of personal pride that one day he’s going to basically keep fighting until a demon kills him one day, and he’s never so much as wanted anything else besides that. He has only lived to keep on fighting. The only reason he was saved from that prison cell is because he was recruited into the demon corps. He sees no purpose beyond that. 

Gyomei already has enough strength. However, he can’t use it to protect what’s important, because he’s not thinking of the reason why he’s fighting. In comparison to Genya who despite being so weak, is always trying so desperately to be useful to the others around him. Remember, Gyomei is a deconstruction of the idea that strength is the only thing that matters. 

Genya thinks he is useless because he is weak until Tanjiro tells him it’s the other way around. He has the potential to fight because he’s weak, because he’s struggling so much. 

Gyomei and Kokushibou are foils. They are both at the peak of physical strength. Gyomei is pretty much the strongest a human can become without being Yoriichi, and Kokushibou is the strongest among the demons creating by Muzan and has been cultivating strength for hundreds of years since the onset of breathing techniques. But, strength is not everything. 

Kokushibou also loses for the exact same reason that Hinejima is blind. He fails to realize. He fails to perceive. Kokushibou has six eyes, Hinejima cannot see out of either eye but both of them are equally blind to what is truly important. Both of them fail to perceive. This is what costs Kokushibou the victory as he’s ultimately defeated by a surprise attack from Genya and Tokito, the two he underestimated the most. 

The weakest destroy the strongest demon. The battle is not a matter of strength but rather who was more perceptive, who realized what was important, which was Genya in the end. 

Kokushibou is undone by the children who have surpassed him. Whereas, Gyomei himself has failed. In failing to realize what he was fighting for was not strength alone or to be a weapon against demon, but rather his own feelings of wanting to protect the children he himself is forced to witness children die in front of him repeatedly while he himself is helpless. 

Gyomei cold not do a thing to protect either Genya, or Tokito. In the end despite being the strongest, he’s saved by the two weakest people in the room, the both of them children. Only to once again arrive too late to do anything to protect Tanjiro from Muzan. 

Even after witnessing the tragedy of Tokito passing so early, Gyomei still doesn’t think he’s going to live beyond the final fight with Muzan. His purpose still is only to fight and die. 

Which is why for Gyomei truly to grow and be able to use his strength to protect what matters, he himself is going to have to learn to see a reason for living beyond fighting and dying. 

[concussed-to-pieces]

Return At Dawn

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri Blaiddyd/F!Byleth (Dimileth)

Rating: Holy shit M

Word Count: Nervous sweating around 34k

AN: I would like you all to bear witness to this...behemoth.  I have played over two hundred hours of this game, my life is chaos, and the post-timeskip cutscene is the sole reason why I wrote the entire thing. Obviously, spoiler warning for the Blue Lions route. Enjoy!

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment deals heavily with death and various, vivid post-traumatic scenarios. Stay safe!]

"Come in old man, I'm just washing up!" The muffled reply to his knock threw Dimitri for a momentary loop. She must have assumed he was Jeralt coming to check on her.

  "Er, Professor Byleth?" He called, gingerly easing the door to her quarters open. "It's me, Dimitri. May I…?"

  "Prince Dimitri, head of the house, right?" Their new professor emerged from the tiny luxury that was the en-suite washroom, wiping her hands on a towel. The remains of some soap suds clung to her cheek, which Dimitri chose to ignore as best as he could. "Here to try and scare me off? I warn you, I'm a force to be reckoned with."

  "Not at all!" Dimitri hastily assured the newly-minted professor, bowing on reflex. 

  He hadn't expected her to be so outspoken. When she had been with Jeralt, she kept the chatter to a minimum. Even if she hadn't though, normally once people found out he was a prince the stiff manners ensued. 

  The hand that warmly clasped his own was calloused with abundant scarring across the knuckles, a telltale sign of her successful mercenary career. "I just wanted to see whether you were having any issues settling in." The prince continued.

  "No problems so far, give me a few days to get lost in this place and I'm sure I'll have the layout memorized." She said it with a straight face, but Dimitri felt as if he were being joked with. 

  "Would you like a guide? I'm certain I can assist you in navigating the monastery on your first day." He offered cordially.

  …

  Dimitri jerked awake. 

  He was still where he had dropped last, his back pressed to the wall behind him. The end of his lance was wedged into the cracked marble underfoot, propping it upright. His grip on the heavy weapon hadn't loosened, even in his momentary doze.

  The once-princeling raised his remaining eye, taking in his handiwork. Butchered Imperial soldiers littered the cathedral floor in front of him, victims of their own foolishness. A chilling breeze blew through the enormous archway, but he doubted he could feel any colder.

  In the five years since Byleth was lost, her voice had been added to the burden on his soul. Along with his father, his stepmother, Glenn, Dedue...all of them screaming for vengeance, redeem us Dimitri, why couldn't you save us Dimitri .

  He was a shambling corpse, a beast driven mad by blood-craze, the wild boar suited for nothing but destruction and slaughter. How Felix would laugh, if he could see what depths the once-prince had sunk to. 

  The shaft of Dimitri's fearsome lance, an enormous thing intended for use by mounted cavalry, was tacky with half-dried blood. He wanted to feel nauseous. Maybe that was the hunger talking. When had he eaten last?

  What was I dreaming about?

  For the first time in what felt like years, he had dozed off. And instead of being tormented by memories of fire or the loss of Dedue, he was granted a bittersweet respite in the form of recalling his beloved professor's first foray into the academic life.

  Grief tore at him wildly, making him hunch into himself once again. The pain was so sharp and vivid whenever he thought of her ; he couldn't stop his body's reaction to the perceived assault. His grip on his lance tightened and he clenched his jaw, refusing to make a sound. Mourning was a luxury reserved for someone far better than he was. All he deserved was to suffer agony in silence.

  Overwhelmed with weariness, his head pounding, Dimitri closed his eye again.

  …

  "The professor is gone, but I do not believe she is dead!" Dimitri yelled fiercely as he sawed at the reins of his destrier. The horse whinnied and pawed the earth nervously, fighting the prince every step of the way. "We will save Professor Byleth!"

  "He's right, there's no way she's lost to us!" Ingrid agreed, her own mount giving her no end of trouble. "Blue Lions, if there is a way for us to get her back, we must try!"

  "Our professor lives, I know it!" Dedue announced firmly, the other students on foot rallying behind his shield. 

  Dimitri spurred his horse forward, going at a breakneck pace across the battlefield. " Solon! " He shouted, readying his lance. "I'll slice you into a thousand pieces as you watch with horror! You will know true pain before I finally allow you to die!" The flames of Duscur seared his soul; the dead cried out for vengeance and he must give it to them. Such was the burden of the living.

  "How trite!" Solon sneered. "But! If you wish for pain, I shall oblige."

  Dimitri's horse thundered onward relentlessly, the prince disrupting enemy formations left and right as he rode. Sylvain and Felix were close behind, with Dedue and Ingrid maintaining the rear guard. Just like they had practiced, Annette and Ashe used Dedue's shield as cover for their respective spells and arrows while Mercedes and Flayn kept a vigilant eye out for any injuries. 

  Dimitri advanced on Solon, his lance gleaming in the sunset as he prepared to strike him down. "Die, monster!" The infernal darkness that had dogged him since Duscur wrapped around his soul like a hand, squeezing, squeezing-

  Brilliant light erupted in the air directly in front of him and his horse reared, nearly unseating the prince. A red-hot blade seemed to pierce the sky itself, a rift tearing open to reveal…

  Professor Byleth! The Sword of the Creator was ablaze with a fiery glow, so bright it pained Dimitri to behold it. For one fleeting moment he felt fear, as though he were a damned sinner who was about to be judged by the Goddess herself. Then, the darkness fled from his mind, clarity returning as surely as his professor had. 

  "Professor Byleth!" He said gladly, raising his lance in a knight's salute to her. He paused, however, as his eyes grew accustomed to the light. Her hair...and her eyes! Such a strange shade of green they were, like sunlight filtered through forest leaves. What had happened to her in the brief time she had been away from them? What torments had wrought their havoc upon her? 

  Solon appeared just as confused as he was, babbling about the Forbidden Spell and how the professor shouldn't have been able to escape from it. 

  "We were sure that you would return! Please tell me all that happened to you later. For now, it's imperative that we kill the demon!" Dimitri urged his horse into a canter after Professor Byleth nodded to him. More enemies had appeared on the field, no doubt brought there by Solon's foul magics. But the Blue Lions would not lose their professor again.

  He would not lose their professor again .

  …

  The soft tread of someone entering the sanctuary roused Dimitri to awareness once more. He didn't so much as flinch, steadying his breathing. Better to not draw attention to himself ahead of time, after all. 

  The sky outside had begun to brighten to a steely gray with the dawn, the wind even colder than before. 

  Dimitri lifted his gaze and was duly horrified by what he saw. Another apparition, another shadow come to torment him at night. Had his delusions truly worsened so, that she would linger even in the waxing dawn? 

  Her strides were cautious. She practically tiptoed. So unlike his professor. 

  Dimitri's remaining eye narrowed. An impostor, then. No doubt sent by Edelgard to gain his trust. How transparent of the Flame Emperor. "Stay where you are, interloper." He rasped. "Unless you wish to be cut down."

  She did not speak. The witch had done her research, it would seem. All she did was carefully pick her way around the corpses, heading towards him. 

  "I should have known, that one day you would be haunting me as well." Dimitri leaned forward, lance braced on the ground. "I will warn you only one more time, trespasser ." The former prince spat, the sharp blade of his lance glinting in the first fitful rays of morning sunlight. "Stay back ."

  The hallucination or impostor had the audacity to look distressed with him, shaking her head. The sunrise suddenly poured into the room in earnest, robing her in golden splendor. 

  Dimitri momentarily closed his eye against the onslaught of memories. The Blue Lion brooch the class had gifted her on her birthday so long ago was securely pinned to her bosom, the beast's inlaid sapphire eyes sparkling in the dawn. That Edelgard would go to this extent for authenticity-! Had that monster found where the professor's final resting place was and robbed her grave to lay claim to the bauble? Or-

  Byleth touched his cheek and his eye snapped open. All the other apparitions were so cold, but her hand was warm enough that he could actually feel it on his chilled face. "Leave me, you foul demon! Why do you dog my footsteps? Why did you come to this wretched place?" Dimitri hissed. "Just to torment me, to remind me that I failed? I will kill that woman, I swear it! Do not look upon me with scorn in your eyes!"

  "I'm so sorry." 

  Oh! Her voice! The dead heart in his breast gave a weary little beat at the familiarity of it all. How many times had they sparred? How many times had she praised his monstrous strength instead of critiquing his enthusiastic, graceless way of moving?

  How many, how many, how many …

  "Why have you come here?" Dimitri asked again, his words quieter this time. "If you are truly alive, here , then you must be an Imperial spy. That's the only way you could have survived. Have you come to kill me, cur of Edelgard?" He snarled. "Answer the question."

  "Of course not." She murmured, her thumb brushing some dried blood off his cheek. He must have been injured during his previous fracas with the Imperial soldiers. Dimitri had felt no wound over the constant throbbing of his head, however. Her eyes searched his own, probing, concerned . "What happened?" 

  What happened to you, what happened to the monastery, what happened to me. Dimitri was unsure of what she was asking and she wasn't elaborating. 

  He could have dropped his lance and crushed her skull with the strength of his hands alone. Yet...hesitation. Doubt. Momentary weakness while Dimitri extended a hand and traced the side of her face, cheekbone to jaw. He was ashamed of how his fingers trembled. She was real. Tangible . No impostor could mimic her this well, nor could the Imperial magisters. So she must be a spy in the Emperor's pocket. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved that his mind hadn't slipped further into delirium or enraged that Edelgard would conceive such a bold-faced scheme.

  His armored palm curved against her cheek, not gentle enough to be a caress but not nearly harsh enough to be a shove. "You should not be here." The fury had seeped out of his words, leaving them hollow. He felt abruptly drained.

  Her hand covered his own on her cheek and healing light washed over him, banishing the weariness that had befallen him after his last pitched fight with the Imperial soldiers. He had been wounded, then? His memory must have gone patchy during the conflict. "I'm glad you're alright." She whispered.

  "Am I?" Dimitri pulled himself upright, impatiently waving off the hand she offered. "There are rats and thieves , crawling in the ruins below that I must remove." He muttered. "They are drawn here by the promise of treasure. I will...kill them all. Until Edelgard runs out of soldiers and has no choice but to come find me herself. Someone must put a stop to this cycle of the strong trampling the weak." Pretty words. He did not actually believe them. 

  "Your Highness-"

  "Do not refer to me as such. As far as the kingdom is aware, I died four years ago in Fhirdiad." Dimitri shook himself bodily, trying to free his form of the stiffness and morning chill that clung to him. "I must rid this place of its rat problem."

  "How many of them are there?" She was cautious again. She should be.

  "It doesn't matter." Dimitri snarled. "All that matters is killing those who deserve to die."

  …

  "It smells of blood and sewage." The prince mused, a smirk upon his face. "It seems I've found their nest."

  Byleth looked up at him, thoroughly concerned by the undercurrent of excitement in his tone. This was not the same young man she had once taught in the classroom. He seemed rabid and fixated at the same time, the sinister grin he sported twisting his stern features into a terrible mask. 

  He glanced over to her. It was impossible to miss that somewhere along the way he had lost the use of his right eye, the space now covered by a dark eyepatch. She had tried to stay on his left while they slunk through the dawn's shadows down to the monastery's edge, where the thieves were at their thickest. It would do her no good to approach on his blind side and be run through for spooking him.

  For just a second, she could have sworn his expression softened slightly. "Shall we go rat hunting, Professor?" 

  Professor, professor…

  She had never imagined her title could sound so bitter and forlorn. "Would you rather I move to your right and guard you? Or stay within sight on your left?"

  Dimitri hesitated before responding, "Do as you please. I am accustomed to protecting my blind spot. Opponents always believe it to be a weak point."

  "I will guard your right as we push forward, then." Byleth said firmly. "One less thing for you to worry about." He did not thank her, and she did not expect him to.

  Dimitri moved like a wild animal in a feeding frenzy. Mercilessly cutting down the thieves, whirling his enormous lance around his body as if it weighed nothing. He had gotten even stronger , and unfortunately, far better at killing.

  Even when the enemy managed to land blows upon him he shrugged them off, single-minded in his advance. The leader of the thieves had ensconced himself in a half-collapsed cupola and it did not take an incredible strategist to know that this man was Dimitri's mark. " Out of my way! " The once-princeling roared, the next blow from that mighty lance splitting the very flagstones with the force he put behind it. "Interlopers, thieves, scum! You will pay for your foolhardy destruction of the nearby village and your ransacking of my graveyard with your pitiful lives!"

  Byleth deflected an arrow aimed at Dimitri's blind side and the blond swung his lance over her head with a grunt of exertion, slaying the archer that dared to try him. True, the two of them were strong, but their adversaries were numerous. Even with both of their skill sets, this could prove to be a fruitless struggle.

  She suddenly heard a loud rattle of armor behind her. "His Highness! And...the professor?" Gilbert sounded shocked, and well he should.

  "I know it's been five years, but I never expected the monastery to end up like this ." A bowstring twanged and an arrow sang overhead. "This place is a wreck!"

  "Ashe!" Byleth said gladly. Ashe strode forward. He was taller and broader now but had that same boyish grin, another arrow nocked and ready to fire.

  The embodiment of gentle grace herself seemed to materialize out of the morning mist beside Byleth, Mercedes reaching up to pat the professor's shoulder. "I haven't seen any of you in such a long time. I'm so glad to see you're alive." 

  Gilbert advanced from the rear guard, Annette perched securely on his shoulders. From her lofty vantage point, she launched furious gouts of magic that leveled foes. "It's over, thieves!" She announced with fervour. 

  Dimitri seemed bewildered by the sudden arrival of his old classmates and allies, actually pausing in his assault. "Why...why are you here?" He asked, clearly confused.

  "No time for that now, your Highness!" Mercedes aimed a fire spell beneath his elbow, taking down a thief who had been attempting to sneak by the group. "We can catch up later."

  "And we definitely will!" Byleth couldn't help her laugh, utterly thrilled by the appearance of their friends. 

  Galloping hoofbeats signaled another approach and Sylvain thundered past the group. "C'mon guys, we've got a nest to exterminate!" He yelled over his shoulder, reining in his horse. "Nice to see ya', Teach!" 

  A pegasus swooped by overhead, Ingrid's lance gleaming in the early morning light as she rocketed onward. "We'll catch up later!" She called.

  Grateful tears filled Byleth's eyes and she hurried to dash them away. "You're all just-"

  "Now is not the time for sentiments." Felix grumbled from her elbow, loosening the sheath binding on his blades. "We're all here because we made a promise to return. That's that. Don't waste your breath thanking us, Professor."

  Dimitri looked a strange combination of outraged and grateful, the tall young man clearing his throat and then raising his voice. "Listen up! We must end this quickly." He still commanded some form of respect it would seem, as Byleth's former students took heed of his orders and arranged themselves accordingly. 

  …

  It felt like several lifetimes had passed since Dimitri had seen the faces that rallied with him. And yet they followed orders just like they had when they were nothing but children, classmates, friends . 

  A brief flicker of self-awareness crushed him in its grip. Nausea, bringing with it a wave of fetid bile to sour his mouth. I will use you all to suit my ends, until I can use you no longer and discard you. "Seal off their escape routes! Leave none alive! Those who would strip this place must pay the ultimate price!" Dimitri shouted hoarsely.

  He was no longer the noble, chivalrous prince who led his forces to victory, but the ravenous, slavering beast who craved nothing more than to see his enemies utterly broken before him. Dimitri had thought he came to terms with this long ago. However, having Professor Byleth witness his behavior was...it made it seem more real , somehow. It solidified his fall from regal poise into brutal, blood-soaked chaos.

  He wanted to hate her for it. Dimitri wanted to loathe her for holding them to such high standards, for always encouraging them to do their best…

  For leaving him all alone.  

  He hadn't been ready! When news of her disappearance had reached him, he had gone into a blind despair. They relied on her, depended upon her, and now she was gone? There had been so much he wanted to say to her. His heart had screamed the agony he refused to voice, the maybe I could have s keeping him up long into the night.

  It felt like a cruel joke.

  Then, Dedue perished as his whipping boy, thanks to Cornelia's elaborate frame job of the only surviving member of House Blaiddyd. The last fragment of his tenuous humanity sacrificed along with his stalwart friend, Dimitri had slaughtered guards of his own kingdom to steal their weaponry and then vanished into the wilds. Let Cornelia do as she pleased with the battered kingdom of Faerghus, he no longer cared. All he wanted...all he lived for, was his revenge.

  Dimitri took to terrorizing and harassing Imperial troops wherever he found them. With every soldier killed it became easier to rationalize his horrific actions. 

  Because they're Edelgard's, and everyone connected to her will suffer until she comes to atone.

  His prior clean ways of dispatching enemies dissolved into gory bloodbaths. The once-prince no longer worried about causing unnecessary pain; instead, he focused more and more on the fear . Everyone would die as his family had died, as Dedue and his dear professor had died: with terror etched into their souls and no mercy given.

  Dimitri struck out for Garreg Mach upon learning Imperial troops were sent there regularly, the soldiers tasked with handling thieves that menaced the nearby village. That the Knights of Seiros were too damn preoccupied with their search for their precious archbishop to offer any sort of assistance came as no surprise to the once-prince. After all, when it came down to brass tacks, the church served the church. 

  It had given him a certain, sadistic pleasure to cleanse the monastery's cathedral of its Imperial infestation, though he had done so at a great cost to his own body. If Byleth had not returned when she had…

  Regardless, she was a gifted healer and strong warrior. She would serve his crusade for revenge well.

  Dimitri steadfastly ignored the soft voice in his head that added and we won't lose her again .

  …

  Byleth strode past Dedue and Dimitri without so much as a nod. Dedue hailed their professor, but she didn't seem to hear him.

  Dimitri's brow furrowed. "Dedue, have you ever known our professor to ignore a greeting?" The prince asked his stalwart companion. "She even greets a majority of the knights by name."

  Dedue tilted his head, visibly puzzled. "Perhaps she was deep in thought, your Highness?"

  "Professor?" Dimitri called, getting as much of a reply as Dedue had. He noticed with a start that she was in her armor, as though she was heading out on one of their missions. But nothing had been issued that he knew of. And he was the head of the house! If a mission had been given, he would know about it. "Dedue, we must gather the others and follow her. This bodes poorly." Dimitri decided. 

  "Of course, your Highness. I will alert our classmates. It may take some time to get mounts saddled, however-"

  "We have to hurry, otherwise we will lose track of her. Use your best judgement and have everyone meet at the gates." 

  The professor moved as if she was in a trance. One foot in front of the other, unaware of her surroundings. It was so very peculiar, yet no one else seemed to take any notice of it at all.

  Dimitri followed at what he deemed a safe distance, but it was soon apparent that there was no need for any sort of attempt at stealth. She either expected to be followed or simply did not care if she was.

  Professor Byleth made her way to the garrison stables and took the nearest horse, not even bothering with saddle or bridle. The beast didn't seem to mind, waiting patiently by the mounting block for her to climb aboard and then quickly setting off at a brisk canter. 

  Dimitri swore under his breath, scrambling to saddle his own mount.

