#sylvgrid big bang

[cmdonovann]

ohohoho i forgot about these. they were sketches i did for a pacific rim au fic someone wrote for a sylvgrid big bang fic, iirc? i dont have the link to it anymore, but i'll drop some other art from it under the cut.

here's the actual pieces i submitted for it, but again, i don't remember the author (or if their fic is even still up) so i wanted to keep these under the readmore lol.

anyway. pacific rim aus are always fun. tho i think the sketches for these were probably better than the finished pieces. a lot of my art from 2020 was like that tbh. i'd like to think i've learned from it, but who knows XD

[syilcawrites]

a/n: hello earth and fe3h fandom, I wrote something for sylvgridbigbang (twitter) and had the pleasure to collab with artist Bringmemisery (twitter), so make sure to go check out their wonderful art!! It’s my first time writing this ship but I hope you enjoy it hoho!!

summary: Sylvain is reckless, and Ingrid isn’t okay with that

tags: hurt/comfort, post-timeskip, post war, angst with a happy ending

ao3

daffodils

Ingrid had never been outside by the pond at night. Despite the lack of presence at the Monastery for the past five years, she could still spot some fishes swimming about, gathering around her as if they were waiting for her to drop food.

She hummed as she eyed a dead daffodil floating across the surface of the pond water toward her, and as it grew closer, the little fishes tried to nip at it.

"Hm, did a bandit actually feed you this entire time or something?" she murmured curiously as she dropped bits and pieces of bread into the water. Her lips tilted up into a lopsided smile as she watched them greedily snap up at the surface to get the crumbs.

Ingrid chewed absentmindedly at the rest of her meal, as she let out a small sigh. It was the last night before they left the Monastery to march toward Enbarr, to end the war once and for all.

Once and for all…

She stared down at her plate of food, stopping mid-chew. It was one of her favorites—pheasant roast with berry sauce—and even though she had it several times over the past five years, she missed eating it here, at the Monastery.

Five years.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she inhaled and exhaled slowly—the crisp night air cooled down the panic that had sprung in her chest.

Five years since she died and was reborn anew—if she could meet herself from five years ago, what would she tell herself?

Her eyes flit over to the window, where she could see the shadows of her laughing friends inside the Mess Hall—she caught a glimpse of the Professor passing by the door, whispering to someone that Ingrid couldn't see.

Among the chaos and dissent in Faerghus, she had only seen her classmates in whispers: in glimpses of broken windows, in the imprint of footsteps against the soft snow, in the memories of flickering candlelights.

Her eyes misted over, but she blinked it away as she stared back down at the fishes.

"We'll be fine," she whispered to herself, grabbing a pheasant leg. She ripped a hefty piece out of it with her teeth. She needed to eat, she needed energy, if she was going to protect them. She'll make up for all those lost lives, and this time… this time no one else will die.

"If you eat that fast you're gonna choke, you know."

Ingrid jumped at his voice, almost dropping the leg into the pond water.

She glared at him.

"Sylvain," she grumbled, promptly dropping it back onto the plate as she reached for her napkin. "You know you shouldn't sneak up on me while I'm eating."

He laughed heartily as he took a seat next to her, his smile reaching from ear to ear. "I forgot how engrossed you get when you're eating."

She clicked her tongue in feigned annoyance as she wiped her hands. "Why are you out here?"

"Why arent you inside with everyone else?" He replied back without missing a beat. Typical—answering her question with another question. "The Professor has been shooting worried glances at you ever since the start of dinner." He pat his stomach in satisfaction with such a comfortable, content smile that Ingrid wanted to siphon some of his relaxed, carefree aura to herself too.

Because with each passing second the knot in her gut had been tightening, ever since this morning.

"I just needed some fresh air," Ingrid said simply. She leaned back on her hands and looked up at the stars. It would've been comfortable, if she didn't feel his undivided attention on her. He made no effort to hide that he was actively staring at her.

"What is it?" Ingrid glanced at him. He's been like this a lot, ever since they reunited. He just… stared at her for minutes without saying anything sometimes. And when she would point it out, he would blink and that weird, far-off gaze of his would disappear. She always wondered how the inner cogs in his head worked, and at some point, she thought she had figured it out. And then her effort went down the drain along with those five years apart.

"It's just nice that we can talk like this again," he said with a shrug.

Their last moments together were still fresh in her mind—being torn apart from one another by the onslaught of Imperial troops. She had never seen his brown eyes, usually filled with laughter, look so dark and desperate as his hand lost grip on her arm. She knew he had always held his grief in a locked box, but in that moment, it had spilled out for her to see in full view, and she could do nothing.

