#time to post and release this burden of thought from the skin and relish that my blood will be clean once more o7

[maxiwaxipads]

i once wrote notes based on hello kitty's furry tale theatre cartoon (fragaria memories ofc because this is my current fixation aha haha)

i tried formatting this appropriately so itll be easy to read but I gave up at the point of character profiles

(I wanted to write something that is at least based on Hello Kitty’s Furry Tale Theater(?)) (Hallritt, Merold, and Tuxam appearances) (That also means making characters based on Catnip, Grinder, Mowzer, and Fangora) (Other than obviously featuring a play of sorts, what will the overall plot will be(?)) (I kinda want to introduce the idea of Merold and Tuxam knowing each other) (Because I like the idea that both are senior knights of their respective bouquets and may have met each other, even if it was once) (And also the idea of retired knights of Fragaria, or at least the knights before our current cast) (Hello Kitty's knight before Hallritt(?)) (Tuxam who visited with his lord because Tuxedo Sam wanted to visit the Orchid Theatre)

(Plot Synopsis): In celebration of the 100th Anniversary of the Orchid Theatre, Hallritt, Merold, and Tuxam visit the Theatre with their lords but are caught in a mysterious case of incidents where members of Hello Kitty’s Men wound up with mysterious injuries.

Nica (Lord: Catnip) - “So, what if you’re an amateur? With enough passion and drive,—we can start from somewhere. But don’t think this excuses you from essential training.” A hot-headed person with incredible drive and passion. They’re a bit foul-mouthed and strict with themselves and others. Somewhat older than Merold, Hallritt, and Tuxam (around their late 20s or early 30s(?)). Considered a talented actor. (Orchestrated from their hometown, but was saved by Catnip(?)) (Feels incredibly indebted to the troupe and their lord) (Someone with a “let’s get it over with” attitude and has an ego where they know they’re perfect, so it won’t be lazy or with poor taste at all(?)) “I trust myself that I can deliver a satisfactory performance. But it won’t be just satisfactory—it will be beautiful and mesmerizing!”

Anfora (Lord: Fangora) - “Everyone bothers me about retirement this… retirement that…! No. I’ve decided that my fate is to die here.” A senior member of the troupe who had been around before Oz was made the current troupe master. (The current personality trait I have is: yapper) (like if I wrote it down, it could be summarized as yapper) (Still acts and helps behind the scenes) (May also help and advise with/for Oz) (Considered dependable and someone who is also just as passionate about the Orchid Theatre and for the troupe)

Rin (Lord: Grinder) - "Heheh… Look right here! Funny, right? No? Guess I shoulda let the script to ol' Oz…" A jack-of-all-trades when it comes to instrumentals, Rin is a prankster who tries to lighten the mood and make everyone laugh. Rowdy, but has a heart of gold. (Someone who would stop immediately if the prank seems to become too severe(?)) (I feel like out of everyone in the Orchid Theatre, Rin is the most normal and average guy in the troupe and everyone could be said as insane) A little bit older than everyone else, but closer in age to Merold, Tuxam, and Hallritt. (I want him to be a himbo or at least akin to one(?)) (Originally his family pushed for him to become a knight but Rin desired to become an actor) (Still follows the same training regiment that is somewhat modified from his days of training to be a knight)

Oz (Lord: Mowzer) - “I think… Each life serves a singular purpose, and mine is to write. I will do it. No matter how insane I become, or if I forget my humanity. It has been decided.” Troupe Master of Hello Kitty's Men. Oz leans on the more quiet side and has an illicit passion for the stage. Makes his contributions by writing scripts and helps when it comes to directing. He isn't much of an actor and mainly focuses from behind the scenes.

Oz - “We have all resigned ourselves to continue performing even in the face of death.” Oz - “So why worry about us?” “Merely—If the chance allows, we’d sing and dance on the stage even after death.” Oz - “As your lords mean everything, the performance is our life and everything.” Oz - “‘In your hands, it will be brilliant.’ Call it what it is… I simply laugh in joy. I would hear those many—no, an infinite amount of times! It could never grow old!” Oz - “That is how we all feel.” “Be it because of ego or to make someone in the audience moved.” Oz - "It is an art form I am proud of…"

and from this moment forward, idea hailstorm will occur </3

“i am so pathetic for this character” and you turn around to see its tuxam from fragaria memories

(Taking place in the Orchid Theatre that is currently occupied by the playing company, Hello Kitty’s Men(?))

