#thank you annette!! <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[silna-pdf]

a willsker idea for you: birkin handing baby sherry off to wesker, and wesker holding her for the very first time. he's never held a life this fragile before

I couldn’t capture the poignant moment ths truly would’ve been but like imagine it’s there

[krazieka2]

Here's a big old Fire Emblem Search & Find I did for the FE3H Masquerade Zine! Find the Golden Deer, but see if you can't find the rest of the students as well! For the ultimate challenge, see if you can't name every character! (Disclaimer two characters are NPCs with no names)

[vultures-and-scavengers]

For the ask game, ring, trident emblem and bagel? For your favourite oc :) (~Dina)

I'm going to answer for Annette Trevelyan, who is undeniably My Girl the last few months <3 Thank you so much for the ask!

RING — does your OC have any piercings? do they want any (more) piercings?

She does not have any-- not in Thedas, at least. I think in a modern AU she would have ear piercings, but no more than that. She's not super willing to go outside whats acceptable mainstream, and I could at most see her having a belly piercing or nose piercing in a modern AU, but as a rebellion thing, and likely short-lived.

TRIDENT EMBLEM — can your oc swim? do they enjoy swimming?

She can swim, but she gets almost drowned by a terror demon in a mission to a swamp in early game, and develops a strong phobia of the water. She won't go near large bodies of water, especially still and murky water. Rivers are slightly more tolerable, but she still hates them.

Initially, there was actually a few times where like... not even bubble baths were cool with her. Like she needed to be able to see through whatever water she was in, or she froze up and panicked, badly.

While this is a cover-up for DAI not letting your character swim or go in any water, it's a fun quirk given one of the cutscenes in her chosen romance involves going to a lake. I like to imagine that the little detail that she's terrified of the water was forgotten because her partner was so stressed trying to work out the actual details of the trip to the region and it just lost in the chaos, but I also like to think it leads into her trying to face her terror of water by at least wading into the shallows (with a death grip on his hand).

She doesn't trust very easily, and so its a big character moment for her to a) ask for help and b) trust someone enough to help her in her vulnerability.

BAGEL — what does your oc's typical breakfast look like? do they usually eat breakfast?

Pastries. She's wealthy, and of the nobility, so when she's in her own estate, she has a whole selection of pastries and other breakfast foods available, but if she doesn't have access to that, she's fine with a cup of tea and then moving on for the day.

[verslxt]

pairing : iwaizumi x fem bodied!reader

warnings : face sitting, oral (fem receiving)

authors note : thank you guys for letting me take that break. you are so sweet (annette is iwaizumi and the readers 3 month old daughter)

you put your plush thighs over your boyfriends head one hand on the headboard and the other adjusting your hair "come onn pretty girl, sit on my face its fine. i won't suffocate". you look down at your boyfriend who's smiling up at you "what if i do suffocate you? who's gunna help father annette??". all of the sudden iwaizumi pulls your thighs down making you fully sit on his face

"ho-holy fu-fuck iwa" you moan out as he licks up your slit his tongue prodding your sweet pussy. you grab onto the headboard with both hands and wait for iwaizumi to keep going

you moan out as you feel him start to lick up and down you as you start to slowly rock back and fourth on his face. feeling his nose bump your clit over and over again loving the feeling

"fu-fuck haji~" you threw your head back in ecstacy as iwaizumi kept licking you up and down your clit still bumping his nose over and over again. suddenly iwaizumi brought his hands up to your thighs to stop you from moving. you also very suddenly felt iwaizumis tongue make a small little circle around your clit

one of your hands went down to his hair to give it a small slight tug to notify him that you loved the way he was moving his tongue. then he made line going down, then a line to the side, then another line. he was spelling his name on your clit. you realized it as soon as you felt him spell the A and the J. you moaned out

as you felt him finish out both his first and last name. oh my god he was so amazing with his tongue then you felt the knot forming in your stomach. the knot that meant you were cumming soon. the way you clenched down on nothing as he started to suck down on your clit

"mhm fuck haji~~" you moaned out as your knot finally snapped. you felt iwaizumi smile against you as you came. you lifted your legs off of iwaizumis head and he smiled at you "i told you i wouldn't suffocate." you looked at him and wiped some of your cum off his face

"that hands down the best orgasam you've ever given me"

[flaresemily]

Could you write a part 2 for the yandere platonic son x mother story?

Yandere son x Mother reader (platonic)

There will be no more part unless I feel like making a side story.

Part 1

Slap slap!

A loud slap can be heard and then followed by another slap.

“M-Mom please I'm sorry!” Daniel begged his mother (the reader). “Please, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to–”

“Shut up, shut up!!! You lie!! You lie!! You and your father are both the same!!”

“Mom, please…I didn't mean it… I was drun–”

Slap!

“You told me…if you ever behave like your father I can disown you…well then”

“Wait!! Mom! Please, I take it back! Please! I beg you, I'm your son right?”

“I don't have a son, I only have a daughter. And that is Rachel (the little sis) .”

“What about Julie?(Big sister)”

“I only have Rachel as my daughter. There is no such thing as someone named Julie as my daughter.”

Your oldest who heard this from outside the room only looks down in shame.

“Now…Daniel L/n…”

“Please, Mom! No! D-Dad please.”

He looks at your ‘husband'.

“Darling this is only–”

“I'm not your wife. Stop calling me darling. I don't have a husband, my husband is dead, and I only have a daughter and that is Rachel.”

You announced to them.

“...Very well my dear…I'll buy you some flowers?”

“I hate flowers.”

“Chocolate?”

“Disgusting.” (No hate for those who love chocolate. I'll tell you later why ‘you’ said that.)

“How about uhm---.”

“Daniel L/n, I hereby declare that you are no longer the rightful heir to the L/n and you are disowned by me once and for all.”

He looks at you with pain and guilt in his eyes.

“M-Mo—”

“Mommy~ look I rescued a cat today~” Rachel, who is just 16 years old, walked in while holding a bandaged cat.

“Good job darling let's go okay”

“Okay, Mommy~”

“James, escort them out and make sure their belongings are with them. Then prepared some tea for me and Rachel understood?”

“Yes, my lady” the butler bowed at you and then pushed those three out.

Timeskip

“Mommy? Why did you reject those flowers and chocolate?”

“....Those were the exact things that he tried to bribe me with.”

“Ignore it, Rachel."

“That's right…I have been having a very weird dream.”

“About what Mama?”

“About…you? You seem to be laughing at something with a very terrifying face. I wonder why and you are wearing male clothes?”

Hearing that, she clenched her fist.

“Probably just a nightmare, you know I never do that and male clothes? Am I in disguise or something~”

“Of course not, my baby wouldn't do that~” you giggled and kissed her cheeks.

She smiled in response.

The next day

News about the death of your husband, Julie, and Daniel was spread all across the kingdom.

“Mommy I'm scared!” Rachel hugs you while crying.

“What if they target us?”

“They won't! I make sure of it okay dear”

“Mommy will protect me, right? From the bad guys?”

“Mhm, I always will, even if it means killing someone just for you.”

“I love you Mommy~” she exclaimed.