  "Your Highness! What's going on?" Ingrid queried, swinging open the stall door.

  "We must be swift and cautious, Ingrid. It's probably nothing, but I fear there may be something sinister at work. Make haste." The prince ordered, settling into his saddle and gathering the reins.

  "Of course. Shall I wait for Sylvain?"

  "Yes, and I tasked Dedue with gathering the others. From what I saw, the professor was heading in the direction of the Canyon. If something changes, I'll leave a message at the gates."

  The professor had a head start and Dimitri realized that she had not, in fact, taken a random horse. She had taken a fast horse. It might have even been Ferdinand's prized mount, but there were several chestnut horses in the stables and Dimitri had a difficult time differentiating between the animals on a good day. He knew that as a member of the gentry, he ought to be a good judge of horseflesh. Due to his heavy-handed strength however, he had never gotten much use out of fleet-footed, leggy mounts.

  His destrier was worked into a lather by the time he reached the Red Canyon. The powerful beast slowed to a trot with its ears flattened against its skull, its nostrils flaring as it sampled the wind. 

  A fierce roar echoed through the gorge and Dimitri jerked the reins, quickly halting his steed. The roar had come from deeper in the canyon. Where the professor was.  

  Sylvain paused beside him, the redhead's own mount fidgeting nervously. "So your Highness, we headin' in?" Sylvain asked, loosening the strap that secured his lance to his side. " Whatever that was, it sure as heck didn't sound friendly. If Professor Byleth is in there…" He left his words hanging pointedly.

  "I am well aware, Sylvain. I merely wished to wait for at least one more person. Charging into a situation without any sort of backup is foolhardy."

  "I live to serve." Sylvain threw the prince a roguish wink, slapping his stallion's neck with the reins to encourage it forward. 

  Dimitri rolled his eyes and nudged his destrier into a loping canter, quickly overtaking his friend. Ingrid came up on the left, her gelding tossing its head and showing the whites of its eyes. "The horses are uneasy and I don't care for it!" Ingrid observed over the racket of pounding hooves. "Best that we find the professor quickly!"

  Dimitri nodded curtly, mentally willing his horse to go even faster. He bent low against the steed's neck, slacking the reins and feeling its gait stretch out into a smooth gallop when he gave it its head to run. Sylvain whooped, following close behind.

  Finding the source of the roar was an easy enough task. A huge demonic beast accompanied by two enormous wolves snarled and snapped at the professor, the woman dodging them nimbly on foot. Her horse was nowhere to be seen, doubtless fled in panic.

  "Hallo Professor!" Sylvain yelled, waving his arm over his head to get her attention. "Looks like you're in a bit of a jam! Mind if we cut in?"

  " Sylvain …" Dimitri muttered, thoroughly exasperated with his lackadaisical friend.

  Not only were there the massive beasts trying to savage their professor, but even as the three students advanced, monstrous hawks closed in from the rear. 

  Luckily, Dedue and the others were not far behind. The Duscur man looked a bit green from his hurried horseback ride, but gamely got his axe right into the swing of things. Felix rode up past Ingrid and Sylvain, tossing Ingrid a lance as he went. "Forget something?" The black-haired young man asked her, his tone annoyed as ever.

  "Thank you Felix!" Ingrid replied, almost sarcastically. Dimitri wanted to laugh at their easy dynamic, though this situation was no laughing matter. 

  Felix's blade flashed through the air like lightning, the swordsman scoring a deep gash in the shoulder of the closest wolf to draw its attention. "Hie, you dumb beast!" He shouted, "you're no match for me! Face me and meet your end!"

  "Easy Felix, the professor is our priority!" Sylvain chided, lowering his lance and preparing to charge the other wolf. "Ingrid, lend me a hand? Two lances are better than one!"

  Dimitri thundered forward through the opening his friends had created, the prince facing down the largest demonic beast. "Professor, are you harmed?" He called to her, relieved when she shook her head. "Please assist me in dispatching this foe!"

  Despite the size advantage, the multitude of strange beasts were no match for the student's coordinated efforts. Ashe felled the last hawk with a grunt of exertion, having overdrawn his bow to reach the high-flying target. The bowstring snapped, making the young archer yelp in a combination of surprise and pain.

  Professor Byleth started visibly at the noise, shaking her head as if she was dismissing something. "Are you alright?" She called to him, sheathing her sword even though it still steamed with ichor. 

  "Fine! I'm fine, it just caught my face." Ashe assured her, rubbing his cheek gingerly. Mercedes descended to heal over the silver-haired boy's injury, her fingers tracing the welt the bowstring had left. 

  "Professor, I know it is not my place to chastise you," Dimitri began sternly, his hands on his hips.

  "It seems I put you all in danger." Professor Byleth observed ruefully. "I didn't expect anyone to follow me here."

  "You did not exactly make it a difficult task." The prince scolded, "Never once did you check to see if you were being tailed! Honestly Professor, what on earth were you thinking?! Coming to this dangerous place with no one by your side!"

  "I felt drawn here, your Highness. As though I needed to come. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I can't explain."

  "Next time you feel such urges , I strongly encourage you to find me first. If not to talk some sense into you, then to offer my lance to defend you!" Dimitri snapped, perhaps a bit sharper than he had intended.

  The professor was silent for a moment and the prince busied himself with roughly cleaning his lance. "You feared for me." She said finally, her voice soft.

  "Of course I- we did!" Dimitri erupted, thoroughly exasperated. "By the Goddess, have you no sense of preservation? There were at least six enormous monsters intent on ending you!" The haft of his lance groaned in warning before the metal abruptly snapped from the pressure of his grip. The prince swore in a manner that was most unbecoming of a gentleman, barely resisting the urge to throw his now-useless weapon as far as he could. 

  Professor Byleth put a hand on his arm and he shot her a glare, opening his mouth to continue berating her. But her expression stopped him dead. She looked more distraught than he had ever seen her, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched slightly. 

  The prince's combined indignation and relief leaked out of him. In its stead, he heaved a heavy sigh and placed his gauntlet over her hand on his arm. "What's done is done. You are safe, as are the rest of us. But I meant what I said. Should you fancy to wander, tell me . It will do us no good to lose you, my dear professor."

  ...

  They had all returned to the monastery just as they had promised five years ago. The millennium feast day, and not a pilgrim in sight. Byleth sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. 

  The monastery was a mess. Annette had thrown herself wholeheartedly into cleaning up, Ashe and Sylvain at her side. Ingrid and Felix seemed thoroughly invested in restocking the moldering larders. Mercedes flitted from group to group, offering a hand wherever it was needed. Gilbert was still making his rounds, examining the state of the dilapidated fortifications and trying to prioritize what to mend first. 

  Dimitri however, appeared utterly disinterested in assisting with any of these reconstructive efforts. The prince simply stood in the middle of the cathedral's sanctuary, his arms folded across his chest. Anyone who attempted to engage him was met with silence and an icy glare. 

  Byleth thumped her forehead on the rickety desk when that cheerful information was relayed, making the knight who had delivered it snicker quietly. "Alright, thank you for the update." The former professor mumbled, already leafing through the next mountainous stack of parchment. Requisition orders, provision plans, drill schedules...Gilbert certainly wasted no time whipping everything back into shape, herself included. What was a five year gap among friends?

  "My apologies for the skewed workload, professor. We are at war and the man who should be overseeing this...appears unwell." Gilbert's delicacy when mentioning Dimitri didn't go unnoticed by Byleth, the young woman beckoning the elder knight close.

  "Is he entirely lost to us?" She asked worriedly.

  Gilbert hummed, stroking his stubble thoughtfully. "If not for the way that he attends to you, I would have said yes." He finally answered. "The solitude he has inflicted upon himself has clearly done his mental state no favors, as has his obsession with the Emperor. Yet…" Byleth flushed, cursing inwardly at the way Gilbert studied her. "He listens when you speak. That may be our only hope thus far, but it is a formidable one all the same."

  Byleth sighed. "I hope I'm up to the task."

  "If anyone could pull him out of this darkness, it is you." Gilbert stated firmly. 

  …

  The cathedral was silent. Aside from the birds that rustled in the rafters, all was peaceful. The perfect area for Dimitri to hold his forum with the dead. Glenn, his father, his stepmother, Dedue, they all had a say in his next move and they all clamored maddeningly loud for Edelgard's demise.

  His resolve was thrown into question by these beleaguered phantoms. Over and over Dimitri found himself frantically reassuring his dearly departed that he would tear Edelgard apart for them, that he would secure their salvation no matter what it cost him personally. 

  Their visages floated just out of the edge of his limited vision, forcing Dimitri to turn this way and that to try and keep them within sight. Always so close and yet, so very far away.

  The day's events had thoroughly exhausted him at this stage. Gilbert hadn't verified the structural integrity of the second floor of dormitories, and as such the once-prince was without a concrete sleeping location. He ended up simply stretching out on the marble floor of the cathedral, his heavy mantle spread over him. 

  Dimitri stared up at the stars through the destroyed roof. Even from his far-flung position, he could dimly hear the noise of the soldiers in the dining hall. It was so strange to sense motion and not be overly concerned about it, yet he did not fear any sort of assault. He wasn't quite sure what to make of that , the sense of complacent security he had.

  He knew better than to think he might actually sleep , but to his surprise, he actually found himself dozing.

  …

  "It's kind of pathetic to think about it all these years later, but can you guess what I gave her as a parting gift?" Dimitri grinned in anticipation of her attempt, happy that he wasn't the only one who would embarrass himself this evening.

  "Don't tell me." Professor Byleth's expression had gone deadpan once more. "You got her a dagger, didn't you."

  Dimitri was taken aback by her rapid, correct reply. 'Horrified' was probably a better term. "Huh. Good guess, Professor. But I swear it came from the heart. How on earth did you know?" He asked sheepishly.

  "You're a practical sort. Self defense, or something a little more abstract?"

  "I-I mean...well, both? In Faerghus, we've long considered blades as tools of destiny. As a way to cut a path to a better future." Dimitri failed to keep the wistful note out of his voice. "She was being dragged all over, unable to live the life she wanted. I thought the dagger could help her cut a path to the future she dreamed of." He sighed heavily. "However, that was many years ago. I'm sure she's forgotten all about the boy I was back then."

  "It's not too late to reconnect. Perhaps you should invite her to tea? Something small, so you don't make her wary." Byleth suggested gently. 

  Dimitri shook his head ruefully. "I'm afraid it's far too late for that. Things are different now. She's different. I'm different." 

  He rotated his arm, his shoulder still a little stiff from all the dancing. Holding rigorous posture was never an enjoyable experience, especially when he dwarfed all his partners (other than Claude). Professor Byleth said nothing in response to his quick dismissal of rekindling a sibling relationship with Edelgard, and Dimitri was immensely grateful.

  "Anyway, I'm feeling a bit out of place here. Festivities like this don't suit me." He glanced at her from beneath the curtain of his messy blond bangs, knowing that his hair must be utterly hopeless at this stage of the evening. "Professor, will you join me for a stroll? You must be tired of the ball yourself, seeing as you wandered out here for air just as I did."

  Byleth nodded and Dimitri offered her his arm.

  The Goddess Tower was so quiet, far from the commotion of the main hall. Dimitri found his palms sweaty inside his gauntlets and he grimaced. What a fool he was, inviting the professor to come along with him to this place. He had never paid much mind to the children's tales of wishes at specific locations. The Goddess would never intervene for him, that much was clear. Why waste time with this nonsense?

  Yet...here he was. Inches from the moon, he fancied, with Professor Byleth at his side. He was silent for a time, but she didn't seem to mind. If anything, she appeared grateful for a moment of respite. She sat on the railing, the two of them looking at the stars.

  "What a wonderful night." Byleth murmured. "I know I'll be paying for all that dancing, but that's a problem for tomorrow."

  "I am pleased that you enjoyed yourself, professor." Dimitri replied. "The peace here is appreciated after all that hubbub." 

  He shifted to face her, asking conversationally if she knew the legend of the Goddess Tower. He was surprised when she nodded enthusiastically. He hadn't pegged her as someone who put stock in nonsense fairytales and he said as much, making her laugh.

  "Your Highness, it's alright to be a little childish sometimes. I may not believe there's any truth to it, but it's fun to think about." She explained. Then, "You don't believe your wishes will come true, if you stand here and wish with me?"

  "Legends are legends, nothing more." Dimitri murmured. "I doubt there are many who truly believe that wishes can be granted." He cleared his throat. "Though...I suppose there's no harm in passing the time with silly legends." His melancholy dismissed for the time being, Dimitri extended a hand to his professor, smiling. "What do you say, Professor? Care to make a wish? We are here on the night of the ball. Why don't you try wishing for something?"

  "After you!" Byleth teased, her playful tone encouraging Dimitri to believe in the magic of such an endeavor, if only for a moment. She hopped off the railing and looked at him expectantly.

  "A wish of my own…" the prince mused, stroking his chin as he thought. "I suppose...my wish is for a world in which no one would ever be unjustly taken from us." He paused, realizing how serious that sounded. "Or, er, something along those lines." He hurriedly amended.

  Her hand rested beside his own on the railing and he was graced with another one of her soft smiles. "I will wish for the same."

  Dimitri's gratitude threatened to make him teary and he glanced away, clearing his throat again. "Thank you, Professor." He forced himself to smile winningly, looking back at her. "Although, at a time like this…perhaps it would make more sense for me to wish that we'll be together forever! What do you think?"

  She stared up at him in silence for several agonizing seconds. Dimitri slowly realized that the words he had spoken were incredibly weighty and he frantically scrambled to think of a way to defuse the dangerous situation he had created. How could he have said something so foolish?  

  Dimitri mustered up a weak chuckle. "Well now, Professor! You must admit I've improved in the art of joke-telling!" He grinned. 

  "That was cruel. It didn't sound like a joke." Byleth's eyes were sad and Dimitri longed desperately to ponder on that. Had she wanted him to be sincere? No, that couldn't be it. Perhaps she was more annoyed than sad? Oh, if his improper actions had offended her-!

  "I'm sorry. I guess that was rather thoughtless of me." He apologized earnestly. "Honestly, I do regret saying such a thing. Please, think nothing of it. I've blurted out irresponsible things like that to my classmates. Promises that we'll see each other again and the like." It was not entirely a lie; Dimitri felt his heart sink whenever he inadvertently made the grave error of promising anyone anything from him in the years to come. "I have no business making such promises for the future. There are certain things that I must accomplish, even if it means risking my life. I may not even have a future to promise to someone."

  There. As close to the whole truth as he had ever gotten with another person. It was terrifying . Byleth continued to stare up at him. Dimitri felt for a moment as if she could see into his very soul, could see the engorged falsehoods interwoven with the meager truths he did offer.

  "We should head back soon." The prince finally said quietly, averting his eyes. "It's...rude of me to keep you all to myself. Shall we, Professor?"

  When he offered her his arm this time, she ignored it in favor of lacing their fingers in a much more intimate manner. Dimitri flushed, grateful for the darkness of the tower to hide his red complexion. The professor said nothing the entire walk back to the main hall, but at one point she rested her head against his shoulder. 

  More than anything in that moment, Dimitri wished to stop and embrace her. He wished to believe in the power of his wish. But without a future to promise…

  No. He would not inflict such a pointless burden upon her. No matter how much it cost his heart, it was better this way. He would simply have to value their closeness that much more for the limited time that it was available to him.

  …

  Dimitri spent a good portion of time in the cathedral, muttering to himself and studying the marble floor so intently it seemed he would burn a hole in it. Byleth tried to speak to him, but unless she brought news of Imperial activities the prince didn't reply.

  One such day, after being brushed off yet again, she was surprised to have Felix usher her into one of the alcoves where a statue had once been.

  "Hello." Felix began stiffly. Even that was downright conversational compared to how he usually spoke. Byleth was instantly on edge. "I have a request concerning that... creature ." He jerked his chin toward Dimitri's large form. "I can hardly look at that thing in the state it's in." His eyes locked with Byleth's, the young man's expression dark. " Do something about it ."

  "I'll...I'll see what I can do?" The woman replied slowly.

  "Please do." Felix slouched against the pillar, his attention back on Dimitri. "We tracked the boar for five years . I thought he was dead. In the state he's in, he might as well be." The dark-haired man grumbled. "He's gotten better at killing people, and in exchange, surrendered what little humanity he had."

  Despite his cool demeanor, it was obvious that Felix still cared a great deal for the other young man. "Do you have any ideas?" Byleth asked.

  Felix shook his head. "I have spent far too long pushing the boar prince away. He would not listen to anything I have to offer." 

  "Any input you have is welcome all the same."

  Regret tinged his voice. "My elder brother died in his service, in Duscur. My father, Lord Rodrigue, handled the news in the only way he knew how: by praising my brother's commitment and sacrifice. I, however, lashed out at Dimitri for allowing my brother to die in his stead." He held up a hand when Byleth opened her mouth. "I understand that knights fight and die for their masters. It was merely because it was my brother that I attacked him."

  "Yes, but surely-"

  "Two years later, the prince and I were sent to quell a rebellion of the Duscur people." Felix was almost whispering, as though he didn't want anyone else to hear. "Dimitri was at the helm of the whole affair, to the confusion of many generals. The atrocities I saw that day...we were children , professor. I was just a squire; he couldn't have been older than sixteen, and yet the Kingdom councillors decided that the lone brat with no other heirs to the throne was the only suitable candidate to spearhead the attack." Felix's eyes narrowed. "They essentially set him loose on demoralized troops and watched him clumsily kill. A wild boar maddened with rage and inexperience, enjoying its first rampage." He tilted his head. "It seems incredibly suspect, now that I am older. Even if he was the most decorated man in the entire army, why would you send the last member of the royal bloodline out on such a mundane maneuver?"

  "He mentioned the rebellion to me before. He said it was easy. Too easy. A slaughter." Byleth replied, keeping her voice quiet. "Do you think someone was hoping he would die in that conflict? Or maybe they wanted him to get a taste for blood?"

  He shook his head. "It could be neither or both. It doesn't matter at this point, though I will say that my recollection of the events is not clouded by time or mania . If I had to hazard a guess, it is almost as if the whole rebellion was orchestrated. Duscur warriors were practically throwing themselves into the prince's path." Felix said bluntly. "We know that Cornelia has been scheming for many years. It wouldn't surprise me if this is all according to plan."

  Byleth's head felt as though it was spinning. Could it be true, that the Empire's conspiracy against the Kingdom wove that deeply into Dimitri's troubled past? 

  Felix heaved a sigh, pulling her from her thoughts. "This is all just useless speculation. Look, he listens to you for whatever reason. So again, do something . I don't care what. Imprison him, beat him, whatever it is that you think will work. Anything is better than watching him waste away like this."

  ...

  Gilbert had planned well for their first attempt at staving off the Empire. Though their battalions were much slimmer than the Imperial forces, the elder knight had devised a truly clever strategy. 

  A well-placed firebomb attack thoroughly decimated the horde of soldiers clashing with them. Dimitri could hear Randolph, that snake , shrieking orders to his men to fall back as the monastery forces of Garreg Mach doggedly pushed forward.

  Fire raged all around them, the pitiful scrub bushes reduced to ash in minutes. Several of the dilapidated defense towers had also started to burn, flames licking at the sides. Dimitri's headache intensified at the smell of hot metal and smoke and he winced, pressing a hand to his temple to alleviate the splitting pain.

  His slowed pace led to him falling behind his troops' advance. Dimitri scanned the battlefield, telling himself he didn't know who he was looking for. But...

  There was an ominous creak overhead and Dimitri glanced up, only to be treated to a shower of smoldering debris. To the left of him, Byleth didn't seem to have noticed the danger the weakened towers posed. Either that or she didn't care. 

  The dead heart in his chest leaped. She'll be crushed, burned, trapped-

  Dimitri bolted forward, shouting, "Professor! Get down!" He cursed inwardly when Byleth stopped and turned at the sound of his voice. Crowned with a halo of brilliant orange light, just as she had been all those years ago…

  Goddess-touched, Sothis' right hand .

  The tower teetered and began to collapse, no time left to escape the framework. Dimitri caught hold of her sleeve and managed to take her to the ground, throwing a metal-plated arm over her head to shield her while chunks of flaming debris rained down around them. She stared up at him, eyes wide, not even flinching when a hulking truss beam missed them by mere inches.

  Dimitri opened his mouth to say something, berate her maybe, he wasn't sure what , and then Randolph's form emerged from the hellish smoke. "The one-eyed demon! So it's you! " The general yelled, leveling his axe at him, " You're the one who's been going around killing the Imperial troops!"

  Dimitri bared his teeth and snarled deep in his chest as the commander advanced. "What is it to you?" The tower wreckage still roared with flames around he and Byleth, but it would do them no good if they were both slain. 

  The once-prince scrambled to find a solution while Randolph accused, "You bastard! Life is worthless to you, isn't it?!"

  Dimitri's laugh was an ugly, rasping noise, utterly devoid of humor. "You took the words from my mouth, general ." He abruptly seized Byleth's arm, dragged her upright and simply ordered, "jump." 

  She obeyed without hesitation. Dimitri flung her over Randolph's head with all of his strength, not caring particularly much where she landed as long as she was out of harm's way. 

  The once-prince then brandished his lance, grinning fiendishly at the new look of shock on Randolph's face. "I'll destroy you, dog of Edelgard!" He proclaimed. 