(Hallritt has been tasked to guard the theatre for the night and his lord, Hello Kitty will attend to watch the play)

(The 1000th Anniversary of the Orchid Theatre(?))

(Merold and Tuxam appearances)

(History of the Orchid Theatre and the playing company)

(Either shenanigans happen—Hallritt, Merold, and Tuxam become actors)

(SEEDs issue happens(?))

(A member of the troupe is possessed by a SEED and attempts to sabotage the play(?))

(As the Orchid Theatre’s Millennium Anniversary approaches,  members of the troupe are injured through things like a falling stage light or rubbish falling on top of them)

(This is overlooked because of the preparations for the Orchid Theatre’s Anniversary but it is suspected to be intentional)

(Rather than a random person, I think it would be more impactful to explore an already written character(?))

(I think Nica might fit the role better(?))

(Still troubled by her past and believes everyone is out to get her(?))

(I wanted the idea that the SEED elevates her emotions to a high degree, especially since it has possessed her for days)

Nica - “Everyone… Everyone is out to get me. I know how they look at me.” “No matter what I do, I’m just despicable and easily hatable.”

Nica - “So to protect myself… I have to hurt others.”

(Nica who doesn’t remember when a SEED possessed her, but starts to receive headaches) (She ignores this in order to prepare for the Millennium Anniversary) 

(Possibly gaps within her memory during the sabotages(?))

(Do you think people can semi-transform into SEEDs(?))

(Imagine being semi-transformed into a SEED and the SEED half of you attacks people while you desperately cry trying to stop yourself but it does nothing)

(These negative emotions only amplify the SEED, and the answer is either having someone remove the SEEd from your body, dying, or abandoning emotion)

Nica - “Everyone looks down on me. Everyone hates me.”

Nica - “They…They—Who even tolerates me… at this point?” “Am I even likable? What does everyone think of me…?”

Nica - “It is quite natural, yes?” “Everything I do… Is to protect myself.”

(Is it dormancy that completely stops the takeover of a SEED, or does the dormancy simply mean a void that the SEED can take over(?)) (Is nothingness a negativity(?))

Nica - “This life is solely for the stage.” “If I have to die, I hope it will be a thrilling act.”

(The SEED feeds into Nica’s intrusive thoughts which leads to hurting her fellow actors) (Albeit, discreetly)

(When Hallritt arrives, Oz does intend to inform him because his hands are busy and gives permission to search the premise of Orchid Theatre)

(Both Tuxam and Merold join along)

(I imagine it isn’t until he last moment everyone realizes that Nica is behind the attacks and confront her about it)

(From this point, they don’t have a motivation as to why)

(I kinda want Nica to lunge the nearest person, that being Merold, with a weapon but Hallritt moves aside and gets stabbed himself)

(And then Nica is semi-transformed into a SEED)

woah!! character dynamics and how i imagined them

(Character Dynamics or How I Imagine Them(?)) -

Hallritt and Merold - Hallritt who wants to get close and Merold who doesn’t want to.

(Merold is willing to cooperate with Hallritt if the situation deems necessary but only tolerates him)

Merold - “As your senior, won’t you do something for me—Hallritt?”

Hallritt - “Sure! Whatever do you need?”

(Hallritt who wants to get along with Merold and willing to do almost anything)

Tuxam - “HALT! This is an abuse of hierarchy, Merold…!”

(I feel like Merold would be the type to make bad excuses to get Hallritt away from him(?)) 

Merold - “It’d be bad if the theatre wasn’t surrounded by rubble… Oh, Hallritt! Why don’t you go over there and clean.”

Hallritt - “I suppose it would be bad. Yes! I’ll go over there!”

Tuxam - “For once, that is true… Merold. You’re coming with. Don’t think you can get away with a bad excuse.”

Merold - “(Sigh). Yeah. Yeah.”

Hallritt and Tuxam - Tuxam who is willing to be dependable and help Hallritt as a senior Knight of Fragaria! He’s more helpful than Merold, but still nagging. Tuxam also helps Hallritt avoid Merold’s plots.

Tuxam - “So… About our lords.”

