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phyripowritesthings · 20 days ago

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I changed my URL back :) but anyway, robul! I've realized that a bunch of the robul I've posted on this blog has been like... sad, but then nearly everything on ao3 has been pretty Not Sad :0 this fic is here to buck one of those trends, in that it's very light-hearted and pretty silly! it's also given me a bunch of new headcanons, which is always cool! I want you guys to know that the placeholder summary for this was 'stupid idiots in love, too stupid to know they're in love', which covers it pretty well

(I'd Be) Better Off With You

pairings/characters: Bulgaria (Stefan)/Romania (Dragos), Norway (Einar), Belarus (Nadzeya), Sweden (Torbjörn), Hungary (Erzsébet), Moldova (Luca)

word count: 6473 summary: In which Stefan makes Dragos better food, Dragos makes Stefan wear better clothes, and literally everyone knows they're dating except the two of them.

Also on AO3!

By the time Dragos finally finishes up, it is very nearly dark outside despite it being early June.

With a sigh, he tidies up his shop and walks into his adjoining apartment through the back door. There, he realizes that the delicious smell he’s been noticing over the course of the evening, wasn’t coming from one of his neighbors’ kitchens as he’d thought, when he finds Stefan in his kitchen, humming under his breath and stirring a bubbling sauce in a pot.

“I didn’t think I had food,” Dragos says, by way of greeting. His stomach rumbles.

“You didn’t.” Stefan covers the pot and turns to him, leaning back against the kitchen counter. The shirt he’s wearing is threadbare, the hems actually frayed. It’s a shirt Dragos distinctly remembers telling him not to wear anymore, at least not in public, but then he supposes his kitchen isn’t public.

“Hm. Okay.” Dragos pauses. “Hold on, when did you get here?”

“I said hi to you! You were setting up your game.”

Dragos is sure he doesn’t remember that, but alright. It wouldn’t be the first time he got a little caught up in his preparations. Nor, of course, is it the first time Stefan has shown up unannounced in his kitchen.

“And what if I’d been eagerly anticipating takeout pizza, huh?” he asks him, even as he starts maneuvering around him to pull out plates and cutlery for two. Stefan turns back to the stove with a scoff and doesn’t answer. Dragos grins.

It’s nice, the way Stefan will take time out of his day to make sure he’s fed. There isn’t any reason Dragos couldn’t do it himself, of course, but he has to admit Stefan is a better cook. Besides, he seems to enjoy it, so, win-win. Especially if he can talk him into putting other clothes on at some point.

“D’you want wine?” Dragos asks, because he might not have had any food, but he certainly has that.

“It’s a Wednesday, Dragos.”

“And?”

“And I’m not twenty anymore.” Stefan looks at him with one eye. “Maybe one glass. Red, if you have it.”

Of course he does.

Stefan does only drink one glass of wine with his amazing pasta, which—yeah, he really isn’t twenty anymore, Dragos supposes, because he remembers him drinking far too much on a far too regular basis when they were that age. It’s probably a good thing he’s stopped doing that. Unfortunately, Dragos isn’t twenty anymore either, so despite having only two glasses himself, he’s slightly unsteady on his feet when he sees Stefan off later that evening.

He watches him go around back, through the small courtyard there that’s mostly filled with junk, and also Dragos’s bike, which he’s protective of but might as well be junk. Especially since Stefan accidentally kicks the front wheel on his way out, and Dragos giggles when he apologizes to the bike before clasping his shoulder and telling him it’s okay. Even if he is still wearing his shitty shirt.

Kindly, Stefan has left the leftover pasta for Dragos, which is good because he still has no other food, after all. Really, what would he do without him?

When it is time for his lunch break, Dragos quickly ducks out of the shop and into his apartment, where he heats his leftover pasta in the microwave. He carries the plate back into the shop, sitting down to eat at the table where they host their TTRPGs. Behind the register, Einar looks up from the many granny squares he’s been crocheting between customers.

“That smells nice,” he comments. “That’s why you didn’t want Nadz to get you lunch?”

With a chime of the shop bell, Nadzeya returns just then, brandishing cartons of fried fish from the local market, so Einar puts his crocheting down to take one from her, nodding his thanks. She sweeps into the side room in a cloud of black fabric and eyes Dragos’s pasta suspiciously.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Stefan made it.”

That makes her look over her shoulder at Einar, who shrugs.

“He’s bringing you lunch now?” she asks, pushing her sleeves up to dip a piece of fish in sauce.

“No, of course not!” Dragos laughs. “He’s got a job, you know. He made dinner last night, I’m lucky enough to get the leftovers.”

“I see,” Nadzeya says slowly, chewing on her fish.

Dragos shrugs and eats some more pasta. It really is very good. He’ll have to ask Stefan if he’d make it again. He could even make sure he keeps the ingredients on hand.

“So…” Einar is coming over to lean against the doorframe, fish in hand. “He stayed at your place?”

“What, where would he stay?” Dragos frowns. They both know he’s only got one bed, and his shitty couch, which he would never ask anyone to sleep on, least of all Stefan.

Einar and Nadzeya exchange an indecipherable look that ends with Einar shrugging once more and Nadzeya sighing.

“Guys, what’s up? I thought you liked Stefan.” Or maybe they’re jealous of his pasta?

“Oh my god,” Nadzeya mutters. “Yeah, sure, Dragos, he’s a nice dude.”

“Quite handsome,” Einar puts in, which makes her snort for some reason, though Dragos couldn’t say why. It is true; Stefan is quite handsome, with his bright green eyes and his perpetual stubble, even if he has no sense of fashion.

“Sure, but I didn’t think he was your type,” he just tells Einar, who, as far as Dragos knows, is more into tall blond guys, “though I’m sure I could—”

The bell over the shop door chimes to announce the arrival of a customer and Einar uncharacteristically rushes over to assist, so Dragos doesn’t finish his sentence. He turns to his last bit of pasta instead.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Nadzeya tells him, but she does that at least twice a day and Dragos has long since given up trying to figure out what it is he did wrong this time, so he ignores her, takes his plate back to his kitchen, and goes to see if the customer needs any help.

Stefan hears Torbjörn greet someone at the front of the workshop, but doesn’t pay attention to it until a shadow covers the chair he’s working on. He squints down at the wood, then up. The only clue he really needed was the ridiculous leather pants, but he smiles up at Dragos’s face anyway, putting his sanding tool down.

“Hey Dra,” he says, as he sits up and dusts off his jeans. “What brings you here?”

“Nothing, really. Well—oh!” Dragos shuffles his shoulder bag around to dig into it. “I got you a pastry. Only seems fair, yeah?”

He holds a crumpled paper bag out to Stefan, who has already closed his fingers around it when he looks up at his friend’s grin and notices… A glint.

Standing up abruptly, he leans close to Dragos, which only makes him grin wider, rust-brown eyes crinkling at the corners. As usual, his smile is slightly lopsided and Dragos is touching his tongue to a sharp canine, but what isn’t usual is the shimmer of metal beneath his upper lip, glinting silver.

“When the hell did you get that?” Stefan asks, incredulous. He saw him yesterday!

“Just now! It’s called a smiley piercing, isn’t that cute?”

That is cute, and Stefan thinks it’s very suited to Dragos, but he shakes his head in confusion and gestures with his mystery pastry.

“Dragos, you’re afraid of needles!”

“Oh, geez, am I?” He rolls his eyes ostentatiously, still grinning. “It’s not like I can see into my mouth, is it?”

The glint of metal is there every time he speaks, distracting Stefan. He frowns.

“You made me come with you when you got that tattoo.”

“Well—”

“The tattoo that is on your back.”

“That’s—no, that’s different.” Dragos pauses. Tilts his head, tucking some wispy hair that’s escaped from its ponytail behind his ear. “Did you want to come?”

“No?” Stefan thinks about it. “No. You can take care of yourself.”

Another smile, and Dragos brushes sawdust off his shoulders in that way he does; there must not be any in Stefan’s hair for him to finger-comb out.

“So you just… Came here to show me you got a piercing?” That just gets him a quirk of Dragos’s thin eyebrows. Alright.

“I guess I also wanted to tell you I’m not supposed to eat anything spicy for two weeks.”

Aw, really? Stefan wanted to make goulash. He must look disappointed, because Dragos grasps his shoulders and says, “Oh, I’m sorry!” with such an earnest expression that it makes him laugh. He touches one of his arms.

“It looks nice, Dra.”

A grin. Smiley, huh? How fitting.

“Anyway, I’m sure you’re busy, so I’ll leave you to it! Enjoy your pastry!” Dragos flounces off through the workshop in a little whirl of color. “Bye, Torbjörn!”

“Bye,” Torbjörn says, possibly sounding amused. It’s hard to tell, with him, especially compared to Dragos. Both because Dragos wears his heart on his sleeve, and because Stefan has known Dragos since they were kids.

“’S nice,” Torbjörn tells Stefan as he walks over to put his pastry safely away for now. “Used to bring Tuomi lunch when he worked ‘round here.”

“That’s sweet. Not really the same, though.”

Torbjörn and Tuomi have been married for over a decade, after all.

“Hm,” Torbjörn just says, which could mean anything, so Stefan shrugs and gets back to work.

If it were possible, Dragos is sure he would have broken the speed limit on his rickety bicycle, that’s how fast he rushes to the local hospital after he gets a cryptic call. Once there, he hurries to the second floor when the receptionist directs him up.

“Is it Luca?” he shouts, bursting into a silent hallway. For the first time in his life, he is mildly relieved to see Erzsébet Héderváry sprawled in a plastic chair, looking at her phone.

“Your brother is fine, Bălan,” she drawls. “Stefan fell down a flight of fucking stairs, though, and they won’t let him leave with me.”

“A flight of stairs? Is he—wait, why am I here?” Though he doesn’t understand why, he knows Erzsébet is Stefan’s friend, just like he is, so there is no reason he should have any more right to check Stefan out of this place.

“Well, his mother lives on the other side of the country.” Erzsébet is standing up.