  Another fiery support hit the ground between them, the charred wood splintering loudly on impact. Randolph was clearly unsettled, the commander taking a single step back. "You...you're a monster! You care nothing for the people you've slaughtered!" He stammered. Dimitri hefted his lance, simply waiting for the other man to charge him.

  In a single instant, it was over. One swing of Randolph's axe, one thrust of his lance.

  Randolph collapsed, barely alive at Dimitri's feet. "Capture him." The once-prince ordered coldly after he pulled his lance free of the man's chest. Gilbert appeared out of the haze, lashing Randolph's hands together. 

  "I have family waiting for me. Please...I can't die here." Randolph begged once his axe had been torn from his grasp.

  "A beast of your depravity, prattling on about family? How amusing." Dimitri sneered, using the butt of his lance to shove Randolph onto his back.

  "As though you could understand...such a thing as love. You heartless monster! " Randolph spat defiantly up at him, struggling to right himself. 

  "You are a monster too, general. You have just yet to realize it." Dimitri leaned on his lance, studying the general with one cold blue eye. "A monster who thinks he's a man... despicable . As a general, you must have killed countless souls without a shred of mercy." The once-prince crouched, fisting a hand in Randolph's hair and making the other man look directly at him. "Do you remember the sound of them begging , just as you're begging now? Or, now that your life is at its end, will you hold to the lie that your hands are not stained red with blood?"

  "This...is war. I did what I had to for the Empire, for the people...for my family! " Randolph sounded desperate.

  Dimitri chuckled mirthlessly, releasing the hold he had on the man's hair and rising to stand once more. "So, you are piling up corpses for the people and your family . And I am doing the same for the salvation of the dead." He mused, "After all is said and done we are both murderers, both stained. Both monsters."

  "You're wrong!" Randolph cried frantically.

  "Am I?" Dimitri challenged. "I can smell the rotting flesh upon your hands even now, General ."

  "Enough! That's enough!" The Imperial screamed, shaking his head as if to dislodge Dimitri's cruel observation.

  "I won't kill you right away, my fellow monster." Dimitri continued over the general's pitiful caterwauling. The dead surged forward, gleefully demanding, bony fingers clutching at his shoulders. "Unless you object to watching your friends die. One. By. One ." Dimitri's fingers grazed the patch that covered his right eye. "If so, I will do you the service of removing your eyes first, so that-"

  He had been leaning in, so intent on the look of horrified despair on the dying man's face that he failed to notice Byleth approaching. Her sword flashed once and Randolph gurgled something, a name, " forgive me …" as he expired.

  Dimitri straightened up to his full height, glaring at his former professor. Byleth had stolen that man's fear and death from him. Even now, his grip on his lance tightened. Would he really kill her over something like this? Goddess, he might. What kind of monster was he? 

  "What is the meaning of this?" He gritted through his clenched teeth, struggling desperately to keep a handle on his temper.

  "I miss the Dimitri I once knew." Her voice was so soft, he almost missed what she said. 

  Dimitri barely managed to maintain his composure at that . If he could call shouting at someone maintaining his composure, that is. "The Dimitri you once knew is dead! " He barked. "All that remains is this repulsive, blood-stained monster you see before you. If you do not approve of what I have become, then kill me ." 

  He cupped her chin and forced her to look up at him. Her eyes were so bright, shimmering with tears, but she defiantly refused to let them fall. The sight cooled his rage, but only just. 

  "If you insist that you cannot, then I will continue to use you and your friends until the flesh falls from your bones ." He finished firmly, releasing her and stepping back. 

  As though you could understand...such a thing as love…

  Randolph's words rang in Dimitri's mind long after their troops had dispersed over the battlefield to gather the wounded and bury the dead. The once-prince hated those damn words. He had been a fool . Throwing himself into danger to shield Byleth, only to have her turn around and betray him by killing Randolph herself!

  Goddess, his head ached. 

  …

  Her animalistic wail of agony caught everyone off guard. Their professor, who had only just begun to smile in the presence of her students, appeared to have entirely lost her composure.

  Her father was dead. Dimitri knew the anguish that she felt all too well. He could practically see himself in her, weeping against her father's chest and pleading with Jeralt to open his eyes. 

  Dimitri had done much the same when his own father had been slain, begging and bargaining with anything that might have been listening, don't leave me all alone!

  Gently but firmly, the prince took Byleth's hand and started tugging her to her feet. She tried to refuse at first, clinging to his hand and Captain Jeralt's body with equal fervor. Dimitri managed the task all the same, hesitating for a moment before wrapping the young woman in his arms.

  She sobbed hysterically into his soaked gambeson, her hands clenching into fists in the tough fabric. It was as though something had snapped inside her; the proverbial dam had been broken and now all her sadness came pouring out in a torrent. It was a bit frightening to see her so utterly destroyed, but also understandable. Dimitri simply stayed silent and let her weep, one hand slowly stroking her back.

  "Your Highness," Sylvain said quietly after several minutes had passed. "Ashe and I are gonna' go fetch the knights. We can't leave Captain Jeralt in the rain like this." 

  "Of course. See that you remain vigilant. Monica or whoever she is might still be out there." 

  The professor's hold on Dimitri loosened at his words and she pulled back, taking a shuddering breath. The look on her face broke the prince's heart all over again. She was defeated, in pieces, and he could not think of a single comforting thing to say. He himself had grown indelibly weary of the platitudes of strangers after he had lost every ally and friend to the fires of Duscur. 

  Dimitri shook his head when she opened her mouth. "Don't, Professor. It is better if you do not speak right now." He murmured. "It is still too new and fresh, and it is far too easy to say something you will regret."

  "I'll kill her." Professor Byleth gasped. 

  "That much we can agree on." 

  She went on to sequester herself in her room for several days after the incident. Professors Manuela and Hanneman divided her workload so the students were not left wanting for education. They were , however, left to worry about their beloved professor Byleth. 

  When Dimitri happened upon the young woman in her late father's office, he could tell that she had been weeping recently. She started when he spoke to her, as though she hadn't noticed his approach. 

  "Professor! You're out and about! I was...we all were...er, you've been on our minds." Dimitri tried to keep his voice soft, explaining that Rhea had asked for Byleth's presence. "And after that, why don't you join me in the dining hall? You haven't eaten since...since it happened, have you." Her expression didn't change but Dimitri could feel the nervous energy coming off of her. He quickly backtracked, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Forgive me. I suppose it's too soon to try and coax you back into the normal swing of things."

  "Forgive my absence, please." She said softly.

  "You have nothing to apologize for, Professor." Dimitri replied, perhaps a touch too quickly. "As for what happened to Jeralt...I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to stop it. Stay here until you've found some peace." He implored her. "I'll cover for you with Lady Rhea and everyone else."

  "Thank you." The professor sniffled and Dimitri felt his composure waver.

  "We'll be waiting for you whenever you're ready to return to us." He promised, offering her a thin smile. "I don't believe it's a sign of strength to just keep moving forward no matter what. Taking the time to grieve for those we've lost...there's strength in that too." He carefully reached out, and she put her hand into his after a moment. "That's what I think, anyway." 

  "I am so weary of crying, but it's all I seem to do these days." Byleth whispered. 

  "It's also important to remember that no matter how sad you are, eventually your tears will dry up. Eventually you will forgive yourself, as well as forgive your father for leaving you. That's when you have to figure out what it is you're living for. Then, you can cling to that with all your might, and start moving forward again."

  "What I'm living for?" She echoed his words listlessly.

  "Four years ago in Duscur, I experienced the same pain you're feeling now." Dimitri disliked speaking about Duscur. It always reminded him of what he had yet to accomplish. "My father was the strongest man I knew. Someone I loved and admired deeply. That day, he was killed before my eyes. His head severed clean off." Dimitri took a shuddering breath, the memory still difficult to recount even all these years later. "My stepmother, the kindest person I had ever known, left me behind and disappeared into the infernal flames."

  He took a moment to master himself, ashamed at how lacking his control was. His professor squeezed his hand, as though encouraging him to carry on. Even in her sorrow, she was so kind.

  "Everyone who I considered precious...my family and my closest friends. I couldn't save any of them. Not a single one." Dimitri continued quietly. "Now, the burden of the work they left behind falls on me. I must ensure they have no regrets. That's my duty, as the sole survivor of the Tragedy." He admitted, "it's a heavy burden, but accepting it gave me the strength to pick myself up off the ground and start moving again. Start living again."

  Byleth gave a little sob at that.

  Dimitri clasped her hands between his own and held them to his heart, trying to offer some sort of comfort. "Jeralt is gone. So what will you do now, Professor? What must you do? Look deep in your heart and I'm certain you'll find the answer there, indelible and inescapable." 

  She met his eyes for the first time and Dimitri was struck by how fragile she seemed, as though the slightest breeze might rend her asunder. 

  "I've probably bothered you enough for today, but I have just one more thought to leave you with." Dimitri said apologetically. "Even now, Seteth is gathering the knights to begin a full-scale search for the enemy. It may not be right away, but before long they will find their trail."

  "I will kill her." Byleth said fiercely, a touch of her old fire returning.

  The blond nodded his assent. "No matter what happens or what anyone may say, know that I plan to stand by you, Professor. Through anything. Until the bitter end." He swore fervently, his gaze unwavering. "Know that your enemies are my enemies. I will do all I can to help you find justice. There is no one else I can…" Dimitri paused, searching for the right words. "My strength is yours alone."

  "You cannot promise such things, your Highness." Byleth protested. "You must think of-"

  "I will fight as you command. I will kill anyone should you ask it of me." Dimitri insisted. "I would promise this to anyone I hold in high regard, Professor." 

  That was an absolute, bold-faced lie. He had refused to engage in the folly of swearing his time and energy to causes he may not survive to see, but this…

  The distress of his dear professor tore him apart and more than anything, Dimitri wanted to help her. He wanted to be someone that she could depend on, no matter the cost. And so, even though it was against his modus operandi, the prince charged himself with helping to secure and execute her revenge.

  ...

  The cathedral guard waved her over and Byleth approached, slightly apprehensive. "Professor, I...that creature, I saw him interacting with the monastery orphans earlier." He whispered conspiratorially once she was within earshot, doing his best to point at Dimitri without actually pointing at him. "He even pet one of them on the head! I didn't think that someone like him was capable of...I mean, he didn't smile or anything. But still, I found it strange and I thought you should know." 

  Byleth thanked the guard for his report and proceeded to mull the new information over. Many of their ragtag army thought the once-prince a monster, and all of his behavior seemed to confirm their suspicions. So what was this odd flash of humanity? She had feared after Randolph that Dimitri was beyond saving, but perhaps…

  She needed to talk to several people immediately. Starting with Mercedes. Luckily, the other woman wasn't exactly difficult to track down.

  "A choir recital to boost morale and camaraderie?" The normally calm and reserved Mercedes looked like she was about to burst with excitement when Byleth pitched the idea. "That's a wonderful idea! I thought as much myself, but I didn't want to be presumptuous. Are you certain it will be alright if we use the cathedral to rehearse, professor?"

  "Of course. I already cleared it with Seteth." Or I will, anyway . "Your group can have it in the afternoons. In the mornings, I'm hoping I can get Gilbert and Sylvain to help me with another little project. Oh, maybe Felix too…" Byleth trailed off, tapping her chin. "If I were you, I would ask Manuela for a hand."

  "You're absolutely right!" Mercedes agreed with a smile. "And I'm sure Annie will help out too! What's your project, Professor?"

  "We have a lot of children around because of the conflicts. I figure if they're going to be here, the ones who want to learn to keep themselves safe should have the opportunity."

  …

  Gilbert sat atop a large chunk of rubble from the caved-in roof, whittling away at a small piece of basswood. A cluster of younger children gathered at his feet, watching him work with rapt attention. A few of them were already playing with tiny dolls or horses. The old knight had clearly been busy.

  The older children were organized into straggling lines facing where the altar had been. Sylvain, Felix and Alois filtered through the ranks to straighten postures or adjust grips on training weapons as needed, while Professor Byleth led the simple stance drills. 

  Dimitri hovered in the main cathedral entryway, irritated and fascinated all at once. It would seem that the dreary space he had haunted was overrun with excited, chattering children. Was it brighter in the cathedral today, or was that merely his fancy talking?

  Felix was smiling . That image alone gave him a considerable amount of pause. True, it was nothing more than a slight upturn at the edge of his mouth, but that was more than he'd displayed in Dimitri's presence for over ten years.

  "Oh, your Highness! What brings you here?" Mercedes' gentle voice interrupted his troubled musings. 

  Dimitri inclined his head so she would know he had heard her, though he did not face or trouble himself to answer her. She approached on his blind side and Dimitri tensed reflexively, only letting his shoulders drop once she was fully within view.

  "Are you having fun watching, your Highness? I get like that too sometimes. It's a lot of effort to join people, and plus, what would I even say?" Mercedes laughed softly. 

  "Indeed." Dimitri replied curtly.

  "Oh, is the professor waving at you? Or me? Hello, Professor!" Mercedes waved back excitedly and Dimitri seized her distraction to lurch forward into the cathedral, heading for one of the side courtyards. His routine would not be discarded simply because of some misguided training practice, how dare -

  Mercedes words struck him anew. What would I even say? Truly, what could he say? The dead demanded Edelgard, screamed and clamored for her head. He would not let his departed family and friends languish while that witch roamed free. They must be allowed to rest easy with no regrets, regardless of what it cost him.

  Brow furrowed, he continued forward past the pile of rubble from where the roof had given way. Gilbert offered him a silent nod, which Dimitri returned on his way to the door. Once he reached it, he engaged in his pastime of studying the cracked marble beneath his boots and fervently assuring his ghostly comrades that he would be triumphant over Edelgard.

  He could not be sure how long he stood there. His nights were sleepless, melting together with his days in a haze of impatience. He was used to surviving on stolen minutes of respite, the meager times when the dead allowed him peace.

  At some point, the sword practice with children changed to choir practice with adults. A multitude of former students, knights and professors all gathered to rehearse, give well-meaning pointers and seemingly just enjoy each other's company. Though his professor ( former professor, Dimitri corrected himself furiously) had been busy all morning, she stayed for the choir practice as well. 

  Dimitri soon found himself listening instead of brooding, but he kept his gaze on the floor. Some of the songs were old hymns that he had heard in his youth, while others hailed from the Mittelfrank opera stage. A strange combination. His stepmother had loved singing, though the late king and his son shared a mutual tonedeaf gene that threatened to ruin her performances. Dimitri could only just remember the way his father would interrupt her, making her sigh with his noble, kingly attempts to carry a tune. 

  Another bittersweet memory. It felt...precious. Dimitri looked up from the floor and caught Professor Byleth watching him. She raised an eyebrow and made a subtle gesture with her hand. Join us?

  Dimitri turned on his heel and departed.

  …

  Claude turned on his heel and escorted the professor of the Blue Lions out onto the dance floor, weaving between the other dancers in a strange pattern that was absolutely contrary to the stately Faerghus waltz playing. 

  Dimitri had to laugh at the professor's deadpan expression, apologizing to his partner hastily and then moving to intervene. "Claude!" He called, chuckling when the head of Golden Deer rushed to hand Professor Byleth off to Lorenz. "Transparent as ever, my friend!" 

  "Hey, your house can't hog the new professor all the time. I'm just sharing the love." Claude reasoned, slinging an arm around Dimitri's shoulders. The leader of the Golden Deer house then easily swung the prince into a passing semblance of a waltz, the two of them having a grand time trying to dodge each other's feet. "It's nice to see her enjoying herself though." Claude mused.

  "I know what you mean." Dimitri agreed, "I wonder if the mercenary life was too lonely for her?"

  "Probably too boring!" Claude grinned. "We've kept her pretty busy with our antics."

  "That much cannot be denied." 

  Dimitri's mind wandered back to Flayn trying to teach Byleth to dance, the way the professor had smiled , her eyes fairly luminous with excitement. 

  Dimitri had been roped into the lesson as a partner for the professor, Flayn stating that he was the obvious choice due to his height and familiarity with the dances. He was hesitant at first, wary of where to put his hands. He knew , of course, but the idea of actually touching her was-

  He wasn't sure why his heart had been pounding so hard. Even now, as he watched her get passed from Golden Deer to Golden Deer during a rousing folk reel that originated in the Leicester Alliance, his heart tripped wildly in his chest. How peculiar.

  "The Fox Chase, your Kingliness!" Claude said excitedly, bowing and then catching both of Dimitri's hands. "C'mon, stop gawking and get back in here!"

  "Claude-!" Dimitri protested, his discomfort notwithstanding as Claude dragged him around. 

  Abruptly, no doubt due to more wily Golden Deer machinations, the prince and Professor Byleth were side by side. The future leader of the Alliance vanished back into the crowd, leaving Dimitri standing alone. Byleth looked up at him, her cheeks flushed with exertion and her eyes sparkling in the soft light from the chandelier. "Enjoying yourself, your Highness?" She asked, as though they weren't in the middle of a swirling maelstrom of students.

  Dimitri found himself grinning broadly back at her, accepting the hand she extended to him. "I am now, Professor."

  …

  It would seem that his once-solitary space had been permanently commandeered. Dimitri couldn't even find it in his blackened heart to complain, resorting to glowering at the ground in the courtyard doorway instead of the middle of the ruined chancel. 

  One day, a small girl hid under his cloak without him noticing. Indeed, he might have continued being oblivious, had she not giggled wildly when her friend dashed by calling her name. Dimitri grunted, startled by the closeness of laughter as well as the slight tugging on his heavy cloak. 

  He turned, fixing his lone blue eye on the offending party that was currently playing in the thick folds of his mantle. The child froze, seeming to realize she was under scrutiny, and peeked up at him. 

  Her eyes met his own. He watched as they darted to the patch that covered his right eye, yet there was no fear. Slight apprehension, perhaps, maybe she thought she would be scolded. Dimitri was confused by her lack of terror. The knights and monks said horrendous things about him, most of them true. He had become a butcher, a monster. Surely this child had been warned away from him. Surely .

  "You look lonely. Do you want to play with us?" The little girl asked, her words laden with a child's curiosity. 

  "No." Dimitri paused after her face fell, then gritted out, "You ought to stay away from me." Fool, why would you say something like that?!

  "Why? You've been so sad ever since you came back. Is it because you miss your friend?" She queried. "The Duscur man who took care of the flowers?" Dedue . Emotion forced Dimitri to clear his throat. She must be one of the original waifs from the monastery if she could recall Dedue. "You still have your other friends though! I know that the professor wishes you would come over." The child confided, standing up on her tiptoes in an attempt to whisper to him.

  "I'm certain she does. I am not deserving of such consideration." Dimitri replied brusquely. His hand rested briefly atop the little girl's head. "You should run along now." She actually grabbed his other hand and yanked , trying to get him to come with her. She might as well have tried to move a boulder. "Go on." Dimitri ordered, not unkindly. 

  "Nuh uh! Mercedes made sweets today, and you're always standing over here staring at Professor-"

  " Child ." Dimitri muttered, getting down on one knee so that he could attempt to be eye level with the girl. She looked thoroughly incensed at his firm refusal and it made him want to laugh. "Sometimes...there are people like me in this world who are not meant to be around other people." He knew his explanation was clumsy at best, but trying to simplify such a complicated thing was not easily managed.

  "Can I bring you a cake, then? If I run over and get it so you don't have to?" She was bargaining with him, of all things. 

  The once-prince sighed heavily and nodded, waiting until she had started running to Mercedes before he left. Better to disappoint her than encourage her behavior. 

  …

  "You need to be careful." Dedue chastised him, reaching over to try and salvage the mangled flower. "If you are not decisive with your action, you will destroy the plant."

  "I apologize, Dedue. I am not accustomed to such delicate work." Dimitri sighed, abandoning his efforts. 

  "It is alright. These are very small flowers, after all."

  They had been tasked with gathering the centerpieces for the dining hall and Dimitri had been determined to do an excellent job. But his hands were so indelicate that he was doing more butchering than gardening. 

  "How do you manage it?" He asked the Duscur man curiously. Dedue's hands were just as large as his own, yet he seemed to have no trouble whatsoever.

  Dedue did not answer for a moment. When he did, his voice was strangely soft. "My sister loved to coax flowers to life even in the worst terrain. This is simple, compared to that."

  Dimitri fell silent and Dedue worked on, easily separating out sprigs of foliage for them to use. "I...I am sorry, Dedue. I should not be so thoughtless." The prince felt like he ought to be whispering for some reason. Dedue did not speak often of his late family members, all slaughtered in the Tragedy of Duscur.

  "Do not apologize. You have done nothing wrong." Dedue stared down at the bundle of vibrant blooms in their basket. "Through my actions, through my words, they live on. As long as I remember them, they will rest easily."

  "You do her memory such honor, Dedue." The notion of not striking back against the people who had taken his loved ones from him, but instead attempting to spread the knowledge that they had left him with...

  "That is all I can hope for, your Highness." Dedue handed Dimitri back his shears and gestured to another flower with a tentative smile. "Here, try again."

  ...

  He told himself he wasn't avoiding the cathedral, he was simply choosing to aimlessly wander the monastery grounds. People stayed out of his way for the most part, though the children had a tendency to gather and frolic around him like he was some kind of sentient, roaming maypole. 

  Dimitri spent his nights in the cathedral, though he wasn't sure why. The dormitories had been thoroughly examined and found structurally sound. His personal quarters were not wanting, and he certainly wasn't a pious man, especially not now with his hands soaked in blood. Best that he not trouble the Goddess with his pitiful pleas for aid in revenge. She had blessed him with Byleth's return, after all, a truly fine tool for his crusade. What more could he wish for?