(Tuxam who tries not being obvious about wanting their lords to meet each other) (Hallritt thinks he’s planning something and it’s obvious that Tuxam trying not to be obvious is being obvious) (Kind, but still nagging)

Merold and Tuxam - Knighted around the same time, they’ve met before when visiting the Orchid Theatre years ago.

(I imagine Merold as someone who frequently teases Tuxam)

(Someone who Merold is comfortable having deep conversations with or reminiscing about the past(?))

Tuxam - “You’re impossible, Merold.”

Merold - “And you’re a riot, Tuxam.”

(If I have to describe Merold on how I write him, I would say its like a love child between how I think Hangyon and Pikero talk) (But Merold has more Hangyon genetics than Pikero’s)

(I should probably elaborate on how I think Merold talks) (But with a flair of arrogance(?))

(I feel like Merold would be the type to bend down to his knees just to annoy Tuxam) 

(Would sorta rest himself on Tuxam as well(?)) (Like sorta leaning onto him and resting his elbow on his head sorta rest)

(I mentioned before, but I wanted to write or mention about Hello Kitty’s previous knight who I’ll dub as “Elliot”)

(To give backstory)

(Elliot, Tuxam, and Merold who visited the Orchid Theatre in a similar situation of celebrating the Orchid Theatre’s 995th Anniversary(?)) (I should probably write a little bit more than that or at least brainstorm it)

(Would 5 years be considered a long time(?))

(The Orchid Theatre having connections with the Hello Kitty Kingdom, MyMelody Kingdom, and Tuxedo sam Kingdom)

(Every 5 - 10 years the lords will come and visit the theatre yet again(?))

(I won’t lie I’ve always been picky about the names I give to characters) (Is “Elliot” too basic???) (I found an anagram maker and put "Hello Kitty" in it and saw Elliot)

Tuxam - “You’re like a bad dream—no…! ! The reminder of the reality (Hangyon and Pikero) I already face!”

Merold - “Wow~ That hurt y’know? I can’t believe Tuxam was capable of being rude.”

Merold - “Did he even grow to become a gentleman at all…?”

Tuxam - “H—Huh…! But I am a gentleman to my very core…?!” “At least I believe so?”

Merold - “Support me, will you?”

Tuxam - “Naturally. Let us eliminate the SEED.”

(Merold who solely focuses on attacking the SEED)

(Tuxam who attempts to multitask helping Merold and keeping surrounding damage to a minimum)

Merold - “Tuxam~ You know trying to keep the theatre from being destroyed is basically impossible!”

Tuxam - “Why not think about the people who’ll have to patch up the theatre…!”

(Possible Story Outline or Events I Want(?)) -

(I want the scenario to reveal Nica as the culprit in a brief flashback but without the context at this point of the story)

(Hallritt is called out by Merold, who snaps him from his daze) (Introduction of the Orchid Theatre)

(If not, I want a dream sequence where Hallritt overhears a few vague words before realizing a sharp pain in his shoulder and a knife has been plunged in that location)

(Hallritt wakes up, and sequence ends where we arrive at the Orchid Theatre)

(I’m unsure if it’ll be effective to a viewer, but it’s a outline so it can be removed whenever)

(Hallritt and Merold with their lords, who have just arrived to the location)

(They’re waiting for someone else, this cues Tuxam’s arrival with his lord)

(Brief mention of the history of the Orchid Theatre, I imagine Oz takes them around a tour of the theatre itself(?)) 

(Mostly for Hallritt)

(Shenanigans ensue, the event will be highly guarded with the presence of 3 lords in the same location) (There’s already guards around the premise, mainly on standby)

(When given the chance, Oz will find a discreet location and inform about reoccurring incidents of actors or members of the troupe getting mysterious hurt(?)) (Because of the upcoming 1000th Anniversary of the Orchid Theatre, there wasn’t time to properly investigate this(?))

(I imagine since the introduction of Oz, you can tell something is up but unsure(?))

(Merold overhears this and joins Hallritt for investigations, Tuxam joins but only because he was about to scold Merold for eavesdropping)

(I personally feel like it’ll be more effective if the audience already knows the culprit and it has to take the characters to realize(?)) (I want it to be more rewarding rather than beating around the bush too much(?))

(I do want this to be time to flesh out new characters as well before the final happens)

(Oz will be approached to start off the mission)

(Rin will be approached to know more about the building plan of the Orchid Theatre)

(Anfora will be approached to understand possible motivation and being a senior member—will share her past experiences)

(Nica will be approached to better understand the play and her character(?)) (Considered talented as an actor) (<—I probably need to think about this a bit more)

Merold - “I can’t imagine you doing anything discreetly.”