After the Battle of Garreg Mach, she came back to the Monastery at night, and cried in relief when she couldn't find his body—and none of her other classmate's bodies—amongst the corpses that lay rotting.

"If you look at me with such wistful eyes I might bite you."

Ingrid blinked, unfazed. "Are you really trying to practice your flirting techniques on me right now? Don't tell me you're going to try to flirt your way through Enbarr?" she scoffed, punching his arm. "You really have gotten weirder over the past five years."

"Hm," he said, tilting his head at her as if he was in deep thought. "Really?"

"I would've thought your flirting skills would've improved after all this time, but when you asked me about my make-up—"

"Okay, okay, I've heard enough!" Sylvain chanted as he placed a hand over her mouth. "It's been a long time since I last saw you!"

Ingrid laughed as she pulled his hand away. "That explains nothing—"

"I just wanted to know if the guy you liked deserved your—"

"You're deluding yourself if you think I'm wearing make-up for some man," Ingrid scoffed, looking at his hand. The closest thing she had to a romantic partner was her lance, which was dutifully by her side every day for as long as she could remember.

Since Glenn.

Ingrid tightened her hold on Sylvain's hand.

"Don't be careless tomorrow," Ingrid demanded quietly, her eyebrows knitting together as she brushed her thumbs over the callouses dotting his skin. There were a lot more than she remembered.

"You should worry about yourself."

"I appreciate the concern," she said, raising her eyes to meet his gaze. "But you and I both know that I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."

He frowned at her.

"I don't intend to drop dead tomorrow," she said with an easy smile, releasing a hand to reach for her cup of wine. When she raised it to offer some to him, he was still frowning. "I can protect myself, and I will protect you too." She thought her words would've reassured him, but instead, it seemed to… do the exact opposite. He looked away from her.

"You've always been like that Ingrid," he muttered with a twinge of annoyance. "Always thinking about others. Haven't you learned to take care of yourself these past five years?" His words were sharp—she knew him well enough that his words bore no ill intention toward her, but it bothered her all the same.

"Of course I have." Ingrid dropped his hand and pressed her palm against her chest. "I always have. Why do you think I've always trained relentlessly for?" She always put herself first so that… so that she could protect everyone. Protect him.

He didn't look at her, and simply glared at the fishes swimming around them as if it was their fault.

She didn't want to see another familiar face in the aftermath of destruction—no, she couldn't. She would never let that happen, never let that future ever come into the light.

"Then for my sake, stay where I can see you tomorrow." His hand hovered over her cheek, but instead, he placed it on her shoulder instead, squeezing. "When we reach Enbarr, stick by me. Please."

The light from the Mess Hall flickered against the side of his face as he stared at her.

"Okay," she whispered, nodding. "I will."

——————————————————————

The tip of the lance hissed passed her head, grazing her ear, as she ducked just mere seconds before it swiped the spot where she had just been. She swung the butt of her own lance toward the solider, causing him to rear back just enough for Sylvain to swoop in. He knocked the mounted soldier off his horse with the Lance of Ruin, the blade piercing through the cavalier as he fell. Sylvain's shoulders heaved up and down, with blood dripping down his armor, splattering the silver a dull red.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his breath coming out short and fast.

Ingrid gave a stiff nod, exhaling as she regained her position. "Thanks," she said breathily, shaking her head. She had to focus.

She knew it would be bad in Enbarr, especially breaking into the heart of it, but the amount of enemies spilling toward them seemed endless.

The Professor stood close by them, swinging her sword smoothly, as if it were an extension of her own arm. But despite her natural talent, Ingrid could spot beads of sweat rolling down her skin—a sight she had never witnessed before, not until now. The Imperial Army had begun slowly closing in on them, spilling from an entrance across the throne, advancing at a pace that was hard to keep up with.

"Everyone, stay close!" The Professor's strong voice cut clear through the cries and shouts of the battle. A surge of energy bloomed inside Ingrid—she would fight until the very end, alongside everyone.

"They keep coming from underground—someone needs to hold off the area or else well be pinned over here until they finally wipe us out," Dimitri grunted, sending another ten soldiers flying through the air with the might of his lance.

They needed to be quick, concise. Ingrid knew they wouldn't hold out for long, not like this.

"Watch my back!" Ingrid launched toward the opening on her wyvern without a moment's hesitation. It was a simple solution—she could get there quicker than the others, and could dodge the fastest among them.

"Ingrid!"

Before she could fly away though, a hand roughly grabbed her shoulder, whipping her back. The wyvern halted as Ingrid tightened her grip on the strap of the harness before she could fall off the sadle.