  Still he sat in one of the worn pews, night after night, and simply watched the coming and going of worshippers until he couldn't force himself to stay awake any longer.

  He never slept for too long. Sometimes he awoke to find that a small meal had been left on the bench adjacent to him, tied up in one of the many napkins from the dining hall. It vexed him greatly to know that someone had been able to get that close, unconscious though he might be. 

  His head ached constantly. Every day that they spent plotting and gathering their strength was a day that he didn't have Edelgard's lifeless corpse to present to his dearly departed loved ones. Their cries for revenge were maddening, all-consuming; it was no wonder he slept poorly.

  Then came the fateful evening he stumbled upon the professor sound asleep beneath the pews. Byleth was curled up against the chill in the air, and a familiar bundle of cloth on the bench above her caught Dimitri's eye. The tall man carefully untied the knot in the napkin, revealing several rations of bread, one precious sweet bun, a piece of cheese and a peach. It would appear he had found the person who could sneak up on him while he slumbered. 

  The dark circles under her eyes were far too pronounced. They nearly matched his own. She was working more than she needed to, just as she had done when he had simply been her student.

  Dimitri unclasped his heavy cloak before he realized what he was doing. When he noticed, he hesitated, fingers digging into the mane of thick fur. Wasn't this foolish of him? But then, he already knew he was a fool. If he was being honest with himself, if he still had the capacity to feel such things, he was absolutely smitten with his dear professor.

  A beast like him didn't deserve such a vibrant and joyous soul at his side. His hands were unable to be gentle, his humanity surrendered years ago to hone his ability to take life. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, fallen princeling, heir to a fractured kingdom, knew all too well that his greatest shortcoming was his greed. It came in the form of lust for victory, his desire to have his cake and glut himself on it. 

  He scoffed at his thoughts, wrapped Byleth in his cloak and then lifted her from the floor.

  Dimitri had only carried her once before.

  …

  She had been gifted the power of the Goddess herself. Her hair and eyes had shifted to a vibrant green, echoing all the imagery of Saint Seiros. It was as though the old tales had come to life before his very eyes. 

  " Professor! What's wrong?!" Dimitri was concerned when she abruptly collapsed after their battle with Solon, but his worry faded as he realized she was merely asleep. "Professor, now is not the time nor the place for such an activity!" The prince scolded her fruitlessly, unfastening his half cape. 

  It was a simple enough matter to swaddle her in the fabric, but then he paused. Propriety dictated that he should wait until another professor or one of the knights had arrived to manage the situation. However, propriety had never been one of his strong suits. 

  "Looks like you'll be riding with me, Professor. Dedue, please hand her up to me once I've mounted." The blond man vaulted back into the saddle of his destrier and settled the professor's slumbering form in front of him, then picked up the reins.

  Their return to the monastery was slow. Everyone was exhausted, to say the least. Mercedes had nearly lost consciousness due to her focus on healing, and as such was currently being assisted by the stoic Dedue. Flayn was the only one who appeared unaffected by the battle, the young woman chattering away enthusiastically even with Ashe's arm slung over her shoulder. It was heartening to see that she had not allowed the bloodshed to rattle her.

  Professor Byleth seemed so small when she was asleep. She barely weighed anything; Dimitri easily held her steady on his horse with a single arm around her waist. She ended up slumped against his chest, her head tucked underneath his chin. Dimitri forced his eyes forward, attempting to focus on the trail back to the monastery instead of on his professor's proximity.

  He heard Mercedes sleepily ask, "Do you think she'll be alright?"

  "I have no doubt. Our professor is quite strong." Dedue assured the young woman. " You , on the other hand, will need proper food and rest before you attempt such reckless behavior again."

  "Reckless? I was only doing what I was supposed to." Mercedes protested. 

  "You must be aware of your own limitations. Do not forget that I am here to assist as well." Flayn said cheerily. "I feel that we did an excellent job, considering that we were walking into an obvious trap!"

  Dimitri turned his head and very nearly asked what the hell she was talking about, but he held his tongue at the last moment. Flayn was a mysterious creature; she never seemed to have a straight answer for anything . And even when she did answer, it rarely solved the query being posed. Better that he save himself the frustration of her circular replies.

  Eyes forward once more, the prince trusted his destrier to find a path of least resistance as his mind wandered. 

  It must have been a trap, meant to goad the professor into coming alone. Her father's murderers, all in one spot? It was too convenient. The enemy didn't seem to have counted on her returning from whatever spell that had been. The Forbidden Spell …

  Dimitri had no real talent for magic. His family Crest amplifying his strength saw to that. But he knew a few things from his schooling. Such as, the more raw energy or potential put into a spell, the more powerful it was. Solon had ripped the very heart out of Kronya to fuel his dark magics. Dimitri had watched the old man crush the still-beating organ like it was nothing. The memory of the dense purple haze that had arose sent shudders down the prince's spine. There was something innately wrong about such things. Blood magic, sacrificial amplification...it all made his skin crawl.

  Dimitri found himself holding their professor a little tighter as they rode. He wasn't certain why, maybe it was simply his prior trauma talking, but he felt a strange fear about her being taken from them once more. 

  Byleth murmured something in her sleep. On her hip, the seemingly-awakened Sword of the Creator pulsed with light like it was a living thing. 

  This entire situation was so incredibly bizarre. 

  …

  "That is House Rowe's banner. They curried favor with that witch and sold out Faerghus." Dimitri had assumed his supply of disdain had run dry, yet he still felt a sneer curl his lip. "To think that they would vanguard a corpse to fend us off, as if we are nothing but a nuisance ."

  The notion that Viscount Rowe would muster troops, send that decrepit warrior into this inhospitable area to ensure Rodrigue's men would have no Kingdom Army to join...it made Dimitri want to hilt his lance in the dastard's chest. Ailell's heated environment was like Hell itself for anyone in armor, the bubbling pools of lava all around them enough to give the most seasoned of knights pause. Even though Dimitri had dismissed Gilbert's old wives' tale of the Valley's creation, it wasn't difficult to see how the legend might have been born. This cursed place did indeed seem as though it had been brought about by a Goddess' fury.

  The Gray Lion, withered and laughably past his prime, raised his lance in challenge from across the cracked obsidian landscape. 

  "Will you have us meet them in battle, or wait for Lord Rodrigue to arrive?" Gilbert asked the once-prince cautiously.

  "There is only one option." Dimitri bared his teeth in a wicked grin. "How kind of them to save us the trouble of killing them later."

  Byleth opened her mouth, no doubt about to say something foolish like weren't they your allies once or shouldn't we wait for Rodrigue .

  Dimitri headed her off, half-tempted to press a finger to her lips to hush her. "That banner belongs to the Gray Lion of House Rowe, Lord Gwendal. It's a waste of breath to exchange words with one such as him." The young man informed her curtly. 

  "His Highness is correct. He is not an opponent whom we can expect to negotiate with." Gilbert agreed. He then raised his voice to address their meager troops, "everyone! Prepare for the attack!"

  Their formations were bare bones. Dimitri did not fear for their victory though. This would be the final time Count Rowe's loyal dog Gwendal rode out to battle.

  Gouts of fire spouted from either side of the relative pathway forward, the lava agitated by the motions of the two forces preparing to collide. "So, the flames of torment burn your sins, your life, your everything." The prince mused, half to himself. "If you wish to spare yourself the Goddess' wrath, Professor, tread lightly."

  Byleth nodded and readied her sword. 

  Their soldiers fought bravely, and when Rodrigue arrived it offered Dimitri the opening he needed to get within striking distance of Gwendal.

  "The man praised as a lion is degraded to a mere traitor's underling." Dimitri sneered at the mounted knight, adjusting his grip on his lance. Horse first, then man .

  "A traitor's underling?! That's upsetting, your Highness!" Gwendal protested. "I am and always have been a knight of House Rowe!"

  "How dare you." Dimitri's voice dipped into a furious gravel. "You are nothing but a lowly beast scavenging for scraps! You have forgotten the dignity of knighthood." 

  "I may be lowly . But this beast is devoted to his master!" The elderly knight proclaimed.

  "Ha! Then I had better kill the pet and deliver its head to that master." After that grim declaration, Dimitri swung his lance with all his strength into the legs of Lord Gwendal's horse. Both man and beast crashed to the ground, and Dimitri wasted no more time with words.

  The blade of his lance pierced Gwendal's armor before sinking home and the old man wheezed, "ah, so I have found a place to die. Young ones...your Highness...I thank you…" There was the barest hint of a smile on that scarred face.

  Dimitri pulled the lance free, shuddering before he could stop himself. He loathed the eerie calm in Gwendal's voice when he had expired, as though this was all the elderly man had wanted. To be slain in battle, just another casualty of war.

  The professor came up alongside him, standing there silently until Dimitri looked up. "Lord Fraldarius is waiting for you, your Highness." She informed him. 

  Dimitri nodded, straightening his gauntlets. His hair was hopeless from the heat and grime, but it was not as if Rodrigue cared about such things. Who on earth was he preening himself for? Beside him, Byleth subtly brushed some ash off his shoulder and repositioned his heavy cape. Goddess, why had he worn the damn thing? 

  "It's been too long, your Highness. But try to temper your joy, will you? This is a war, after all." Rodrigue jibed as he bowed to the prince.

  Dimitri huffed, shaking his head. "To say such a thing at a time like this...you have not changed one bit." His respect for the man across from him took some of the venom out of his exasperated words.

  "Don't let looks deceive you. I've had a rough go of it ever since I crossed blades with those traitors in Fhirdiad." Rodrigue did seem haggard, but Dimitri had assumed that was merely the heat of their locale getting to the older man. "When I heard you'd been executed, I rushed there as fast as I could, blind with fury. Once I got there, I was fed some garbage about not being able to see your body. The next thing I knew, I was gripping my blade and-" 

  Felix interrupted his father's impassioned recounting with a loud snort, seeming to bring the older man back to himself.

  Rodrigue gestured to Gilbert, gratitude plain on his face. "Gilbert, you have done well to locate his Highness. I am truly grateful." He then turned towards Byleth with a smile. "And you! I have you to thank, as well."

  "We were all very fortunate." Byleth replied solemnly, bowing to the noble.

  "Well, we are in your debt. I will repay you for this someday, I swear it." Rodrigue promised. "And you, Felix. You have also done well to bring his Highness here."

  Felix glared at his father and said nothing. Dimitri could feel the irritation coming off the younger man in waves. He decided that they had prattled on long enough, finally asking Rodrigue for whatever information he could give them.

  Unfortunately, the older man had precious little to offer in that regard. Gilbert's own information filled in the gaps in his limited dialogue, painting a grim picture of behind the scenes machinations on behalf of Cornelia and the Empire.

  "So that's been the witch's plan from the start. I should have killed her ages ago." Dimitri growled.

  "Your Highness, Fhirdiad is in a terrible state right now. The tyranny is unbearable, and so the rebellions are endless. Refugees starve to death in the streets." Rodrigue looked pained. "If I may speak freely, your Highness...we should change course for Fhirdiad, and take down those traitors before we embark to Enbarr."

  "There's no time for that." Dimitri replied fiercely. "We must annihilate Enbarr before all else."

  "Think this through," Rodrigue implored. "I understand wanting to destroy the Empire and the Emperor. I want that so much it hurts. But which is more important," he queried, "the dead or the living?"

  For one terrifying moment, Dimitri was uncertain of whether he would kill Rodrigue in cold blood. Everything focused down to a white-hot point, the sound of the nearby troops fading to nothing. " Silence. " The once-prince finally rasped, his arms crossed over his chest.

  "No, Dimitri. You will hear me out." Rodrigue said evenly.

  Dimitri hated the older man's calm, just like he had hated Gwendal's. How could Rodrigue of all people do this to him? "Are you asking me...asking the dead ...to forgive that woman?" The blond man snarled incredulously, jabbing an accusatory finger in Rodrigue's direction. 

  "No. I would not ask that of you. What I am asking is that you allow us to prioritize the Kingdom capital over the Imperial capital for now." Rodrigue put a hand over his heart. "As Lambert's close and trusted friend, I am confident that he would have advised the same."

  At the mention of his late father, Dimitri saw red. He took a step towards Rodrigue, but halted when he felt Byleth catch his arm. He didn't know why. She was not strong enough to stop him. No one was. "Do not dare to put words in the mouths of the dead." He managed to say, livid though he was. "They are your words alone, even if you borrow their lips. Until I offer up that woman's head, Father will remain a slave to his lingering regret and hatred." Dimitri's voice cracked, the young man all but shouting in Rodrigue's face, "Even now he suffers. It is ceaseless . As we waste time with idle chatter, his suffering continues!"

  Rodrigue sighed, shaking his head. Silence reigned for a moment, every soldier no doubt eagerly hanging on what the lord might have to say next. Dimitri was certain this was more excitement than the rabble had experienced in years. "You are my king." The older man murmured, bowing. "Our king. Wherever you lead, we will follow. But your Highness...there are those who take up their sword in the name of revenge, and yet along the way lose the strength and composure to follow through." Rodrigue's eyes had gone steely. Dimitri felt as though his very soul was laid bare to the older man. "You would do well to bear that in mind."

  Dimitri gritted his teeth, looking away. His eye roved the ashen landscape, illuminated only by the pitchy, writhing flows of lava. Such a tumultuous place…

  Byleth's grip on his arm loosened slightly, making the young man glance down at her. She was looking out as well, scanning the edges of the valley. Always one step ahead. 

  Rodrigue whistled to his horse, drawing Dimitri's attention. "I nearly forgot." The Lord Fraldarius began apologetically, tugging at a securely-wrapped object tied to his saddle. "Take this, your Highness. The time has come for it to be wielded by it's true master."

  The dark-haired man handed the long parcel to the prince, who carefully unwound the cloth to reveal an achingly familiar weapon. "Areadbhar...the Hero's Relic once wielded by my father." Memories of his dignified, strong father rushed to the forefront of Dimitri's mind, flooding him with a wave of heartbroken nostalgia. 

  "The very same. I managed to steal it back from one of Cornelia's underlings in Fhirdiad."

  Felix rolled his eyes. "Understated as ever, Father. It must have been a true struggle to get it back."

  Dimitri clutched the haft of the legendary lance, forcing himself not to break down and weep. Had he truly thought mere moments earlier to cut Rodrigue down without a qualm? "I...I am grateful, my friend." He breathed. 

  Rodrigue simply nodded absently and Dimitri knew it wasn't his face that the older man was seeing.

  …

  "We must save them. I beg of you, your Highness." Dedue never asked for anything . The prince often found himself scolding the other man for his selfless behavior, so his request was immensely troubling. 

  Dimitri immediately went to Seteth and did his best to secure their involvement in this particular maneuver. If he could help it, he would prevent another Tragedy from occurring. 

  Now, to ask the professor. He was certain she would not refuse this task. 

  When she had first come to the academy, Dimitri had feared her lack of emotion was a display of irritation towards his class. But as time went on, he came to realize that her emotions had simply been subdued. Whether due to her mercenary work or other circumstances, their professor appeared to keep herself on a very short leash.

  When Dimitri returned to tell Dedue the good news, Byleth was already with the other young man. Dedue had been haltingly explaining his current state to their professor, reiterating that he was from Duscur and that his sparse brothers in nationality were rebelling. "They seek to reclaim their homeland."

  "A request for aid was sent by Viscount Kleiman to the Kingdom capital and the church." Dimitri started to lay out the scenario so that Professor Byleth would have a clear picture, gesturing overmuch with his hands. "He is the one who rules over that region at present. For now, the lords surrounding the Duscur region have sent their armies to help suppress the uprising. However…" The prince trailed off, grimacing.

  "What is it? Why do you both look so fearful? Do they not have enough men?" Byleth asked worriedly. 

  Dimitri shook his head and he heard Dedue sigh unhappily. "They have sufficient troops, and strong ones at that. Our worry is that there will be more unwarranted death." Dimitri replied. "There have always been many in the Kingdom's army who believe the people of Duscur our foes, and hate them because of it."

  "Your Highness-" Dedue protested.

  "You would think they'd refrain from squashing the rebels out of political expediency, but we doubt that will be the case." Dimitri carried on over Dedue, unwilling to indulge in the other man's self-deprecation at this juncture. "If the Kingdom's army and the rebel forces of Duscur collide…"

  "You fear another massacre." Professor Byleth caught on. Dedue nodded, looking doleful. "What can I do to help?"

  "I am glad you asked, Professor. I have just now received the permission that I requested from the church." Dimitri had known that she would not refuse!

  She raised an eyebrow. "Permission for what?" 

  "I asked the church to deploy our class to help handle the situation." 

  Dedue started, his shock obvious. "So we may go?!" He asked sharply.

  Dimitri held up a hand, quelling his friend momentarily. "Not so fast. We still have a responsibility as students of the academy after all. The only one who can truly make the decision as to whether or not we go is our profess-"

  "We're going." Byleth interrupted him. "Help me gather the class. We leave as soon as possible."

  Dedue bowed deeply. "You have my most sincere gratitude." 

  "And mine as well." Dimitr assured their professor. He had heard the hitch in Dedue's voice and his heart ached. This was the most outward concern Dedue had displayed in his presence and the prince found it incredibly troubling. "Do not worry, my friend." He stated after Professor Byleth had departed. "We will make it in time."

  "I pray that you are right, your Highness." 

  ...

  "Your Highness!" A tower shield was abruptly thrust forward to protect his blind side, arrows pang ing off of the sturdy metal. "Apologies for my late arrival."

  Dedue was not dead. Dedue was not dead . Dedue, sporting new scars, green eyes even more brilliant than Dimitri remembered, alive . 

  The once-prince stared at his former vassal, the man who he was certain had perished five years ago. He wondered momentarily if his hallucinations had grown more fitful. 

  There was no time for them to really talk during the battle to control the Bridge. Of course not. But afterwards, with the sturdy man from Duscur standing before him, Dimitri found himself at a loss. 

  Dedue had never been one for words, the heavily-armored knight simply dropping to one knee in front of Dimitri. "Do not kneel! Explain what happened! I thought you--I was certain you had-" The once-prince floundered to ask his many questions and managed to ruin his sentence, grabbing Dedue's hand and hauling the other man up. " Dedue ." He finally said helplessly, grasping the back of the other man's gorget with shaking fingers. "Why-- How are you here? You died, five years ago!"

  Dedue crushed his forehead to Dimitri's, his smile small but still present. "I was saved by my brothers. Men of Duscur. The ones spared during our class' intervention of their uprising."

  "Those people you were with...they were of Duscur? And they saved you?" Dimitri repeated incredulously.

  Dedue nodded. "Your Highness, I asked that you fulfill your long-held desire, did I not?" His gaze strayed to Dimitri's eye patch. "It would seem some things have changed. Still, allow me to once again act as your shield." He placed a fist over his heart, his terminology blunt and refreshingly sincere. "Please, let me witness your triumph. I want to behold the moment your wish is finally granted."

  "Dedue…" Dimitri was at a loss for words once more, mutely clasping the Duscur man's armored forearm. 

  He had thought he would never see Dedue again in the realm of the living, but here he stood, nervously shifting his weight as if he thought Dimitri would scold him or... dismiss him even! 

  It would seem that some of their other classmates had realized just who the mysterious armored man was. Dimitri could see Ashe breaking into a sprint from across the bridge, Annette in tow.

  "Of course," the prince finally continued, aware that his time alone with Dedue was coming to a close. "And in exchange, I ask that you swear something to me, here and now." He glared ferociously at the green-eyed man, "Do not ever throw your life away again. Understood?"

  Dedue looked taken aback for a moment, and then his expression softened. "Understood, your Highness." He bowed deeply after Dimitri released his arm. 

  " Dedue! " Ashe shouted, obviously thrilled to the core. Annette had already started to cry, her arms unable to reach fully around the large man's torso when she hugged him tight.

  Dedue chuckled, patting her head and accepting Ashe's enthusiastic embrace that gripped his shoulders. "I am glad to see you all." His eyes roved to Byleth, who looked delighted to see him but was clearly trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. "Thank you for taking care of his Highness in my absence, Professor."

  "It was my honor, Dedue. We are overjoyed at your return." Byleth replied graciously, bowing. 

  Dimitri moved away from the teary reunion, surveying the battlefield in silent contemplation. 

  The once-prince deigned to speak only when he noticed Byleth at his side once more. "Idiots. Embracing death for the sake of that woman ." He snarled about the Imperial soldiers, his fists clenched tight at his sides. Uncertainty took root in his chest, making his next words sound less than convincing. "Truly foolish." Were his troops any better? His allies? They all followed him like lambs to the slaughter. He had been upfront about using them, pragmatic even. But was that pragmatism something to be praised or loathed?

  "What troubles you?" Byleth asked softly.

  Dimitri took a moment to answer, trying to determine indeed, what was troubling him. "I...I don't know."

  "Do you regret killing them?"

  Dimitri bristled at the suggestion, crossing his arms over his chest as he scoffed, "they were just beasts with human faces." He turned his head to look at her, irritated that she would question his resolve. But her eyes bore no judgement, only sorrow. "I had no choice but to kill them, and so I did." Dimitri paused, his resentment fading the more he looked at those sorrowful eyes. " That ...that is all there is to it." He finished, less firmly than he would have liked.