“I love you too my dear thank you for being with me”

“.... Always”

Still here? Well, guess what? You are lucky, since there's a bonus flashback below this read.

The night before in Rachel's bedroom

She was humming to herself while she combed her long beautiful hair.

“Mama~ Mama~ you're mine~ mine~ mine~ mine~ all~ mine~”

She laughed.

“Annette~”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Did Mommy take her precious medicine?”

“Of course my lady”

“Good~ in no time she will be all mine~ I won't let anyone hurt her ever again…”

“My lady…it seems like your father sent another spy?”

“Kill him…kill him along with my oldest siblings.”

“...are you sure?”

“Yes, kill all 3 of them. They do nothing but bring bad luck to my Mom”

“Very well but my lady?”

“Lord…remember~”

“Yes, my lord…Lord Rowan”

“Good” Rachel or Rowan now said in his deep voice.

“Can't wait~ once she's mine no one can stop my love towards her”

He laughed.

“Serve you right!! Hahaha!!” He laughs and the maid behind him only smiles at his behavior.

‘typical behavior of my lord’

You guys must be wondering…what the fish just happened?

Well, you see…Rachel or should I say Rowan was not y/n real ‘daughter’. The real Rachel is dead. And by coincidence, Rowan looks like Rachel. Thus, he pretends to be her for years. Rachel died at the age of 3 and Rowan was born from a maid.

The very same maid that slept with y/n husband. But she doesn't know this.

Didn't I mention this was a Yandere son x mother reader (platonic) now… I think you can guess who's the yandere now huh?

[veri-berri]

hello! i was looking through your re8 art and i’m fascinated by your art of the staff and the different oddities (covered mouth, scars, etc) they have. i was wondering if you might share the lore behind each, if you feel so inclined?

thank youuu <3

SO

The first point I want to make is that I don’t draw only my own maid!

Primarily I draw:

Sorina - who belongs to my incomparable wife, @chaora

Amélie - who belongs to my best girl-kissing gal pal @misstwipietwinsart

Sometimes I draw them all together and include other cool friends’ perfect little blorbos, like Elise who belongs to @captainrufflebanger

Or Igraine who’s the lovely creation of @uniquevocashark

If we’re talking about Annette the main sources of her scarring is that she doesn’t know when to shut her mouth and that I am a whore for soft gore!

As of now the only complete comic for Annette’s scarring is for the eye scar which you can read here.

Having said all that you can see a lot of the gore whore-ing that got her pretty scars on my patreon because I don’t think tumblr would let me get away with posting much of it!!

[cherrypikkins]

fe3h music ask game playlist

Here is what the playlist looks like so far :3 thanks to everyone who contributed

The Hand That Feeds - Felix

Who Are You, Really? - Yuri

Change - Mercedes

Whatever It Takes - Leonie

Help I'm Alive - Bernadetta

Luck - Ashe

Allies or Enemies - Annette

Ship in a Bottle - Claude

It's Alright - Sylvain

Nothing Without You - Flayn

I Will Follow You Into The Dark - Hubert

The Lion's Roar - Rodrigue

The Scientist - Linhardt

Yesterday Must Die - Edelgard

Kid - Ferdinand

The Struggle - Cyril

The Garden - Jeritza

Run To You - Dedue

Blind Winter- Hapi

King and Lionheart - Ingrid

Inkpot Gods - Seteth

The Tower - Rhea

I Like The Way - Hilda

Sweet Hibiscus Tea - Marianne

Be Yourself - Dimitri

Grandmother Song - Dorothea

Oh No! - Constance

enjoy!

[strawberryybird]

ok fuck it. in honour of fire emblem: free real estate timeskip day, have some disability headcanons.

edelgard with crutches. thats it thats the post. done.

but also i absolutely think edelgard can have some mobility aids as a treat specifically for me, mobility aid user and edelgard enthusiast. i think the double-cresting she has going on means she has some level of chronic fatigue. use crutches babygirl <33 you know what? She can use a wheelchair, too. And a cane. All the mobility aids for my girl.

lysithea too, for that matter. I'm very fond of lysithea being the default recipient of Hilda's embellishment and decorating. I think Lys has trouble with her joints and uses braces, wraps, and ergonomic designs of things. Whatever motif Hilda has designed this month, Lys will give a test run.

Lys and her dislocating joints creating new spell-casting techniques by force of need and love of her craft.

Hilda's love for jewellery and decorating leading to her interest in the exact intersection of utility and design. Anything to stop people from having to put in so much effort to do things. That's atrocious. Use this, for Seiros' sake.

Magic users with Magic!Psoriasis in their joint extremities. Hands, feet, kneecaps, neck. Anywhere, really. Magic causing immune system reactions my beloved headcanon.

Claude takes out a new tangle from a new pocket in every class. where did he get them. why does he have this many. how did he get a new tangle in the span of the last 6 minutes. claude what the hell.

Marianne & Bernie having enthusiastic sign language chats in the tea gardens. Byleth makes sure to teach them every swear they've ever learned.

If Byleth has to step outside for a bit of air when they realise they're missing another memory from Before, no one makes a big deal. The world will keep moving with them, says Ignatz, who can't bear loud noises anymore.

Dorothea unabashedly handing in her essays on dyed paper, because the pink means the letters stop sliding around. Bernie made her a little quilted pouch for her green-lensed glasses.

Ferdinand making Edie nearly weep with laughter as he matches her pace on the stairs, threatening to have them all demolished for domestic terror and regicide.

Annette and Constance inventing the dicta-quill, creating ye-olde speech-to-text. Annie sends one personally to Lorenz, who lost his left forearm in the final battle. She gets 3 pages of effusive praise and thanks back. Their correspondence gets so long, that the post service starts charging their letters as parcels.

[lucigoo]

It Was Never What It Seemed

My latest Bagginshield fic is now up.

This has een almost a years work of sweat and tears and I have @sunnyrosewritesstuff to thank for being the best cheerleader I could ever ask for.

This fic can get a bit heavy, so please do mind the tags, but this has come from deep within e ad I hope you all enjoy it.

A03 link here

Summary: It has been 8 years since Bilbo has lest stepped foot in Erebor. He needs to talk to his husband, especially as he is now about to marry another. Another who is not Bilbo.

Bilbo left and when he did he left Thorin broken hearted. Now he is to marry a Blakcklock Princess, consequences be damned.

Follow along with our favourite dwarf and hobbit as they find their way back to one another, No matter how painful the journey is.