"You can't just charge in there!" Sylvain said, his voice hoarse and dry. "We stick together."

Ingrid tensed, guilt bloomed inside her like an ugly disease.

"There's too many in the path, you'll be—"

"If there's one thing I'm confident in, it's protecting you." Despite the blood running down his cheek, the fatigue that ran through his veins, he still offered her that familiar sweet, reassuring smile of his.

"Do not act rashly! Felix and I will take the rear—Dedue, lead the front. Sylvain and Ingrid, make sure you defend the blindsides!" the Professor shouted, slicing her way toward them. "The rest of you must try to take out the black mage to the right, and stay close to one another!"

The Blue Lions shouted in unison, a battle cry loud enough to shake the roots of Enbarr itself, as they spilled into position.

Ingrid had stopped keeping track of how many men and women had fallen from them—one thought surged her forward and kept the bloodlust boiling within her from running thin: to keep the ones dear to her safe. She would not let any one of their blood run dry, no matter what.

The one to break her from her fervent stupor were the cries from Edelgard—the closer they got to her, the more Ingrid could make out the anguished desperation of her large, mishappen figure. Pain tinged at her heart to see one of her former peers turn into something so grotesque.

Edelgard's black eyes pierced straight at them, cracking the courage that Ingrid had felt was indomitable mere seconds ago.

"Something is coming toward us!" Dedue bellowed, straining his shield up from the onslaught of enemies.

The Professor slew down the last enemy who had lingered behind them and flitted her head toward the direction Dedue was pointed at—her normally blank eyes steeled at the sight of Edelgard extending her elongated arm hurling forward.

Ingrid grit her teeth as she halted her wyvern—

Before any of them had time to register what Edelgard was doing, she had swung her dark arm forward—it sped toward them faster than they could blink.

Unable to track its path, Dedue braced himself, but it whizzed past the top of his head, in direct line of—

Ingrid's breath hitched in her throat as she leaned back instinctively, seeing the dark, condensed orb aimed directly at her.

The air around her sparked, as if electricity had filled the air, and the ends of her hair stood as a shout of despair bubbled from her throat. She lifted her hand to her face in a vain attempt to block it, biting down hard enough for her lips to bleed as her body tensed.

In a flash, the darkness was replaced by a fiery orange all too familiar, Sylvain—

The orb collided with him, flinging him off his horse. He barreled straight into Ingrid as she tumbled off her wyvern from the impact. She instinctively wrapped her arms around him, breaking his fall as they plummeted toward the ground.

Her breath knocked out of her as her back slammed against the marble floor, her mind swimming, unable to register what had just happened. Her blood rushed toward her ears—roaring, muting whatever the Professor was shouting about.

She gasped as she realized her arms were still tightly wrapped around Sylvain's' limp body, heavy against her own. She was half expecting him to suddenly sit up, to smile at her as he made some ludicrous joke about being on top of her, but he didn't.

Ingrid grunted as she rolled over, switching positions. Her hand was placed on either side of his face as she stared down at him, fear running through her veins as she helplessly watched the blood drip down his face.

Her mouth moved, but she couldn't hear her voice. Dark spots swam in her vision as she shook him again and again, screaming until her voice bled his name.

——————————————————————

Daffodils remind Ingrid of the sun—bright and hard to stare at for too long. It was perfect for Sylvain. She grabbed a handful that was scattered around the field, dutifully blowing away the dirt from the bright yellow petals.

"Need help?"

Ingrid turned around to see the Professor holding out her hand, staring at Ingrid with those bright green eyes. Ever since the Professor came back, she was different in various ways that Ingrid couldn't put into words, but her attentiveness to her student's well-being hadn't changed.

"Ah, Professor…" Ingrid shuffled nervously on her feet. "Um—" Before Ingrid could finish, she took the flowers out of her hand.

"You should be resting," she said, her voice almost chiding. She flicked away the specks of dirt with focused precision. "You're not fully healed yet either."

"This is nothing." Ingrid raised her cast up briefly, sighing as she glanced down at it. It was more bothersome than anything. A broken arm shouldn't be something she should take lightly, but... staying outside proved better for her mental state.

"Ingrid," the Professor said softly, catching her attention. Ingrid looked up at her, startled by how focused the Professor was on her. "You shouldn't hold it in."

"I'm not holding anything in," Ingrid said with a stiff smile, keeping her voice light. "I'm just… I think he'll like these flowers." Maybe it'll wake him up. He hates the color yellow, so he'll wake up and tell her how awful she was at choosing which flowers to give to him.