  …

  "Were you reconciled with the reality of battle from your first foray?" Dimitri asked. He wasn't really certain why he would ask such a thing. They had just finished sparring, he had been thanking her for her assistance in teaching some of the monastery foundlings basic swordplay and then this . If anything the professor probably wished for a hot bath and a meal, not to be subject to his princely mewlings. "With...the killing part, I mean." He did not make eye contact, instead focusing on sanding down any splinters that had been forced to the surface of his practice sword. 

  "No. It's never easy." Byleth's voice was firm. 

  "I see."

  "And you?" Professor Byleth asked, sitting beside him and reaching for a fresh sheet of smoothing paper. 

  "No. I do not carry that burden well." Dimitri replied quietly. "I doubt that will change, no matter how many years come and go." He inhaled a bracing breath, squaring his shoulders. "The first time I led on the battlefield, I was sent to quell a rebellion in the west. It was not a difficult fight. The enemy was not well-trained and their morale was low."

  The grim memories called to mind the blind terror he had felt as a frontline commander. He had been fifteen, on the cusp of sixteen or thereabouts. He had no idea what he was doing, all he knew was that he didn't want to die that day. 

  And so he fought mercilessly, mindlessly, killing anything that moved. Dimitri could barely remember Felix screaming at him to stop, stop -

  "A swing of the lance, and your opponent falls. A flash of your blade, and a path opens up. That's the kind of battle it was. Easy, right?" Dimitri murmured.

  The professor's hand landed on his shoulder. "It is never easy." She reiterated. "Why were you in a commanding position to begin with? Not to throw your leadership skills into question, of course, but surely there must have been someone more senior than you."

  Dimitri shook his head. He had asked himself that same question many times. His memory was so hazy in the years following the Tragedy of Duscur that he honestly had no idea how he ended up at the head of a battalion. "I am uncertain, professor. It was at the height of the post-war period, I can recall that much. And I can recall portions of the actual campaign. But my mind...seems to shy away from important details. It is exasperating."

  "War trauma is difficult to manage, even for seasoned soldiers." 

  "I do recall coming across a dead soldier's body. He was clutching a locket. Inside was a lock of golden hair." Dimitri felt as though he was in a trance. That image was so clear compared to the piecemeal nature of the rest of the battle. "I don't know to whom it belonged. His wife, his daughter…his mother, a lover? I'll never know." Dimitri put his aching head in his hands. "He was a soldier, an enemy. Someone I had cut down without hesitation. But in that moment, I realized he was also a real person, just like the rest of us."

  "A hard truth to discover on the battlefield, but one that needed to be known all the same." Byleth said pragmatically. She squeezed his shoulder, urging him to carry on.

  "We cannot stand idly by and allow anyone to commit senseless acts of violence." Dimitri reasoned, his words muffled by his hands. "Yet, in dispensing what we call justice, we take the lives of cherished family members and beloved friends." He paused, wondering whether he should even continue and speak about what truly bothered him. Byleth's hand remained on his shoulder and the prince drew resolve from her support. "Killing is part of the job but even so, there are times when I'm chilled to the bone by the depravity of my own actions."

  Byleth was silent for a time and Dimitri kept rubbing his temples, trying with all his might to keep the headache at bay. "I have felt the same way." She finally said softly.

  Dimitri's relief threatened to overpower his sense of propriety, the prince looking back up at his dear professor. "That you feel the same way is...more comforting than you could know." He took her hand in his own, feeling the warmth of it. "Professor, may I speak freely?"

  She nodded, seeming a little confused at how serious he was.

  "When we first met, I thought of you as someone who felt no strong feelings about killing your enemies." Dimitri confessed. "I could never trust someone who kills without batting an eye. My heart won't allow it. But after speaking with you and getting to know you better, I can see you're not like that." He said fiercely, clasping her hand to his breast. "Now I know, with all my heart, that I can trust you. Thank you for that."

  Byleth nodded again and a small smile brightened her face. Dimitri's breath caught in his throat, his blood racing at her nearness, at the way she was smiling-

  He reprimanded himself sharply for his foolish, indulgent thoughts and released her hand.

  ...

  The blood raced in his veins. She was so close, so near. Within arms reach, even. Dimitri wanted to scream with laughter, finally, finally!

  They marched on over the Bridge of Myrddin once more and Dimitri could feel his strength surging. Soon he would have her head to present to his family. Soon, his stepmother, his father, Glenn, they could all rest in peace. Soon-!

  His incensed ramblings to himself grew even worse. Anyone that dared approach him would be treated to a man possessed, talking to people who had long since passed on from this world. Lack of sleep was making him hallucinate Glenn or his father alongside him, their presence disturbing and comforting in equal measure. Dimitri made promise after promise to these silent apparitions, assuring them that he would emerge victorious.

  It certainly caused a significant drop in troop morale, not that such a thing would concern Dimitri. All he cared about was tearing Edelgard's head from her shoulders and removing his oh-so-ambitious stepsister from this plane of existence. Then, he would scour Enbarr from the map, erase it as surely as she and her ilk had erased Duscur. 

  Their meeting on the battlefield would be one to remember. 

  …

  "Is this some kind of twisted joke?! " Dimitri asked incredulously, breathless from his mad laughter seconds before. Staring back at him from the bulk of the Flame Emperor's helm was Edelgard's pale face. He had feared this was the true identity of the fiend since he had found the dagger he gave her, but he had tried so hard to convince himself otherwise...

  She did not answer him and Dimitri leveled his lance, crushing the porcelain face plate beneath his boot with his first stride forward.

  Professor Byleth caught his arm as he stalked by her and he paused momentarily. "Don't be rash, please." The professor said softly. 

  "Rash? Me? I am finally about to avenge the dead and you accuse me of being rash?!" Dimitri snarled, jerking away from her and continuing forward. "I've been looking for you...I'll take your head from your shoulders and hang it from the gates of Enbarr! " He screamed.

  He charged at Edelgard and her soldiers rushed to defend her. So great was Dimitri's wrath that he found it ridiculously simple to strike down the men attacking him, skewering two in one thrust and then slinging his lance at Edelgard with all his might. 

  It buried harmlessly in the wall behind her after grazing her shoulder. Dimitri snapped his teeth in hysterical irritation, nearly frothing at the mouth. The soldiers continued their assault and so he continued his own, slamming one man's face into the stone stairs and then crushing the last soldier's armored skull with one gauntleted hand. 

  He looked up, locked eyes with Edelgard and smiled . Edelgard flinched. Dimitri advanced up the stairs until they were together on the dais, the prince shaking with fury. "Before I break your neck," He hissed at the young woman across from him, "there is one thing I must ask you."

  "Stay out of my way!" Edelgard ordered. 

  Dimitri shook his head. "I don't recall giving you permission to speak. Answer my question. That is all you have left to do." He took another step forward. "Flame Emperor...no, Edelgard . Tell me now, why did you cause such a tragedy?"

  Edelgard flinched again, lavender eyes boring into his own. 

  "You killed your own mother, and yet you haven't even had the decency to stop and consider the reasons behind your actions, have you?!" Dimitri raged, his fists clenched at his sides.

  "I already told you, I had nothing to do with that!" Edelgard protested.

  "It was foolish to think I could reason with a lowly beast ." Dimitri snapped. He heard motion to his left and abruptly two more soldiers were shielding Edelgard. The prince bared his teeth in a fierce grimace and lunged forward just as Hubert appeared in a flash of purple light, the dark-haired man quickly snatching up Edelgard. 

  The Flame Emperor and her retainer vanished.

  Archbishop Rhea's righteous tirade faded to background noise in the wake of Dimitri realizing his folly. 

  She had escaped. Edelgard had escaped . He had played right into her hands, demanded answers first instead of striking her down where she stood and thus allowed Hubert precious extra seconds to rescue her. What a fool he was! His hesitation had cost him his closure, his revenge! Dimitri wanted to scream.

  …

  But not again, never again. He would not allow her to escape so easily.

  " Kill every last one of them! " Dimitri ordered, brandishing Areadbhar and then rushing forward with his troops. Byleth stayed close enough that he was vaguely aware of her presence at all times; flashes of pale green in the corner of his eye. 

  Time and again his lance swung, time and again paths opened up. 

  The battlefield was chaos, a nightmarish cacophony of war cries and armor racket. At some point a fire was started, bringing with it echoes of screams from Duscur. Dimitri's blood pounded in his ears, his headache reaching a new level of splitting agony at the reek of ash and burning flesh. Edelgard, Edelgard…

  The tormented souls of his family clung to him, bony fingers clawing at his throat. Dimitri forced himself onward, storming across Gronder with single-minded intent. He needed her head. They demanded her head. 

  One of the great war beasts lumbered after him and cut off his possible retreat, not that Dimitri planned on turning back. It also separated him from his allies and troops, a fact that should have concerned him. If he had been in his right mind, it probably would have. As such, he barely noticed, his lone eye focused solely on the golden gleam of Edelgard's empirical headpiece. 

  She was surrounded by her own troops. It mattered not. Whether one or one hundred men, it mattered not. Dimitri rushed her guards, impaling three with one jab of his family's Relic. A brittle calm took him, the prince shucking the corpses off the blade and then widening his stance to face her head-on. She waved her guards back, looking resigned. 

  "Stab your chest, snap your neck , smash your head...I will allow you to choose your own death." Dimitri seethed, spittle flying through his clenched teeth.

  "I'm not interested in methods of dying. All that matters is when death takes place, not how." Edelgard replied pragmatically, her axe raised in a defensive position. "And I have no intention of dying today."

  "I'm sure all of the people you've slaughtered so far thought the same!" His calm shattered like glass, the blond man lunged forward. 

  Edelgard lashed out mercilessly as she was forced back, her attacks too random for him to predict. Dimitri endured them, landing thunderous blow after thunderous blow. Madman strength and the voices of the dead in his ears urged him on, their pleas for vengeance spurring him to fight without regard for his own life. 

  The step-siblings stabbed and hacked at one another, their weapons singing through the air with the aggression behind their motions. Edelgard couldn't dodge every attack and she had never been overly sturdy in close quarters sparring despite her armor; it was only a matter of time before Dimitri would kill her. 

  Nausea again, the sick sensation of kinslayer bubbling in his throat. Had he really become such a thing? But then, what did that make Edelgard? They were both monsters at this point, he reasoned, monsters destined to die at each other's hands to bring about their ideal future. 

  Dimitri roared and with one final thrust, Areadbhar pierced Edelgard's side. The Emperor gasped, pausing. Blood began to trickle down the shaft of the lance. 

  The once-prince grinned savagely. "It's over , stepsister." 

  "Just as expected," Edelgard choked, "You're not making my path an easy one." She wrapped her shaking fingers around his lance and took a step back, removing the weapon from her body with no small amount of difficulty. "I must retreat for now. But we'll meet again on the battlefield."

  Like clockwork, her advisor Hubert appeared and swept her into his arms. Dimitri's lance slashed through nothing but empty air, his motions just a fraction too slow to catch the pair before they vanished. 

  The prince whirled around and screamed his frustration to the heavens, launching Areadbhar at the nearest soldier and pinning them to the ground. " You think you can escape, Edelgard?! " He heard a rush of footsteps behind him, but he couldn't even bring himself to give a damn. 

  She got away. Again . 

  Dimitri dug his gauntlets into his hair and pulled , the once-prince so hysterical with despair that he couldn't react properly. Would he never be able to satisfy the dead? Would he never be free of this crushing responsibility, this duty that threatened to leech the life from his body? 

  " I'll kill you, Edelgard! Do you hear me, you witch?! I'll-! "

  His crazed rant was cut short by a blade sliding cleverly between the plates of his armor to bury itself in his side. The once-prince, already badly bloodied from wounds he had not felt, finally lost his balance. He dropped to one knee, barely managing to keep himself from collapsing entirely as the adrenaline that had facilitated his motion utterly deserted him. Dimitri looked up into the wild eyes of his attacker and was momentarily confused. 

  It was the foundling who had begged to join their ranks when they had taken the Bridge. To get revenge on the man who killed my brother , she had claimed. It all became hideously clear to the blond man. He had killed her brother.

  "Have I caught you off guard, your Highness?" The nameless girl jeered, "does it hurt? It's nothing compared to what my brother felt!" Tears started streaming down her face. "You will never be forgiven, you know. I will never forgive you!" She screamed. This young woman stood proudly over his crumpled form and raised her sword once again. "You filthy monster! "

  ...

  The war beasts had taken up a majority of their attention. When the last of them was finally slain, Byleth spotted Dimitri standing alone in the distance. Rodrigue laughed, seeming relieved. "Looks like he's alright. For the moment, at least." He commented, wiping his blade clean on the grass.

  Byleth nodded, her brow furrowing when she noticed a figure all in white on the edge of the field near the prince. The figure darted forward suddenly, there was a flash in their hands, a sword-

  Byleth's eyes widened in panic when Dimitri dropped and she screamed, "Manuela!" The former songstress already had the spell prepared, warping the professor precious feet closer to the woman attacking Dimitri. Rodrigue ran in the opposite direction, whistling for his horse. 

  We won't make it in time , Byleth realized. In despair she cried out wordlessly, a hand outstretched to implore the Goddess even as she urged her exhausted body forward. Spare him, spare him!

  You are so predictable. So willing to give your life for your little ones.

  At a moment's notice. He means everything to me, whole or fragmented. If we lose him...if I lose him...

  Well then. Let's hope you survive this, shall we?  

  Time slowed to a halt, if only for a few precious seconds. Enough for Byleth to get in the way of the young woman's ferocious swing. She could not even raise her own blade to deflect in time, and thus made the decision to take the full force of the blow to her shoulder. Goddess willing, she would prevail.

  The pain was horrendous. The sword was not nearly as sharp as it could have been and as such, tore messily into her shoulder before it lodged in her light armor and robes. Byleth sobbed out a breath of relief despite the agony, the Nosferatu spell crackling to life in her palm. She quickly dropped her sword and instead grabbed the other woman's hilt, preventing her from pulling away with it.

  …

  He had been ready to die, utterly demoralized by Edelgard's flight from their duel. One final stroke of the sword from this unnamed woman (practically a child), and it would be over. Her eyes burned fever-bright with the desire for revenge, just like his own. 

  Her brother must have been so dear to her.

  Dimitri bowed his head and simply waited for the killing blow. For once, the dead were silent. Soon enough, he would be with them.

  " Professor! " 

  The sound of Rodrigue's voice snapped him out of his calm acceptance, the prince flinching and opening his eye again. To his utter bewilderment, Byleth now stood in front of him. Seconds prior she had been clear across the battlefield, how on earth…? 

  She took the blow meant for him to her shoulder and Dimitri gritted his teeth to stifle a cry of dismay at how deep the blade sank. With one hand firmly grappling the crosstrees to keep the young woman from striking again, Byleth snarled, " I will not permit you to take him from me . He is my king, and I will defend him with my life. If you intend to kill him, I refuse to make it a simple task for you!"

  Her free hand slammed palm-first into the other woman's stomach, the explosion of power from the sapping spell staggering her. Rodrigue seized the opening and struck mercilessly from astride his warhorse, cutting the young would-be assassin down where she stood. 

  Dimitri couldn't seem to stir. It was as though he was frozen in one of his many nightmares, unable to react to the horrors he saw. 

  The young girl's vengeful words rang deafeningly loud in his ears, you will never be forgiven, you know. I will never forgive you!

  Byleth was somehow still standing despite the blade in her shoulder, her hands limp at her sides. "Your Highness." She swallowed hard and turned, offering him a wavering smile. It was pitiful , nothing but a shadow of her regular one. Dimitri loathed it. "I'm so glad I..."

  Her legs gave out and she fell to the ground, lifeless. 

  Dimitri found himself able to move again and he lurched forward, gathering her into his arms. His own wounds and weariness faded from his mind as he shouted for Manuela, Flayn, Mercedes, anyone please Byleth don't die! Rodrigue tried to calm his panic to no avail; Dimitri was inconsolable. "I will not lose her! Not again!" He screamed at the man who had been like a second father to him, terror making his voice ragged. "Don't die! Please don't die!" She was so limp, so incredibly pale. "I won't let you, Byleth, please …" 

  His words choked off in his throat and Dimitri pressed his forehead to her own, silently willing her to open her eyes, to say something! Even if she called him a monster, a beast, it would be better than this horrid quiet! 

  You will never be forgiven .

  You filthy monster!

  Tears rose unbidden and for the first time in five years, he let them fall. "Father, Stepmother, Glenn...they all died for me and left me behind. Are you to join the ghosts who shadow my every move?" Rodrigue placed a hand on his shoulder and Dimitri couldn't find it in himself to shrug it off. "This is my fault, Byleth. I...I'm the one who killed you, as surely as though I had wielded the blade." A sob rattled his body and Dimitri bowed his head in grief. 

  "You've got one thing wrong, your Highness." Rodrigue said quietly after a beat. " None of them died for you. Not even Glenn. Rather, they died for what they believed in." The older man gripped his shoulder a little tighter, his words cutting through the fog of Dimitri's grief to strike his very core. "Your life is your own, Dimitri. It belongs to no other, living or dead. You must live for what you believe in, my king."

  Byleth's chest expanded suddenly with a hungry gasp for air, her fingers clawing weakly at the thick mane of Dimitri's cloak. "'Mitri." She slurred out, barely conscious.

  "Be silent ." Dimitri ordered hoarsely. Goddess, ever since the events at Duscur he had not been truly sick, but now he feared he would vomit with relief. She was still alive. He hadn't killed her. She would live. 

  Live for what you believe in .

  Mercedes knelt beside them, her skirt stained with the grass and mud of the battlefield. "Save your strength, my dear professor." She soothed, deftly peeling the layers of cloth and armor away from the wound. "I'll have you fixed up in no time. Flayn, please see to his Highness."

  " Damn me! Flayn, save her !" Dimitri demanded, knocking away the well-meaning hands of the small woman. 

  "Let Flayn..." Byleth whispered.

  "I will accept nothing until I know you are safe!" 

  Lord Rodrigue grabbed a handful of hair at the nape of Dimitri's neck and yanked his head back, unceremoniously dumping the vulnerary Mercedes passed him into the young man's mouth. Dimitri coughed and sputtered, barely managing to swallow without choking on the viscous liquid. " There . That ought to keep you stable until Mercedes can work her magic on your professor." Rodrigue said, giving Dimitri a love tap on the side of his head before releasing him once more.  

  "Rodrigue, I will-" Dimitri tried to stand and failed miserably, getting a little snort of laughter out of Flayn.

  "You will do nothing but be still , your Highness." She scolded, her hands alight with healing magic.

  "I beg of you, waste no power on me until we are certain that she will be alright." Dimitri pleaded. "I... we cannot survive without her."

  Flayn huffed in annoyance and Mercedes laughed softly, though whether at the other healer's attitude with the prince or at Dimitri's own slip of the tongue was anyone's guess. "She will be fine, your Highness. Provided she gets the rest she needs." The soft-spoken young woman assured him. "She is quite weary. The sword went deep."

  "M' alright…" Byleth sounded like she was battling sleep. "Can still...can still...fight..."

  "You can rest, Professor. You can sit and rest ." Mercedes chided. "We must keep her warm during our return to the monastery. Your Highness, forgive my boldness, but-"

  "Take the damn thing." Dimitri cut her off, already fighting with the clasps on his cloak.

  "No no, you are injured as well! I just need you to stay close to her. That way, the two of you can share." Mercedes was as pragmatic as ever. "Your cape is very large, after all."

  The prince marveled that his nearly-dead body still felt the need to flush at her request. "Very well." 

  "Thank you so much!" Mercedes beamed.

  Dedue hovered by Dimitri's side while they waited for the wagon that would carry them back to the monastery. "What am I to do about this?" Dimitri asked, half to himself. 

  "Your Highness?"

  "Had that sword gone just a fraction lower, if that girl had stabbed instead of swung..." Dimitri trailed off, shaking his head. "What a damn fool you are, Professor. Not even our healers could have saved you if you bled out before they arrived."

  "Are you so certain it is the professor who is a fool?" Dedue asked, the query more pointed than it had a right to be. "Your wounds from Edelgard were quite grievous. As though you fought without thinking of defense. Or survival."

  Dimitri wanted to rage at the Duscur man for assuming such ludicrous things, honestly he did. But the words Dedue spoke were damnably accurate. "It should not matter whether I live or die." The prince muttered sullenly.

  "It matters a great deal, your Highness. If I may be so bold, it matters more than you seem to comprehend." Dedue gestured at the destroyed landscape of Gronder Field. "Soldiers and allies fought and died for your beliefs today. Your orders alone mobilize troops and rally legions. You cannot be so careless with your life."

  "I will not sit here and be chastised on mortality by the man who was so eager to throw his own life away for me!" Dimitri spat the words cruelly,  wishing in the next breath that he could take them back. His fingers twisted through his hair in a frantic, nervous gesture. 

  Dedue, to his credit, did not so much as flinch at the outburst. "I am a vassal in service to you, your Highness. One of a knight's many responsibilities is to lay down their life for their ruler. You needed to escape and live on. I am simply a tool to be utilized by your Highness."

  "Your pragmatism grieves me."

  "Your grief is acceptable. Normal, even. You have always been too kind-hearted for your own good." 