And as always a snippet:

Bilbo waited until Anette (the same worker he had hired all those years ago to man his stall when someone who could recognise him came by and who still worked with him) came back from where she had been trying to get a closer look. They were chatting away when Bilbo asked who the new dwarves were. “Oh, their Blacklock dwarves. From the Orocarni mountains,” she eagerly answered him. Bilbo scrunched up his nose. “But those mountains are so far away from here, that’s a long way to trade,” he thought out loud. Annette laughed at Bilbo’s obliviousness. He was usually much more up to date with his gossip than this, wielding it like a weapon when he was in the market with the other traders. “Well, they aren’t here to trade,” she said with a smile. At Bilbo’s questioning noise, she continued. “Rumour has it they are here for a wedding.” Bilbo’s head spun. “Who’s wedding?” He wouldn’t believe that Thorin would make a political alliance with their boys, but that was the only reason for such a large delegation to come. A royal wedding. Bilbo closed his eyes and hoped Fili or Kili weren’t being married off. After all, surely their mother, the Princess Dis, wouldn’t allow that to happen. Annette laughed at him again. “Silly dwarf, how are you so far behind? The rumours about the King’s wedding are all everyone has been talking about for months,” she said with a smile. Bilbo felt his whole body freeze. The King’s wedding. The King couldn’t have a wedding. Thorin couldn’t marry a strange dwarf. Thorin WOULDN’T marry a strange dwarf, right? Annette looked at him, shocked at his obvious reaction. Bilbo’s face was screwed up in confusion, and if she didn’t know better, Annette would have thought in pain.  “Aren’t you pleased your King has found a worthy spouse?” She asked. “Especially after all thought him craft wed for so long.” Bilbo had to snort at that. Thorin wasn’t craft wed, he was as far from craft wed as a dwarf could get. He just hadn’t met his One until he walked through a bright green door in The Shire. Those kisses, touches, looks, caresses, and more were not those of a dwarf playing around or just having a quick fumble. They were of a dwarf, madly in love after so many years of believing he would be alone until he returned to the stone. Bilbo felt his tears trickle down his cheeks as he turned away from his friend, unable to continue the conversation and not caring how rude it may look. He somehow composed himself enough to see out the last hour or so before explaining that he felt unwell and had to return home. After packing up early, he made his way home with all haste. He needed to return to Frodo and speak to him. They had things to do.

Also just because I think it is brilliant, until today and posting the completed fic, the title was "You're Still Married, Stupid Dwarf," and that baout sums Thorin up, lol.

I hope you enjoy <3

[raxistaicho]

I'm glad you asked!

Here's the number of same-sex endings that are either implied or explicitly romantic for the non-lords (and this includes Byleth ships):

Black Eagles

Dorothea: 4

Linhardt: 2

Caspar: 2

Ferdinand: 1

Hubert: 1

Petra: 1

Bernadetta: 1

Blue Lions:

Mercedes: 3

Felix: 2

Dedue: 2

Ashe: 2

Sylvain: 1

Annette: 1

Golden Deer:

Marianne, Hilda, Leonie, Lysithera: 1

Church:

Catherine: 1

Rhea: 1

Shamir: 2

Sothis: 1

DLC:

Constance: 3

Yuri: 2

Balthus: 1

Hapi: 1

Jeritza: 1

For whatever reason, Catherine and Rhea's ending together is technically not a paired ending.

Anyone not listed either has no romantic-leaning same-sex paired ending, or have strictly platonic ones.

Kinda funny how Mercedes and Constance are most-queer of their respective groups. I've said it before as a joke, but there definitely seems to be something in the water in Adrestia, roflmao.

I'm honestly surprised Sylvain's only got 1 in Houses, I guess Hopes changed my perception of him?

Thanks for going through the trouble of listing all this info!

[blaiddydbrokeit]

top 5 fe3h lore fun facts mayb?

Let's go!

1. Garreg Mach Uniform designs come in pairs.

Marianne <- -> Linhardt (cape design)

Dorothea <- -> Sylvain (open collar shaping)

Hilda <- -> Caspar (length differences)

Petra <- -> Felix (summer with standard color)

Ingrid <- -> Dedue (generic full uniform)

Bernadetta <- -> Ashe (hoodie and sport bottoms)

Annette <- -> Ignatz (satchel and modified shoe choices)

2. Rufus is very likely pay-to-win with the women, because of his high status and wealth. He could throw money at women despite looking like a wet mop and they would jump at him, explaining why Sylvain seems to believe the rumors of Rufus' philanderous ways.

3. One of the likely reasons that the Tragedy of Duscur had such a fatal outcome was because they were attacked shortly after crossing the Sacred Gwenhwyvar, leaving them cornered with little means of backing out to regain footing, especially in a relatively unfamiliar territory of the Duscur forests.

4. Garreg Mach seems to operate on a uniform policy that allows students to mix and match pieces, and for wealthier students to have more customization. However, the blazer is the most expensive piece of the uniform, which likely leads a fair bit of the cast to leave it off - especially the commoners, like Ignatz, Leonie, Raphael, Mercedes and the such, who may not be able to afford it (and often also wearing their own shoes, socks and so on), or characters who do not like to dress so formally (Felix, Caspar, Hilda). However, considering likely costs, the honor of the most expensive uniform at Garreg Mach belongs to Dimitri thanks to the unique silver heraldry and armor. Dedue likely also only owns the full uniform because Dimitri paid - chances are, he would have otherwise been dressed more like Raphael. Petra is a unique comparison in this case, likely being "sponsored" her uniforms by the Empire, and opting to go without the blazer to avoid overheating.

4. Flayn's dress appears to be made out of pieces of Garreg Mach uniforms refashioned for a more girlish, less stern and uniform-like silhouette. It involves the use of a lot of gathering, which hides piecing seams well, but retains some of the aesthetics of the uniform.

5. While in the Dimitri-Sylvain-Felix trio Dimitri is the most openly... um. Prone to throwing away his life, between Lambert, Rodrigue and Matthias, Lambert is the least prone. However, Matthias is able to keep it in check much better than Rodrigue, who would likely not think twice about impulsively charging in with Lambert just to stick close as a literal shield despite being more suited as a middling range support troop casting magic as a defense than as front-line raw power. Ironically, Matthias lags behind, as the anchor holding the backlines - even if you get past Lambert, Matthias is twice as serious about holding the last line of defense and he WILL lash out.

[fe-fictions]

Can you maybe write/repost the dimileth pregnapping? It was my favorite :3 all of those byleth gets kidnapped while pregnant prompts were all rlly good but obvi the ones that had my best boys dimi, felix, and claude were my faves

(Aaah thank you!! Yes, please enjoy the reposting of the dimileth pregnapping! U V U )

One week.

‘Save me, Dimitri.’

Two. 

‘Save us, Dimitri.’

Three.

‘How can you not keep your own wife safe?’

Four weeks.

‘Your own child?’

One month. Then two. 

‘We needed you, Dimitri. You weren’t here.’

Two months and two weeks.

‘We needed you and now we’re going to die because you weren’t strong enough. You killed your family, Dimitri. You killed the last people who loved you.’

Three months.

The king, whom all had thought returned to his senses, was slowly, slowly…devolving into madness, once more. 

He was becoming a nightmare, a pale, trembling, unkempt, feral shell of a man. Every day that passed and he hadn’t brought you home…it was taking a serious toll on his body.

He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep.

His wife had been kidnapped, right from under his nose. 

The day had been a blur. 

You had only just told him of your pregnancy, that you were two months along and everything was good. That Mercedes suspected it would be a boy. A son.

Dimitri would be the father of your son.

He was over the moon; nothing could have made him happier in that moment. 

Then it all was shattered. You were returning to the monastery, and you hadn’t even made it half-way. A bloodied soldier had crawled back to the capital, wailing that the queen had been captured, her caravan massacred.