"Come on." The Professor handed the daffodils back to her. "He'll want to see you when he wakes up."

Ingrid cracked a smile.

As they trailed down the hill, she stared down at the face of the daffodils—they seemed to be smiling back at her, swaying softly in the light breeze. Ingrid lifted her gaze to the far-off castle. Even from the distance, it stood proud and tall. It was weird, setting foot in the same space where the four of them—Ingrid, Sylvain, Dimitri, Felix—once chased one another. She always wondered if those days would come back; carefree and content.

She tightened her grip on the stem of the daffodils, clutching on to it as if it were her own lifeline.

"Will you eat with us for dinner tonight?" the Professor asked hopefully as they neared the entrance to the castle.

Ingrid nodded, already heading for the direction to Sylvain's room. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" Ever since Sylvain had fallen into a coma, she spent most of her time next to him. "I'll come this time, after I give him the flowers." Ingrid cast one last smile over to her before she disappeared, taking long strides to the infirmary room.

She opened the door.

Dark and silent.

Quiet.

His soft breathing was almost inaudible, even when she stood still and tried to concentrate on it.

Before Ingrid sat on the chair next to his bed—which was practically her own bed at that point—she lit the candle on the table and grabbed the ribbon that she had left lying on the table next to her. She pursed her lips as she tried to wrap it around the stem of the daffodils—it wasn't the first time she'd done this, but for some reason, her fingers kept fumbling.

"Twist… one loop… flip…" Ingrid murmured to herself, recounting what Annette had told her. "Hm." She lifted the bundle of flowers up, frowning at how deformed the bow looked.

"It looks awful," a hoarse voice next to her whispered.

"As if you can do any better," Ingrid muttered back, glancing at the bed with a glare. She placed it back down on her lap and began undoing the ribbon.

"Give it to me." A hand weakly tapped on her arm, prompting her.

"I—" Ingrid paused, staring down at his hands.

She blinked once, twice, before locking eyes with him.

He looked terrible—as pale as snow, lips chapped, purple under his eyes—and his full concentration was trained on the daffodils in her hands.

"You're awake—" Ingrid swallowed, her voice shaking. "You're awake?" She stood up so fast the chair clattered to the ground, along with the daffodils.

"Hey—those are my favorite flowers!" He attempted to sit up, but groaned instead.

"Sylvain!" Ingrid scolded, helping him sit up. He smiled cheekily at her, and it was so full of fatigue that she almost burst into tears.

"I thought you hated yellow," Ingrid choked out, her hands trembling as she brushed his disheveled bangs from his eyes.

He hummed as he thought—he reached out to her, brushing the ends of her hair with the tip of his fingers. "No, it's been my favorite color for a while now."

[fancy-waffles]

Ingrid is given a last minute mission by the leader of the Golden Deer Privateers, infiltrate Garreg Mach Station by pretending she and Sylvain are newlyweds and liberate the Fell Star Code. She's... mostly sure they can pull this off. Probably.

(or, fake dating in space!)

Ingrid stared at him. It wasn’t registering in her brain what he was asking, even though she knew what it most certainly had to be. “You need me to pretend to be married to Sylvain and gather information in an operative fashion?”

“Lorenz and Sylvain hate each other and Marianne is… well she’s getting better, but she’s still not to the point where I’d feel comfortable putting her in a situation where she had to be quick on her feet.”

Ingrid blinked. “So I’m your best option?”

Claude lifted both his hands in a gesture of exasperation. “As I said, desperate.”

She tried not to take that personally. “I don’t… enjoy lying, but I suppose Sylvain and I have enough history to make it work.”

[fuzzy-ren]

CW: genderbend/genderswap//

genderbent sylvgrid for a sylvgrid big bang. my partner was supposed to be working on a fic about them for the bb, but they ghosted me halfway.

the premise of the story was basically male!ingrid and fem!sylvain as they got roped into an arranged marriage by their family and their shenanigans as they try to overcome their problems during the pretimeskip arc.

(i understand some people arent comfy with genderbends so i put them on a content warning)

[dreamdropdorks]

My piece for the Sylvgrid Big Bang! Drawn to accompany the wonderful fic written by livmoores which you can find here.

[kumeko]

Chapter 3! This is supposed to be a Sylvgrid BB, Mercedes, Annette, look at yourselves and be ashamed. Finally, though, Ingrid is heading over to Sylvain.

…

…

…

…

For the second time that week, Ingrid found herself standing in the parking lot to a pub, a dozen curious eyes on her. Unlike the first time, though, she couldn’t hide in the car and drive away. No, the redheads around her were Annette’s family and friends (and a few curious strangers that Ingrid remembered from her first day).