  Dimitri couldn't think of a response to that . Kind-hearted? Him? Dedue clearly had no idea of the monster he had become. He stayed silent, musing on his own thoughts. It felt almost as if he had been sleepwalking since the professor's disappearance, but seeing her take that blade for him without hesitation was…

  Dimitri put his head into his hands. " Am I a fool, Dedue?"

  "Pardon?"

  "I've lashed out at everyone trying to help me. I've danced with madness and run myself ragged pursuing Edelgard. I have killed... Goddess , how I've killed." He looked up at Dedue. "Am I a fool?"

  The other man looked uncomfortable. "I am unworthy to judge you as such, your Highness."

  "That's as good as saying yes." Dimitri groaned. 

  When the cart arrived, Dimitri, the professor, and a multitude of other wounded were crammed into it. The ride back to the monastery was subdued. For the first time, Dimitri felt as though everyone was looking at him with reproach instead of fear. And really, how could he blame them? Dedue was right. On his orders alone, soldiers went to war, fought, and died. The orders of a depraved monster had ended so many lives today, all in the name of his mad obsession to separate Edelgard's head from her body. 

  Your life is your own, Dimitri. It belongs to no other, living or dead.

  Rodrigue's words turned over and over in his mind. Dimitri certainly felt like a fool, Dedue's unwillingness to label him as one notwithstanding. 

  The professor was tucked against his side, shivering even in her sleep. Dimitri was not used to her being cold. It seemed wrong, somehow. Despite his own weariness, he struggled to gather her into his lap and then wrapped her securely in the folds of his cloak. 

  Sleep began to tug at him and Dimitri surrendered, too exhausted to put up a fight. He did not wake even when he was removed from the cart at the monastery.

  …

  Byleth kicked her legs back and forth, laughing. On her feet were a set of high-heeled sandals, much taller than the boots she normally wore. "How do you even walk in these?"

  "Years of training, my dear." Manuela tittered. The both of them hadn't seemed to notice the young prince yet. 

  The professor was laying on her back on one of the infirmary beds, her legs up in the air in a strange pose. It was surprisingly juvenile behavior for her. Her strong, shapely thighs were on full display due to the short breeches and patterned hosiery she wore; it was clear that mercenary work had been kind to her. 

  Dimitri cleared his throat, certain that his face was a damning shade of pink. "Professor?"

  Byleth glanced over at him, continuing to smile. "Your Highness! What brings you here?"

  "I, er, I had a question about this month's assignment." Dimitri stammered. "I can come back at another time, of course-"

  "No no, your Highness. Your professor was just curious about my footwear. I promise we're not busy." Manuela assured him.

  Byleth got to her feet and wobbled towards the prince, the intense concentration on her face exceedingly amusing. That is, until she tripped on the edge of the rug and nearly fell flat.

  Dimitri swooped in on instinct, seizing her hand and pulling her into his body to steady her footing. "I do not know if those shoes agree with you, Professor." The sandals gave her enough height to nearly be at eye level with him and she took full advantage of that fact. Dimitri wasn't sure whether he should feel uncomfortable, simply staring back at her. 

  Her form was pressed tight to his own, even closer than when he had been roped into showing her how to waltz. There had at least been a level of propriety during that lesson, but here…

  "I suppose not." Byleth sighed. After a moment, she bent down and started untying the sandals. "Would do me no good to break an ankle off the battlefield, after all." 

  "They're just for fun , dear Professor Byleth." Manuela insisted. "You're allowed to enjoy yourself, after all."

  Without those ridiculous shoes on, Byleth barely reached Dimitri's shoulder. She had to tilt her chin up to look him in the eyes as usual. The prince's heart thudding in his chest was becoming regular, normal , and he found himself smiling for no reason.

  …

  " Listen to me, your Highness. Even if you don't wish to hear me, all I ask is that you listen." Rodrigue implored. Dimitri did not turn towards the older man, but he did incline his head. "Thank you, your Highness. Now, I will speak plainly, as I always have with you. Dimitri, you were entirely too reckless at Gronder." Rodrigue scolded. "We could have lost you a multitude of times. It was only through sheer dumb luck that we didn't. With all due respect, this obsession you have with Edelgard will absolutely get you killed."

  "I cannot stop until I have her head." Dimitri said wearily. He felt as though all he had been doing since Gronder was repeat himself. "Father, Stepmother and Glenn...none of them can rest peacefully until I present them with the corpse of the one who ended their lives." 

  "I understand your desires, believe me. I miss my son with every fiber of my being. But throwing yourself into harm's way will not bring them back." Rodrigue took a deep breath, like he was steeling himself. "Killing Edelgard will not bring Glenn back, Dimitri. Nor will it bring your father or stepmother back. In the end, all you're doing is making more corpses and the fact of the matter is that...well, the dead are the dead. They don't ' languish in regret and sorrow ', or whatever pretty things we like to say to justify our own actions. They are...dead."

  Unlike at Ailell, Dimitri felt no heated desire to instantly strike Rodrigue down for his words. "The dead-"

  "You must find something to live for, Dimitri. Otherwise, this war is doomed to fail." Rodrigue pressed on, urging, "Leave the dead to their peaceful slumber, far from our troubles."

  Uncertainty wrapped its icy fingers around Dimitri's heart. "What...what could I possibly…" He stumbled over his words, thoroughly distraught. 

  Glenn's own flesh and blood father , demanding that Dimitri take into account the cost that his wild behavior would have on the army and think . It was jarring to say the least, especially considering that in his impetuous youth Rodrigue had always been the one to encourage healthily rash actions. 

  "I thought...I believed I was doing the right thing." The blond man said finally. "Ever since Duscur I have been haunted by the dead, Rodrigue." The truth must have been plain on his face, for Rodrigue looked saddened. "The screams of torment and that smell , burning flesh, I cannot shake it. I have not tasted anything I've eaten for nearly ten years. My sleep is poor and my headaches...incessant." Dimitri wavered momentarily, clenching his fists. "They demand her life, Rodrigue." 

  "The dead are dead, Dimitri. They cannot demand anything." The dark-haired man reasoned. "I understand that this crusade is what kept you alive up until this point, but you must make a choice. Either you can keep piling corpses up for corpses, or…" Rodrigue trailed off, his gaze far away. 

  …

  Byleth finally managed to hobble her way to the stables undetected. She felt thoroughly henpecked, everyone's concern heartwarming and exceedingly irritating at this point. She was only sneaking off for a little while, just to have some peace.

  The ladder to the hayloft was easily managed even with one arm still weakened, and the former professor snuggled down into the slightly-scratchy bedding with a quiet sigh of contentment. 

  Unfortunately, her relaxation was short-lived. Just as she was being lulled to sleep by the patter of rain on the roof and the soft nickering of the horses, she heard the stable door slide open stealthily. 

  Byleth was instantly alert, rolling onto her stomach and peering over the side of the loft. It was Dimitri of all people, someone who should be resting himself! It had stung her pride slightly when he hadn't visited her at all during her recovery, but she had reasoned he was probably having a difficult time recovering on his own end.

  "Here for the pleasant equine company, your Highness?" Dimitri whirled to face her, guilt plain on his features. He had been saddling his horse. Byleth's heart sank. "Ah." She said listlessly, moving to sit on the hayloft ladder. 

  "What do you want?" His voice sounded strained, as though he had been crying.

  "Where are you going?"

  "It doesn't concern you." Dimitri answered curtly.

  "It does." Byleth shot back, attempting to climb down the ladder. Dimitri caught her around the waist and set her on the ground, nothing but a slight wince betraying his wounds from the battle at Gronder. 

  He appeared confused when she slipped past him, then the confusion changed to irritation as she blocked him from cinching the flank billet on his horse's saddle.

  "Get out of my way. Now ." The young man demanded, reaching out to move her.

  "You're going to Enbarr, aren't you?" Byleth challenged. Dimitri flinched back and she knew she had hit the nail on the head. Anger flooded her. Even after everything that had happened, he was determined to throw his life away. "Do you really think that will appease the dead?" The words were sharper than she had intended and the prince bristled.

  "Silence! You have no idea what you're talking about." He said through gritted teeth. "Death is the end. No matter how much lingering regret a person has, after death, they are powerless. They cannot even wish for revenge, much less seek it out." 

  Dimitri folded his arms over his chest, as if to make a wall between the two of them. Byleth loathed when he shut himself off like this. It had felt like they were making such progress and then he had to go and do something reckless . Like try to sneak off to Enbarr. Alone .

  "Hatred, regret...those burdens fall on the shoulders of those who are left behind." His voice rose in volume, "I must continue down this path! I already told you as much! It is far too late to stop."

  "You're wrong! " Byleth yelled.

  The show of strong emotion startled the both of them into brief silence but Dimitri quickly recovered, turning to leave. "Do not waste your breath with some nonsense about how I should move on with my life for their sake!" He spat. 

  Byleth huffed, storming after him out into the rain. "Don't run away from me, Dimitri!" She said fiercely. The tall man stopped in his tracks when she used his first name and she seized her opportunity. "The living need you! Why can't you see that?" I need you, damn it .

  "Those who died with lingering regret...they will not loose their hold on me so easily." Dimitri tilted his face up towards the sky, rainfall beginning to flatten his matted, tangled hair. 

  Byleth simply stood there, waiting for him to explain himself. After a moment, she noticed his face was much wetter than even the light rain could have managed in such a short time. He was weeping . 

  Dimitri finally muttered, "But you seem to have all the answers. So tell me, professor. Please , tell me…" His voice cracked. "How do I silence their desperate pleas? How do I...how do I save them?" He begged pitifully, refusing to look at her. "Ever since that day almost a decade ago, I have lived only to avenge the fallen. Even my time at the academy under your tutelage, it was all to clear away the regret of the dead. It was the only thing that kept me alive . My only reason to keep moving forward." Dimitri confessed.

  He sounded exhausted and broken, weary beyond measure. Byleth's heart ached for him. "Dimitri...rather, your Highness." She said softly, "do you remember what you told me when my father was killed? You told me to figure out what it is that I'm living for. You said that one day my tears would dry, that I would forgive myself as well as him for leaving me. You need to forgive yourself. Take your own advice."

  Dimitri looked as though he was about to retort, but then his expression changed. He simply exhaled harshly, snapping his attention down to the mud that was pooling around his boots. Byleth took a cautious step closer, only just managing to hear his murmured inquiry of, "but then who--or what , should I live for?" 

  The former professor mulled the question over, wracking her brain for something that wouldn't sound like a useless platitude. "Live for what you believe in." She said finally.

  "Have you spoken with Rodrigue?" Dimitri asked sharply.

  "Um, not today?" Byleth was a bit thrown off by his abrupt change in tone. 

  "Never mind it then." Dimitri stared back up at the sky. "A strange coincidence, no doubt." 

  "Your Highness-"

  " Byleth ." He stressed her name when he interrupted, but he still refused to look at her. "I am a murderous monster , my hands stained red with blood. Could one such as I truly hope for such a life?" Dimitri hesitated, the strength of his voice fading again when he asked uncertainly, "as the sole survivor of that day, do I...do I have the right to live for myself?" 

  They were both soaked through from standing out in the rain for so long and Byleth was certain that they made a pitiful sight. She squared her shoulders, then took a deep breath to steel herself. She wasn't sure what else she could do if he pushed her away one more time. 

  Instead of grabbing him, holding him, shaking the life out of him for being so dense , she simply extended a hand. Dimitri stared down at it and for one gut-wrenching moment she feared he would still leave.

  But then the prince yanked clumsily at the buckles of his gauntlet, divesting himself of both armor and glove in one fell swoop before he cautiously accepted her hand. His hand was trembling, damp and freezing to the touch. She laced her fingers with his own, then brought her other hand up to cover them.

  Dimitri looked shattered, lost. "Your hands are so warm...have they always been?" He asked dazedly. 

  "I think you could use some tea and some rest. Maybe someone to talk to?" Byleth suggested quietly. 

  "I...do not wish to be alone." Dimitri admitted.

  "Would you like me to get Dedue or Rodrigue?"

  "No, I...no. Please. Let me stay with you." 

  Dimitri refused to release her hand during their entire trek back to her room. He only parted from her to allow her to begin toweling off his soaking wet hair. 

  "I feel...I feel as though I've just woken up from a deep sleep." He confided from his spot beside the tiny brazier where the water for their tea heated. Byleth did her best not to think about how close his face was to her own. "I don't know what I am to do."

  Dimitri was clearly distraught and scared, the prince wringing his hands over and over in a nervous gesture. His armor and cloak continued to drip on the threadbare rug. Byleth handed him the towel and urged him into the washroom. "Take the armor off and get dry. You'll never warm up if you don't." She instructed gently. "I'll finish making the tea."

  "Armor off?" Dimitri looked at her like she was insane, clutching the towel to his chest.

  "I'll protect you. We're safe here."

  After a few more assurances and some coaxing, the prince finally agreed to strip down to his padded undertunic. Now, his hair tied back, sitting on the edge of her bed with a steaming cup of tea held in still slightly-unsteady hands, he seemed like a different person.

  The only sound in the room for a time was the quiet hiss of water landing on the brazier, as Byleth had hung the prince's heavy cloak over the heat source in a valiant effort to dry it. She could feel his attention on her even while she settled quietly into her desk chair beside the bed. "Drink your tea, your Highness." She reminded him, raising her own cup to him in a makeshift toast.

  Dimitri twitched. "Ah! Of course, I'm sorry. My mind is...it seems to be in a thousand places." He apologized, dutifully taking a sip. That lone blue eye went wide in what Byleth could only assume was confusion. The prince stared at the cup of tea he had just sampled as though he expected it to bite him. "What...what tea is this?" He asked, his voice shaking.

  "Why, what's wrong?" She replied warily. 

  "I...nothing. Nothing is wrong at all." Dimitri took another tentative sip. "It's delightful. It's so, so good." He sounded strangely giddy. "It tastes incredible."

  "Your Highness, I think you've gone too long without sleep. It's just some run of the mill apple blend." Byleth clapped her hands together decisively. "You need rest, and you will have it."

  Once Dimitri had been safely swaddled in the multitude of blankets in her bed and convinced to rest ' just for a moment or two ', Byleth opened one of the many ledgers on her desk and returned to work. Tonight's progress boded well for the prince's recovery. She dared not hope he would fully regain control of himself so soon, but progress was progress all the same.

  …

  His dreams were still fraught with the demands of the departed. He doubted that would ever change. But every time the darkness threatened to consume him, her hand reached out and saved him. Over and over again until Dimitri ceased to dream, and simply slept.

  He awoke to find her slumped at her desk, her cheek resting on an open ledger. Dimitri carefully rose from the bed he had taken over the evening before, doing his best to be quiet. Without the usual weight of his armor, it wasn't nearly as difficult as had feared. 

  The ledger was opened to a page meticulously detailing all the movements of their troops in the past week, as well as calculations for rations. It also included notes in the margins about bowstrings that needed to be replaced, tack and bridles were wearing thin...

  Shame doused Dimitri's body in a cold rush. She had been doing all the logistical work, the work that was his responsibility, alone , and yet she still managed to keep the troops functional. How long had she shouldered his burden? Since she had returned?

  There was a sharp knock on the door, making him jump out of his skin. Byleth stirred and Dimitri lunged for the door latch, intent on shooing off whatever idiot decided to show up on her doorstep--

  Dedue of all people stood there on the stoop, looking positively fit to be tied. When he saw Dimitri, however, his stern expression relaxed slightly. "Your Highness! I-"

  Dimitri slapped a palm squarely in the middle of Dedue's chest and shoved the other man back a step, hurriedly moving outside and then closing the door behind him. "By the Goddess Dedue, have you no common sense?!" The blond man hissed.

  Dedue had the grace to appear perplexed. "I am not certain I follow, your Highness."

  "She is trying to sleep, and you could have woken her up!"

  "I have been searching for you, your Highness. You never returned to your quarters last night. I checked the cathedral and you were not there. Though your horse was still in the stables, I...I feared the worst. I apologize for assuming that you had struck out on your own." Dedue dropped to one knee. "Forgive me, your Highness. I only worried for your safety."

  Dimitri felt like the world's smallest person. Dedue had probably been frantic, and there was so much ground for him to cover when searching the monastery. "Dedue, no, I should be the one apologizing. Will you permit me to explain myself?" 

  "What could there be to explain? You are, as you have pointed out numerous times to me, a grown man. Perfectly capable of being on your own." Dedue said stiffly, "It is simply my overprotective tendencies."

  "Dedue, please . I must speak with you on this matter candidly." Dimitri seized the other man's arm and guided him to a nearby bench. "I...I feel as if I've awoken . Everything is brighter, somehow. More clear." Dimitri was frustrated by his inability to articulate, his hands clenched on his thighs while he struggled to find the right words. 

  "You have not removed your armor for anything besides brief cleaning in months. What has happened?" Dedue asked worriedly. Of course, that would be the thing he noticed.

  "Last night, I was certain I would be leaving for Enbarr." Dedue's gauntlets creaked and Dimitri held up a hand to stave him off. "I know I am a fool, I am plainly aware. Refrain from scolding me until I am finished, I beg of you." Dimitri was almost entertained by the heavy sigh Dedue heaved. "Rodrigue said many things to me. Much of which I was not prepared to hear. I departed his presence abruptly, conflicted." 

  "You truly would have gone to Enbarr alone?"

  "Had Byleth not been napping in the hayloft...yes, I believe so." Dimitri admitted. "She used my name , Dedue, and followed me out into the rain so she could knock some sense into me. These last few months I have not displayed very princely behavior to friend or foe. I have frankly been miserable to be around. But she-"

  "Your Highness, our professor only has what is best for you in mind. Whatever she said to you, I am certain it was not meant in a cruel manner." Dedue said worriedly. "Did she offend you, your Highness?"

  "No no, nothing like that." Dimitri waved off the other man's concern. "I needed what she said. Just as I needed what Rodrigue said." He muttered ruefully, "To be entirely truthful, I was probably in great need of a stern rap on the head."

  "I had considered it, but I feared your skull might damage my axe."

  Dimitri burst out laughing. He had nearly forgotten what his own laughter sounded like. Dedue smiled after a pause, the large man's relief plain on his face.

  "Enjoying yourselves?" Byleth asked from her doorway, yawning widely post-query. She stretched and Dimitri found his eye straying to the section of bare skin at her hip that the motion revealed. His laughter petered out and he abruptly felt embarrassed for some reason. Surely , he wasn't-

  "I am glad that his Highness was in your custody last night, as opposed to Imperial binds." Dedue said, standing and offering their former professor a deep bow.

  She smiled at Dedue, giving him some modest reply, Dimitri was certain. He didn't actually hear what she said, his attention wholly on that smile…

  ...

  Dimitri bolted pell-mell all the way back to Jeritza's quarters, terrified that he would not make it in time. He cursed his sense of duty furiously as he ran; damn him for not being able to delegate! 

  Professor Manuela would be alright, Hanneman had assured him of that fact. But if something had happened to the others because he hadn't been there to help, if something terrible had happened just like in Duscur-

  Seeing all of his classmates whole and hearty at the top of the stairs was nearly enough to make his knees give out. Dimitri was literally dizzy with relief, taking hold of one of the bookshelves to steady himself. 

  The professor instructed the other students to transport Flayn and the mystery girl to the infirmary, then turned to him with a worried, "What happened?"

  "Professor Hanneman says she'll be fine." Dimitri rattled off the information he had been given, "She had been wounded, but he expects that she'll make a full recovery. The monks are swarming the infirmary as we speak." He grimaced when he heard a splintering noise, relaxing his grip on the bookcase slightly. "I apologize for my posture, Professor. I was so overjoyed upon seeing you all safe and sound, I...I felt weak."

  Professor Byleth shook her head and smiled . "It's alright, your Highness. It was a difficult fight, believe me. You had every reason to be concerned. But we're all accounted for."

  He had never seen her smile before. Dimitri was flabbergasted. She had a lovely smile. "That expression is...could you make it again, Professor?" She obliged after a moment of confusion, smiling at him. The first time he had witnessed her displaying emotion, and it was beautiful . "I don't think I've ever seen your face like that."

  "What, smiling?" Professor Byleth pursed her lips, obviously thinking hard. "Hmm, I guess not. I don't know. I feel like it comes easier now for some reason? When I was a mercenary, life was hard. Not many opportunities for smiles."

  "I suppose that makes sense." Dimitri allowed. "You should do it more often, though! You have a wonderful smile."

  "Do you think so? How strange. I've never really thought about it." Byleth admitted. "Is that a thing I should concern myself with?"

  "Only if it pleases you! If not, simply forget I said anything. I would hate it if you felt forced to smile for my sake." Dimitri felt like he had committed some sort of blunder, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "I am just not used to seeing you display emotion. It was a...a novel experience."

  "Oh?" Professor Byleth tapped her chin in thought and then startled the prince by sticking her tongue out at him. "Perhaps you should pay more attention, your Highness."

  "Ah, I apologize. I've forgotten myself and come dangerously close to teasing you!" The prince laughed, thoroughly embarrassed with his own actions. "Forgive my impropriety, professor. I was merely caught off guard. I've never seen you look so happy before. It's downright mesmerizing."

  "I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you. I'll try harder to smile for you. For the class." 

  "Oh! What are we doing?! We must hurry and share the good news with Seteth!" Dimitri exclaimed, flustered that he had allowed himself to get so very sidetracked. "We haven't a moment to lose, make haste!"

