#one of these days I sill stop being so horrendously busy

[star-bear-art]

happy holidays, queers. extras below

[littlev1234]

You, Me, Selfishly

Fandom: Fire Emblem Fates

Characters: Leo, Niles (not written as romantic, but you’re free to read it that way)

Warnings: brief talk of assisted suicide, plans for suicide, violence

Words: 2,201

AO3 Version: You, Me, Selfishly 

Note:  So uhhhh this is just self-indulgent AU angst I wrote during breaks at work. Because of that it's pretty messy, but I figured hey, might as well post it in case anyone else is in the mood for feels with King Leo and Niles.

~~~~~~~~~~

“…Niles.”

Niles straightened from where he’d been hunched over King Leo’s desk. All documents, some half-finished or marred with ink blots, lay on one side. Wood oil, Niles’ bow, and a worn quiver covered the rest.

Rising from his seat, he turned to the fever-glazed eyes watching him. A sheen of drying sweat coated Leo’s too pale skin, and his cheekbones stood out in sharp relief without any fat left to round his face. But his focus didn’t waver as Niles walked to his bedside; the other’s mind was having a rare break in the fog of illness.

“Drink some water, milord.” He helped the younger man slowly sit up before grabbing the untouched glass on the nightstand.

Leo’s mouth tilted downward in a grimace—he must be feeling nauseous again—but he allowed him to put the cup to his lips. After two minuscule sips he shakily waved it away.

“How close are the Hoshidans?”

“They’re traveling quickly. I hear they will reach the castle by tomorrow.”

Leo pinched the bridge of his nose, as if the action could alleviate what was surely a pounding headache. “…I see.”

“All of our available troops will defend the castle. I have a small force inside as well.” The remnants of the Nohrian army still loyal to the king were under-equipped and malnourished, but he didn’t have to mention that. The blond already knew the horrendous odds better than anyone. Niles had tried to rally anyone he could while the other was bedridden. He’d even scoured the underground for criminals he could bend to his will.

“I want to move you to one of the hidden rooms before I set the traps,” Niles added.

Leo nodded, yet his fingers weakly twisted in the blankets. The retainer couldn’t blame him. Leo was a king with a dying kingdom, a sick patient worsening by the day, and a boy who missed his family. His desperate grasp on his suffocated pride had to slip even further to agree to hiding.

“You must swear to me,” Leo suddenly said.

“Swear what?”

He attempted to take a deep breath, which ended in a wet cough instead. “…you will not let them capture me.”

“Of course—”

“I would rather die by your hand than face their wrath alone.” His gaze shifted away, and his strained voice further quieted. “Regardless of how much I deserve it.”

Eye wide, Niles opened his mouth to protest. His liege’s death could not be decided so easily. Leo was young and smart and powerful, still was, he just needed time to recover—

“I refuse to be the last one. Please. Let me keep being selfish.” Leo slumped against the pillows, and he’d grown paler with the effort of speaking so long.

A harsh breeze blew outside and caused the old window sill to creak. After it stopped, the king’s labored breathing was the only noise to keep silence at bay. Beyond the bedroom door nothing could be heard—no siblings walking the halls, nor servants fulfilling duties.

Calloused fingers picked up a thin hand. Niles dropped to one knee.

“I won’t leave you on your own.” He gently pressed Leo’s knuckles to his own chest, over his heart. “You have my word.”

---

There was a tickle in the back of Niles’ throat.

He swallowed hard against it and set the last trap.

He then glanced back at Leo, who slept through his latest fever spike. A damp rag lay on his forehead, and his breaths sounded shallow and fitful. However, the fact that he was breathing at all was enough to fuel Niles’ determination.

As the archer stretched his limbs, he ignored the heaviness draped over his body like a blanket. He should have guessed all the stress, lack of sleep and food, and being around Leo nearly 24/7 would slam his immune system. With the Hoshidans arriving any minute, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about the illness hitting him full force yet.

Muffled through the thick stone walls, the sounds of blades clashing and shouts of challenge arose.