 “I’m sorry t’ ambush ya like this,” Annette said, glaring at her family. They reacted the same way you did to a kitten’s growl; ignoring it. “But they’re all very eager.”

 “O’ course we are!” A small, well-built woman stepped forward, and even before Annette said anything, Ingrid knew she was her mother. There was something unmistakable about her bright eyes and even brighter smile. She was also extremely short. “We heard so much about ya, Ingrid.”

 “Mum,” Annette gestured.

“Yer a real beauty,” a plump woman added as she stepped out, her hair dyed with several streaks of purple. “Gonna settle down here t’?”

 “Her aunt,” Mercedes supplied helpfully.

 “Can’t make any decisions without a drop of drink,” a tall man (uncle, Annette quickly supplied) added, already opening the door to the pub.

 “Whiskey, all around,” cried some cousin or the other.

 Ingrid didn’t even manage to get in a word before she was ushered in, a glass shoved into her hand.

 -x-

 Ingrid felt warm.

 “I feel warm,” she said loudly. Well, considering how loud the pub was, her voice was nothing. Really, she should be speaking louder, if anything. How was Annette supposed to hear her otherwise?

 “Warm?” Seated on the other side of the table, Annette looked over her half-drunk pint. As with the rest of the bar, even the glass had a classic feel to it: the dimpled mug, the oversized handle, the tampered bottom. The table looked like something out of a medieval dining hall.

 “None of this matches,” Ingrid mumbled, glancing around the large room. While the entrance to the pub had looked small and out of the way, nestled in the crook of two intersecting streets, the interior was surprisingly big. There was room to comfortably fit a hundred people.

 It definitely felt like it. Around them, dozens of tables were packed to the brim, friends and family cramming seats together as they roared with laughter and chatted eagerly. At some point, they’d forgotten about her, leaving her alone with their food and drinks. The greasy scent of fish and chips mixed with the heady scent of booze, and Ingrid wrinkled her nose. “Why is it always that?”

 Annette pushed her glass to the side and shot her a wry look. “You are so drunk.”

 “I’m not,” she retorted, the words heavy on her tongue. If anything, she was probably a little tired; her legs tingled pleasantly, her head felt like it was underwater, and maybe she was coming down with something. “It’s jetlag.”

 “Jetlag ended yesterday.” Annette groaned, reaching over to grab Ingrid’s empty glass. She stared at the single golden drop sliding down the side, the only proof that there had been anything inside at all. “That’s it, no more tonight. I forgot how lightweight you are.”

 “I am perfectly fine,” Ingrid grumbled, crossing her arms. “It wasn’t that much.”

 “If you don’t count that whiskey you had, it wasn’t.” Annette snorted, shaking her head disapprovingly. “I can’t believe you o’ all people are drunk.”

 “I’m not drunk,” Ingrid repeated, rolling her eyes. That was a mistake; it took too long for the world to right itself up after. Maybe she was a little buzzed. Just a little. “I’m fine.”

 “Uh-huh.” Annette sighed, getting up. Her blue dress swished around her knees as she slipped out of the table. “Look, I’ll find Mercedes and we can go home then. I think our welcome party lasted long enough now.”

 Ingrid’s brow knit and she protested, “You don’t have to stop for me. I’m fine.”

 Picking up the glasses, Annette chuckled. “I like sleepin’ early, sure.”

 As she walked away, Ingrid leaned back to watch her go. And then leaned even further back, since there was nothing to stop her. Grabbing the table edge, she just barely managed to keep her balance.

 Okay, maybe she was drunk. Ingrid had never thought of herself as a heavy drinker, but everyone gave her a glass the second they’d pulled her in for a conversation.  

 She had never been able to turn down free food. It was impossible.

 Rapping her fingers in a steady beat, she glanced around. Mercedes was in a corner, talking to a short, silver-haired man, freckles dotting his sun-kissed skin. Annette was caught up at the bar, chatting with a hulking beast of man and their tomboyish waiter. They looked happy. Why cut this short for them? Ingrid was more than capable of walking to their place—she was just drunk, not knocked out. And who knew, the fresh air could sober her up. It wasn’t even a long walk, really. Ireland was tiny.

 The more she thought about it, the better the idea was. Peeking at them both one last time, Ingrid quickly slipped out of the table and shambled over to the entrance. Luckily, she wasn’t the only drunk customer stumbling out the door and no one took notice.