He and a few others were the only ones who survived.

It hadn’t even been a day. Dimitri had lost you in the span of a few hours.

And now, months had crawled past, and they still hadn’t found you.

He was an absolute wreck, and it showed. Dedue, who stood faithfully by his side, eyed the king warily as he stood over the maps of Fodlan, his hands clawed into the table as he stared at them madly, searching frantically for some place they hadn’t yet searched.

“What do I have to do…? What must I sacrifice before I find her? What more can I do?!” 

“Milord, you have done everything you can. All we have is the scouts, now. We must wait for their return, and then-”

“I can’t wait any longer!!” Dimitri bellowed, his hands raked through his hair as the panic overwhelmed him once again. “She’s out there- she’s out there, dead, for all we know, because I sent her off! I should never have let her leave. I should have kept her here, where she’s safe! I condemned her to death! I condemned our child!!”

“You couldn’t have known, milord-”

“I should have!!” His fists slammed against the table, and he crumbled. He broke down, again. “I…should have been the one to…”

“It couldn’t have been you, boar.”

Felix’s voice came from the doorway, a few other comrades watching with concern as Dimitri fell apart, once again.

“It’s those mages. They don’t care about you- they want Byleth’s blood. They did what they had to in order to get it. So for the love of gods, stop blaming yourself.”

“Felix…you know not of what you speak. I am the king- my power is absolute. Yet even that wasn’t enough to protect my own wife from certain death!!”

“You can’t know that she’s dead, Dimitri!” Annette argued, “Y-you can’t take that on yourself, not until you see it. But you won’t!! She’s not gone!!”

“And how…how could you possibly know that?” He hissed, looking to her with a glare that seemed to practically dare her to answer with anything but the correct words.

She stepped forward, producing one of your headpieces. A small, humble circlet, one that Dimitri had given her in the throws of war. One that you treasured and wore constantly, a sweet reminder of how dear his gifts were, to you.

One that now glowed with a strange aura, of a spell that Annette had cast.

“It’s a long shot, but…Mercedes and I found a spell in one of the library’s older tomes. A tracking spell. If we use this, we’ll be able to trace Byleth’s essence and find out exactly where they’re keeping her!”

“What…?” Dimitri stared at her, at a loss for words. He wanted so badly to scream at her. “Why…w-why didn’t you tell me this before? Why did you wait four damned months to show me-”

“Enough!!” Felix snapped at him, “You’re out of your  mind!! You think she was keeping that from you?! That she didn’t want you to know about it?! You think she wants to lose Byleth?! Find your head, you damn brute! She’s trying to save your wife!! She’s done more to help you than your constant abuse ever did!!”

“…How dare you say that to-”

“Can it.” He growled, “We’re going to find your wife. If you don’t calm down and find your sense, then you can stay here and pout like the brat you are.”

“Felix, he’s not a brat.” Mercedes chided him weakly, “He’s worried about her.”

“He’s taking it out on us, again. Just like before. I’m not going to stand for it. Either you find your head, or you stay here and wait.”

Felix knew he should’ve been beheaded, at this point. No one should talk to the king like that, and yet…someone had to do it.

Dimitri could only stare in awe, at a loss for words at the brash, cold confidence of his friend. Someone who had the guts to tell him to suck it up.

To silence the voices in his head.

He didn’t have to listen to them.

He wouldn’t.

He had let himself be distracted by them long enough. All he could think about was their words, the demons berating him for losing his beloved. But what good did it do?

Dimitri exhaled shakily, giving a solemn nod. “No, he’s…right.”

“W-what?”

“He’s right. Callous and cruel…but he’s right.” Dimitri swallowed, “I want to go. I must. Byleth needs me. Pouring over maps and sending out scouts, praying for an answer…I’ve done this for too long. If that spell brings me straight to Byleth, then…I’ll take it.”

Felix scoffed, motioning for Dimitri to join them.

“Then let’s get moving.”

Annette had everything ready to go within moments. Lysithea had come to lend a hand with her magic skill, Mercedes and Marianne, everyone who knew anything about the darker arts (even if it was just a pinch or even less), pouring all their power into tracking you down.

Another day couldn’t pass. It wouldn’t.

Dimitri watched as they worked, having found his lance and holding it tightly, his silent gaze boring holes into their backs as he waited.

One hour. 

‘It won’t work.’

Two.

‘You won’t find us in time. You’ve wasted so much, already.’

Three hours, four.

‘Our blood is on your hands, beloved. Our blood is-’

“There she is!!!”

He rocketed up from his seat, striding to the soothsayer’s bowl they had been slaving over. There, in the mist that emanated from your circlet…a base.

Small, underground, and undoubtedly in the former Empire’s territory.

But you were there.

His hand came to his mouth, finding your image in the smoke.

You were huddled in a corner, your hands held against your middle. You had grown. The baby was growing. You were both alive.

Oh gods, you were still alive.

“She’s there…!” He breathed, brow furrowed as he tried to keep his composure. “Oh, goddess…w-we must go.”

“We don’t have a precise location…not yet. Give us a few minutes more.”

“That’s enough time to rally the troops.” Felix pointed out, and Dedue was turning on his heel, heading for the courtyards to gather the soldiers. 

“Everyone, find your strongest armor.  Your sharpest weapons! We will move forward the instant the queen is found! We wait no longer- we save her, today!!”

The Blue Lions had never been more proud of their king. That fire in his eyes, that of a king, of a husband…of a father…he was ready to put everything he had into bringing you home, no matter the cost. He wasn’t giving up.

He wasn’t going to let himself fall into the darkness.

He was bringing you home.

————————-

The remains of the Adrestian Empire were little more than a shadow of its former greatness. Dimitri, however, was ready to turn it all to ash.

The base they had found was located deep below the earth, under what was once the royal family’s castle.

They moved quietly, and quickly down the steps, deep into the belly of the castle. They remained on high alert, silent until they found the first unfortunate Snake.

He was cut down just as the alarm was sounded.

Dimitri wasted no time forcing the Lions forward, barreling through the corridors and flooding the once grand creation with a mob of soldiers that wanted nothing than to destroy its remains.

You were here. Locked in a cell, cold and alone and afraid and hurt.

The mother of his child. 

There wouldn’t be enough blood in the world to atone the crimes they committed against the king’s dearest love.

No, he cursed, tearing apart the prison once they found it.

No, he promised, ripping each cell door open as the others frantically tried to find the one you were in.

No.

“D…Dimitri…?”

Not anymore.

“Byleth??”

Your name was a gasp on his lips, and he rushed to the cell in the furthest corner, concealed in a darkness not even he could see through. Sylvain’s torch illuminated the place a moment later, and there you were.

In the flash and flicker of the flames, he saw you. 

Oh, his poor wife.

He tore the door from its hinges with an inhuman sound, flinging it away. You could only stare at him, mouth falling open as he rushed to your side. 

Tentatively, he reached out, his fingers brushing your cheek. Was it a dream?

“Dimitri.”

Once,  you called his name.

“Byleth…you’re…y-you’re here.”