“But…”

“Ugh, Bălan, just because you’re not fucking married yet doesn’t mean they won’t let him go with you.” She thrusts a bundle of fabric into Dragos’s hands, glaring up at him and jerking her chin at the door behind her. “Tell him he owes me one.”

And off she goes.

Dragos decides to ignore her, as he usually does, and walks into the hospital room to find Stefan sitting on the edge of a bed. He smiles when he spots Dragos, a sheepish edge to it. The only indicators of injury are a bandage wrapped around his right wrist and some scraping on both arms, and a bruise on his temple.

“Why did you fall down a flight of stairs?” Dragos asks.

Stefan bristles. “What do you mean, why? I didn’t mean to—and Erzsébet is exaggerating, I fell down the steps out front of her building!”

Yeah, that sounds like her. And yes, Dragos is biased against her, but still. He frowns, pushing his tongue up against his still-healing smiley piercing.

“You look stupid,” Stefan says, now sounding petulant, which makes Dragos smile. “Shut up. Anyway, they won’t let me go until they’re sure someone’ll watch over me. I guess I’ve got a mild concussion. And I sprained my wrist.”

“Hey, at least it’s your right!” Dragos tells him, trying to lift his spirits. And, “I’ll watch over you, no problem.”

That, at least, gets Stefan to smile as he stands up. Dragos unfurls the fabric Erzsébet has given him to find that it’s one of his own jackets, one he made Stefan take some time ago because blue just looks much better on him—and because Stefan has no idea it does, which means it’s up to Dragos to make sure he looks alright. It is a pretty chilly day for July, he supposes.

“Here.” Holding the jacket out, Dragos helps Stefan into it, careful not to jostle his wrist, and he dutifully buttons it up as well. “There you go.”

He smiles at Stefan, and the answering smile is soft. With the backs of his fingers, Dragos brushes the man’s bruised cheekbone.

“Ah!” A nurse, entering the room. “I see Mr Borisov’s partner is here!” He flashes a smile at Dragos. “Now, I’m sure you’ll be fine in no time, Stefan.”

“Thanks,” Stefan mumbles. “Dra—”

“Yeah, let’s go, then.”

They’ve made it nearly to the exit when he realizes, “We’re gonna have to take the bus, though.”

That will surely be annoying, but Stefan just hums, turning his face towards the weak sun when they step outside. His bruises don’t seem so bad in this light, especially when the breeze ruffles his dark hair over his forehead.

“’M glad you came out for me, Dra,” he says, and Dragos grins happily all the while until he has to drag his bike on to a city bus.

“Oh! Stefan!”

Startled, Stefan turns to the side room of the shop, from where Luca waves him over.

“What’s up?”

“Dra!” Luca calls, ducking back into the room.

“No need to yell,” Dragos says in a huff, though his face lights up when he sees Stefan, who smiles back.

Apart from the Bălan brothers, Einar and Nadzeya are also present, all seated around the large table, which is currently set up for one of their fantasy games. Stefan does not understand any of them; his only contribution over the many years he’s known Dragos has been to carve several small creatures out of wood, which Dragos has always been delighted by.

“Just the man we need,” Dragos is saying now, rising from his chair. Einar, who is at the head of the table, puts a heavy book pages-down and leans his elbows on it.

“Me?” Stefan asks. Dragos grasps his shoulders and gazes earnestly at him, eyes bright. Their eyes are perfectly level, which must mean he’s wearing heeled shoes again.

“Yes, you, Stef. We need—oh!” He looks down into the bag slung over his shoulder and grins. “Finally time for goulash, huh?”

Stefan nods. It’s been three weeks.

“Excellent.” The piercing is visible when he smiles.

“Dragos,” Nadzeya says, sounding annoyed and leaning back precariously on her chair’s hind legs.

“Right! We’ve got a problem!” Dragos gestures at the room at large, leaving one hand on Stefan’s shoulder. “Arthur’s bailed on us!”

“Dra, I don’t know how to play your—”

“Not that! Though you’re always welcome to try, you know that. No, see, there’s a festival coming up, and Luc’s friends are going as the Fellowship, okay?”

“Sure,” Stefan says, because sometimes it’s easier to just pretend to know what Dragos is talking about and circle back later.

“Right, and the four of us—” he gestures again—“are normally the White Council, but Arthur’s gone and so I thought you could be our Elrond!” He grins triumphantly, and Stefan just blinks at him.

“I have no idea what you just said.”

Nadzeya drawls, “The gist of it was, do you wanna dress up as an elf?”

An elf? Like Santa’s helpers?

“Cool elf,” Dragos clarifies. “Warrior and lord and all that. Very powerful. He’s played by Hugo Weaving!”

“I don’t know who that is. Also, played in what?”

“Lord of the Rings! I showed you Lord of the Rings, Stef.” He’s still holding one shoulder, squeezing or pulling gently with every other word as he’s wont to do. Stefan tries to recall any films about rings he might have been shown.

“Was that the movie with the… Like, little guys?”

Luca snorts, but Dragos nods, his expression caught somewhere between pained and amused.

“I don’t remember any elves.”

“Yeah, you fell asleep before they even left the Shire.” And, before Stefan can question what that means, “That doesn’t matter, though!”

“I mean,” Nadzeya says, “doesn’t it? Arthur knows basically the whole Silmarillion by heart, he’d be appalled. Maybe you should try reading a book, Borisov.”

Dragos immediately whirls around to glare at her, though Stefan just shrugs.

“I could try,” he says. “Pretty damn dyslexic, though.”

“Alright. Didn’t know that.” She tips her head towards him, and he nods back. Dragos turns to him again, light brown hair fanning around his face. He’s been wearing it up lately, claiming it’s too warm down, and it’s kind of nice to see it loose. It looks more familiar.

“So, normally I’m Elrond, but you’ve already got dark hair anyway, and we know you fit my clothes.”

“I’m sorry, why do we know that?” Luca interrupts. And then, immediately, “No, actually, do not answer that.”

Einar morosely mutters, “It’s gonna be completely innocuous.” Which, yes, of course, what other reason would there be? Stefan is content to let Dragos shove clothes at him, because it seems to make him happy and that is always a worthy cause in his book.

And so, he says, “Sure, Dra, I’ll dress up as this Allround character.”

Dragos beams, clasping both his shoulders.

“Who are you, then?” Stefan asks, because he knows Dragos will want to tell him even if it won’t mean a thing to him.

“Saruman! He’s like… The evil wizard. Einar’s Gandalf and—”

“Actually, since you’re someone different, we decided to switch too,” Einar cuts in. “Nadz’ll do Gandalf, I’ll be Galadriel.”

“Huh,” Dragos says, though he doesn’t turn to them. “Cool.”

Luca, for some reason, starts to blush while he stares wide-eyed at Einar, who smirks languidly at him. It’s probably a good thing Dragos doesn’t notice; despite the fact that Luca’s almost twenty now and goes to university, he’s still very much a kid to his brother. Stefan frowns at Einar in his stead.

“We, uh…” Luca clears his throat. “We wanted to go as Avatar, but there weren’t enough characters. And Leon kept calling everyone racist, though I think he was joking.”

“Oh! I’ve seen Avatar!” Stefan puts in. This is rare!

“What?” Dragos says, incredulous. “When did you watch Avatar and why was I not there?”

“I had a date, he took me. I don’t think I really got it.”

“Oh my fucking god, you mean the blue alien Avatar!” Dragos shakes his shoulders emphatically.

Yeah, there had definitely been blue aliens. “The guy tried to explain it to me, I think it was part two?”

“Who even thinks that’s a good date?” Dragos seems very impassioned now, which makes Stefan smile.

“I liked Blue Alien Avatar,” Einar says mildly.

“Oh, great! Stef, was this date a tall, blond dude, because he sounds like Einar’s type!”

He had been, actually. “I’d thought you might like him. He told me he does these historical dress-up things, too. Looked pretty neat.”

“Elves aren’t historical, Borisov,” Nadzeya says, while Einar leans forward with interest, chin in his hand.

“He kept trying to tell me about Rusvik.” Stefan shrugs. He still has no idea what that is. Might as well be elves. He also has no idea anymore what the guy’s name was.

“Huh,” Einar says, contemplative. “Y’know what, Stefan, that does actually sound like my type.”

“Fucking nerd,” Nadzeya snipes, somehow affectionately, as though she isn’t part of this strange group as well. Dragos smiles a conspiratorial little smile at Stefan, winking, and then tells him to go make his goulash and pushes him gently out the door, promising to fill him in on the elf business over dinner.

“Are you serious?”

Dragos chews on his lip and flails his hands apologetically. Stefan crosses his arms over his bare chest. Early morning sunlight streams in through the high window of the bathroom and across his shoulders.

“You have a fake beard and I have to shave,” he mutters. “How’s that fair?”

“You see why I’m normally Elrond.” Dragos bounces on the tips of his toes.

Stefan does fit his costume; they’ve checked. His chest is a little broader than Dragos’s, but honestly, that just means he fills out the robes better. Arthur’s Saruman outfit fits Dragos as well. He isn’t wearing it now, not yet, only having put a tank top on before telling Stefan to go shave before he put his clothes on.

“Anyway, I know you, you’ll have stubble again by the end of the afternoon. And really, you should see Nadzeya’s beard.”

Einar, of course, also fit perfectly into her Galadriel dress, apart from the stuffed bra he had to wedge underneath. He pulls it off, because Einar can pull everything off. It’s a real shame he’s not Dragos’s type. Maybe Stefan’s stupid former date will appreciate it.

Stefan is shaking his head but smiling wryly.

“The things I do for you, Dragos,” he says, running his fingers over the stubble on his chin. Dragos beams at him and touches his cheek.

“I’m sure it’ll look good. Besides…” He rests the fingertips of his other hand on his breastbone. “At least it’s just the facial hair, huh?”

That gets him a pained expression, followed by Stefan squirming away when Dragos moves his hand. Oh! He’d almost forgotten he’s ticklish! It seemed much more relevant when they were kids.