 Pulling out her phone, her fat fingers tapped out her destination. It took her three tries, but soon google had a blue line ready for her, marking out the way to Annette’s modest home. The parking lot was still filled with cars, despite the fact that it was twelve am, and Ingrid wasn’t sure what to make of that. It wasn’t even Friday or the weekend. Even the grandparents were still here. Maybe the town was full of party animals.

 Or maybe Mercedes was right, and she really did need to get out more. No one else looked like they were leaving yet, despite the state they were in. A group of college students sat on the hoods of their cars, crooning to the moon between fits of laughter. Passed out, a man lay on his trunk. And nearby, almost hidden in the trees, a couple were—

 Ingrid flushed, looking away. Luckily, that wasn’t the way home. No, her way was down the winding streets uphill, toward the border between the countryside and the town. People nodded at her as she passed. No doubt everyone already knew who she was and she waved back awkwardly. It was a warm summer night, a cool breeze from the nearby ocean bringing modicum of relief, and she pushed back her bangs as she slowly trekked onward.

 At least she was right—the night air had sobered her up. A pleasant tingle remained on her lips, running down her spine, in her thighs, but the rest of her was starting to feel more normal after this walk. Ingrid had never considered herself particularly graceful, but now at least she wasn’t clumsy.

 Unfortunately, feeling normal also brought back her appetite, and Ingrid flushed as her stomach gurgled. “Why are you hungry?” she admonished, grateful no one had been around to hear that. She’d only eaten an hour ago. “They fed me enough to last two days.”

 Uncaring, her stomach complained once more. Well, she was almost home. The once overcrowded neighbourhood started to thin out, the houses spacing out as she hit the edge of town. If she remembered correctly, she had to take the next intersection.

 Ingrid glanced at her phone. A black screen greeted her and she clicked her teeth. Locked. Impatiently, she pressed a button and waited for its familiar light to wash over her.

 The screen remained stubbornly black.

 A feeling of disbelief washed over her and she pressed the button again. No response. Her phone had died. “Of all the--,” Ingrid swore, stuffing the useless thing back into her pocket. “Whatever, I don’t need it.”

 She’d never gotten lost before, and she wasn’t about to start now. The route back would come to her as she walked. It was definitely a right at the next intersection. At night, the rolling fields were almost impossible to recognize, but she vaguely recalled the mailbox just ahead.

 Now she was in the country proper, the moon shining brightly as it lit her way. Oddly enough, there were no cars on the road tonight, leaving just her and chirping crickets. She had always been a country girl at heart, and she’d walked through empty fields enough as a child that this felt more comfortable than scary.

 An owl hooted and Ingrid paused, brushing her hair behind her ear as she tried to find it. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but at some point the flat fields had changed into a forest-covered hill. Ingrid squinted. Maybe it was the booze, but she saw lights at the top of the hill.

 A party? A lost hiker? Ingrid glanced up and down the road once more, but there still wasn’t so much as a car in sight. Well, whatever it was, it wouldn’t hurt for her to check it out. She was more than capable of defending herself, if it came to that.

 The moonlight barely made it through the leafy canopy, a few stray moonbeams here and there all she had to guide her as she picked her way through the woods. There wasn’t a proper path. Ingrid groped around her blindly, relying on tree trunks to steady her as she carefully stepped over roots and odd dips in the ground.

 Maybe I should get a flashlight, she thought, taking a deep breath as she leaned against a tree. There were nearby houses. One of them was bound to help.

 As though hearing her thoughts, dozens of fireflies drifted out of the bushes and trees, their glow more than enough to light up the ground. They almost seemed to line up, a soft, yellow path that extended all the way to the faint glow.

 “Weird,” she murmured. Annette would definitely know weird firefly behaviour like this and she pocketed away the question for later. For now, it was more than enough to see, and Ingrid kept climbing.

 As she got closer, the glow grew brighter and brighter. The delicate thrills of flutes were matched by the heady tone of the fiddle and other wind and stringed instruments joined in. Over it all, the sound of laughter and Ingrid had been right. It was a party.

 She glanced behind her. The fireflies were gone now, like wisps in the wind. Well, if there was a party, there was an easier way down than this. Ingrid pushed past the last of the trees and entered a broad field. Above her, the stars twinkled, but their glow was far outmatched by the many lanterns strung across the open space, even more lights wrapped around the stone wall that ringed the area. Dozens of strangers danced and laughed in the center, while even more people ringed the field, chatting and eating.

 On the far end, mouth-watering scents drifted off a table laden with food.

 She should go.

 Her stomach grumbled.

 She should go.