“Dimitri…”

Twice.

His brow furrowed, the cloak falling around you both as he took you in, pulling you into his chest as he cradled you for the first time in months. Months.

“I’m here. We’re all here…we’re…here.”

“D-Dima…”

Three times.

He clung to you as you cried, tears of relief dripping down your cheeks. He held you as closely as possible, determined never to let you from his sight again.

Never to let such harm befall you.

For a few moments, all you could do was hang onto your husband, letting him gingerly turn you so that you leaned against his chest, so that the others could come to you and tend to your wounds.

Mercedes and Marianne tended you through tears of their own, thanking the Goddess that you were all right.

You were underweight considering how far along you were in the pregnancy, they had told you. But you weren’t too worried. 

You knew Dedue would take care of you and fix that in no time. 

Once you were cleared to walk, Dimitri had you draped in his cloak, its warmth a welcome comfort from the cold hell you had suffered through for so long.

Despite Flayn’s assurance that you would be fine, Dimitri still carried you from the dungeon, back into the light of the world.

He had let you go once, he explained bluntly, pressing on much to the exasperation and unamusement of some of his friends (Felix…Seteth…).

You pressed your face against his neck, clinging to the fabrics even as he mounted his steed, and began the journey home.

He had let you go, once, he murmured, his lips in your hair. He would never let it happen again. Not to either of you.

The promise was whispered, his hand against your baby bump, the other holding you close to his heart. 

There would never be any fear of the Archbishop being stolen. Now that Dimitri was permanently posted by your side, and especially once your dearest son was born. 

Nothing could pry him from you, come hell or high water.

Your guardian angel.

Your most precious lion.

[townsenddecades]

1314 – Day 3

TOWNSEND FARM

The rains are still worryingly heavy. It isn’t normal for the weather to be this wet at this time of the year. Some people, scared for their survival, are already wondering if this is some sort of punishment by The Watcher for the state of the world. They’d flock to Her churches, if they weren’t so desperate to make ends meet.

On the Townsend farm, Malika’s pregnancy is progressing steadily. Doing her chores and caring for the three youngest members of the household isn’t easy when she feels as if she waddles rather than walks, but she does her best. Her only consolation is that it can’t be long, now.

Both Helen and her young niece and nephew spend a lot of their time being underfoot on the farm – just like all the other children before them – when their parents and grandfather are too busy to pay attention to them. Benjamin helps Malika to care for the children whenever he’s got the time, but because they still plan to furnish the second cottage – a necessity now that their family is growing – he has little time to do so.

Whatever their woes regarding their fields, Benedict’s carpentry, at least, is serving them well. He does not earn much by it for the most part but has had two commissions for artworks by wealthier patrons Anna and her family had procured for him. He hopes that he will have more of them as his reputation as a craftsman spreads. Watcher knows they will need it, although even that won’t save them if there is no food to be had at all.

Malika thanks him for his efforts, regardless. He has given most of the running of the farm over to them, but she knows how hard he works so her children will have a better future. He waves her words away, but she can tell he is touched.

It is a relief to Malika when she finally goes into labour, at least until the pain starts to gain strength. The midwife is quickly summoned, hours go by, and far past nightfall, she gives birth to a perfect, healthy son. Like with most of the Townsend children, his appearance is a bit startling, if only because his dark skin is contrasted by light blond hair – indubitably inherited from Benjamin’s late mother. Benedict’s eyes fill with tears when he sees this reminder of Anne. He’s spotted traces of her in all their children, but none of them has inherited her hair. It’s almost as if the Watcher Herself wants to show them that some part of her lingers.

Benjamin is equally moved when he cradles their boy, whom they name Duncan, while his wife gets her well-deserved rest.

CRAWLEY HOUSEHOLD

While the Townsends are in suspense over Malika’s labour, anxieties of a different sort assail a member of the Crawley household. The rain has stopped for once, and as she often does, Anna has gone outside to be with her lost children for a while. Nothing brings her more joy than spending time with Annette, but she still misses Matilda and Edward as if a part of herself had been taken from her.

There is no sign of another pregnancy yet. If she’s honest to herself, she isn’t too unhappy about that. It will likely take years for her to make her peace with her children’s deaths and she isn’t looking to add more heartache to that.

Lost in her recollections as she is, it takes her a while to notice that Caroline has joined her outside, fiddling with her wide sleeves and looking uncharacteristically unsure of herself.

“I…I need to speak to you”, she says, after a moment. “I need your help.”

“My help?”, Anna asked, taken aback. “Shouldn’t you be planning your trousseau with your mother?”

That had been another monumental change: only weeks after the death of the future Baroness Elbenhawke, Lady Petersmarch had approached Mary and Matthew to talk to them about arranging a match between the widowed heir to the barony and Caroline. The Crawleys had jumped at the chance, of course. It meant snubbing the Sterlings, but for their daughter to be betrothed to a future baron! It was an honour scarcely imaginable.

Only Caroline had been very quiet, as could be expected. She had liked Tobias Sterling, and no position in the world can make up for having to break the heart of a man that holds true affection for oneself.

Anna’s comment had been meant as a pure joke, which makes Caroline’s sharp gasp even more startling. The other woman quickly covers her mouth, but she’s pale and trembling.

“That’s exactly it”, she forces out. “I can’t marry Pelham’s heir.”

Anna rushes over to her, now truly concerned. “I know how much you liked young Sterling.”

“It isn’t just that. I…we…I committed a sin, Anna. A terrible mistake.”

The implications dawn on Anna almost immediately. It’s what led to her brother Benjamin’s marriage, after all. “Oh Caroline, you didn’t.”

Caroline’s eyes fill with tears. “We did. We were as good as betrothed, and he said he’d marry me if…it took. And then, a few days later, Father told us that the Baron’s son had offered for my hand.”

She’d had no say in it. Her Father ultimately decided whom she was to marry, and no one had thought that she would raise any objections to be raised up into nobility, regardless of her affections for her swain. Even Anna, while sympathetic, hadn’t considered the possibility. How could she have known what her friend had done?

She rubs her arms until Caroline stops shaking. “And you’re with child?”, she asks, looking around quickly to make sure none of the servants are lurking anywhere. Caroline nods timidly.

“I haven’t bled in two months.”

“Oh dear.” If someone found out, it’s likely that the Baron would rescind the marriage offer, on grounds of Caroline’s questionable morals. Understandable as her tryst with Sterling had been, it also doesn’t speak well of what she might do once married. “Does your swain know?”

Caroline shakes her head. “I couldn’t say if he’d still want me. He…he didn’t take well to being thrown over. He thinks I should have fought my parents or run away with him. I don’t know what he’ll say if I were to go back on that now just to preserve my honour.”

And even if she does, she’ll have to insult the Baron’s family and break her promise. People will still talk. “Would you want to do it? Marry Tobias, I mean?”

Caroline hesitates. “Mother and Father would never allow it.”

“You could elope. Tell Tobias you’ve changed your mind.”

“I’ve already broken his heart. And besides…it could help our family so much if I were to become a baroness. I’d lift them up, too. Set a precedent, which could even improve Annette’s marriage chances. I want to be with Tobias, more than anything, but…I don’t know if I can disappoint Mother and Father to do it.”