Leo didn’t stir. Hopefully he would stay unconscious through whatever happened next. Niles pulled the curtain around the bed closed.

All too soon, the floor shook as what must be an army burst through the massive grand entrance doors. Niles readied his bow.

Crashes in the bedrooms. Brief quiet, like they were confused to find their target wasn’t there. Then spread out footsteps and rattles of armor as they started to search.

Then, what he’d been waiting for: cords snapping as traps launched arrows, knives, and mini bombs.

Niles knocked an arrow.

He released it the moment the door swung open. It embedded into someone’s shoulder, and in one smooth motion he loosed another one.

The glint of shruiken made him pause long enough to doge the projectile flying at him. That was all it took for a female ninja to be upon him and force him on the defense. He blocked one, two, three blows—

“Kagero!”

She jumped away, and he was greeted by a fireball. With Hoshidans crowding the front of the room and his unwillingness to draw attacks too close to Leo, he couldn’t effectively avoid it. Flames struck his left arm, burned through clothing, and seared skin. The damage extended from shoulder to elbow, and he knew trying to fire arrows with this injury would take too long. Grunting at the pain, he dropped his bow and pulled a dagger from his belt.

“Halt,” a commanding, deep voice called out.

Niles paused, if only for the sake of putting off his and Leo’s inevitable fate. A large man in red armor stepped forward.

“I am Ryoma, King of Hoshido,” he introduced. “There is no need to keep fighting. You’ve already lost. Surrender and we will be merciful to you both.”

Between panting breaths, Niles gave a wild grin. “Yeah, I know the outcome. But I can still take you down with us.” Suddenly he had taken exactly three steps back to loop his finger around a previously hidden string behind Leo’s desk. It was connected to a volley of makeshift bombs, far more than he’d put in the halls, and it would easily destroy anything in the room.

Ryoma stiffened, and the soldiers around him snapped into fighting stances. Several showed wariness and sported gashes or burns from previous traps.

The sound of a curtain’s swish had Niles throwing his dagger without a single thought. It lodged into the wall and left a deep slice in Kagero’s shoulder. She released the curtain to press a hand to the injury, what was done had been done. Leo had been revealed.

A gust of surprise flew through the thick, tense atmosphere in the room. All eyes witnessed the King of Nohr’s gaunt face and raspy breathing.

A soft gasp came from a redheaded healer—the youngest princess, Sakura, if Niles remembered right. Hands covering her mouth, she had leaned around Ryoma to see better, and palpable pity shone on her face.

“When did he become this ill…?” Ryoma muttered.

Niles clicked his tongue. The noise startled the enemies out of their surprise, and attention returned to him.

It was inevitable they’d discover Leo’s condition. However, it still felt like Niles had lost any pretense of advantage he’d clung to.

“Ask an artist to take a picture. It’ll last longer.” His icy tone belied his words. Blood pounded in his ears. “But I’d much rather you keep those intense looks on me.”

Composure returned, Ryoma spoke once more. “Your king is in no condition for this to be dragged out. The sooner you surrender, the sooner we can take him to our doctors.”

An empty chuckle erupted from the retainer’s throat. It started low, grew into a disbelieving cackle, and then dissolved into damning coughs.

“…you think I’ll believe it’s that easy? That if I give up, you won’t kill me and show off my liege like a trophy?”

“There has been enough bloodshed,” the Hoshidan king insisted. If Niles didn’t know any better, he would have thought the wrinkles on the other’s face deepened with a war-weariness. “We won’t kill you if you come peacefully—”

“Torture, then.” His single eye met the other’s gaze. “I must warn you, I am a tough one to break.”

Several of his opponents looked startled by the accusation, and Ryoma quickly shook his head. “No. We do not torture our prisoners. Your safety, as well as King Leo’s, is assured.”

Niles scoffed.

The little princess, shoulders hunched but determination steadying her legs, took a small step forward. “P-Please. He’s not going to last much longer. Wh-What use would making us k-kill you be?”

“I won’t let it be by your hands,” he murmured.

Her mouth gaped, and, damn, he hadn’t meant to let that slip. Too late now.