“Dragos,” Stefan says warningly, jaw clenching underneath his other hand. “Hey—”

Because Dragos wriggles his fingers some more, grinning with delight when Stefan gasps and grabs his wrist, squirming. He hits the sink when he steps back, inadvertently tugging Dragos with him.

“Oh my god,” says Luca, suddenly, from the bathroom doorway. Widening his eyes, Dragos turns to his brother, who is already in his costume.

“This is not what it looks like.”

“It… It’s not?” He looks between the two of them while Dragos takes a step back. Stefan shakes his head, crossing his arms again.

“Oh,” Luca says. “Are you sure?”

“Yes?” Dragos glances at Stefan, who shrugs, amused.

“Jesus fuck.” Luca turns and stalks away, throwing his hands up.

“Hey, language!” Stefan tells him before Dragos can, but Luca doesn’t react. And, “Hey, how come he gets a waistcoat and I have to wear robes?”

“Just go shave,” Dragos tells him, laughing, and he briefly touches his cheek again on the way out.

Erzsébet texts, ‘borisov ur such a pushover’, with a picture attached of Stefan in his Allround outfit, holding a sword, which he thought was actually pretty cool. Stefan blinks at his phone, pausing in eating his lunch.

‘whered you get that photo?’ he sends back.

‘luca. but srsly say no to balan sometimes’

‘I had a good time’

‘ugh. everyone i know is a nerd’

Stefan shrugs, returning to his salad. He doesn’t know, at this point, why Erzsébet dislikes Dragos, and vice-versa, but he thinks the two of them might have forgotten as well, so he’s not going to look into it at all. It’s probably something stupid anyway, knowing the both of them.

“Everything okay?” Torbjörn asks, across the table in their workshop.

“Sure.”

The man nods, eating his sandwich.

“’M takin’ next week off,” he says after a while. Stefan nods; he’d seen the schedule. Since it’s summer, it hasn’t been very busy, so he’ll be fine on his own.

“Special occasion?” he asks. Couldn’t be his birthday; that’s in June, and it’s August now. Torbjörn smiles minutely.

“Wedding anniversary. Twelve years.”

“That’s nice. Congratulations.”

“Y’ever think about getting married?” Torbjörn asks, lifting his cup of coffee.

Stefan laughs. “Sure, if I find the right person. Dragos has all these ideas about weddings, you know that? He’s a romantic, really. Probably knows what I should wear and all.”

Torbjörn stares at him with those piercing eyes of his, coffee raised to his lips and steam fogging up the edges of his glasses.

“I see,” he rumbles eventually. “And you’d let him tell you?”

“I trust him,” Stefan says. If anyone knows what looks nice on him, it’s Dragos.

“I see,” Torbjörn repeats.

“Anyway, next week—do you have any projects I ought to know about?”

Luca is looking uncharacteristically serious, which immediately has Dragos on edge when he opens the door. It’s not unusual for his brother to visit over the weekend; he has his own apartment now, with a yearmate from university, but he knows he’s always welcome in Dragos’s house. Even if Dragos is still a little insulted him and his odd friend group don’t use his specifically furnished side room to play Dungeons & Dragons. Luca says it’s too far away, but still.

“What’s wrong?” Dragos asks nervously.

Luca purses his lips. Swipes his ever-longer hair over one shoulder.

“I want to…” He frowns, seemingly thinking while he flops down on Dragos’s shitty couch. From the open window, the smell of fried food wafts into the room.

“You can tell me anything, Luc.”

“I know.” He smiles softly. “Okay, let’s say I need advice.”

“Okay, let’s say that,” Dragos agrees, leaning forward in his chair.

“What if there’s a… A guy, who’s my friend, right? And he’s always around?” Luca winds his hair around his fingers. “And I really like having him around.”

Dragos nods. He’s reminded of Luca coming out to him a few years ago, although that felt more matter-of-fact; he knew Dragos would have no problems with whatever his sexuality was. He must really like this guy.

“And this guy, he’s always touching me—which I like!—and he seems happy to see me whenever,” Luca continues. “And I like to help him out when he wants, you know? It makes me feel nice.”

“That’s great, Luc. It sounds like you don’t really need my advice—if you’d want to date this guy, I mean.”

“Yeah, you think so?”

“Sure!” Dragos leans forward to clasp his brother’s knee briefly. “Sounds like he’s into you!”

“Cool. So, uh…” Luca takes a deep breath. “Why exactly are you not dating Stefan?”

“What?” Dragos exclaims. Where did that come from?

“Those are all things you and Stefan do!”

“That’s… Luc, that’s different.”

“Why?” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not saying those things can’t be platonic, but I know you, both of you. They’re not!”

“Of course they are!”

“Do you touch Nadzeya that much? Does Einar come over and make you dinner?”

“Well, no—Nadz doesn’t like to be touched—”

“Stefan doesn’t like to be touched! You’ve told me that!”

With a gasp, Dragos says, “He doesn’t! Oh, do you think I’ve been overstepping his boundaries?”

“What? No, Dragos, that’s the point! His boundaries are different for you!” Luca flops backwards on the couch, pushing both hands into his hair. “You can’t be this stupid!”

“Hey.” Why is his brother so hung up on his love life, anyway? Or, lack of love life, as it were. Dragos had meant to go out to a bar sometime this summer, maybe meet someone, but then Stefan will be there with dinner and they’ll hang out and it’ll be too late. He never gets the sense Stefan minds, either. Maybe they could go out together.

“So there’s no guy?” he asks Luca.

“No, there’s no guy, Dragos. Not for me, anyway. Look, wouldn’t it make you happy to be with Stefan?”

“It already does.”

Luca stares at him. “God, I wish you were joking.” And, in response to Dragos raising his eyebrows, “No, that’s good, Dra. And if you were the type of person for a platonic sort of romance, then, you know, whatever. But you were the one reading me all those love stories when I was a kid. You’re a romantic at heart. I know you are.”

“Stef says that a lot.” Dragos smiles. It’s nice to hear.

“Oh my fucking god!”

“Hello, Stefan,” Einar drawls from behind the register, looping a green yarn over his fingers.

“Hi. Is Dragos in?”

“Out to get lunch.”

Stefan nods and makes his way to the door in the back of the shop, pulling his key to Dragos’s apartment out. He just needs to pick up a shirt that Dragos has said would suit him better; he’s going to dinner with Erzsébet and she insists he look ‘presentable, at the very least’. Her and Dragos agree that Stefan doesn’t know how to dress himself, and that’s the only thing.

It’s vaguely insulting, because he’s in his thirties, but at least Dragos will help him out, which is more than can be said for Erzsébet.

The shirt, found hanging over the back of Dragos’s couch, is a nice deep green, nearly black, and it fits great, so Stefan keeps it on when he leaves. He has no work this afternoon, so it’ll be fine.

When he opens the door, it almost slams into a customer, but the man jumps away just in time, narrowly avoiding a rack of trading cards.

“Sorry.” Stefan squints up at the man, who blinks back.

“Oh, Stefan. I didn’t know you worked here.” It’s the guy who took him to see Blue Alien Avatar, whose name Stefan still cannot recall even though he forwarded his contact info to Einar a few weeks back.

“He doesn’t,” Einar says, coming over to inspect the trading cards. And, frowning, “Is that that shirt Dragos bought yesterday?”

“He thought it’d look nice.”

“You two are precious,” Einar informs him flatly.

Blue Alien Avatar man adjusts his glasses, looking down at Stefan. God, right, that’s another reason that didn’t work; he’s just too tall. Stefan would prefer to date someone of his own height.

“So you’re… You live here?” the guy asks.

Before Stefan can clarify, Dragos bursts into his store and immediately exclaims, “I told you it’d look good on you!” He waves a panini around as he strides over. “You’re wasted on Erzsébet Héderváry, truly.”

“Ha, she wishes.” Stefan smiles when that makes Dragos laugh, and stands still so the man can adjust his shirt and gently muss his hair with one hand, wiping at something on his cheek with his tongue between his teeth.

Blue Alien Avatar guy turns to Einar and asks, “How long have—”

“They’re not.”

Dragos nods, satisfied, and holds his panini out to Stefan in invitation, so he folds his fingers over Dragos’s and takes a careful bite of it.

“Surely…”

“You see what I gotta deal with here, Eduard.”

Ah! That was his name.

“So no dinner tonight?” Dragos asks. Stefan shakes his head apologetically. “That’s okay. I’ll see you!”

“See you, Dra.” Stefan touches his arm and nods politely at Einar and Blue Alien Eduard as he leaves.

“Alright, I’ll give you a minute to—” Einar is interrupted by a rattling at the door of the shop that makes everyone look up. “What the hell?”

Frowning, Dragos gets up from the game table and pokes his head out of the window facing the street to see what the commotion is. The sun has not yet set but is low, and in its orange light, he sees that it is Stefan trying the locked door.

“Stef!” he calls, and leans further out of the window when Stefan peers into the sunlight at him. “What the hell are you doing?”

Stefan hurries over. He’s still wearing the nice green shirt and looks quite agitated, so Dragos leans over, resting his torso on the windowsill to grasp his friend’s shoulder.

“What happened? Did Erzsébet do something?” he asks with concern.

Blinking, Stefan shakes his head. In the orange light, his eyes are an almost translucent shade of green, and Dragos can see the brown undertones in his black hair, nearly gold.

“So why are you here? Are you okay?” Dragos touches Stefan’s forehead with his free hand, letting his fingers slip down the side of his face. He feels fine, sun-warmed but not hot. Inside, Luca asks something and Nadzeya grumbles an answer.

“I don’t… You know, it’s stupid,” Stefan says, voice low. He averts his gaze, pressing his lips together.

“I’m sure it’s not, Stef.” Dragos tugs him a little closer to the window so he can lean more comfortably on the sill.

“No, I’m pretty sure it is.” Stefan touches his wrist, fingers warm on his skin, and looks back at him. “We were at dinner, and someone thought we were a couple.”

“You and Erzsébet?” Dragos asks incredulously. He digs his fingers into Stefan’s shoulder. The nerve! He deserves much better than her!