Part of her surely wants to be a noble lady, too. It is a grand honour that the Countess has spoken up for her. Snubbing that could damage Matthew’s standing in the Earl’s household, everything he’d been working for, all for a stupid, youthful mistake. There is no good way out of this situation, that much Anna can see clearly.

She is silent for a while, pondering their chances. “As I see it, you have three options. One, marry Tobias Sterling, and risk insulting both Lords of the county in the process and damaging your family’s reputation.”

“I can’t do that”, Caroline whispers. “I love Tobias, but I can’t.”

“Which means you’ll have to marry the Baron’s son, which he likely won’t consent to if he finds out you’re pregnant with another man’s child. We could try to hasten the marriage and make him believe your child is his, but you may already be too far along for that, and he’ll likely not wish to insult his wife’s memory by marrying so soon after her passing.”

“So, I’m doomed.”

“No.” Anna shakes her head, an idea already forming. “I’m not sure you’ll like it, but we could make a trip somewhere else, you and me. Maybe go to the seaside for the bracing air. We’ll stay there for a few months, until you’ve given birth. And once we return with the baby, I’ll claim it’s mine and George’s.”

For a few moments, Caroline is speechless. “You’d to that?”

“Of course I would. You’re my sister. I’d do as much for Edith.”

“But I would never to be able to acknowledge the child as mine.”

Anna gives her a sad smile. “I’m afraid that’s the price you’ll have to pay, if you wish to keep it a secret. We’ll likely need co-conspirators, but the fewer people know, the better. I do want your brother to know, however. I can’t keep a secret like that from my husband.”

Caroline still looks numb, but she nods with an effort. “I suppose there is no other way.”

But she sounds incredibly heartbroken as she says it.

Prev: 1314, Day 2 <--> Next: 1314, Day 4

WATCHER’S COMMENTARY:

This wasn’t planned.

When Elinor died, I went through my options as to who Richard could marry. Creating an entirely new sim was an option, but my first thought was the Dudleys, which fell through because their only living daughter is Gwendolen, who is far too young. So, my mind went to Caroline. A lord’s heir marrying the daughter of a commoner isn’t realistic, but I’ve been very frank about the fact that I’m taking some liberties, and with her family being close to the Earl and well-off, I decided to just handwave it.

 And I kid you not, I couldn’t even get them engaged before I received the notification that she had gotten pregnant by her boyfriend. So, I decided to incorporate that into the story, the result of which you see here. The fact that it gave me an opportunity to write some more about her and Anna supporting each other was just the icing on the cake.

What this will lead to, I don’t know yet. I know the gender of the baby, but I have no idea if it will take after the Crawleys or after Caroline’s lover. I also don’t know if I’ll have the child be part of the succession should the need arise, or if I will skip them in favour of the next-closest sim that is part of the Townsend bloodline. I will cross that bridge should I get to it.

I do know that I will roll for the kid, so let’s see if they even survive past infancy.

[wannabecatwriter]

OC Deep Dive Questionnaire Tag

Thanks for the tag, @treason-and-plot!

I'll pick Candace.

What uncommon/common fear do they have?

Getting sick again and staying at a hospital again. She would absolutely dread going through that again.

Do they have any pet peeves?

When people interrupt others mid-conversation. It's like, let me finish the sentence, bro!

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

Perfume, lip gloss, high heels.

What do they notice first in a person?

Their clothing and general color scheme.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Closer to 7, but she believes it's lower.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

Fight mode. Not necessary in a physical way, but she can be very confrontational if she thinks the situation calls for it.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

Medium? She has her brother Ashton and their parents Doug and Bernadette, but Jasper is also practically like a brother to them, and Annette is basically like a second mom to them.

What animal represents them best?

A cat.

What is a smell that they dislike?

Hospitals and hospital cleaners/sanitizers.

Have they broken any bones?

No, but she did have a concussion when Martie hid her with his car, if that counts.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Extremely outgoing, girly, bubbly... way more energy than most others in the room.

Are they a night owl or a morning bird?

Somewhere in the middle.

What is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

She loves sweets, especially vanilla-flavored items. She absolutely despises cottage cheese.

Do they have any hobbies?

Does AO3 count? 😂 But for real, she has definitely made fanart of her fave TV couples in the past.

Also, nail polish/nail art.

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises?

She'd love it, but realistically she's the one likely to throw another person a surprise party.

Do they like to wear jewelry?

Oh yes!

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

It's more on the cutesy side, she's definitely the sort to have hearts over her "i"s for example.

What are two emotions they feel the most?

Fascination with the world around her and amusement with life.

Do they have a favorite fabric?

She really likes lace, both how it feels and looks.

What kind of accent do they have?

Not sure how to call it, but in my head, she kind of sounds like Marsai Martin.

Tagging @zosa95 @queeniecook @dreamsascend

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

5, 17, 25, 29

For the ask game, please!

woooo! more asks! Thank you thank you! :D <3

5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write?

Oooh probably a few of the ones listed in the previous ask about fic ideas that I have noodling around in my head.

Off the top, I'll probably not write "Grima Becomes King" even though it would be fun. Mostly because I know it would be the world's longest fic and the idea of writing it makes me feel tired.

17. What’s something you’ve learned about while doing research for a fic?

Oh man, many things. What comes to mind is how much I've learned about late antiquity/early medieval Scandinavia for all things Rohan & Grima related.

I think an interesting tid-bit was the gender disparity of infanticide. Not shocking, given how patriarchal Scandinavian society was at the time, but far, far more girls were killed than boys. Also skeletal remains show that in times of famine, boys were given more (and better) food than the girls.

(don't tell tumblr, they're very keen on thinking Viking (tm) society was a world of gender equality and other nonsense)

25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing?

I have! In different ways. For Grima stuff - the scenes where he's forced to eat his horse in My Land is Bare were just - I icked myself writing them. Degradation in general icks me and I always get in a weird headspace after writing it.

I have absolutely made myself cry writing bits of Thus Always. Particularly the death of Downey's father (that chapter has a banger of an ending line: So, in silence they look at one another, truly look at one another, for the first time in thirty years, and in silence Amos dies.) The eulogy appendix also gets me. Annnd this bit with Downey's mother:

Annette catches Downey at the door, squeezes his arm, says, ‘I never understood why you did what you did.’ ‘Why I left? Surely he told you the gory details.’ ‘No, no, I never understood why you chose to…to be like that. Did I do something wrong?’ Downey takes in her weeping eyes, her pain, her sorrow, the mad grief over things she has no words for, and he just shakes his head. Just shakes it and shakes it and shakes it.

the infamous "did I do something wrong and that is why you're a queer" conversation that many people have unfortunately had

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

Something from a follow-up fic to Swimming Through Fire world. Two years after the war, a year after Grima and Éomer came to some vague Arrangement, and Éomer's off to go get married. Lucky him.

They're on their way to Umbar as I have Eomer marrying outside Gondor for reasons of regional political cohesion. Safan, everyone's favourite main man from the ROTK installment of the Swimming Through Fire series, makes an appearance.