Ryoma made to speak again, but Sakura abruptly continued. “I understand! W-Well, not exactly, but I know you care so much about him. Like how Hana and Tsubaki would do anything for me, y-you’re trying to fulfill the king’s wishes as much as possible.” She straightened and, despite the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, her chin was raised high. “I beg you. Neither of you will be harmed, and we will do everything we can to save him. You may stay by his side no matter where he goes and have the right to choose who interacts with him until he is well. I give you my word as princess of Hoshido.”

The people around her appeared stunned. Niles hardly noticed; his mind was too busy twisting around the idea.

She seemed honest, but that meant nothing. Or Ryoma could override her decision. It was highly likely that such a deal would last only until Niles had no more strength to resist. Naturally it was also possible that this was all a ruse to lower his guard.

…but there was that tiny, tiny chance surrendering could save Leo’s life.

If Leo were awake, he knew the blond would refuse. The potential humiliation of being a war prisoner and prize may be more than the younger’s battered psyche could bear. There was also his request, which rang incessantly in his ears. It could be impossible to avoid separation since they’d be at the mercy of the enemy’s whims.

That left Niles with a dilemma: should his loyalty go toward Leo’s survival, or Leo’s will?

His fingers released the string.

I’m sorry, milord. I’m a selfish man too.

She sighed in relief, and Ryoma nodded in acknowledgement of his decision.

“We appreciate your choice.” The corner of Ryoma’s mouth tugged upward in a tired almost-smile. “We can finally end this war.”

“I stopped caring about the war a long time ago.” Half-turning away, Niles walked to the bedside. His muscles stayed bunched, waiting for a sword between his shoulder blades that never came.

“I have to move you,” he apologetically murmured. He slid one hand under his knees and the other under his back. Pain flared along the charred part of his arm, and it took every ounce of willpower not to flinch back.

A footsteps. “One of us can—”

Niles didn’t turn around. “Touch him and you will know the wrath of a hundred hells.”

That warning, oozing dark promise, was enough to stop whoever it was. He didn’t care to know who.

He lifted Leo up. His arm screamed as the weight pulled at raw skin, but he kept his hold steady. Nothing less than amputation would make him put Leo down right now. Other than a particularly harsh shuddering breath, the Nohrian king didn’t stir.

The retainer turned and started toward the waiting soldiers. Each footstep felt heavy, and he suspected it wasn’t just from physical exertion. When he neared the doorway, several Hoshidans moved to surround him. The damp rag upon Leo’s forehead slipped and landed on the floor. Not that it mattered; it had long since lost its coolness. However, he noticed Sakura start to reach for it, and something not completely unpleasant twisted in his chest.

“He needs a new one anyway,” he said, and she straightened with a jerky nod.

They broke away to allow him through the narrow doorway, and once through they circled him again. His instincts despised being trapped regardless of the foot-wide berth they left him. Ryoma was talking, as well as a couple others. He ignored the conversation in favor of swallowing down oncoming coughs.

Everything moved quickly after that. Soon they were outside, Ryoma announced Hoshido’s victory, and jubilant shouts roared. The few remaining Nohrians either fled or found themselves captured. Niles peered through the slivers where the people of his entourage weren’t quite shoulder-to-shoulder. They were preventing others from receiving a full view of himself and Leo, for now. It must be obvious to everyone who was being hidden, though.

Niles raised his gaze to gray clouds. The familiar sight offered him an anchor amid the overwhelming bustle around him. Cold winds snuck through his entourage to chill his face and hands.

“Maybe a little sunlight will do us both good, eh, milord?” he whispered to the too-warm boy in his arms.

[alexdunkin]

First Draft Series: Unto Him

The tractor engine cuts out. Travis sighs at the silence humming across the yard, the lingering mechanical buzz still echoing in his head. Travis lowers his aching legs down from the tractor and strolls across to the house. Greasy sweat clings to his shirt and seep into the rim of his hat. The remnants of daylight sear out through the gaps of the tree line that guards the driveway. Deep satisfaction fills Travis’ swollen knees. The wheat growing in the top paddock is rising in promising rows. The bullying drought of the previous years once again fail its attempt to kick Travis off his land.