Rin - “HaHa! Same!”

(During the final confrontation, Nica lunges Merold with a weapon but Hallritt gets in front of Merold to protect him)

(Hallritt ends up getting stabbed)

(I feel like Merold would feel offended yet somewhat thankful for Hallritt) 

Merold - “YOU. BIG IDIOT.”

Merold - “Do you not understand the title ‘Strongest Knight?’”

(What if final confrontation is done on the Orchid Theatre’s stage and it is a big reveal)

(Merold - “What are you?”)

(Hallritt - “…An idiot sandwich.”)

you know i would compile these notes properly and summarize them but when you’re in a bad mental state and listening to revolutionary girl utena all duel songs can you really?

earth as a character gallery is a banger 

allegory allegorier allegoriest 

the black rose songs are the best frfr

maybe i should make revolutionary girl utena inspired lyrics for fragaria memories

that honestly sounds fun if i can commit to it

WAIT I CAN MAKE ACE ATTORNEY REFERENCES

BUT I HAVENT SEEN IT IN FOREVER WAAAAAAAHHHH

(Outdated grandiose that makes the old appear new)

(Aged like fine wine) (Apple motifs)

(Operates as mainly a stage for performers, but has been modified to be used as a cinema(?)) (both on a stage and has a projector or screen for cinema usage(?))

(i imagine the cinema itself is open at least 2 - 3 times a week and the rest of the days is for the performers of the Orchid Theatre to practice their craft for the next big play(?))

(Beautifully elaborate, has Hello Kitty motifs)

(Also contains Mowzer, Catnip, Fangora, and Grinder motifs of course(?))

(Rather than Mowzer, Catnip, Fangora, and Grinder being lords like Hello Kitty and the others) (I rather have them be historical figures that aren’t around today(?))

(It’s said in lore that the lords somehow ascending into the world of Fragria, so I kinda want the opposite of the 4 coming back to their world instead of death)

(Considered figures that represent the spirit of acting(?))

(Similar to the greek muses of comedy and tragedy) (the smiling and frowning masks i mean) (imagine their faces plastered as masks similar to the theatre masks(?)) (like what im saying is a comedy mask with characteristics similar to catnip or grinder(?))

(i should really learn a little bit about theatres… i have somewhat relied on wikipedia but that can only go so far)

i did try writing a fragraia memories revolutionary girl utena song but I don't really know if its really fragmem? Spirit circuit—illusionary deficient, a cruel hook dangles the prey midair Lo’! — Awake from dream. the hook, fish, or the fisherman? Sealed, Spilled, Anchored. Forbidden life’s mead bleeds. Forbidden landscapes defy the unreal.  Naturality pacifies and requites the unnatural. Beloved, Unreal Realness. Are you surprised? It’s a big mistake to think you’re the only one who can turn into a car. I’m a car now too!

i promise the last line is real just look up revolutionary girl utena car scene

[luffles424]

Stay

☼ Pairing: Yoongi x reader

☼ Genre: historical!au, king!Yoongi, assassin!reader (it’s not what you think), light angst, fluff, smut

☼ Count: 3K

☼ Warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, teasing, biting, face fucking, dom!yoongi, bratty!reader, spanking, hair pulling, fingering, dirty talk, orgasm denial, soft sex

☼ Summary: Sneaking into the king’s quarters is as easy as breathing for you. The sneaking out though, might prove to be a little more difficult this time.

☼ a/n: Because we all thristy for our boy Agust D uwu Let me know what you think! My ask box is always open ~ 💙💙💙💙

Yoongi enters his chambers, door closing on the guards posted out from and relief flows through him now that he’s finally alone for the day. If he had to have one more meeting or talk to another person, he might have just screamed. He itches to get out of his royal robes, feeling too confined by the luxurious silks and the burden they bring. The small golden crown is tugged from his topknot and he loosens the hair enough for it to hang in a ponytail instead of a bun, tossing the golden accessory to the small dresser with little care. His headband quickly follows and he rubs at his forehead, hoping that if he rubs enough maybe the ache will finally leave.

“You know, you should really fire your palace guards, your highness.”