“Yes! And I corrected the guy, immediately!”

“Of course!”

“Dragos, people think we’re a couple all the time!”

“Well—”

“And I never correct them!” His eyes are wide, almost frantic. “I just don’t!”

“But that…” Dragos frowns, and then he just looks at Stefan for a while, as Stefan looks right back, his fingers curled around his wrist. Because Dragos is still touching his face, basically cupping his jaw with one hand while he leans out of his shop window. The street is otherwise deserted, although he wouldn’t have cared if it weren’t.

Slowly, he runs his other hand up from Stefan’s shoulder, across his neck to his face as well. He rasps his thumb over the stubble on his jaw. Watches him part his lips and breathe out slowly.

“Why don’t I correct them?” Stefan asks, nearly in a whisper.

“Because…” Dragos meets his eye. “Because they aren’t wrong.”

“Fuck,” Stefan sighs, eyes closing briefly. “They’re not, are they?”

“Oh my god, Stef, we’re so stupid!” Dragos tugs him closer and leans further forward so that their foreheads touch, and he feels, more than hears, Stefan laugh. He tries to imagine, just for a moment, doing that with Einar, with Nadzeya, with anyone else, but… It doesn’t feel like it should even be a possibility. His boundaries are different for Stefan as well, he supposes.

“Have we really missed out on much, though?” Stefan is asking, wryly.

“You… You could make breakfast, not just dinner,” Dragos says, curling his fingers against his skin. “I could introduce you as my partner. We could—”

Stefan turns his face up and kisses him, slotting their lips together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, and Dragos is sure he almost tumbles out into the street, the way he melts into it.

“Well, and we could do that,” he mumbles, half into Stefan’s mouth, and feels him smile against his lips before pressing them back together. The little noise he makes when Dragos swipes his tongue over his lips is sure to be seared into his memory from here on out—just like the way his stubble rasps against his skin, the way his fingers curl into Dragos’s hair, tugging it out of its half-up ponytail, the way—

“Fucking finally!”

Stefan almost drags Dragos from his window when he stumbles backwards, and Dragos blinks dumbly at him before registering the voice from down the street and turning to glare at Erzsébet.

“What the fuck are you—”

“Dra?” Luca asks from behind him, peering out of the window as well. “Hi, Stefan.”

“Luca!” Erzsébet yells, though she’s coming closer. Dragos wants to say something else, but Stefan rolls his eyes, steps back forward, and kisses him again, and he decides he really doesn’t care.

“No way!” Luca exclaims.

“I know, right?”

There is only Stefan for a long while, then, tilting his head to meet Dragos’s mouth again and again, as if he’s making up for lost time because they’ve really been idiots, possibly for years. When Dragos finally resurfaces from kissing him, Stefan is flushed, his eyes are dark, and, for some reason, Luca is outside on the street with Erzsébet, as are Einar and Nadzeya.

“Guys?” he asks, blinking, his voice somehow hoarse. They weren’t finished with the game. But… He looks back down at Stefan as he touches the corner of his lips with a callused thumb. “Right. Come in.” And, when Stefan steps closer to the window, “The door, Stef!”

“Oh, good, they’re gonna be stupid in brand new ways now,” Nadzeya says, but Dragos doesn’t really care because then Stefan is inside and he can press him against the door, fitting their entire bodies together.

Stefan touches his face, his neck, with careful fingertips as if exploring him. He smells, as he always does, like sawdust and cigarette smoke, and Dragos has known that for years, but the way he smiles sends shivers down his spine. He grins, and Stefan grins back, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Oh my god, I love you,” Dragos blurts. He’s known that too, for years, he just didn’t realize how.

“Stupid,” Stefan mutters. But, as he leans so close their lips nearly touch again, he whispers, “I love you too.”

It’s dark by the time Dragos is done in the shop, and he eagerly makes his way to his apartment, only to find Stefan sprawled on the couch, looking at his phone. He smiles up at Dragos when he enters.

“What’s this?” Dragos lets himself be tugged down to sit sideways on the couch next to Stefan, and then gladly leans over to kiss him, his hair spilling around both their faces. Stefan tucks some of it behind his ear when he pulls back, licking his lips.

“What do you mean, what’s this?”

Dragos raises one eyebrow, which makes him laugh, eyes bright.

“I can’t just be at your place?” He sits up straight.

“’Course you can. I’d be more confused if you weren’t.” He puts a hand on Stefan’s thigh, stretched out on the couch next to him, and is pleased to note a hitch in the man’s breath. “You know several customers think we’re married?”

“Hm. How long have they thought that?”

Dragos grimaces, and Stefan laughs again, then suddenly blinks, falling silent. He meets Dragos’s eye and takes a deep breath.

“Maybe we should be married.”

“Maybe—what?” Dragos gasps. “Is that—Stefan, is that a proposal?”

“Huh, I guess.”

“You guess?” And, before he can reply to that, “I mean, yes, obviously we should get married—”

Stefan kisses him, hard, and Dragos lets himself be dragged back down eagerly. It’s a long while before they finally circle back—first to the shittiest proposal ever, which Stefan promises he’ll make up for as if he didn’t do just that, but Dragos is curious to find out what he’ll come up with anyway, and then to what Dragos had originally wanted to know.

He rests his chin on Stefan’s chest and looks up at him, asking, “So what’s for dinner, then?”

“You see,” Stefan says, flushed and rumpled underneath him, “sometimes, a man is eagerly anticipating some takeout pizza.”

#the working title for this one was just 'stupid'#robul #hetalia #aph romania #aph bulgaria #fin #u: human #sometimes your headcanons are well thought out and sometimes you just give a character a piercing you have yourself #consider it though! I think it's cute!#w: 7500 #I love writing ro and bela as friends they're both hysterical in wildly different ways #it's so fun

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kevindavidday · 4 months ago

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need u to share your kandrew agenda 🫶 tell me all about them

ALL about them? dangerous territory my friend...but i will try my best

kandrew are my favorite pair of worsties like i'm not even kidding i love writing them as friends to lovers because they could be having r-rated pg 18++ thoughts about each other at any given moment but they will die before they confess. im talking off the charts sexual tension okay the air is fucking charged. i do have a few fics on them but they're building up to kandreil...sadly no solos yet...

my brain says (🤓☝️) they have an understanding that goes deeper than a lot of the other relationships kevin has. i think one of andrew's best qualities is to listen to someone talk about the worst thing that has happened to them and not overreacting or coddling them afterwards (which is something im personally fond of and love to see) so he may as well have been a tether for kevin when he left the nest. (not to mention how similar jean and andrew are and going from one 3 to another would fit kevin well) to me, if someone sees them together at times they'll feel like andrew and kevin DETEST each other. they're ultimate bickering couple, constantly roasting each other, arguing as a build up to sex, they drink like their life depends on it, they hate each other, they're in love and i am watching all this with popcorn. they get each other tbh like they get it. they may not fully understand but they do get it.

also something about a dog collar but that thoughts not fully developed yet.

have some memes that might help:

#wymack hates them #loathes them really #if u wanna know smthn specific then u can ask ofc!!! i know most of this was pretty vague #aftg #kevin day #andrew minyard #kandrew #there's a lot more to say tbh #like i actually love fwb kandrew because of how hesitant they both seem to admit their feelings #but we all know that doesn't work #just feel like they'd be physically and humorously and emotionally present and comfortable around each other a lot of the time #but both of them have easy triggers and bad tempers which is a recipe for disaster and angst and i love that hehe #eeeeeeee they're actually really funny to me i love writing them have fun and then makeout #wheres that one post about how everyone should actually imagine kevin day bent over a desk with andrew doing unspeakable things to him #hmmm #i think kandrew is the most physically affectionate kevin ship i like

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hypostatic-oath · 1 year ago

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I've started playing Honkai Star Rail and I love how dramatically silly it lets me be. So far I have stolen mail, searched garbage cans, entered a closet to become one with the darkness, waxed on about how life is just a road to death to a terrified guy (somehow that seemed to make him less terrified), bowed in respect to a dumpster, investigated an inconspicuous lamp so many times it got mad at me, investigated a trash can so many times it insulted me, and felt bad for two different trash cans and several sandbags (I believe my Trailblazer is going insane from putting up with me). All this not counting with the countless dialogue options with NPCs around the world that allowed me to be incredibly dramatic (think almost Fischl style) for no reason (you can bet I took them). However, I cannot jump or climb, and fights are turn-based... we respect our opponents in Star Rail (and die. A lot).

What I conclude from this is that while the Traveler has a moral code (and some standards) when dealing with interpersonal interactions but isn't bound by physical restrictions or conventions (stairs? The Traveler does not understand that concept. Fair fights? Please, they don't have time for that), the Trailblazer is the exact opposite. The physical rules may hold them but their only ties to social rules or convention so far have been March and Dan Heng saying "hey, maybe don't fight the guards" and "hey, you can't just accept random jobs".

It also might be because the Traveler is a thousand year old entity that has been through A Lot (has learnt the power of friendship, but is too tired to take the long route) and is on a serious mission while the Trailblazer was quite literally Born Yesterday with the sole purpose of housing a massive problem inside their body (walks and fights like a Normal Person bc they're mimicking everyone else, but is absolutely unhinged) and is just having fun with tjeir newfound existence.

Either way I love both of them and they're basically cryptids but in different ways.

#the Traveler gives off ''i'm too old for this'' enegry but also ''If I don't fix it who will''#while the Trailblazer is the most chaotic neutral mf I've ever seen and I love them so much #hoyoverse mcs my beloved #When I started genshin I expected a soft game with silly moments and was instead met with pain #Also I love how powerful the traveler has become (I like to believe they're just recovering the power they used to have)#The Traveler holds the braincell between these two btw #I want to understand Star Rail lore better so I can write smth abt the two of them meeting in like a dream sequence kind of thing #when I started genshin I expected haha funny colorful game but was met with pain and post-apocaliptic worlds and cataclysms #when I started star rail I expected pain and apocalyptic worlds and cataclysms and was met with THE ABILITY TO BE SILLY #I CAN HIDE IN CLOSETS #fun fact: i started playing both games for the Hot Dragon Men #also: in mondstadt there's a goth hotel (the hotel is named goth but doesn't seem to have ties to goth culture)#and in star rail there is a goethe hotel that is pronouced rather similarly. both are family establishments and both are ran by an old man

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xolboragainandagain · 6 months ago

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Me drawing Luke: Lalala just a little guy, silly and funny and special and way too fun to draw

Me drawing Layton: Oh god. Oh fuck ohgod.