  …

  He threw Byleth bodily, watching in barely-concealed awe as she arced through the air to land gracefully on her feet. She rushed him and Dimitri easily knocked her blade aside with his lance. But she didn't stop like he anticipated. Instead, she let her sword go and slammed her whole body into his.

  Dimitri staggered, only to discover her boot behind his own. Byleth hooked his ankle and they both went down with a mighty crash! . Dimitri coughed, the wind knocked out of him by a combination of the impact and his armor.

  A wooden blade slid beneath his chin.

  "Do you yield?" 

  Of course. Byleth fought like a mercenary. She used every resource she had at her disposal, not just her sword. She had never managed to get the upper hand and floor him though, that was new.

  "Never." The blond man panted grimly. "You'll have to kill me." 

  She leaned in closer as she started to laugh and that was when Dimitri noticed that her breast bindings must have come undone during combat. He froze, his gauntlets digging into the sand beneath him. Her clothes were a mess from their sparring, as was her armor. He could look down the tunic beneath her mail with ease. 

  Numerous nights of his youth at the Officer's Academy had been spent engaging in hands-on musings about his dear professor's body. Back then, Dimitri had pragmatically chalked it up to a combination of his overblown strength and pubescent hysteria. 

  He currently had no such explanation for why he was so fixated on the press of his former professor's unfettered bosom against his breastplate. 

  " ...Highness? Your Highness? Are you alright?" She was speaking to him.

  She was speaking to him . Dimitri jerked his face up, certain he was bright red. Byleth's expression bordered on concerned, the training sword discarded off to the side as she hovered over him. 

  "Did you hit your head? I know all my weight landed on you." She continued worriedly.

  "Ah, yes. Just a little rattled. Apologies." Dimitri tried to play it off, mustering up a weak chuckle. She sat back on his hips, seeming satisfied with his response. Dimitri's breath hitched in his throat at the subsequent pressure on his codpiece.

  "I didn't think I'd knock you over!" Byleth cheered, raising her arms over her head in victory. 

  Dimitri closed his eye, his fingers scrabbling pitifully in the sand until they closed upon the haft of his sparring lance. He swung the lance as if he was going to break every rib she had, but at the last moment he ground to a halt. The shaft of the lance tapped her ribs and Dimitri seized a handful of her chainmail, dragging her down. "Checkmate, Professor." He breathed, flipping his lance so the padded blade was poised to punch into the base of her spine. 

  Byleth squeaked, wriggling against his body and managing free up one of her arms. "Not so fast!" She exclaimed, her eyes still alight with mirth. "I've got my magic, after all." Her open hand glowed with power directly beside his remaining eye.

  "True enough." Dimitri allowed. "You are indeed versatile, Professor." Having her this close was intolerable , yet he kept his black gauntlet tightly fisted in her loose mail shirt.

  "I celebrated my victory too early. I'll do better next time." She promised. 

  "See that you do. We cannot lose you." Dimitri replied curtly. "On my end, of course, I'll have to be more wary of mercenary footwork."

  "Yes, my fancy footwork has been the downfall of many foes!" Byleth said proudly, "You could say it... brings them to their knees ."

  Dimitri couldn't help the bark of exasperated laughter he let out, which set off her own giggles. "Goddess, that's an awful one. You need to stop spending time with Alois." 

  "What?! His puns are great, I won't hear anything else on the matter." The professor scolded, still snickering as she got to her feet and dusted off her hosiery. She extended a hand and Dimitri accepted without thought, allowing himself to be hauled upright. "Oh, I'm sorry. We got your armor all sandy."

  "It's quite alright. It was due for a cleaning anyways." Dimitri assured her, brushing some of the grime off his cuisses. "Perhaps it is concerning for me to think this way, but I no longer fear an attack from every side. Thus, I can remove and clean my armor relatively peacefully." Thanks to you . She smiled up at him and Dimitri caught himself just as he began leaning in. He flinched, breaking eye contact and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Er, be certain to rest your shoulder. We may have undone some of your healing." 

  The prince left with a haste that was probably unbecoming of a gentleman, his long legs taking the steps to the second floor dormitory two at a time. He somehow, somehow managed to reach his room without incident or interruption, a rarity in and of itself. Normally he couldn't so much as attempt to move from point A to point B before Gilbert or Dedue descended upon him.

  Dimitri locked his door behind him, leaning back against it and covering his face with his hands. His body felt like it was on fire; nerve endings alight with sensations he had long believed were dead.

  He ached and it certainly wasn't from exertion. The pit of his stomach tangled in knots when he thought of their sparring, of Byleth sweaty and smiling down at him like he was the best thing she had ever seen. 

  Goddess , he was such a sinner. It made him want to put his hands on her. All over her. Repeatedly. Unclothed .

  Dimitri bit down on his index knuckle, teeth meeting armor with a dull click . It had been over five years since he had even deigned to think of such things. He was trembling, he realized dimly. His hands were clumsy and suddenly unfamiliar with the buckles and pins on his armor, as though it was the first time he had attempted to undo them. 

  This frantic sensation in his blood, while half-forgotten, was not new. Rather, it recalled to clarity memories of lying sleepless in this very room, working himself into a proverbial lather. The tension he suffered from in his younger years was unbearable at times, and he had sought any way to relieve it if his grueling training failed to exhaust him. 

  Now here he was, a fully-grown man floundering to tear himself out of his armor that he might surrender to his libidinous urges once again. Dimitri couldn't even muster up the will to feel shame at what he was about to do. All he could think about was her healing him, smiling at him, nearly dying for him , her shouting his name and pursuing him when he stormed out...

  Dimitri worked the laces on his placket loose and sloppily licked his palm. Goddess , he was a sinner and a fool.

  …

  "Wait. Do you hear that?" Byleth asked just before they reached the main hall. Her hand left his own and Dimitri mourned the loss before he could stop himself.

  He paused, his brow furrowed. "Hear what? Everyone in the hall?" 

  "No no, not that. I hear...something else." She turned and ducked into the stairwell, beckoning hurriedly for Dimitri to follow her. "Listen."

  Dimitri obliged gamely, cocking his head and straining to ignore the dull roar from the ballgoers. After a moment, he did hear something. "Is that...singing?" He whispered. Byleth nodded, already halfway to the second floor. 

  Dimitri followed behind, feeling...odd. The song was haunting in its melody, familiar and yet not. He knew that his mother had died of the plague too soon after he was born for him to have any true memory of her, but the lonely sound echoing in the stairwell made him wonder if there was something important he was forgetting. Something precious, lost to time itself. Maybe he wasn't even the one who had forgotten it, but he still longed to recall what it was. 

  When they reached the last landing before the third floor, Byleth motioned for him to stay put while she went on ahead. Dimitri watched her go, highly entertained by the way she slunk up the stairs on all fours as though she were a cat.

  She moved out of sight and the prince waited anxiously, all the while hearing that song lilt through the air. 

  When Professor Byleth returned mere moments later, she sat on the bottom step at the landing and patted it, as if encouraging Dimitri to take a seat. "I'd like to listen a little while longer. Care to join me?" 

  The prince hiked up his parade breeches and sat one step above her own, gesturing to his lengthy legs when she raised an eyebrow. "Who is singing, Professor?" He queried.

  "It's Lady Rhea." Byleth murmured. She looked strangely dreamy, shifting over to lean against his leg. "She's on the Star Terrace."

  Dimitri hummed in acknowledgment, not minding in the slightest that he was being reduced to a piece of furniture. Best that he steal every carefree moment he could.

  He could not distinguish any words in the song if they existed. Rhea's voice was exquisite; It was as if she sung to the Goddess herself. Dimitri started nodding off despite his best efforts, body and mind soothed by the gentle melody. 

  The notion struck him that this was as close to truly pious as he had ever felt in all his years. Dimitri was not a man of prayerful reflection. Despite all of Ferdinand's enthusiasm about nobility leading the masses in worship of the Goddess, she always seemed so far away when Dimitri bowed his head. 

  But here of all places, sprawled out on well-worn carpeted steps with his dear professor slouched against his shin, Rhea's song drifting ethereally through the air...Dimitri caught himself fancying that the Goddess was close enough to reach out and touch.

  Byleth finally yawned widely, rubbing her eyes. "Suddenly I am exhausted. We really must retire." She mumbled. 

  "I agree. You have had quite a night of it." Dimitri got to his feet and stretched languidly, then offered her his hand. "May I walk you to your quarters, Professor?"

  ...

  Edelgard lay crumpled before them, the purple miasma of foul magics dissipating from her form. Dimitri hesitated, Areadbhar hanging loosely from his hand. "El." He rasped, voice destroyed from their pitched battle. 

  She looked up, her eyes meeting his own. There was no fear in those eyes even as the prince slowly advanced, only calm indifference. 

  He held out his hand. "El, please . It's not too late." He implored, "I would see that strong future you wish for, joined with my own to make all of Fódlan a better place." Edelgard smiled tiredly up at him, one of her hands sliding behind her back while the other stretched to reach him.

  Dimitri was too close to avoid the dagger she threw. He could barely find the strength to lift Areadbhar as it was, gracelessly shoving the point of his lance into her gut as her dagger penetrated his chest. There was a moment where the two of them simply stared at each other.

  Then, the Emperor slumped forward. It would seem that the dagger Dimitri had gifted her so long ago had failed to cut her a path in the end. The King grunted in pain as he took hold of the hilt, jerking the blade free and letting it fall where it may.

  The knife hit the ground with a hollow clang! , the sound reverberating sharply in the stillness. Dimitri heard motion behind him and he struggled to free Areadbhar before he was attacked again. 

  A familiar head of pastel green hair was ducking beneath his arm before he could finish the motion. The young man sagged into her, releasing his family Relic. "My King." Byleth said softly, reverently, a hand pressed to his breastplate to steady him. 

  Dimitri groaned, inhaling deeply and staring upwards in a vain attempt to fend off his tears. Edelgard was dead. After years upon years of torment, after piling up corpses and falling prey to his darkest desires, he had still emerged victorious. 

  He placed a shower of kisses upon the crown of Byleth's head, half-delirious with a combination of sorrow and joy. "We've done it. Byleth, we've done it." He breathed. Tears began to dampen her hair. "By the grace of the Goddess, we have done it."

  Byleth just held him silently, letting him sob. Everyone he had lost, all the souls that haunted him; Dimitri finally released the burden of responsibility and grieved for them properly. He mourned his stepmother, Glenn, his father, every life lost in the tragedy of Duscur. Even Edelgard found her way into his sorrow. 

  He mourned them, and then he let them go. 

  Dimitri crouched stiffly beside Edelgard's body and reached out, closing her eyes. "Be at peace, El." He whispered, his face damp with tears.

  Byleth's hand rested on his shoulder. She was clearly exhausted, the normal rush of warmth from her healing barely a flicker. Still, it was sufficient to patch the wound left from Edelgard's final attack. "Would you like to pray for her?" 

  Dimitri bowed his head. "I have not prayed in many years, Professor." He rasped. "Not since before the Tragedy. I...I have always been far from the Goddess, especially for a noble of such high breeding."

  "I'll guide you." He could hear the smile in her voice. "I'm no old hand, but I sat through enough of Seteth's lectures to know the gist. We can do it together."

  Dimitri covered her hand on his shoulder, nodding mutely. 

  Together .

  …

  Between his official coronation, Byleth's acceptance of the archbishop position, and the preparations to begin rebuilding the new Fódlan, Dimitri went months without seeing his dear professor or classmates. Many letters were exchanged, formal and informal alike finding their way to his desk.

  Dimitri was particularly amused to find out that Seteth had proposed to Ingrid mid-battle, the wyvern knight apparently shouting a declaration of eternal love and faithfulness while lance-deep in a foe. 

  Flayn had seen the whole thing, her recounting a little more embellished than Seteth's dry report. If Dimitri was to believe her claims, lily petals had cascaded from the Goddess herself to swirl around the two lovers on the battlefield. The wild tale made him smile, even while he felt a pang of jealousy. That Seteth and Ingrid could find time for love even in the chaos of war…

  Byleth was slated to attend a planning forum held at the castle later that month. The former Alliance leaders had all agreed to meet in the Fhirdiad palace and go over the terms of the amicable Alliance annexation. Dimitri was looking forward to it, even though he loathed gatherings like this. Too much nattering on, trying to soothe ruffled feathers while outside his kingdom was barely held together with a wish and a prayer. He understood the importance , of course. His training had never been lax in any area. He knew exactly why he needed to do this. 

  If he was being honest with himself, he had called for this meeting with selfish reasons in mind. As the head of the Church of Seiros, Byleth was duty-bound be present at certain events to ensure stability and fairness. Dimitri knew that there was no other way to inconspicuously tear her from her current mountain of responsibilities as archbishop. He felt guilty, but at the same time he knew he couldn't say what he needed to say if he was confined to a letter, if only because it could be intercepted or stolen far too easily. Dimitri needed to see her. He needed to have those warm, calloused hands in his own when he finally …

  Well, he was getting ahead of things again.

  The ring sat in its tiny little box inside his boudoir for months. Dimitri had happened across it while going through all the things Cornelia had pilfered from his father's belongings. The prince-turned-king had no real eye for baubles or quality, but he felt as though he was familiar with the piece and had called upon Rodrigue to verify the legitimacy of his faded memory. Instead of being a visit solely dedicated to horseback rides, appraisal and drinking tea, Lord Fraldarius had surprised him by getting misty-eyed. 

  "I wish your father could see this. See you , Dimitri." Rodrigue had held the ring delicately between two white-gloved fingers, letting it catch the light just so. "For all the darkness of your past, your future is remarkably bright." He had smiled fondly up at Dimitri, his eyes clouded with memories. "It was your birth mother's, given to her by your father. An heirloom of the royal family. I'm certain your professor will love it."

  …

  The tables were ridiculously long when they were all lined up in a row as one massive buffet in the ballroom. Tradition dictated the placement, demanding that the king be at the high end of the table and removed from his guests. Dimitri stroked his chin, then sighed and moved one of the servants aside. "We are not doing this." He said firmly, hoisting the last table overhead and heading towards the dais.

  "Your Majesty please! " The servant floundered after him, helpless to halt the king's forward motion. 

  Dimitri moved the tables up and closer together, ending with something a bit more square versus the long rectangle they had been. "We will need different tablecloths…" he mused, staring at the polished wood. An idea struck him and he quickly turned to the servant who had been hovering nearby. "Go to the seamstress who is on the corner by the apothecary. Tell her we need-" The king paused, using his arms to measure the table length. "-three yards times...er, twelve tables." Due to his lone eye, his depth perception had taken a bit of a nosedive. Counting stationary objects was always an interesting process. "All different colors, hemmed. I have no preference for material. I understand that we are recovering. Reward her handsomely for the expediency of her work." 

  Once the servant had departed, Dimitri set to loosely arranging the chairs with the assistance of two other maids. He knew it was unbecoming for the king to be performing such mundane tasks, but he also did not care one jot about the opinions of others.

  Preparations were in full swing. Dedue was slated to arrive tomorrow with the freshly-titled Archbishop Byleth, as were the former leaders of the Alliance. Numerous of his old classmates were amongst the ranks; the new Dukes of Gloucester and Aegir in particular were bound to be wildly entertaining. Dimitri made a mental note to seat them beside each other.

  He had sent Dedue to escort Byleth for a reason. Though their primary enemy was gone, Fódlan was far from sorted. Dimitri knew that the man from Duscur would fight tooth and nail to secure their former professor's safety, should the need arise. Whether brigands, bandits or fiendish mages, he put all his faith in his loyal vassal. It was all he could do, really. It pained Dimitri immensely that he couldn't go to fetch her himself, but there was no justification for such casual endangerment of the last surviving member of House Blaiddyd. 

  He feared he might slide into depression again if he wasn't allowed to wander for much longer. Though his self-imposed isolation had been grim and agonizing to survive, he found himself longing for the freedom he had felt while he haunted the highways. Now it was always, " your Majesty we must go with you ," or " you cannot cavort about the countryside unsupervised ." A truly terrible fate. 

  Rodrigue had only been able to visit him that one time in the span since they had defeated Edelgard, but the dark-haired man had taken the new king out for a lengthy, grueling horseback ride. The Lord Fraldarius always seemed to understand Dimitri, with or without words. 

  …

  "We had to fix the sections of wall destroyed during the riots, but with the help of House Riegan's masons it was done in no time." Dedue continued pointing out the repairs that had been made, Byleth following along gleefully. It had been weeks since she was able to leave the monastery for this long. She almost felt guilty about leaving all the paperwork behind.

  Almost.

  When she had asked to enter the city on foot sans her entourage, Dedue complied without question. The two of them meandered in relative anonymity, Dedue giving her a tour of sorts as they went. 

  A manservant wearing the King's livery caught Byleth's attention and she watched curiously as he struggled to carry an armful of what appeared to be different types of cloth. "Dedue, that man…" Byleth trailed off, leaving Dedue's side and rushing forward to catch the cloth that slipped from the servant's grasp.

  "Oh! Thank you miss, I was certain I would sully them." The man said, throwing her a grateful grin over the top of the bolts still in his arms. 

  "It was no trouble, can I help carry some of these for you? I'm on my way to the palace myself as it is."

  "Ah, you must be one of the new scullery maids!" The man exclaimed, seeming relieved that she wanted to help. Byleth barely kept from laughing aloud, thanking the Goddess that her traveling attire was far less ornate than anyone would expect from an archbishop. "I know his Majesty put out a call for more positions, what with the big meet involving the Alliance folks and all." 

  "I imagine it's been quite the storm of preparations." Byleth allowed, carefully transferring half the cloth bolts to her own arms.

  "Your imagination serves you well. And his Majesty, bless him, is not a hands-off man. He's ordered for new tablecloths, the tables are to be arranged differently...it's strange, and I know people will talk, but I am glad he's taking steps to improve relations with the high and mighty." The servant lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Why, I've even heard that the new Archbishop herself will be in attendance to oversee the rulings! Can you believe it?" 

  "We live in exciting times." Byleth agreed.

  Dedue appeared out of the marketplace crowds beside her, looking a little annoyed. "Your Grace, please do not wander off." He chastised. "His Majesty would not forgive me if something were to happen to you, especially on his own doorstep."

  "I understand. I apologize, I assumed you saw me when I ran ahead."

  The servant beside her started at Dedue's voice, struggling to bow even with his arms full. "Knight-Captain Dedue! You've returned!" Dedue simply nodded as the rest of what he had said seemed to catch up with the other man. "Wait, did you just call her your Grace ? But I thought that..." He trailed off, going pale. "Oh Goddess, are you-?! "

  Byleth put a finger to her lips and gave the man a wink.

  …

  Dimitri couldn't stop pacing . Back and forth, back and forth, he worried he would wear a track in the ballroom marble. Byleth's entourage had arrived hours ago with the news that the Archbishop and Dedue had gone for a bit of a jaunt around Fhirdiad. 

  Which was entirely acceptable, of course. Absolutely. No doubt she wished to see how the people fared, how the rebuilding was coming. 

  Dimitri sighed heavily. At this rate, the servant would be back with the new tablecloths by the time she-

  The door at the opposite end of the ballroom was pushed open and Dedue strode in, moving to hold the door for the two people following him. One of them was the manservant who had been sent to get the tablecloths he had commissioned the day before, and the other…

  Dimitri realized abruptly that he was not prepared for this. 

  When folk spoke of absence making the heart grow fonder, he had thought they were simply waxing poetic. But seeing her again made him want to do something ridiculous .

  Like sprinting clear across the ballroom in a highly undignified manner ( Dedue hurried to take the bolts of cloth she was holding ), watching her face light up in excitement as he went. 

  Like picking her up and spinning her around, a deep laugh finding its way out of him at the sound of her own peals of mirth. 

  Like hugging her tightly after the fact, hearing her murmur in his ear that she had missed him. 

  Dimitri rested his forehead against hers and held her for longer than was appropriate, especially if all he was doing was greeting a dear friend. But she made no move to leave his embrace, a fact that stirred hope within him. 

  Dedue finally cleared his throat with an awkward grunt. "Your Majesty?"

  "Thank you for getting her here safely, Dedue." Dimitri said sincerely.

  "Of course, your Majesty."

  "We brought your tablecloths!" Byleth added brightly. "Where would you like them?" She was wearing the Blue Lion brooch again, the one that Dimitri and his classmates had gifted to her all those years ago. The sight filled him with a strange pride.

  "Ah! Yes, of course. We have the tables already prepared, we're making it a bit more personable this time." Dimitri explained, gladly accepting the fabric. "I'd like the blue for my own table, naturally!"

  …

  The meetings began midmorning the following day and lasted into the noon of the day after. Much was said. Grievances were aired among the lords, hatchets buried and a multitude of trade agreements mingled with fealty declarations exchanged hands and signatures. It all went relatively smoothly, thanks to Byleth's level-headed presence and Dimitri's own willingness to compromise for the sake of a better future. 

  It certainly helped that before Claude had departed on his grand quest, he had entrusted Failnaught to the church. No doubt that was why he had done it in the first place. Claude was not a man to cast resources away on a whim, and Failnaught was the sacred Hero's Relic of his house. A powerful display if nothing else, and a symbol of his faith in the new Archbishop. He must have known the other lords would fall in line, with or without him there to browbeat them.

  The Archbishop sighed heavily once the last carriage had departed down the long drive and out the gates. "I'd say job well done. My father would say that a drink is in order."

  Dimitri chuckled. "It is not even three o'clock, your Grace." 