Sticky odour rises out of Travis’ shirt. He undoes the row of buttons to air the singlet underneath. Across the gravel road he spots Justin lingering on the top step of the veranda. Travis smiles. Justin’s neat shirt and jeans press tightly against his strong chest. The tidy house frames Justin as a beckon of order amongst the dust drifting up around the farm.

Travis’ smile quickly fades. A dark shadow casts across Justin’s face. Worry creases across Justin’s brow. Justin shifts his weight between his feet. The boards creak under the persistent movement.

“What is it?” Travis asks. He steps up Justin’s eye level. Moisture fills Justin’s sight. Travis holds Justin’s shoulders and presses a soft kiss on his lips.

“It’s—um, it’s your dad,” Justin mumbles. “He’s here. He says he’s staying for a while.”

Travis’ sweat freezes across his body. His feet twitch. The hair on his neck shivers erect.

“Damn it. What does he want?” Travis says.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say much. He’s been in the kitchen drinking tea and reading.”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with him. If I knew he was here I would have been in much early.”

“It’s fine. Just can you do something about him now?”

Travis nods and removes his boots before stepping inside. The blast of sickly frangipani spray smacks Travis when he enters the house. The usual pleasantness of the aroma evaporates around him. A familiar shadow hunches over at the end the hallway. The silhouette of Travis’ father crouches over, a thick book in one hand, a steaming cup in the other. He leans against the window sill to balance his bulky frame.

“Dad,” Travis croaks. His father snaps his head up. “Dad, what are you doing here?”

“Well hello Travis,” his father responds confidently. He steps out of his own shadow. Slick grey hair creates a helmet on his head. He tucks his dangling crucifix under his woollen vest. “That wasn’t the sort of welcome I was expecting. It’s been years.”

Travis freezes on the spot. His father limps over and stretches his arms around Travis for a matey embrace. Travis swallows down his urge to run. His blood flees into his body and away from the touch of the old man.

“It has been a while,” Travis says. “Justin has been taking care of you?”

“Dean helped himself to everything,” Justin mutters before ducking across to the oven to work on dinner.

“I assumed I would be less of a hassle if I just whipped up my own tea. I didn’t want to put you guys out.” Dean’s smile reveals the crumbling remains of his false teeth. His cheeks fold upwards toward the thick cord of his hearing aids, and emphases the span of his enormous ears.

“Justin told me you thought you were staying?”

“Yes, just for a while. I thought it would be good to see my family again,” Dean nods.

“Right, well. We’ll deal with this over dinner. I need to shower and get out of these clothes.”

“Good idea,” Dean says. “I didn’t want to be the one to tell you but the stench you brought into the house is horrendous.”

Dean turns back to the window and opens his book. Justin shakes his head across the room to Travis. Travis shrugs and creeps down the hall to the bathroom.

The hot water from the shower fails to warm Travis’ skin. He rushes through the task of cleaning and returns to the kitchen in fresh clothes to find Dean sitting at the head of the table, eyes closed and lips moving. Justin glares coldly from the other end. Three plates of steak and vegetables sit cooling on the table. Travis hugs into himself. His arms compress his ribs.

“Thank you darling,” Travis kisses Justin on the cheek. The heat in Justin’s skin leaves a tingling burn on Travis’ lips. “It looks amazing. I’m starving. I spent most the day up the top. A couple sheep got out and a bit frisky in some of the crops. No real damage though. I think they mostly got into the weeds around the edges.”

Travis and Justin take their seats. They lift their cutlery ready to pierce their food.

“Just a moment,” Dean interrupts their temporary silence. “We need to finish saying grace before we eat.”

Justin visibly shivers. The vibrations of his discomfort shake across the table.

“You can say grace,” Travis says with a gulp. “But we don’t. We will begin eating straight away.”

Dean purses his lips. A sly grin eases out the corner of Justin’s mouth. Justin slices noisily through his meat. The grating of the knife against the ceramic pulsates through the air.