#professor layton #luke triton #hershel layton #xolmumbles #They're both fun to draw but all the angst I wanna draw for Luke is not the same with the stuff I want to draw for Layton #The second one is indeed art for an AU how could you tell.#I'm hiding this because. Embarrassed and nervous to post this LOL #ALSO NO I DIDN'T WRITE IT WRONG I PROMISE. HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE SAYING 'THIS PUZZLE REMINDS ME OF'#It's a reverse I promise I didn't just get his iconic 'This reminds me of a puzzle' wrong.

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googleitlol · 7 months ago

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Unfortunate Reunion Sneak peek!

“Do you expect me to be grateful that you didn’t kill me?” You hum, moving to sit against the tree the horse is tied to. Making sure that you’re facing the demon trapped beneath the mountain, you take out one of your apples to take a bite of it.

The monkey demon huffs a bit. “I could have done a lot worse, Dove.”

“Don’t call me that.” You frown, but that only serves to make him grin.

“Are you going to stop me, Dove?” He eggs you on, his expression smug as you grimace. You only give him the satisfaction of your irritation for a moment before taking a slow and savouring bite of your apple, smirking when you see the corner of his lip twitch in response.

The silent taunt makes him grunt, the demon shaking his head lightly. “Five hundred years under these rocks must have warped my memory. Here I thought you were that soothing maiden I met in the palace with an amusingly sharp tongue. But here I am, feeling nothing but annoyance.”

You hold your head up high with a proud smirk, and take another bite of your apple.

#omg i forgot how fun it was to write them like this #they're both so salty i love it #little dove #sun wukong x reader

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adm-starblitzsteel-4305 · 10 months ago

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How I see every Godzilla x Mothra ships but in their respective eras?

MY GENERATION AU.

Showa Godzilla and Showa Mothra = ENEMIES (Okay, they're enemies and they both wished to stay each other's asses and their family to ensure the safety and secure of their family clan; still they dislike each other frequently whenever they passed by their homes or just...comment snidely to one another)

Heisei Godzilla and Heisei Mothra = Neutral (Heisei Mothra is married to Heisei Battra and they both raised a son named Leo. )

GMK Godzilla and GMK Mothra = Yeah partners-in-crime (both have family issues and ran away, eventually the two meet each other and become roommates shared in one rented apartment; I supposed they might be enemies but, here's the fact: they both dated each other secretly without getting caught)

Millenium Godzilla and Millenium Mothra = Friends obviously (Millenium Mothra still raising her twin children alone)

MV Godzilla and MV Mothra = MARRIED COUPLE!!! (Childhood friends; both lived in their family clan; inseparable until they were married and moved on to their new home; start raising your future kids would you?!)

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coldshrugs · 6 months ago

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ffxivwrite - prompt 6: halcyon

characters: mikoto jinba x io laithe (wol) word count: 1412 rating: mature; sensual/sexual content summary: in their downtime between unearthing ivalician myth, io and mikoto spend an evening at kugane's hot spring.

“Is this the way it’s done?” Io looks up from the middle of the Hot Spring, large eyes seeking Mikoto’s reassurance that she is preparing their rice wine bath correctly.

Kugane’s crimson sunset catches on the rivulet of sake flowing from the bottle Io holds. The light is in her hair too, and on her skin, kissing her edges orange and red as she kneels in the water. As etiquette decrees, Io’s thin gauze wrap hangs from a pillar at the water’s edge—clothing is not allowed in the baths.

Mikoto hangs her wrap with Io’s and wades into the comfortably warm water, carrying two porcelain cups and her own bottle of sake. Hells if she knows the right way to pour it, she’s never been here either.

“It seems an appropriate technique. At least, I can think of no better way.”

Io’s laugh is light as she empties the bottle into the shallow, private pool. The steam takes on a soft aroma, honeysuckle and pear, and perhaps the proprietor was onto something when he raved about how relaxing these baths could be. Io tugs at her wrist. “Come on, sit. It’s been a long day in an even longer week. We deserve a break, and I want to hear everything you know about my friends before their accolades. And learn more about you too?”

Mikoto’s thighs break the water with a little splash. She doesn’t look at the droplets sprayed on Io’s arms. That would be inappropriate, since their acquaintanceship was founded on a professional, academic basis. And she certainly doesn’t notice the ones on her chest, collecting into tiny streams that run south until they drop from her—

“Shall I fill the cups?!” Mikoto quickly arranges the small cups on the stone lining the pool's edge, pouring each to the brim. “I can assure you, on the subject of your friends, I was little more than a hanger-on. My time at the Studium was less than exciting, which is why I am venturing farther afield for research that sparks my interest.”

Io takes up a cup. “While I’ve no formal education, I understand the desire to expand one’s horizons. Quite intimately, in fact. To venturing farther afield?”

Mikoto mirrors her, unable to stop the pull of an embarrassingly obvious smile. It must be the joyful click of their toast, that’s all. She pays no mind to the point their knees meet beneath the water. “To venturing farther afield.”

Warmed by the steam, the sake is full, sweet, and easy to sip. The flavor leaves her tongue quickly after each pull, and it is not long before they are each pouring a second cup as their conversation leaves Sharlayan, and a third as they land on relatives. They take that one as an ill-advised shot, agreeing that Kugane is a terrible place to discuss sisterhood.

It’s true these last few weeks have been tiresome. Traveling to Dalmasca, close calls in Rabanastre, and all the documentation in between. That is to say nothing of the familial melodrama of their hosts. Alma suggested they take the weekend to explore Kugane like the average tourist, even going so far as to book their lodging at the Bokaisen Inn. Mikoto thought Io’s quick acceptance was out of politeness, but she’d been in decent spirits as they took in a local theater show and toured the castle gardens yesterday. They spent today combing the markets for obscure trinkets, with Io occasionally dragging her to the next stall by the hand, an adorable rush of intrigue lighting up her face. On their way back to their rooms, Amaji, the proprietor of the Bokaisen Hot Springs, convinced them to have a bath.

When in Kugane…

Io readjusts her legs with another splash. She leans against the low stone, so close to Mikoto that Io’s leg almost overlaps her own. Ripples dampen new bits of their skin, fresh places for the last sliver of sunlight to hang on. Maybe she is imagining Io studying the molten shine on her scales, her expression filling with a soft kind of awe.

Mikoto inhales, taking this opportunity to let her gaze linger on Io’s freckled form as well. There is so much of her; lean arms and long legs, shoulders set in an effortless elegance, and (Mikoto sucks in her bottom lip) the darkened peaks of her exposed chest, stiffened by the evening air. The image flashes in her mind—her tongue on Io’s skin. Would she taste of soft, ripe fruit, like the sake they drink, or the warm water in which they soak?

Best not to let her mind wander to what is under the water…

Their eyes lock through the thin steam. Mikoto’s mouth goes dry when Io’s lips lift on one side.

“Apologies. The wine has made me rude enough to stare.”

“Well…” Mikoto joins Io in leaning on the stone. Would moving closer be unwelcome? “If you are rude then my sense of decorum is truly lost. It’s difficult to keep up formalities in the state we currently find ourselves.”

Io reaches for the bottle between them and pours the next round. “Then we should simply forget the formalities, no? I would prefer to think of us as friends after our adventure, and surely there are more to come.”

She pauses, and there is something strained in it. Despite her playful delivery, the words are not as light as they sound. “If I may be frank, after Ala Mhigo, I could use a friend’s distraction right now.”

She presses the porcelain cup into Mikoto’s hand. There is no room for guessing when Io’s fingers linger on hers longer than necessary. She traces a winding path over Mikoto’s wrist, delicately gliding along the sensitive edge of her scales.

Mikoto takes a long, final sip, savoring the flavor as she looks over Io again. Io watches her drink, lips parting slightly at the sight, and Mikoto cannot believe her luck. She feels certain about her next action.

The cup falls against stone and she shifts onto her knees. Like this, she is a few ilms taller than Io. She can easily cradle her cheek, or push the curtain of half-wet hair over her shoulder, or tilt her chin up, firmly, with her palm. She can do all these things from this angle, and Io melts at the touch. Mikoto replies, “A quick evaluation tells me you are already distracted, Io.”

“Perhaps,” Io whispers. She moves forward, one hand on Mikoto’s waist. They are slightly misaligned with Mikoto kneeling over a still-seated Io, but their bodies are pressed close now, skin to wet skin, and she learns Io’s hands roam easily.

Mikoto leans down. Io’s lips part again, wider this time, wanting. Mikoto teases them with hers, the lightest brush, and Io's reaction sends her head spinning. The quiet moan, her hands dipping past Mikoto’s hips, trying to pull her closer by her rear.

“A mutual distraction then. Between friends.”

Mikoto meets her open mouth. It might be Mikoto, or perhaps it's only this brand of touch, but Io is hungry for her. The steam around them is no match for how their kiss burns. Desperate, messy, but neither cares. The kiss travels. Mikoto pushes Io back against the stone and works down her neck, kisses across her clavicle and, finally, drags her tongue across the tight point of her nipple. Sweetwater and salt—the answer to her earlier query. Mikoto takes it into her mouth fully, driven by the sounds Io tries not to make, then gives the other side of her chest equal treatment. Her natural inclination is to move further down, but she remembers they are in water and pauses.

A softer kiss now, Io’s full lips demanding hers.

Then Mikoto asks, “Shall we go to your room, or mine?”

...

“‘oto? …you alright, Mikoto?”

She hears her name, though her sense of recognition is hazy. It takes a second or two to blink away the fog and return to the present.