  She waved him off, "psh, don't call me that. No one is here now."

  "But you insist on calling me Majesty, do you not?"

  "That's a little different-" Byleth began to protest, laughing when he caught her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I mean, you're the King!"

  "Truly? What other wonders have I missed out on?" Dimitri teased. "Next you'll say that I've solidified fractured lands and the people have dubbed me a savior king."

  "Not alone! " Byleth protested, still laughing. "I saw you almost go after Ferdinand. Let the poor boy talk about tea in peace."

  "Between he and Lorenz chattering about new leaves in their trade contracts, I was lucky to get a word in edgewise!" Dimitri groaned. "I don't understand how they keep it all straight. If I have tea that isn't that apple blend, it tastes like nothing but hot water and grass clippings. I suppose my palate isn't nearly as refined as theirs." He shrugged, his smile a little more rueful now.

  Byleth studied his features in the waning light of afternoon, concluding that his hair being pulled back from his face suited him quite well. He looked away when she complimented him, but he seemed very pleased. 

  "Do you really think so? Felix told me I either needed to take it all off, or tie it back. He feared for my ability to see. He did not say that, of course. You know Felix." Dimitri tugged at a shaggy section of blond hair that dangled over his eyepatch. "I'm afraid I am not the best barber. Sharp things close to my face alarm me more than they should." He said with an embarrassed shrug.

  Byleth nodded in understanding, taking his hand once more and twining their fingers together. Deep down, she knew this was improper behavior, but when it came to Dimitri her propriety seemed to retreat.

  Dimitri inhaled sharply, and then his other hand covered her own. "Your Grace," he began, but quickly corrected himself, "I'm sorry, Byleth . I have...there is something I...er. I would like to ask you something, if I may." He stammered. 

  "Of course, your Majesty." Byleth replied quietly. 

  "I...have you ever considered...that is to say, would you ever consider a...um, a-an alliance between the church and the Kingdom of Faerghus?" Dimitri asked all in a rush, his hands trembling around her own.

  Byleth's brow furrowed, the young woman puzzled by his strange behavior. "You already know that you have the full backing of the Church of Seiros, Dimitri."

  Dimitri looked positively frazzled when she used his name instead of his honorifics. "No, not...like that." He muttered awkwardly. "I-I meant...well, I meant…" The blond closed his eye, swearing under his breath as he released Byleth's hand and started groping in the side pocket of his mantle. "I had everything planned, but isn't that how it always is. Blast, where did I put the damn thing?!" He shook his cape aggressively and a small, unassuming box bounced off his sabaton, hitting the floor with a quiet thunk . 

  The king hastily scooped up the box, brushed it off, and then took her hand once more. Byleth's heart leaped into her throat. 

  "I would love to claim that I am doing this for Faerghus or Fódlan and not myself. I would love to be able to say that I only think of my country and what could better it, but that is not the case." Dimitri's tone was incredibly serious. "I am a wretched man, selfish and stubborn and so, so very greedy. And yet to me, you have always been the one who guided me so kindly. My ally through all. My beloved…" he paused thoughtfully, a wistful smile making its way to his face. "Yes. My beloved."

  Having settled on a term, Dimitri pressed the box into her hands. Byleth fumbled with the lid for several tense seconds as he stood there silently. When she finally managed to get it open, Byleth's eyes widened. Nestled in blue velvet that was faded with age, shining in the light of the afternoon sun, was an absolutely stunning ring. 

  She was rendered speechless, just staring down at the open box.

  "Please, I beg of you, say something." Dimitri implored hoarsely. "If you do not wish to accept it, please just tell me. If so, I will face the truth and walk away." He sounded defeated even as he said it, like he assumed she was about to turn him down.

  "No no! That's not it at all, I swear!" Byleth exclaimed frantically, her fingers burrowing into her waistcoat pocket. She pulled out the ring that her father had given her mother and motioned for Dimitri's hand, carefully placing the far less opulent item in his gloved palm. 

  Dimitri went stock-still. Byleth could feel her cheeks flushing even as she smiled at him.

  ...

  "What is this?"

  He felt like a fool even as he asked, of course he knew what it was. It was a well-worn, delicate band of silver. A ring. She was giving him a ring.

  She was giving him a ring .

  His eye flew up to meet her own, and he saw how brightly she was smiling at him. "I love you, Dimitri. Will you marry me?" She asked softly. "And I'm not asking simply to display a unified front from the church and the kingdom, I promise. I am asking because you are the person that I love."

  "I am the...you love me?" Dimitri did not mean to sound quite so incredulous. He was having a difficult time mastering himself; all he wanted to do was shout his joy from the palace rooftops! She loved him. She loved him . She asked him to marry her! "I...yes, yes of course! I accept! Gladly!" He continued, certain he was grinning like a fool. "Let us exchange them, shall we?" 

  "Absolutely! Here, give me mine back for a moment, and then you take yours out of the box-"

  After several seconds of laughter and floundering, the Archbishop and the King managed to properly wear each other's rings. Byleth's ring looked almost ridiculously fragile on Dimitri's hand, the small flower set with pink and purple gems appearing as though it was made of gossamer. 

  Dimitri cared not, holding her hands once again. They were warm, calloused, just as he remembered them from the very first time she had offered him her hand all those years ago. "These strong hands that have saved me countless times…" Dimitri mused, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. "Thank you, my beloved. For rescuing me, pulling me back from the brink with your kind, warm hands. May they cling to my own forevermore." He said fervently.

  Her blush went to the roots of her hair. It was immensely becoming on her. "Always." She promised. Her face fell suddenly. "Oh."

  "What is it, my love?" Dimitri asked worriedly.

  "I...Dimitri, I must return to Garreg Mach tomorrow ." She answered, sounding entirely despondent. Dimitri himself felt a rush of sorrow at her words, knowing them to be true and loathing that they were.

  "I know that I cannot keep you from your duties any longer, but…" he trailed off, raking a hand through his hair. "My heart aches at the thought of being apart from you for even a moment, Byleth."

  "As does mine." She replied sadly. An odd look crossed her face and she sucked in a quick breath. "Dimitri, would you want to...erm, spend the night together?"

  The King's mouth went dry. 

  "I-I mean, I understand that you're the ruler of Fódlan and I'm the Archbishop and nothing about our situation is very... normal . But many a couple, er, anticipates their wedding night." Byleth rushed to add. Dimitri noted absently that her neck was as red as her face. "I would know you intimately, if I may be so bold."

  "I do not wish to tarnish you." Dimitri admitted softly. And there it was, laid bare. His largest fear that their engagement might throw her own virtue or morals into question, due to his previous, utterly reprehensible conduct. "If we do something like that before we are publicly wed…"

  "We will have to at some point and people will create rumors regardless of what we do." Byleth pointed out practically. "I am not some clean linen for you to ruin, Dimitri. I am just as battle-worn as yourself."

  "True. In many ways, you are much more of a warrior than I ever could be." Dimitri hesitated, then bowed and murmured, "Will you join me in my chambers this evening, your Grace?"

  …

  He needed to speak with Sylvain. Immediately . 

  Dimitri found his old classmate in the barracks, the redhead enthusiastically trading bawdy stories with his troops as usual. 

  "Captain Gautier! A moment?" Dimitri called, waving off the hasty bows of the men that saw him. 

  "Your Majesty! Just in time, I was about to-"

  Dimitri grabbed Sylvain's arm and started hauling him out of the room. " Now , Sylvain." 

  "Alright, alright! You'll dent my armor if you keep that up!" Sylvain teased as he staggered along. "So aggressive . What's this all about, your Kingliness?"

  Dimitri wordlessly held up his free hand as he ushered Sylvain down the hall. 

  The moment it dawned on Sylvain was obvious. He yanked Dimitri's hand closer, examining the ring the king wore. "I knew it . Ha! Felix, prepare to pay up!" The redhead announced gleefully. 

  "What?! You two knew about this? Who else knows?" Dimitri demanded, thoroughly embarrassed.

  Sylvain waved him off airily. "No one knew , Dimitri. We all just kinda' assumed. I bet that the pro...er, Archbishop would ask first."

  "I hate to be the bearer of bad news-"

  "Whatever, it doesn't matter, congratulations are in order!" Sylvain interrupted, enthusiastically shaking Dimitri's hand. "You're a wanted man now, your Majesty!"

  "Hey wait, who bet on me then?!"

  "Uh, I think just Felix, honestly." Sylvain admitted. "Something about you being 'absolutely pitiful'?"

  "How comforting ." Dimitri growled. "Listen Sylvain, I don't have a lot of time. Evening is drawing near." He clenched his fist over his heart in a rigid salute. "Please teach me everything you know about pleasing a woman."

  "I...oh Goddess, okay. I was not expecting that. I uh. I need a second." Sylvain squeaked, "You want me to do what? "

  "I need you to-"

  "Wait, no, nevermind. I did hear you right. You... really? Already? Oh , she's leaving tomorrow. Yeah no, I get it now." Sylvain cracked his knuckles methodically, his handsome grin bordering on evil. "We are going to go raid the kitchen for some nice, juicy peaches to consume and then I am going to tutor you in the time-honored tradition of eating someone out."

  "What in blazes does eating a peach have to do with...with what I need to know by this evening?" Dimitri questioned the other man, concerned now.

  "Oh don't worry. You'll find out. All I ask in return is that you tell Mercedes something nice about me. And maybe name one of your royal brats after me. After all, I'm instrumental in their creation-!"

  Sylvain barely dodged Dimitri's gauntlet in time.

  …

  "I don't know what I'm doing." Byleth whispered.

  "That, makes two of us." Dimitri pressed their foreheads together, his attention wholly focused on her lips and the way she was biting them. "May I?"

  "May you…?" 

  "May I kiss you?" Dimitri wasn't sure why he was whispering as well. It wasn't as if they had an audience. "I know that is how one normally starts such endeavors, if Sylvain is to be believed."

  Byleth looked shy of all things, nodding jerkily and then closing her eyes. Dimitri exhaled, feeling a bit lightheaded.

  His mouth met hers for the first time and the King found his hands fumbling to grip her shoulders. Her own hands sought purchase on his armored torso and came back wanting, settling for fisting in the luxurious fur ruff of his mantle. They clung to each other almost frantically, Byleth returning his kiss with more and more excitement. Her mouth was hot on his own, their inexperience doing nothing to dampen the intensity of the moment. 

  "I need to get this damn plate off. Help me?" Dimitri muttered against her lips, chuckling when she rapidly started to fidget with the pins at his sides. "So eager!"

  "I want to see you." Byleth replied bluntly, making Dimitri's face flush. "Get it over with. If we're both naked, what else could we be nervous about?" She reasoned.

  Dimitri felt like all the air left his chest at the idea of seeing her wholly naked. "An excellent point." He managed to say, undoing his mantle and draping it over one of the less than comfortable armchairs. Gloves came next, then the process of trying to maneuver his pauldrons accordingly. 

  Byleth, it seemed, had no patience for proper armor removal. She slid the pins in his sides and nearly took Dimitri's nose off before remembering that the gorget needed to be undone prior to the breastplate's own bonds. Dimitri couldn't help his laughter, cupping her face with his newly-bared hands and kissing her once more. "Be still, my beloved. I am not going anywhere."

  They managed to remove the rest of his armor down to his cuisses without incident, and Dimitri settled onto the edge of his bed to wriggle out of his greaves and sabatons. 

  " Blast this armor." He growled to himself as a particularly stubborn latch refused to budge. 

  Byleth's hand landed in the middle of his chest and she gave him a push, leaving the King on his back. Dimitri blinked up at the ceiling, stunned when she climbed on top of him and pinned his wrists to the bed.

  "Your Majesty." Oh, he liked the sound of that. "May I?"

  "May you what?"

  "May I kiss you?"

  " Goddess , you need never ask again." 

  Dimitri could have easily dominated the situation, inexperienced though he was. But he found himself staying there, his wrists flexing in her grip. She wasn't going to hurt him. This was no Fhirdiad jail cell, no sharp shackles and miles upon miles of chain to try and manage his rages. 

  His arms began to tremble from how tightly he was reining himself in. "Byleth," he murmured between their kisses. "Please-"

  "Please?" 

  "Beloved, please ." Dimitri sat up, shifting her into his lap. He buried his face in her neck, pressing kisses to the skin he found as his fingers fought with the buttons of her waistcoat. "Please." 

  She responded by starting to undo the tiny fasteners that ran the length of his padded undertunic. Dimitri had to take his hands off of her to shuck the offending garment, pausing when Byleth slid her index over the scar from Edelgard's dagger. "Does it pain you?" She asked, her eyes betraying her concern.

  "No. All that is left is some numbness in my hand." Dimitri assured her. "I was very fortunate that her aim was off. Had she hit my heart, I doubt I would be enjoying this time with you." Byleth touched her lips to the scar and Dimitri couldn't help his shiver. 

  The rest of their armor and clothing was slowly peeled away, revealing the two to each other in their full glory. Dimitri cursed his pale complexion, the King unable to hide how flustered he was simply due to the flush on his face and chest. 

  Byleth had never looked more like a divine being than in that moment, Dimitri decided. "You are perfect." The blond man sighed, "I almost fear to touch you. If this is nothing but a dream…"

  Byleth's hand rested on his stomach. "Do you not wish to touch me?"

  " Goddess , I have longed to touch you like this for so long." Dimitri said sheepishly. "Longer than I should admit." His hand laced with her own, brushing their joined thumbs over one of her breasts. "As you can see, I've done quite a bit of thinking on the subject." He breathed.

  Her fingers traipsed experimentally over the head of his cock and Dimitri exhaled sharply. "What does it feel like?" She asked curiously. 

  "It's...I am not certain on how to describe it." Dimitri wasn't expecting to be the teacher this evening. "A strange, primal heat. It tingles and aches." 

  She straddled his hips, her entire focus on his engorged arousal. Dimitri had never been the subject of such study and he found it incredibly difficult to hold still while she ran her fingers over his body. "This is supposed to fit inside me?" 

  Dimitri couldn't hold back his groan. " Yes . Eventually. Hopefully."

  Byleth raised herself up on her knees, a hand questing between her legs. Dimitri wanted to scream, settling for shakily following her fingers. She was hot , the slick he had heard of from Sylvain's lascivious recountings coating her most delicate area. She undulated over him, whimpering when Dimitri stroked her gently. 

  "Those sounds, never stop making them." He demanded, falling in love all over again at the blissful expression on her face. "Sylvain taught me a few things today. I believe I will not disappoint."

  She giggled, "I don't know whether to be concerned or-" 

  Dimitri didn't give her the time to finish voicing her misgivings, the King rolling them over and pressing her back to the mattress. "It is wonderful to have you beneath me without a battle raging around us." He murmured, his mouth making a path down her stomach and hips. His fingers trailed across her collarbone, then stopped at the rough patch of scar tissue on her shoulder. "This wound…" He paused, raising his head. 

  She put her hand over his own, the pressure light but steady. "I would do it again in a heartbeat." Byleth assured him.

  " Please , do not." Dimitri implored desperately. "I cannot lose you again." Her knees framed his head as he sank lower still, "I will not lose you, my beloved." Her body quivered. "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you." He soothed, vaguely uncertain of whether he could actually promise such a thing. Byleth was as untried as he was, and he was so damnably strong... "If I cause you discomfort, tell me."

  With that, Dimitri's shaking hands urged her legs even further apart. Sylvain had mentioned that he might feel odd upon seeing a woman for the first time, really seeing a woman. But all Dimitri felt was a hunger that tormented his body. He longed to sweep her off the bed and devour her, settling for tender, nibbling kisses instead.

  She whimpered and her hands were suddenly in his hair, caressing the back of his head fitfully. "Oh, please- " 

  Her taste flooded his tongue in a heady rush, spurring him on to messily conquer her with his mouth. Dimitri knew he had no real technique , a single afternoon of licking and slurping produce with Sylvain would not be enough to grant him mastery. But Byleth did not appear to be overly troubled by his lack of experience, her fingers knitting against his scalp helplessly. 

  She was so wet he could feel it dripping down his chin, the knowledge that he did that making him ache anew. If he could arouse her so dramatically, perhaps he could satisfy her. Her hips pitched abruptly and Dimitri hungrily pressed his face to her, giving in to his desire to devour her entirely. She was delicious . After years of not being able to taste anything, her arousal was like a healing downpour on the wasteland of his senses.

  Byleth cried out his name and Dimitri flinched, startled. Her legs were shaking, her nails digging into the back of his neck hard enough to break the skin. "Alright?" He managed to ask, actually feeling her pulse underneath his tongue when he lapped slowly at her sensitive skin.

  "Oh Goddess , Dimitri…" Byleth gasped, her eyes wide. 

  "Didn't hurt you, right?"

  "No, no." She waved off his concern, her breaths ragged. 

  Dimitri rested his cheek on her stomach, still worried that he had caused some harm. "Are you certain?"

  " Dimitri ." Byleth huffed, cupping his face. "It did not hurt. I am not in pain. I have never experienced...not with another person, that is."

  "Ah, so you…" Dimitri trailed off, feeling unnecessarily smug. "You honor me, Byleth."

  She groaned, obviously exasperated with his teasing. "I have done my own research, you know." She informed him, rolling her hips up to press against his cock. Dimitri choked, looking down to watch her move.

  "That is...you are very talented." He remarked faintly. "Incredible." 

  "May we attempt?" Byleth's shy request rang in his ears and Dimitri hid his face in her neck, his hips rocking down into the cradle of her thighs. 

  "As much as you can endure, my beloved." He had never thought that he would experience this with someone, much less with the woman that he loved. Dimitri was overwhelmed with emotion, his self-control fraying. "I would prefer that you are on top of me if we are to...attempt."

  "On top? Is that not a bit strange?"

  "If I have you beneath me, I am unsure that I will be able to refrain from bruising you. And if I am too much for you, I would rather that you were able to easily withdraw." Dimitri explained delicately. "I will do my best, of course, but I am unsure of how well I will... manage myself once we are...erm, intertwined." 

  Byleth muffled her laughter with her arm. "You just had your mouth in a place that no one else has ever seen on me, how can you still be so bashful?"

  "I am not -" Dimitri began to sputter, finding himself licking his lips absently to catch her taste again. "I am just...I am simply warning you!"

  "I'm not afraid of you, Dimitri."

  Dimitri shook his head. "I know. I just don't want your bravery to be the reason I damage you. You know how accursedly strong I am."

  "We are simply coupling with each other, not clashing on the battlefield. You will not hurt me. You cannot damage me." Byleth assured him, her eyes beautiful in the dim glow of the candlelight. "You would never do anything to cause me unwarranted harm."

  " Goddess ." Dimitri rasped, the word half-prayer, half-curse. "Permit me, then."

  "You are permitted." 

  "Tell me if I hurt you."

  In reply, Byleth reached down between their bodies and gently wrapped her fingers around his manhood. "I love you." This was a claim, as sure as the sunrise. Dimitri's shoulders snapped taut, his whole form yearning for their joining. 

  "My beloved," he gasped, feeling her graze the head of his cock over her slit. " Please , Byleth." Her fingers guided him safely in and Dimitri finally breached her with a moan. He could not stop the savage snarl that built in his chest upon feeling her wet heat close around his shaft, and he fought to hold himself still. "Are you alright?" He asked raggedly, stroking her cheek.

  Byleth nodded, her expression dazed. 

  "My beloved, are you certain?" Dimitri was unsure what to make of her face, even as his instincts screamed for him to plunge himself deeper, deeper- -His fingers gripped the luxurious sheets beneath them. "Byleth?"

  She crooned to him, closing her eyes and arching her back. Dimitri's breath caught in his throat when she moved, her body accepting more and more of what he had to offer her. 

  "Goddess," The King growled, " yes ." He could do this, he realized suddenly. He could make love to the woman who had his heart and not hurt her. She could enjoy him fearlessly. He shifted his weight over her and cupped her cheek, a tender caress. "Would you like more, my dear professor?" He asked her softly. 

  Byleth's hand covered his own on her cheek, as it had when she had returned to him in the cathedral. 

  "Teach me, my love."

  …

  She woke just as the sun was beginning to pink the horizon. Byleth's body ached sweetly from the night's exertion, making her moan as she stretched.

  Dimitri's heavy arm was slung over her hip, the King still deep in slumber. His fingers twitched fitfully. Byleth carefully rolled over so she could see him and was utterly mesmerized. When he slept, the raw edge of him seemed to smooth ever so slightly. Here, lit only by the soft hue of reluctant dawn, his blond hair fanned out on the pillow, he looked like a sleeping prince from a fairytale. 

  Aside from the numerous love bites that littered his neck and chest, of course. Those gave him a bit of a different look, somewhat less chaste and sterile. Byleth flushed as she realized her own breasts were peppered with similar marks. Neither of them had been particularly subtle in their affections, she supposed, still a little giddy about everything that had transpired.

  Dimitri groaned in his sleep, muttering something and then wrapping her in his arms once more. Her head slotted beneath his chin like it was made to be there and she smiled, closing her eyes. "I love you, Dimitri." She whispered, kissing the underside of his jaw.

  His mouth turned up at the edges and he snuggled her tighter, mumbling more nonsense words in her ear. The sunrise slowly illuminated the room, bathing the two drowsing lovers in a rosy glow. Soon enough, their work would intrude. But for just a moment longer, they ignored responsibilities and titles in favor of basking in the contentment of each other's embrace. 

  The Savior King and the Guardian Of Order .