 Ingrid closed her eyes and swallowed. Somehow, that only made the smell even more delicious: roasted chicken, buttered potatoes, baked fish—

 “Well, it wouldn’t hurt anyone if I looked,” she muttered, mostly to convince herself.

 It was a big party. It wasn’t like anyone would miss a plateful or two.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Sylvgrid Big Bang! I wanted to write something fantasy-esque, since I’ve always loved the genre, and with a slight homage to a series I’ve loved for a long time. I might(?) add more chapters later on (I have a general idea for the next section). I was originally planning for this to be like…5k max, and now it’s 8k and counting. Perhaps I too can write chaptered fics.

You should check out @ oclear0 on twitter for their amazing piece for the fic!

…

…

…

…

Leaning out her window, Ingrid took a deep breath of the sweet, clean air. Well, mostly sweet. The countryside wasn’t the countryside without the occasional pungent whiff of manure. As Annette drove down narrow, dirt lanes, humming some silly ditty or the other, Ingrid quietly observed her surroundings.

 She had expected Ireland to be cramped. Back when they were in university together in Toronto, it was the number one thing Annette couldn’t get over. Canada was big. The United States was big. You could drive for hours without reaching another town. At the time, Ingrid had thought her quirky roommate was exaggerating things, but now that she was here…

 Well, she understood. Highways merged in and out of small towns seamlessly, and what should have been an hour journey at most took hours because of local traffic. The distance between places was tiny; she still couldn’t believe that another country was only a stone’s throw away. Even tinier were the cars, the roads, the houses, the people.

 Well, person. Ingrid grinned as she averted her gaze from the blurring countryside and turned back to her old roommate. Annette’s nose scrunched as she concentrated on her driving, looking as though she was about to fight a war or argue with Lysithea instead of just driving down a nearly empty road. “You know, Lysithea’s taller than you now.”

“She’s what?” Annette gaped, tearing her eyes from the road to stare at her for a long minute. Like a fish, she opened and closed her mouth a few times. “Seriously?”

 The car shook slightly as they went through a pothole and she quickly focused on the road.

 “It’s not by much,” Ingrid consoled, chuckling. Back in university, Lysithea and Annette had been competitive over everything. Well, it might have been more one-sided on Annette’s part; just like her fiery red hair, she got caught up in her emotions sometimes. Still, Lysithea had crowed over her height the second she’d noticed, and maybe it had been more mutual than Ingrid had ever realized.

 “If yer lyin’…” Annette warned. Her Irish lilt was more noticeable now that she was back home and maybe it’d take a few years before it would be impossible to tell what she was saying when she was angry. “I’ll tell Mercie you want a makeover.”

 “That…” Ingrid swallowed at the thought of her old schoolmate. Despite appearing to be the ‘Mom-friend’ of the group, Mercedes had been surprisingly aggressive and persistent when it came to getting her way. Such as wanting them to all dress up for any parties she hosted.

 Ingrid could solidly claim that she had memorized the steps to putting on makeup because of that. Which had come in handy during her job interviews, but she would never admit that aloud.

 Instead, she asked, “How’s she liking Ireland?”

 “Oh, she loves it sure!” Annette giggled, a happy blush spreading across her cheeks as she thought about her long-term girlfriend. “Everyone loves herself and she’s even got a job at the local pub on her. We’re goin’ wait like, an hour, for her shift t’ end, but then we can head on home. You good for that? Or do you need sleep?”

 “Slept enough on the plane.” Ingrid rubbed her neck. It might not have been the most comfortable sleep, but it was more than enough to fight off the jetlag for now. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a shower.”

 “You definitely smell like it, sure,” Annette teased in a sing-song voice and Ingrid had a bad feeling about what the subject of her next song would be.

 Ingrid huffed, crossing her arms. “I wasn’t on the plane that long.”

 “Airplane breath—”

 “Annette!” Ingrid growled, blocking her ears before she could hear the rest. The worst thing about Annette’s ditties was how catchy they were. Sure, they were the silliest things on the planet, but once they were in your head, they didn’t get out easily.

 And she really didn’t want to unconsciously hum about how stinky she felt.

 Laughing, Annette poked her arm. “I give, I give. But yeah, Merce’s friends with everyone now. She’s even has my grandparents wrapped around her finger.”

 Giving Annette a suspicious look, Ingrid lowered her hands. “That’s not surprising.”

 It was impossible to hate Mercedes. That was a scientific fact.

 “They all say her accent is sexy,” Annette added, sounding mildly traumatized. “And I think my mum likes herself more than me.”

 Ingrid smiled wryly. “Don’t you like her accent too?”