To Io kneeling in the Hot Spring, holding a half-poured bottle of sake.

“Is this the way it’s done?” Dark, wide eyes that she has already witnessed flutter shut at touches she will make tonight.

Sometimes she hates her version of this “gift.” Generally speaking, she would rather her Echo function in the same manner as Io’s: catching glimpses of the past, unburdened by and unafraid of the future.

Tonight, however, Mikoto is grateful for the certainty.

#azia writes #ffxivwrite2024 #io laithe #mikoto jinba #io/mikoto #listen. idk if this is their canon first kiss. but why shouldn't it be!!!#i really just wanted to focus on the peaceful/serene facet of the word. instead of making it a full-on memory #they are relaxing they are actually both pretty low stress here #just getting to know the person they're not sure they wanna date but definitely want get handsy with akljfdsl #i think they're fun :> okay bye!

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necrotic-nephilim · 5 months ago

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jaytim but damitim were getting married for reasons (maybe politics or they just have a really toxic relationship and tim is done) and tim runs away and into jason car

oooh i LOVE this. i think it's pretty easy to swing DamiTim getting married for political/family reasons. maybe something that Ra's arranges, forcing Tim into agreeing bc it keeps WayneCorp safe and out of the hands of someone like Tommy Elliot. and it's more fun if for that reason, neither Tim nor Damian are a fan of this turn of events. bc it *works*, legally, but they can't stand being in the same room as each other. maybe they hatefuck a few times, but it's clear they're terrible for each other. or maybe Damian is actually too controlling of TIm, seeing the marriage as an opportunity to finally force obedience out of Tim and that's his breaking point for going with Jason.

and Jason being the disgraced family figure who ends up getting Tim out of it is so fun. bc no one would expect *Jason* of all people to be the one to get Tim out of this situation. at first Tim goes with him just for the reprieve of getting away from Damian for a night, then it turns out Jason actually has a pretty well thought out plan for Tim to be able to get out of the marriage. and sure they're hooking up the whole time, but Tim doesn't actually expect to catch feelings. catching feelings would probably make the whole situation a lot more complicated. but he spends more and more nights at a club Jason owns, sometimes crashing at Jason's apartment not even for sex, but just to get away from everything. fuck buddies but they have a slow burn romance sort of thing going on as Tim deals with legal divorce proceedings. also sort of fun if Damian fights the divorce and you have the fun lil tropey moment of Jason protecting Tim, as well as the larger family reaction to Jason and Tim getting together if Jason is perceived as the family pariah. who approves and who disapproves, how the things that forced Jason out of the family are handled now that he's wrapped back up in the legal drama of everything. there's literally so much you could do with this, i adore it.

#necrotic answerings #jaytim #damitim #I tried to keep this like #intentionally vague to be read as both a canon au or a civilian au #it could work as both but clearly canon au would take more work #but either are good #usually I don't do civilian aus but this one could be so much fun.#I want to write this more than I usually do #I thought about it hard enough it works so much better in my head than it should #honestly I love that. I love getting drawn into the rare civilian au fic idea bc they're not usually my speed #so when they click they *click* yk #this might go on the back burner to revisit in the future for me

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yellowocaballero · 2 months ago

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ok, but the way that the bnha/fe3h fusion is actually so compelling tho,,, like, I just keep thinking about it. I wouldn't have expected it, but I really see what you mean about the synergy. the themes are theme-ing, the vibes are so there.

Oh thank fuck somebody understands me oh my god.

Hey, what if we wrote a story about a very fucked up society. What if the society put the value of somebody's personhood on their genetics and genetically inherited superpowers. What if people with really good superpowers were prioritized very heavily in society and people without superpowers were discarded completely and deemed worthless. What if people in search of social status or political/physical power commit a lot of atrocities trying to create somebody with good genetics. What if, even if you have good superpowers, you are dehumanized and reduced to nothing more than a carrier of these treasured genetics. What if this stratified status quo was rigorously enforced by a large overseeing body that exploits its complete control over children. What if child soldiers. WHAT IF!!!

But that's why this is better than BNHA, because BNHA introduces that society and really fails to make any meaningful or insightful criticisms of it. FE3H actually does a pretty good job of it, so if you sit down and apply a FE3H filter to BNHA then somehow BNHA gets so much better. And on the FE3H side, you get to translate it to the modern day and see how the characters would navigate modern society.

There is also a SHITTON you can do with Dimitri. If you change his life completely then you don't have to change it at all. You can make him the perfect future hero, and he can be the worst of them all.

Have some Dimitri he is so much fun here.

Khalid managed to go the rest of the day without blowing anybody up, which was a plus. And Mama said he wouldn’t amount to anything.

Just kidding. Mom’s expectations of him were incredibly high and caused severe anxiety. She thought he was the greatest thing since network television, and also possibly the stupidest. Mom was always saying that he was too smart to act so dumb. Khalid always said that she was too smart for such a stupid choice of husbands.

The only other fragment of excitement was lunch. Through judicious application of one of the most powerful quirks to exist, a quirk previously thought to be as possible as faster than light travel, Khalid managed to successfully avoid screwing up any other social interactions. He occasionally heard Sothis’ voice reminding him that so far he really only had the stamina to use the quirk around ten times a day, but she didn’t appreciate the importance of avoiding unwanted conversations and never experiencing consequences.

Byleth didn’t use her power like this.

Khalid laughed along with Dorathea’s joke. Crinkle the eyes. Compliment her hair accessory at the next natural lull in conversation.

She only used the power in battle, or in true emergencies. Byleth always believed in seeing your actions through to the end.

Hilda sat at a table on the other end of the ‘Hero’ side of the cafeteria, talking animatedly with a silent Marianne. Khalid was supposed to sit next to her. Khalid always sat next to her. But he could tell that he’d have to work in another week of groveling and buying her expensive jewelry before she stopped giving him the cold shoulder. Maybe girls just liked being angry with people. It was just a way of extorting jewelry out of boys.

Or maybe Hilda had lost a teacher too, and when she needed her best friend most he disappeared. Leaving her to wonder if he was lying dead in a ditch somewhere. But she was probably just angry for the fun of it.

This could have been avoided if you had only taken my advice and spoken to them, you know.

Yes, yes, Sothis was a genius and Byleth was always right and Khalid was an idiot. What else was new.

You are far too intelligent to act this foolishly.

Wow. Wonder where he had heard that one before -

“Reigan-san?”

The spell of Dorathea’s enrapturing tale about being mad at a guy for fun was broken. Khalid twisted around in his seat to see Dimitri, standing behind him and looking earnest but awkward. Obviously, he cast a tall and Iraqi shadow behind him.

Ingrid perked up, fluffy wings rustling happily against her back. Her wings were so expressive that they always rendered her stern face useless. An amazing, top shelf power - yet an inconvenient one. Wonder what that was like. “Dimitri-san! Come join us. Dora-chan was telling Leonie-chan and Claude-san about -”

“I’d love to,” Dimitri cut in, awkward smile growing large and earnest. Behind him, Dedue loomed. “Truly. But I was actually coping to speak to Reigan-san. Could I possibly borrow him for a moment?”

“The Ouji-sama of UA’s the only person left in the school who calls Claude-kun that,” Dora teased lightly. Dimitri was the only man she was not actively mean to - a horrifying show of the pervasiveness of his appeal. Ashe still got upset when he remembered Dora laying into him for Boruto running in the hallways. “After everything we’ve been through together, I think we can loosen up around each other.”

Leonie masticated a roll. She wasn’t impressed by Dimitri - mostly on principle. Khalid could respect a woman with principles. When they were anti-Dimitri. Not when they were anti-him. Alright, so Khalid could respect anybody anti-Khalid too. “So much of the Hero class are gaijin that nobody cares too much, anyway. Including you.”

It was true. UA was so internationally prestigious that wealthy families from all over the world would enroll their hero-hopeful children. It was tough for anybody less than half Japanese to make it in a Japanese market, but these international students always debuted back in their home countries already at the top of the charts.

UA was a multicultural experience and it was all Khalid’s fault. Remembering the honorifics and everything was a huge pain and referring to people by their last names was weird. Khalid could handle it no problem, but in a room of people who were willing to roll with a gaijin’s eccentricities then he tended to let it slip more frequently. Lysithea was from Greece and she never forgot, but once she felt as if Khalid had given her permission she dropped it. Maybe it was his fault, or maybe his friends were just those types of people (poor?), because his class referred to each other only by their first names. Marianne said that it made her feel like she had real friends. Khalid deadass didn’t know what to do with that information.

“I trust you all absolutely,” Dimitri said, as if this was a normal sentiment to express. The girls nodded, as if this was a normal sentiment to express. “Manners mean respect to me. But of course you should still call me Dimitri.”

Khalid jerked a thumb at the girls. “Because none of them can pronounce your last name.” Dimitri gave him a dead-eyed stare that definitely translated to ‘nobody can pronounce my damn name’. “What do you want, Dimitri-san? If anybody asks, I've been vacationing on a beach in Spain for the past month.”

Seriously, Dimitri said, “Was it relaxing?”

“Saw a lot of rats.”

“Truly? Spain must be less sanitary than I thought.”

“Absolutely the least sanitary vacation I’ve ever been on.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it at a later date.” Dimitri stepped backwards, gesturing pointedly away from the table. “But I do have something to speak to you about alone. It’s fairly important.”

Khalid sighed. He clamored upwards, shooting a jaunty salute at the girls. Ingrid looked strongly as if she had something to say, yet could not say it. “Don’t have too much fun without me, girls.”

“We’ll save the orgy ‘til you get back,” Leonie panned.

“If I discover that anybody’s excluded me from any orgies, I will never forgive you.”

Dorathea smiled mysteriously into her bento box, giving Khalid a big wink. “You have a standing invitation to any of my parties, Claude-kun.”

They nodded to each other in respect of each other’s professionalism. In the UA Heroics class, only three students were slotted to become major sex appeal heroes. Technically speaking they weren’t supposed to start leaning hard into it until they graduated from the pseudo-fame of life as a UA student, but hero society was a ‘do as a I say and not as I do’ type of culture.