“We thank our Lord for this bounty we are about to share,” Dean pontificates. Justin chews through the steak. Drips of salty juice squeeze out through his teeth. Travis’ eyes widen and glare down at Justin. Justin shrugs and continues eating with his mouth open for the others to see the sauce laden food churn inside. “We thank you for letting us be together today after all this time. We pray that you bless this food we are about to eat. I ask that you bless my son Travis who has abandoned me for so long to pursue his sinful ways—“

“Right,” Justin snaps. “I can barely tolerate you being in this house but if you’re going to bring that hateful shit into my home I’ll have to kick you out.”

“Justin,” Travis hisses.

“What?” Justin fires back. He points the tip of his knife at Dean. “I don’t care if he’s your dad. That crap is not on.”

“Forgive them,” Dean continues. “They have lost their path. They no longer respect the father. Bless us with your all your glory. Amen.”

Dean unclasps his hands and picks up his cutlery. His rickety fingers grip intently on his knife and fork. His bottom lips spasms with each delicate slice across the steak’s fat. Justin stares down at Dean. The struggling speed in Dean’s movements draws Justin to almost a complete stop. He watches Dean’s shakes rip the last remaining fibres holding the steak to its whole. The fork and pitiful cut meat aim for Dean’s white-crusted lips. Justin bites into top lip. Pain dulls the irritation brewing inside him.

“So, Travis,” Dean says, his jaw clicking with each chomp. “How have you been? How’s the farm going? A few stray sheep about I recall you saying earlier.”

“Things are fine. It was nothing. Easy to take care of,” Travis answers drily.

“No big news? I haven’t seen you since your mother’s funeral. I’m sure something has happened.”

“Yes dad. A lot has happened.” Travis sighs. A sudden exhaustion drags the remaining energy out of Travis. “Why are you here dad?”

“What do you mean? I came here to see my son. Can’t a father do that?”

“You never talk to me unless you want something. What is it?”

“I want to stay for a little while,” Dean confesses. “I don’t have anywhere else to go, not since…”

“Not since what dad? Since your diagnosis?” Travis shakes his head.

“You’ve been talking to your sister,” Dean lowers his eyes. Tears well and haze over his vision.

“Of course I have dad. We all still talk to each other. Just because you hate the fact that I’m gay and married Justin and avoid me doesn’t mean that anyone else does.” Justin’s heart sinks. The gloat he had been fuelling disappears. “I know it’s terminal. I know you don’t want to stay in a nursing home but that’s what you will have to do. You can’t stay here.”

“You’re kicking me out already,” Dean spits. He shovels a loose fork of peas into his mouth. The tears dry against his eye lashes. “I’ve only just arrived and you’re shoving me off to that nursing home to rot, just like everyone else.”

Travis shakes his head. The crumbling mess of a man in front of him shrinks into unrecognisability.

“Dad, you can’t stay here. We live too far out of town and we’re too busy to care for you. The farm, the livestock, it’s a lot to deal with already. We aren’t nurses. What happens if you fall again, but here? We aren’t around the house for sometimes twelve to sixteen hours. What will happen to you?”

“I knew I wouldn’t be welcome here,” Dean drops his fork onto his plate. His hand plays against the fabric of his vest. A stray finger outlines the cross hiding behind the material.

“Look, dad, despite everything, you are still my father. I’m your son. We can’t change who we are. Just like you can’t change the fact that you’re sick. Not even God can fix that. Wouldn’t you be better in a place with all your friends and where professional staff can take care of you.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

“Yes you do,” Justin cuts in. Travis leans back in his seat resigned. “We don’t have anything here you need. We don’t keep the medicine that will keep you comfortable.”

“Listen you little faggot, this is a conversation between a father and son, you stay out if it,” Dean curses.

Justin and Travis shoot to their feet. The chairs scrape across the floorboards.

“Justin, leave it,” Travis holds his hands up. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You better,” Justin mumbles. “I’m going to bed. When I get up tomorrow he can’t be here.” Travis nods.

“Dad,” Travis breathes deeply. “You can’t say those sorts of things anymore. I’m used to them from you but they hurt other people.”

“What does the little poof care? He’s corrupted you.” Dean hunches over his plate, continuing to push food into his mouth.