---

Of course, Safan could have other sources, Gríma reasons. About Éomer. About what he is like as a man. Safan is talented, clearly capable, and trusted—therefore, he is likely to have heard his fill about the future king of Éomarc.

Who is currently standing towards the front of the boat watching the horizon dip up, down, and again again again.

No storm, but the sea roils. Gríma was told it’s the wind, a beautiful day for the voyage, but choppy. Hold fast. Do you know how to swim?

He told the sailor: I can hold my breath for two minutes.

The sailor laughed: that’s a start, I suppose.

No, no, I can swim. I’d just rather not.

Then hold fast.

So, he’s holding fast. He’s watching the water. The surf kicked up, foam white as the froth of churning milk. He thinks he wants to be sick.

What did he have to break his fast? Sweet buns, fruit, cheese. They dine light in the morning in Khephanto, same as they do in Éomarc. A welcomed change from other parts of Gondor where it is blood sausages and eggs and liver and salted fish and fried mushrooms piled high with toast and hot milk and gods the memory makes him more nauseous than he thought possible.

He tries to lean over the railing, thinking it would make sense to be sick into the ocean, but the thought of being so suspended over water—only his head, his shoulders and chest, but still—it sends him skittering away.

Foolish, of course, he survived the river Isen when he fell in. He survived Limlight more than once as a boy. He’d be fine until they fish him out.

Provided they fished him out.

Gríma finds Éomer again—still at the helm. Golden haired in the golden sun looking at ease despite the tumult.

They’d fish him out, Gríma thinks bleakly. Surely. Éomer would make them. Surely.

He wouldn’t be left to drown. Horrorhorrorhorror—how the chest burns and everything’s upside down and and and and and and and and and and and and and and and————

A bucket.

Gríma looks up, realizes his hands are on his knees and he’s shaking. Safan stands before him, holding the bucket.

‘Didn’t realize you’d be so sour stomached,’ Safan says.

Gríma wrenches the bucket from his hand, turns around, and is promptly sick into it. Somewhere, someone laughs. He’s certain it’s at him. He would care if he didn’t feel like his stomach wanted to crawl up his throat.

‘Just lean over the side,’ Safan suggests, all fatherly.

‘Can’t.’

‘Alright.’

‘This is horrible.’

‘You’ll get used to it.’

‘Inhuman.’

Safan laughs.

‘Truly,’ Gríma insists. He hugs the bucket of his bile. ‘Horrible. I’m going home by land. I don’t care if it takes me three months.’

Safan pats him on the shoulder, tells him that he’ll get used to it. It’s only another two and a half days—two if the wind holds. Gríma pulls an ugly face: two days! He doesn’t have enough in him to throw up for two days of travel. Safan shakes his head, pats his shoulder again, insists that Gríma will be fine.

‘Horizon,’ Safan points, ‘keep your eye on that and your stomach should settle.’

‘It’ll settle when I’m dead.’

‘I love your optimism, I’m sure your future king does too.’

Gríma makes no response, save to turn away from Safan and sick into the bucket a second time.

/

Early afternoon, still the first day, they’ve yet to have the blessing of crossing the small hours into daybreak, they’re not even at dusk, yet, and Éomer finds Gríma who has found a rope pile to sit on, with his bucket, trying to stare at the horizon.

‘I don’t know how you’re not ill, my lord,’ Gríma whines.

Éomer makes no reply. His eyes are also trained on where sky meets sea—a beautiful greying line if Gríma was in the mind to admire.

‘Perhaps you are sick as well,’ Gríma suggests.

Éomer shakes his head.

‘Assuredly,’ Gríma insists.

Éomer smiles, taught it stops half-up his face.

‘Knew it,’ Gríma mutters.

Éomer strides to the railing, leans over, and vomits. Gríma laughs. His future king makes no response. Gríma needles: ‘Would you like a bucket? The bucket is wisdom itself.’

‘I’m fine,’ Éomer replies, as if nothing occurred. ‘I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss.’ Slipping into the northern dialect of the Wold Éomer continues, ‘You’re not being very sympathetic for someone also suffering.’

‘My lord, you should know better than to come and roost upon my stoop in search of sympathy. It died in the womb. I might have eaten it.’

‘Along with your heart?’

‘To be sure. That shriveled, little thing.’

But his future lord-king is smiling, if not outright laughing, and Gríma doesn’t know how to stand in this moment. It’s been two years since the war—almost exactly. They’re just entering April, a fine month to travel in. It’s been fifteen months and a week since that first post-war winter yule when things between them became…sticky. Gríma isn’t sure how to term it, he isn’t sure there is a word for it. He is sure Éomer wouldn’t know and so has never made an effort to ask.

And what is there to ask about? Aside from Gríma’s commitment to burning down the entirety of the world should Éomer ask it of him. A bit of a rub, a bit rum, that the lord should instead ask him to create rather than destroy. Which is just like Éomer, to be contrary to Gríma’s desires whilst being, at the same time, precisely what is desired.

He thinks he might be sick into the bucket again.

‘Éothain told me about the creatures you’re concerned we’ll become victim to,’ Éomer says.

‘His investigations did little to assuage me. That said, their appearance could put me out of my misery, which is a boon.’

‘I think you’re over-reacting.’

Gríma turns away from Éomer, thinks he’s going to be sick, but it passes. He turns back around. On Éomer’s face is writ feint amusement. Gríma he thinks he should be sick on Éomer’s boots to make a point.

Some shuffling of feet as Éomer leans against the side of the boat to again stare at distant horizon as instructed by Safan. Gríma supposes he could try it, but doesn’t think standing wise at this precise moment.

‘Have you heard anything further?’ Éomer asks with a fantastical attempt at disinterest.

Gríma feigns confusion: ‘Further, my lord?’

‘About this—about Lady Dihya,’ he slides through her name in a chaotic fashion, it’s half Éothéod and half an approach to Umbar pronunciations. Good gods, Gríma cannot wait for them to meet if only to hear them butcher each other’s names in such a full-frontal fashion. ‘You were seen speaking with Safan.’

‘Safan and I are acquaintances of old.’

‘Shouting at each other over a wall proceeding a siege hardly makes one an acquaintance of old.’

‘Hardly a siege,’ Gríma scoffs. ‘Lord Aragorn lightly threatened them with ghosts and they saw reason and left.’

‘And the draugr.’

Gríma tilts his head skyward. Éomer follows suit asking if that brother of Gríma’s is around. Which brother would Éomer son of Éomund be asking after? Gods Gríma, the only brother who could possibly be present—the bog-drowned inhuman one that’s a crow half the time. It tried to peck the eyes out of a Meduseld mouser the other day. Hasn’t Gríma taught it manners, yet?

‘Baldir was never keen on following orders,’ Gríma replies tartly. ‘It is hardly my fault he is enacting the behaviours of his kind, now that he is what he is. He’s not eating people or horses. Nor goats, cows, hounds, most cats, and other such important creatures. I cannot vouch for poultry or hares. And no, he’s not around. I told him to fuck off back home before we left.’

Éomer mouths: fuck off back home with some mild astonishment. Gríma gives a desultory look: what?