Technically speaking, Dorathea, Khalid, and Sylvain ought to be competing with each other for Japan’s Sexiest Teen or something. They would end up pitted against each other constantly in the future. In reality, they all just hung out and gossiped about geopolitical conflicts in the Middle East. Dorathea believed in solidarity above everything, so she gave Sylvain the time of day despite her distaste for him. Khalid and Dorathea privately made an ever-increasing series of bets on when Sylvain would lose it and begin sliding down his inevitable spiral of drugs and alcohol. Khalid’s bet was on an OD at 26. Personally, Khalid hoped that Dorathea’s burgeoning sapphism for that uptight Hawaiian girl would keep her away from the jazz and drink.

Who was he kidding? Dorathea had been in a tween idol group throughout middle school. A voice-based singing quirks that created destructive black sparkles with every note had doomed her from the start. Lesbianism wouldn’t save her. Thank God Khalid was normal.

Ingrid’s face flushed red, and she pointedly looked away from Khalid. Leonie flipped him off. Khalid smiled beatifically at Dimitri. “Lead the way, Sexy Hamlet.”

“Excuse me?”

Dimitri pulled him into the emptied 2A classroom. Khalid took the opportunity to try and get a better look at him. He really did seem fine. Perfectly fine, actually. Maybe Khalid had hallucinated that encounter in the hospital room. Maybe it had been Khalid who was breaking apart, and he had projected everything shattered within him onto Dimitri. He just looked so normal.

Khalid halted in the 2A doorway, leaving Dimitri and Dedue staring expectantly at him. He fought the urge to tug at his collar. Those two had identical eyes. So weirdly piercing. “You said you wanted to talk alone, Dimitri?”

“Yes, that would be preferable.” Khalid pointedly looked at Dedue. Dimitri blinked in confusion before he finally also recognized that other people could see Dedue, and that he was not a particularly judgmental ghost. “Oh! Don’t mind Dedue, he’s very discreet.”

Khalid turned to Dedue and said, in Arabic, “Do you make people forget you exist, or is that a happy side effect of imitating a particularly judgmental rock?”

In Arabic, Dedue said, “Are you grating on purpose, or is it a happy accident?”

In Arabic, Dimitri said, “Rudeness???”

Dimitri and Dedue always made Khalid think of those American children’s cartoons where the idiot bully went everywhere flanked by two stupider children at his side. They only existed to agree with everything the idiot bully said, do anything he asked, and make him look smarter. Even Dimitri was the sweetest glass of milk in Japan and Dedue did nothing but stare at you, the energy persisted. Khalid caught similar vibes from Hubert and Edelgard, but Hubert was closer to the world’s creepiest personal assistant. They both had mafia goon energy. Khalid was constantly waiting for Dedue to crack his knuckles and go ‘you got it, Boss!’ or something.

Which made the smooth and well-pronounced Arabic from Dimitri’s mouth just bizarre. Khalid squinted at Dimitri, who was just staring appalled at Dedue. Dedue looked a little shifty. “What are you doing speaking Arabic?”

“It’s Dedue’s native language,” Dimitri said in Arabic, big-eyed and dewey. “Why wouldn’t I know it?” He turned to Dedue, looking even more tragic. “You don’t have to tolerate that, Dedue.”

“It’s fine, Dimitri-sama.” Dedue crossed his arms, switching back to Japanese. Ugh. Khalid did not understand the usage of that honorific. The squealing fangirls called him the ‘Ouji-sama of UA’, which was adorably disgusting, but even the normal people outside of Gen Ed called him Dimitri-sama. While Khalid, who was the actual prince, didn’t get a single - “I don’t use my quirk outside of pre-approved situations. That is regulation for future heroes.”

Left unsaid: so what’s up with the constant party tricks you pull out to impress girls, asshole?

Khalid crossed his arms too, unimpressed. “What’s the manual definition of private?”

“Please don’t fight, you two.” Dimitri sighed, adopting a put-upon and miserable air. “Claude, I trust Dedue with everything. But I understand your perspective. Dedue, will you wait for us outside? Just to be sure we aren’t interrupted?”

“Of course, Dimitri-sama.”

Just like that, Dedue was gone. The door closed shut behind him with a silent click, and the empty space between Khalid and Dimitri yawned into a void. The space should have grown more comfortable now that the creepy brick wall was gone, but somehow knowing that he was standing right outside of the door made everything weirdly worse. Most of the school would pay a million yen to be in a room alone with Dimitri, but Khalid could only feel vaguely uncomfortable.

It was a new sensation. Dimitri was embarrassing, but he had always enthusiastically treated Khalid like an equal. We’re all Class Reps, Dimitri would say, so it’s our duty to guide the next generation of UA’s heroes. So let’s be friends, all of us. Khalid had believed those words.

Looking at Dimitri now, Khalid could only see the man who should have received One For All. Khalid had practically stolen it from him. By his own negligence, idiocy, and shit luck, Khalid had taken away the power that would cement Dimitri’s status as the Symbol of Whitebread or whateverthefuck.

The student closest to Byleth had been Dimitri. Byleth was Khalid’s teacher, but it was Dimitri who she personally mentored. Dimitri who she was actually friends with. Khalid had blown her off half the time. He had never really appreciated her. Dimitri was the one who had given back to her what she had given to him.

Dimitri had probably been Byleth’s real choice for successor. Just everybody’s shit luck that Khalid had been the one lying on top of her cooling body.

It was a costly mistake, and one that Khalid couldn’t remedy. But Khalid was stuck looking after Dimitri now, and there was no wriggling his way out of fulfilling the first responsibility he had ever been given.

So Khalid said the most horrific sentence of all, to the person he wanted to say it to the least. When all you had left of somebody was a promise, that wasn’t a promise you could afford to break.

“How are you doing?” Khalid asked quietly. “Holding in there?”

Dimitri sagged a little, tense smile showing his exhaustion. “As well as one could. And you?”

“Kinda shit, to be honest.”

“As I said. As well as one could.” Dimitri and Khalid exchanged weak smiles. Maybe Khalid could tolerate this guy if he learned curse words. “You’ve been on my mind a great deal, Riegan-san. You were her Class Representative. She…saved you. And…they say Vice Principal Seteth found you holding her.” His voice shook, and he stared fixedly at the ground. Blood pooled in Khalid’s mouth, so maybe he understood. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

Dully, Khalid said, “Seeing as you were the one in love with her, I’ve actually been feeling bad for you.”

“Then maybe we are both convinced the other has it worse.” Dimitri attempted another shaky smile at Khalid, and this time Khalid returned it just to make him feel better. “It makes me think we may be - if it’s not too presumptuous. Of course this is likely quite presumptuous of me. But it’s given me this feeling that we are…I struggle for the word in Japanese.” Dimitri halted, churning through his thoughts, before finally saying in English, “Comrades? That we are comrades, in this way.”

Khalid switched to English too, and he saw Dimtri’s shoulders visibly relax and untense once the language shifted. Unlike Dedue, who only grew tenser when Khalid used his native tongue, Dimitri seemed to lose some of his walls in English. Khalid would have to remember that. “That sounds about right. Way I see it, we’re both trapped in this shitty boat. So you know you can talk to me if you need to, right?”

Dimitri smiled again, fuller and easier, and dipped his head in a nod. “Of course. And you may speak to me too. If you’re experiencing any problems, concerns, or - or if you only wished to speak about Byleth. I would…I wouldn’t mind speaking about Byleth.” Dimitri’s voice lowered, and his eyes fell back on the ground again. “People are treating her name as if it’s poison. Everybody in 2A is just…avoiding the subject. Everybody speaks of the higeki or the sonshitsu, but nobody is speaking of her. I heard Ignatz and Raphael sharing stories of her, so I hoped that in your class it was different.”

“We couldn’t ignore her even if we wanted to.” Khalid had enough explosions under his belt today to prove that. “Moving on and looking forward is the tactical maneuver. It doesn’t help anybody to stay stuck in the past. They’ll expect you to move on too, Dimitri.”

Dimitri laughed a little. It wasn’t a very amused laugh. “As if they aren’t already? I was given five potential answers for any questions I received about Byleth. Vague deflections, all of them. They posted three in memoriam Tweets on my account. And they refused to officially involve me in any investigation into her death or the villains who killed her. Byleth never fit into the HPSC’s world, so they’re erasing her. And yet they’re so interested in her…”

Putting aside the disturbing level of control the HPSC had over Dimitri’s life. “They’re interested in her? How?”

“That’s what I wanted to speak with you about. I needed to know if the HPSC has approached you about Byleth. Has anybody said anything to you? Have you spoken with Principal Rhea?”

Khalid’s spine crawled, and he awkwardly shrugged. “Not really. I think Rhea visited me in the hospital, but I…wasn’t really up to receiving guests, you know. We didn’t get the chance to talk. Why?”

Dimitri’s brow furrowed. He folded his arms, running one thumb over his lower lip in thought. “They asked me a great deal about her quirk.”

Fuck.

“They wanted everything I knew about how it worked,” Dimitri continued, unknowingly horrifically. “Of course I observed her more than anybody else in the school - save maybe you, of course. I trained with her after school very frequently. I had to get approval from the HPSC for that. They were quite recalcitrant to give it at the time, but they seemed appreciative now.”

Dimitri was using big-ass English words again, but Khalid was spending more of his mental energy trying not to overtly freak out than cracking open his mental dictionary. He could pick up the gist easily enough. The gist that he might be in a little bit of trouble.

Weakly, Khalid said, “What did you tell them?”

“Only what everybody knew.” There was a strange implication in those words. Dimitri slowly rubbed his lip, deep in thought. “That she had complete control over all botany in her vicinity, as well as minor control over her geography. That could grow a bed of roses with a wave of her arm. That she could grow an acorn into a fully grown oak tree in seconds, and that she could move the oak tree’s branches to wrap around an enemy and capture them. She could control ivy, vines, and roots as if they were her own arms. And the earthquakes, naturally.”