Yoongi startles, whirling on the intruder, hand resting on the small dagger he keeps tucked away at all times just in case. He relaxes instantly when he realizes that it’s just you. You grin at him, lounging across his bed. 

“Or perhaps my assassin shouldn’t be sneaking around my palace.” Yoongi quips back, turning back to the dresser and shedding the rest of his accessories now that he knows that there’s no threat. 

“I merely seek to ensure your safety, your highness. That means testing your guards to ensure they’re capable of doing their jobs and protecting you.” You watch as he slowly removes the trappings that mark him as king, until he stands there in nothing more than a thin undershirt and his pants. He looks lighter like that. 

He turns to face you, head tilted and his scar stands out in the low light. The reason you're so adamant for his safety, the one time someone had gotten through all the defenses and not because they were just testing the guards. It hadn’t even been to get to Yoongi, but to get to you through Yoongi. You’ve never forgiven yourself for what happened to him. Despite his constant reassurances that he didn’t blame you in any way for what happened. 

But you still felt guilt and so you offered yourself to his service, in secret of course. They’d never accept a woman as a warrior, so Yoongi kept you in the shadows, which suited you just fine, you worked best in the shadows anyway. 

Yoongi draws you from your thoughts as he approaches, features softening. “Are you okay?”

You scoff and sit up. “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be, your highness?”

His lips quirk, he looks far too knowing. “Because you only stick to my title in private when something’s wrong.” He reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek. “What’s wrong, my moon?”

You lean into his touch, scooting over enough for Yoongi to climb onto the bed beside you. Instead of saying anything, your arms wrap around his neck and you pull him in for a kiss, hoping to distract him from further questioning.

“Missed you…” You murmur against his lips. 

You feel his momentary smile and then he’s deepening the kiss, hands grabbing your waist to pull you up and over onto his lap. He trails his lips along your jaw to your neck. “Missed you too…” His hand slides down to cup your pussy through your pants. “Missed this pretty little pussy too.”

“Yoongi, please.”

He chuckles, teeth nipping at your skin. “What is it you want? Anything and it’s yours, moon.”

You shudder at his words, trying not to think about the fact that you know he does mean anything. He would give you the world if it would make you happy. That thought is too scary, gives you too much hope. You swallow and ask for the small piece of him you’ve allowed yourself. 

“Want you. Fuck me, please?”

“Always, moon, always.”

His hands slide under your top and you groan at the contact. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten to touch and feel him. But you had to stay away, both for the sake of your mission and because he’s gotten married. A strange woman hanging around and sneaking into the king’s quarters would be hard to explain. The thought of his wife makes your skin crawl. 

You’re sure she’s a lovely woman, but the fact that she gets to be seen with Yoongi in public, gets to touch him whenever she wants makes you equal parts sad and jealous. You wonder if they’ve consummated the marriage yet and your stomach turns. It’s been weeks, it’d be odder if they hadn’t.

Yoongi’s fingers are firm against your cheeks, directing your gaze to his. “Focus on me, moon.”

You are both grateful and hate that he knows you so well. That he probably knows exactly where your thoughts are going. His gaze darkens and he smirks. 

“Seems like someone isn’t going to give me her focus, hm? Am I not enough to hold your attention?” You try to shake your head no, but Yoongi’s firm fingers keep your head still. “Seems like I’m just going to have to teach you a lesson.”

Your body heats at his words and you feel slick drip from your pussy. He pushes you off his lap so you stand in front of him and he leans back on his hands with a cocky smirk as his gaze trails over your clothes. 

“You won’t be needing those,” his gaze meets yours. “Strip.”

You fight down your own smile. “Right here, your highness?” you ask in your best imitation of sweet innocence. 

His gaze goes hooded. “Oh, darling, you don’t want me to do it for you. I suggest you listen.”

You strip out of your clothes slowly, relishing the way Yoongi’s eyes follow each movement until your clothes lay in a pile beside you. 

“You get more beautiful every time I see you, moon,” he murmurs, face softening for just a moment, leaning forward as his fingers trace along the scar that sits along your hip. It’s the matching one to the one on his face, in that you got them from the same person on the same night. You hadn’t even known you had it, too busy focusing on Yoongi. It wasn’t until panic crossed Yoongi’s face that you realized you’d been struck. 