 “Well, yeah, but that’s because it’s funny, sure.” Annette turned the wheel, taking a sharp right at the next intersection. It was a paved road now and the empty countryside slowly melted into a more crowded city. “And I don’t want t’ know what my grandparents think is sexy.”

 It took Ingrid a whole minute to process that. Horrified, she shrank into her seat, staring at Annette with wide eyes. “Your grandparents?”

 There were some things you couldn’t unhear, and that was one of them.

 -x-

 Ballyvaughan was small. Not small in a ‘small town’ kinda way, but small in a ‘tiny, you could fit everyone into a banquet hall’ way. There were less than 300 people in the whole town. Ingrid was certain that she had more people in one of her first-year classes in university.

 That meant it was immediately obvious that she was a stranger the second she went anywhere. Even before she spoke a word, people asked if she was “Annette’s American friend—not that girlfriend, but th’ other one.”

 And then a few jabs and sly winks about how “Annette sure likes ‘em big for such a tiny girl.”

 Considering that her own family were the most uptight people she’d ever met, Ingrid wasn’t sure if she was jealous for such easy (if nosey, clearly wrong, and a little creepy) acceptance, or if she was just glad that her grandparents never did more than just pinch cheeks.

 Judging by how hard Annette sputtered from each of these remarks, a lifetime of hearing them wasn’t enough to get used to it.

 “It’s a nice place,” Ingrid said, slipping back into Annette’s compact car. They’d explored enough of the town’s hub; she wasn’t sure if Annette could take it anymore. If she could take it anymore. It was better just to wait for Mercedes in the parking lot. “I can’t believe you know so many people.”

 “It’s a small town and they’re all busybodies.” Annette groaned, resting her forehead on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. They’re all really excited and no one knows what t’ say and—” She broke into an unintelligible sound.

 “It’s fine.” Ingrid patted her back gingerly.

 “I really do love it here and they’re all really nice people and I love ‘em but…” Annette lifted her head, resting her chin on the steering wheel. “They’re all too much sometimes. It was so nice and quiet when we lived together. Just the two of us.”

 “I remember Mercedes staying over quite a bit,” she added wryly. Curious, she asked, “Is your house crowded?” Annette had often spoken of her extended family, a chain of aunts, uncles, and cousins that had enough characters to fill a book.

 “Kinda. I mean, mum and pap live there, and both sets of grandparents. My aunt sometimes stays when she’s fighting with her husband, sure. It’s crowded, and a little awkward sometimes. Especially because of sex—” Annette bit her tongue, flushing a bright red that could rival her hair.

 Ingrid felt her skin burn too and she looked away.

 Clearing her throat, Annette continued like nothing had happened. “ANYWAYS, there’s a lotta us. So mum insisted we’d get the place remodeled so there’s enough space. They’re all staying with my aunts and uncles until it’s done, while we have the run of the house for ourselves.”

 “Oh.” Ingrid nodded, pressing her cold hands to her neck as she tried to keep her voice even. “That’s good.”

 A rapping noise interrupted them and Ingrid had never been more grateful for a break in the conversation. “Who—”

 Without warning, her door yanked open and two arms wrapped around her tightly, half-pulling her out of her seat. “Ingrid!”

 It took all of Ingrid’s reflexes to turn her head so she wouldn’t die of suffocation. Mercedes hugs were as tight as ever and she gasped, “It’s good to see you too.”

 “I’m glad you’re here.” Mercedes squeezed her again. “Did I keep you waiting?”

 “Mercie!” Annette leaned over, scrambling over the car seat as she tried and failed to pry open her girlfriend’s arms. “Yer killing herself.”

 “Oh.” Mercedes looked down and relaxed her grasp. “Oh sorry, I can’t have that.”

 “It’s…” Ingrid panted, chest heaving as she tried to get some oxygen. “Fine…”

 Patting her head, Mercedes coddled her. “Oh, you poor dear. You look so exhausted—let’s get you back to our place for some food and rest.”

 “That…sounds…good,” Ingrid breathed, certain that her state was more due to Mercedes than anything else. “I’ll…move…back…”

 “It’s fine, you stay here.” Mercedes poked her head into the car, pressing a chaste kiss on Annette’s cheek before stepping out. “I’ll sit in the back and you can tell me everything.”

 Her hand curled on her chest, crumpling her shirt as she slowly calmed down. “Everything?”

 “Everything,” Mercedes insisted, sliding into the backseat. “Starting with darling Lysithea’s height.”

 Annette spluttered. “Mercie!”

[oneletterdiff]

coming soon... something angsty for the Sylvgrid Big Bang 🤫 || twitter