“Ah,” Khalid said, “yeah. Naturally. Remember that famous fight she had against the wannabe League of Villains successors two years ago?”

“It was three. She split a city block in half. Destroyed five buildings, but we never had any aspirational League of Villain revivals after that.”

They said All Might had been a deterrent. Khalid kind of got that now. “I always wondered why she didn’t do that all of the time. If I had the power to create earthquakes I sure wouldn’t keep it in my back pocket.”

“She said it took more of her power than she liked using. No -” In Japanese, Dimitri said, “Than it was safe to use.” He switched back to English, his precise imitation of her quiet vowels falling away. “I always wondered what she meant by that.”

“Maybe her quirk was hard on her body,” Khalid lied. “She made it all look effortless, but she wasn’t all-powerful.”

“That’s what I told the HPSC. Even though…I’m embarrassed to say that I lied, Claude. I told them that her quirk tired her out. Even though it never did. I never saw her experience quirk exhaustion. Not once.”

A strange feeling began to creep over Khalid. He was unsettled. A lot of things about this conversation were unsettling. Dimitri’s thoughtful eyes shouldn’t have been one of them, but… “Didn’t know you were capable of lying to those guys. Surprised they don’t electroshock you or anything.”

Absently, Dimitri said, “No, they never threatened me.” Was it Khalid’s imagination, or did he emphasize ‘me’? “Why the sudden interest? Byleth’s quirk was amazing, but its details were common knowledge. They kept on asking me if she’d discussed her training regime for her quirk. I just told them she didn’t have one…”

This is worrisome. “Training regime?”

Dimitri nodded. “My handler did mention something to me. I asked her why they weren’t just consulting her quirk registry, and my handler said that she didn’t have one. She spent her childhood in a small Ainu village in southeastern Hokkaido. It was extremely remote, and the native people kept no official records or documents. Apparently Officer Jeralt and Vice Principal Seteth had to create legal identification and register her quirk just to secure her hero license. We have very limited information on her and her quirk as a child.”

“Didn’t she start fighting as a Tokyo vigilante when she was fifteen?” Khalid asked, somewhat desperate. He had no idea that Byleth hadn’t legally existed before UA. Why did Yuri never mention anything important? “There has to be footage of her using her quirk from back then, right?”

But Dimitri just shook his head. “The earliest records of her earliest adventures as a vigilante only mention her using her sword. Many victims gave the police reports of her growing them flowers, and she was famous in the slums for growing fruit trees and vegetable gardens to feed the poor and hungry, but she rarely seemed to use her quirk for combat. I think the HPSC couldn’t imagine why somebody would use such a powerful quirk only to feed the hungry…”

“Because they wouldn’t know an actual hero if she spat in their face.” Way too late, Khalid remembered his audience. “Uh, no offense.”

“None taken. I agree with you. Byleth was a true hero. The kind that is almost extinct from this world. Sometimes I thought she might be the only true hero left in Japan.” A shadow fell over Dimitri’s face, and Khalid fought the twisting in his gut. “The HPSC measures the value of a hero based on the might of his quirk. You can see it just by looking around you. Hero class members overwhelmingly have the flashiest, strongest, prettiest, and most virtuous quirks. Almost all of our classmates fit their description of the perfect successors.”

The guy masquerading a powerful mental quirk for a weak but flashy physical quirk knew what he meant. Dimitri undoubtedly saw it in the quirks of his classmates: Ingrid’s beautiful angel wings, Mercedes’ equally angelic healing hands. Felix’s insanely flashy thunderbolts; Annette’s tornadoes; Sylvain’s charms that enraptured a crowd and weakened his enemies. They were truly the quirks of the .001%. How the fuck did Ashe’s lame intangibility sneak in there. No wonder he had an inferiority complex.

Looking at video recordings of old Sports Festivals was hilarious. Fifty years ago, everybody’s quirks were shit. Chargebolt could short out a city block in his prime, but as a teenager his wattage was pretty pathetic. And Cellophane? Tape? Seriously?!

As heroes, they were among the greats. But that didn’t matter. These days, UA wouldn’t let them in the front door. Why take a chance on somebody with a quirk in the top 5% when there was somebody with a quirk in the top .001% who was willing to work just as hard, who was just as desperate?

Honestly. Kind of reminded Khalid of medical school. In Saudi Arabia, fifty years ago all you needed to get into med school was good grades. These days, you had to have single handedly led a revolution in your impoverished rural village and hand-birthed a herd of camels or something.

It wasn’t a surprise that Dimitri felt so strongly about it. His family and friends had been massacred by an evil gang of degenerates. They never should have tried to do humanitarian outreach to the ghettos where the people with villain quirks lurked and scuttled in the night. Of course the ghetto of people - including immigrants! - with villain quirks blew them all up. They were villains! And immigrants! Now Khalid had to deal with Dedue! Worst case scenario!

That ghetto was razed, now. None of Dedue’s home remained. The national defense force, police, and a handful of heroes descended upon that ward and smoked out everybody inside. A small culture had disappeared in a night of smoke and fire. Whoever sold Dedue off to the HPSC had saved his life.

“Byleth cared for the Quirkless. She cared for those with animal quirks, mutant quirks, villain quirks -!” Dimitri stopped short, choked up, and he had to swallow harshly before speaking again. “She once told me that she extends her hand to the person who needs her. That’s the sort of hero I wish to become. No - the hero I must become. A hero who takes up arms against the evil who hurts those who cannot defend themselves. The weak, the downtrodden, the forgotten, the exploited…” Dimitri clenched his fist, shuddering a deep breath. “I’ll avenge those who cannot avenge themselves. I’ll take justice for those who cannot take it themselves. For the subjugated and the dead. That’s the hero I will become.”

It was what he said on camera. That was the strangest part. Khalid knew full well that the HPSC wrote everything he said and did. Dimitri’s words in interviews couldn’t possibly be what he actually believed. Even his words to the teachers and other UA students were scripted. But in Dimitri’s interviews, he always said that he wanted to be a hero who protects society from evil. Blue Lion: The Tempest Hero was a hero who saves the good people from the bad. That was Dimitri’s tired and true line. Was it really that different from what he said now?

Did Dimitri tell the truth in front of the cameras? Or was he lying now? Did he always tell the truth, or was he always lying?

Khalid really didn’t want this to be his problem. He had never meant for Dimitri to become his problem. He was beginning to worry that Dimitri was a problem too big to be solved.

Byleth. How was he supposed to do this?

Mildly, masking the heavy weight in his chest, Khalid said, “Will he be the HPSCA’s hero?”

“My contract with them ends once I turn eighteen.” Not through any lack of trying. Khalid read through the Japanese laws himself. His uncle had signed Dimitri into a managerial contract with the HPSC when he was thirteen - Lord knows who signed Dedue into it, probably somebody who couldn’t speak Japanese - but child hero contracts are entirely different from adult hero contracts. Khalid couldn’t imagine how hard the HPSC were pressuring Dimitri to sign a new contract. “I’ll make my own way as a hero after that. I’ll become the sort of hero I want to be. A hero who would make Byleth proud. Not the puppet I am today.”

“Wow,” Khalid said, perhaps untactfully. “I didn’t know you cared that you were a puppet.”

Dimitri laughed. It wasn’t a very nice laugh, but Khalid’s words hadn’t been very nice either. “I’m a fraud. Byleth was the only person besides Dedue who ever saw through that Ouji-sama facade and found a human being. She truly inspired me to be better. And now she’s…I’m not sure how to be better, now. I’m not certain it’s still possible to become the person I wanted to be.”

“Dimitri.” Khalid sighed slowly, and he ran a hand through his hair. It made him feel worse, so he dropped his hand. “Byleth…she didn’t get the opportunity to say a lot to me. Before she died. But she was able to tell me a little. And she asked me to…” Khalid swallowed hard, fighting the weakness scratching in his ribcage. “She asked me to look after you.”

Dimitri was silent. Khalid turned his head away, steadfastly looking at the ground. He didn’t want to know if Dimitri was looking at him - the expression on his face.

“I don’t really know how,” Khalid said awkwardly. “You clearly - uh, have your own stuff going on. And I have mine. But…that’s what Byleth wanted, alright? So I’ll do my best. Just know that she wanted you to be looked after. I think she’d want you to look after yourself too.”

And Dimitri…look after Dimitri, Claude. He’s fragile. I worry about him.

“Don’t make me disappoint her,” Khalid said, “okay?”

Finally, small and fragile and broken, Dimitri whispered, “Alright. Thank you.”

“I really didn’t do anything.”

“You did,” Dimitri said. “You did more than you know.”

A school day where he only almost blew somebody up and where he may have positively influenced the severely distraught Ouji-sama of UA’s mental state. Pretty good day at UA, all things told. Leagues better than his previous day. Maybe Khalid’s standards had fallen to rock bottom.

The rest of the day passed relatively without incident. Vice Principal Seteth taught Heroics Seminar. There were worse people to do it. Maybe it was Khalid’s imagination, but Seteth looked at him far too many times during that class. For far too long.

A distant voice. What had that voice said?

Claude. Claude. Get a medic. Oh, Lord. God. Byleth. Get a medic here now. Lord, Lord. Claude, please - Claude, let go of her. Careful, now. Are you hurt? Claude, please give me her. Everything will be alright, child. Give me Sensei. Sensei will be fine, just give me Sensei. What’s that all over your face -

“Doing alright, Riegan-san?”

“Doing awesome,” Khalid said, scooping all of his class materials in his backpack in a frantic sweep. Seteth looked a little impressed and mostly concerned. “Have to go take care of the school chores, bye!”

“Riegan-san, I thought perhaps we could -”

“See you tomorrow, Seteth-sensei!”

#my rule for writing dimitri in his cutie pie era is that #he's not lying. hes being very sincere. he doesnt hide anything he's an open book #this just co-exists with him in his Very Very Violent era.#they're both dimitri; theyre both who he is #and reconciling both of these things is the absolute fun of dimitri #my writing #my asks

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