His smirk grows once more and he’s tugging you forward roughly so you splay across his lap. He tugs your hair free of it’s bun, fingers carding through the strands for a moment before his hand trails slowly down your spine, leaving you shivering. He gropes your ass and then his hand is gone, the air quick to cool your warm skin. Quickly his hand is back, landing on your ass with a smack and drawing a gasp from you. Yoongi chuckles as his spanks you again, this time on the opposite cheek. 

“How many, moon? How many do you think you deserve?” he muses and you’re not sure if he’s being rhetorical or actually wants an answer. He rubs at the skin of your ass before smacking the flesh once more. “I think you deserve quite a lot. You’ve been exceptionally bad as of late, moon.” Another, harder than the others. “You’ve ignored me.” Smack. “Stayed away for weeks.” Smack. “For so long that I wondered if you’d died on something I sent you to do.” This smack is even harder, tears gather in your eyes as heat radiates across the skin of your ass. Yoongi’s voice wavers ever so slightly as he continues. “Thought I’d never get to see you again,” smack, “touch you,” smack, “fuck you.”

You squirm in Yoongi’s lap, a mixture of arousal and guilt churning in your stomach. You hadn’t thought Yoongi would have missed you so much. More so, you’d hoped that he would’ve been too busy with new duties to miss you. 

Yoongi catches your squirming, one hand pressing on the small of your back to hold you still while the other slips between your legs, fingers sliding along your damp folds. 

“Seems you enjoyed your punishment, moon.” He slips a finger in and you moan. “Oh, seems you enjoyed it a lot. Naughty little whore, hm?”

He pumps his finger a few times before slipping a second in beside the first, pressing harder against your back when you try to get his fingers to move faster. His fingers move agonizingly slow, seemingly content to prolong your orgasm for as long as it pleases him. 

“Yoongi please…” You whine, attempting to squirm in his grip again.

Yoongi just chuckles and slips a third finger in. “I don’t know, moon. Do you think you deserve my cock? I don’t think you’ve earned the privilege yet. You’re gonna have to work for it first.”

“Yoongi, don’t tease… It’s been so long, please, need your cock.”

Yoongi buries his fingers in as far as they go with a dark chuckle, hand leaving your back to bury in your hair and tug. He presses firmly to that spot inside that makes your toes curl and, hips now free of his hand, you squirm to feel them move and press just right. He indulges you, letting you fuck yourself on his fingers as he presses relentlessly against your g-spot. You gasp his name, orgasm so close you can almost taste it. 

Yoongi tugs on your hair, just shy of too painful. “Oh, did you think I just meant begging?” 

He pulls his fingers free of your pussy and you let out a noise of distress as your orgasm is ripped away from you. He drags the wet digits across your still burning ass and leaves a trail that cools and soothes the skin ever so slightly. He nudges you off his lap, directing you so you’re on your knees between his spread thighs, hand still in your hair and forcing you to tilt your head back to look up at him. “I meant you’re going to have to work for it, moon.” 

Your heels dig into the sensitive skin of your ass and you fight back a wince at the slight sting as Yoongi finally releases you and shucks his undershirt. Yoongi shifts and the tenting of his pants becomes even more pronounced and you lick your lips, reaching out to tug the offending articles off of him. He laughs, lifting his hips to help you shimmy his bottoms down, hard cock slapping against his belly. 

Your hands slide up along his thighs, the muscles flexing under your fingers and you smirk. “What would you have me do for it, your highness?”

His gaze drifts to his cock, hard and leaking against his belly. It’s been so long since you’ve seen it. It’s pretty, a cock truly fit to sit between a king’s legs. He’s thick, not too long, and your pussy clenches at the memory of how well he fills you. You want desperately for him to fill you again.

You wrap one hand around the base, holding it as your tongue darts out to taste the clear liquid gathering at the tip. Humming, you wrap your lips around him, bobbing your head. Yoongi groans, hand moving up to rest on your head, no pressure, just resting. For now. You’ve missed sucking his cock almost as much as you’ve missed him fucking you. 

You keep a slow steady pace, you know he hates slow and teasing after months apart. You also know that it means that he’s going to do something to fix your slow pace. 

Sure enough, you feel Yoongi gripping your hair a few moments later. There’s a growl in his chest when he speaks. “You know I don’t like it when you tease me when I haven’t had the privilege of using your slutty little mouth in a while.”