Éomer tries another question, ‘Did Safan tell you anything useful? Are there things I should avoid saying or doing?’

‘I am not here,’ Gríma holds up a hand, turns away and vomits into the bucket. It’s all bile, at this point. He tried drinking water with ginger in it, recommended by Éothain, but it came to naught. He wipes his mouth, pushes hair out of his face, turns back around to Éomer. ‘I am not here in an advisory capacity. As I told Safan, I don’t know why I’m here. I hardly expected it.’

‘My uncle,’ Éomer glances at the men around them—all Haradrim or Gondorian, the Éothéod are generally seasick and showing it. He continues in the Wold dialect: ‘My uncle took you aside before we left. Éothain and Gundahar both saw it occur. You spoke for a good space of time, what did he say?’

‘Oh, that. He was telling me to mind myself and not get into trouble. That the first whiff of anything suspicious he’ll know whose door to knock at. As if I haven’t learned my lesson! truly I wish people understood that. I make mistakes, the lords know, but I tend not to make the same ones twice.’

Éomer, to his credit, does not believe Gríma—at least about the not knowing what his role is. Gríma hopes he believes him about lessons learned. He had assumed Éomer did—few others, but at least Éomer. Hama would believe him, if he were alive. This thought does a strangeness to Gríma’s chest, an emotion he is learning to name regret. He rarely feels it, if ever, but with Hama yes, it rears its ugly head.  

Gríma sometimes wonders what the percentage is that Éomer believes. Is it fifty per cent of what Gríma says? Eighty? Twenty? Or entirely situational? Probably entirely situational. Probably Gríma doesn’t want to know.

‘Surely you’ve been briefed,’ Gríma says into a long stretched silence.

‘Of course I have.’

‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’

Éomer gives him such a statement with his expression and Gríma would laugh if it were appropriate. Instead of saying: horseshit and you know it, Éomer replies: ‘For the sake of relations between countries I want to make a good impression. My uncle said he trusted me to represent Éomarc.’

‘I should hope so, as future king yourself you’re the embodiment of our people and our land.’

Grating, grating, grating—Éomer paces this through. Gríma wants to say what he always thinks in these situations, that Éomer is the better option to Théodred. One represents Éomarc more wholly and entirely than the other. Théodred was nice. Théodred would have tried. He would have done what he thought was the best. Gríma knows better than to sneer those sentiments aloud to the cousin and inheritor who sometimes goes morose and burrows into himself when the former heir is mentioned. The man who Éomer idolized, to some degree, and who did not live long enough to shatter those illusions.

Well, well, that is Éomer, sitting in the sun comparing himself to dead heroes who cannot be faulted in anything because they are dead.

Another wave of nausea comes, Gríma waits to need the bucket, but it passes. How is it so warm? It’s April, it should be the perfect temperature at all times.

-

‘A rat with a bucket,’ cheerfully calls a voice.

Gríma puts on a flattering smile, ‘my lady, it gladdens my heart to know you are not similarly afflicted.’

‘Not a whit.’

‘Truly,’ Éomer asks. ‘I can’t believe that.’

‘Sorry, brother, but alas that is the case.’ Éowyn does not sound entirely sympathetic. She then glances between them and to her brother asks: ‘What conference have you with Wyrmtunga?’

‘Trying to get information out of him about what we can expect. He chatted with Lord Safan last night.’

‘My how we’ve resurrected ourselves,’ Éowyn sneers at Gríma who continues, with great effort, to appear cheerfully nonplussed but gods gods gods he wants to be sick again. He knows he must be green about the gills for how she laughs. ‘Uncle said you were to behave.’

‘I am, on my honour.’ Gríma adds, ‘on the life of Stigr.’

‘Not nothing,’ Éowyn owns. ‘How do you know lord Safan? He seems above your station and rank, now that you are nothing in particular.’

‘The war.’

‘They shouted pleasantries at each other over the walls of Pelargir,’ Éomer explains, ‘before Aragorn reminded everyone time was of the essence.’

‘Lord Aragorn was just as party to the pleasantries, my lord.’

Éowyn’s keen eyes, sharp as knives, slice from brother to Gríma and Gríma knows a dissection is occurring, there will be a result from it, but it will not be accurate. He knows where her assumptions will lead her, and he is right when she asks: ‘Did you know him through Saruman?’

‘No, my lady, I never met him save that day during the war. I had assumed he died, until he showed up as ambassador.’ He adds, half-afterthought and undertone, ‘not everything is a conspiracy.’

‘I hear she likes hunting,’ Éowyn tells her brother, ignoring Gríma’s reply. ‘Stalking and the like. Talk to her about that and you’ll be safe.’

‘What else did you hear?’

‘Books—histories about seafaring voyages and distant battles, also political machinations. But she is not adverse to the occasional bout of poetry. Recite her something pretty about nature, I heard. She’s partial to birds and fish, also long descriptions of sand dunes which are, apparently, beautiful.’

‘I see.’

‘I’m doubtful too,’ Éowyn agrees. ‘But having never seen one, we could be wrong. Her favourite colour is red and her favourite metal is copper.’

‘See,’ Éomer snaps at Gríma, ‘this is useful information I can do something with.’

Gríma levers himself upright, a dangerous decision for it sets his stomach on edge again, bidding a well-rehearsed and beautiful good-day to them he stalks across the ship towards the prow. He read a book about ships while in Minas Tirith and tried to memorize all their bits and pieces. This is a long, round nosed, shallow bottomed galley. Predominantly used for trade and moving passengers and animals. Gríma marks the three masts, the place for the oarsmen, though as they’re “with the wind” it's just sail work.

In the stern is the—he blanks on the term—but it’s a built-up structure where captain and important guests stay in relative comfort. Everyone else gets shoved below deck with the lice and livestock.

Castle! That’s what the structure is called. A castle.

Daft name.

Or maybe not, he doesn’t know anything about ocean-going vessels. They must be defended, especially merchant fleets, so perhaps castle is apt. Defending the keep, except it’s your boat.

Nearing the prow Gríma grips the railing and stares forward. Fresh sea air helps keep stomach in check. By the time the breeze gets to the back where he had hidden himself there was nothing much left to it. Knuckles whiten as his hands twist on the wood. Well waxed, there are no splinters, but he can feel its course nature against skin. A grounding experience. He sucks in a breath, holds, exhales.

Marvelous, he tells himself, it’s all marvelous. His still being alive and in one piece, mostly. Also this. Boats, oceans, skies, new lands, languages, the many and varied people present in the world. Oh, no, not distracting enough, he leans forward, is sick into the water as he gets hit with ocean spray.

Well, he thinks as he wipes salt water off, at least he knows his face is clean.

[sassawrful]

HIII ! Cute simblr btw♡ I especially love your lookbooks :)))

I was wondering if you can help me find the top you used on this cutesy sim Annette?

Thank youu https://www.tumblr.com/sassawrful/751463351545151488/i-love-sims-3-cas-d-and-everything-else?source=share

eeeee my first ask!!!! the top that I used is *here* (on simsfinds). Enjoy, Mel! love your page, btw🤍🤍🤍