“Dad. That’s enough. You can stay the night but in the morning I’ll drive you back into town.”

“Fine,” Dean grumbles. He dabs his lips with the back of his hands. “If we’re done here I’m going to wash my face, say my prayers and go to bed. Goodnight.”

Dean lurches from the room. A single floorboard whispers under the weight of Dean’s steps. His socked feet shuffle quietly into the darkness of the guest room.

Travis exhales heavily. The muscles in his neck pull at the back of his skull. A dull ache creeps across his forehead.

Justin is sitting in bed with his arms crossed when Travis enters the room. His bedside light flickers brightly behind a makeshift shade.

“Well, is he going?” Justin asks.

Travis slides out of his pants and shirt. The stale air in the room latches onto his exposed skin. The tension in his back releases as he drops himself onto the bed.

“Yeah, I’ll drive him into town tomorrow before breakfast,” Travis shuts his eyes.

“Thank you,” Justin sneaks a heavy kiss onto Travis. Their stubble scratches heavily against each other’s lips. “I don’t know how you dealt with all that growing up.”

“It wasn’t too bad,” Travis says. “I was closeted for most of it so safe from his real torment. I just had to keep going to church when he wanted.”

“It wasn’t too bad?” Justin laughs. “I’m surprised you came out alive. It’s some thick skin you’ve got.”

“Can we talk about it another time? I’m wrecked. I really need some sleep.”

Justin smiles, presses another kiss against Travis’ cheek and switches the light off.

A heavy bump in the bed belts Travis out of his deep sleep. His eyes strain against to see through the gloom. His muscles jerk and relax as he tries to rouse further. A second thud and a sickening crunch next to him jolts his nerves. Travis grabs through the dark for a cord. He finds the knob and switches his light on. The blast of the globe blinds the room and tears stream out of Travis’ eyes in rejection of the sudden brightness.

“Justin, what’s going on?” Travis struggles through the blaring light.

Travis blinks his vision clear. Justin lies next to him, his arm twitching. A red indentation is punched into Justin’s skull. Small trickles of blood weep out of the broken skin.

“Justin!” Travis cries.

Travis extends a shaking hand. Heat rises off Justin’s body. Travis’ skin turns cold. The bed trembles with his last spasms. Travis snaps his head around the room. Dean stands pressed against the curtains on Justin’s side of the bed. Dean’s neck stands directly upwards, his hunch no more than a memory. A hefty stone hangs from his right hand, anchoring him to the spot. Dean’s left hand clutches onto the his rosary beads. A small wooden cross hangs from his hand.

“What did you do?” Travis yells.

“I have freed him from his sins. I’ve done God’s work,” Dean mutters, his eyes staring over Travis’ head.

“You’ve killed him! You monster!” Travis clenches onto Justin’s arm pleading fruitlessly.

“God is great, God is pure. Anything done in his glory cannot be sin. God is great.”

Dean steps around the bed. His eyes glaze over. His movements ease through the room in steady precision.

“My son has failed me. He has fallen to the darkness,” Dean prays. “Please accept my son as offering for the sins committed by others—“

“What the fuck are you talking about?! You killed Justin,” Travis bellows.

“Jesus died for our sins. God sacrificed his son to save us all.”

Dean hoists the stone above his head. Travis gapes up at the rock swaying an arm’s length away. He kicks the sheets off his legs. He jumps out of bed and shoves Dean with the strength his rage can muster. Dean crashes across the room and onto the floor. The stone tumbles from his hand to the floor.

Travis’ fingers register the smooth chill of the rock. His arm lashes out, crushing the stone against his father. The trickling heat of moisture splatters across his seething façade. Burbles of prayers seep out of Dean’s lips. The rock pounds harder against Dean’s skull. The crackling of bone gives way to the bashing echo of the floorboards.

Travis’ arm aches. His breaths choke in his throat. The rosary falls out of Dean’s hand. Travis stands, the room silent of human noise, the slow drips of flesh and blood release from the new point of the stone, echoing each smack on the wooden floor out to the lifelessness in the hallway.