You hum in answer and you know he can feel the twitch of your lips as you suppress a smile. He hand tightens in your hair and he pushes you further down his cock, speeding your previous motions and forcing you to take him even deeper. Your fingers flex against his thighs and you glance up at him through your lashes. His head is tilted back, mouth opened in pleasure. He controls your movements, keeping you moving up and down his cock without giving you much of a chance to breathe. But even though you can tell that he’s losing himself in the warmth of your mouth, he won’t look at you. He loves watching you when you have your lips wrapped around his cock.

You squirm, you want his attention focused on you, to watch you while you pleasure him. You whimper as he holds you down, nose pressed into the hair at the base of his cock as tears prick your eyes once more. 

He finally glances down at you, a glint of knowing in his eyes. “Problem, moon?” You whine, squirming again. “Oh, my apologies. You can’t very well talk with your mouth full, hm?” He tugs you off, leaving you gasping for air as he chuckles. “Something you need?”

You pant, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Fuck me… Yoongi, please… I need it, need you cock. Please…” You feel a tear trail down your cheek. 

Yoongi reaches out, gently wiping away your tears. “Anything for you. Come here.” He helps you up onto the bed, laying you out on the silks that feel cool against your heated skin. He crawls over you slowly, settling between your thighs. His hair hangs down, creating a blonde curtain around you both. He dips down, lips pressing softly to your swollen ones. 

“Ask me again, moon.”

“Yoongi, fuck me please. I’ve missed you so much.”

He pulls back slightly, still close enough that your lips just barely brush, but far enough that he can actually see you as he finally lines up his cock and sinks into your pussy. You gasp, fingers digging into Yoongi’s back as he bottoms out, holding himself still while he holds your gaze. There’s emotion swimming there that you can’t quite place. 

You lean up to capture his lips in another kiss, anything to keep yourself from having to look into his eyes when it feels like nothing but love. The connection feels cruel when you don’t get the public half of it. You beg him to move and he complies, thrusts measured and languid, savoring the drag of your walls along his cock. Yoongi’s tongue slips into your mouth as his hand trails along your body until his fingers find your clit, drawing experienced motions around it.

“Cum for me, my moon. Cum on my cock. Fuck, it’s been so long, I’m not going to last.” Yoongi trails along your jaw and nips at your neck, leaving a mark as he murmurs his pleas in between. 

It only takes a few moments, your body tuned so perfectly to Yoongi’s touch, before your pussy is spasming around his cock as you cum with a cry. Yoongi is quick to slap a hand over your mouth with a chuckle.

“You can’t be too loud, moon. The guards will come thinking something bad is happening.”

Yoongi’s thrusts remain slow as you ride out your orgasm, whimpering against his hand. Once he’s deemed you through the peak of your orgasm, he speeds his thrusts up, fucking you hard and fast to chance his own orgasm. 

Yoongi cums with a whisper of your name against your lips, warmth spreading as he fills you with his cum. His forehead presses to yours, breath puffing against your lips. He kisses you softly, pulling himself from your pussy and moving to lay beside you. Pulling you close, he buries his face in your hair. 

Tentatively you wrap your arms around him. You can’t stay long, you have to slip away when the guards aren’t near so you don’t get caught. But you can at least allow yourself this moment, to pretend like circumstances were different and that you could always do this. 

You hear Yoongi’s breathing even out and you wait just a little longer before you’re carefully extracting yourself from his embrace. You’re just starting to tug on your clothes when his voice startles you.

“Where are you going?” His voice is soft but you can hear the hurt tinging the words. 

“I… was leaving?”

“Why? Stay with me.”

“Yoongi…” you sigh. “I can’t stay here. You’re the king. You’re married. You can’t just… have some random woman found in your chambers. Especially when she’s an assassin.”

Yoongi pushes himself up, tugging you closer again. “Except I can because I’m king. Moon, please… it doesn’t have to be this way anymore.”

You weakly attempt to pull away, but Yoongi’s hold remains firm. “”You’re married, your highness. We… We can’t be together anymore.” You feel off balance.

Yoongi remains quiet for a while. Your thoughts eat away at you. You shouldn’t have come. But you’re so weak for Yoongi. You missed him so much that you just had to see him again. You can’t do this again. This has to be goodbye.

“I’m not.” It’s Yoongi’s voice that breaks the silence. Voice low but firm. 

You’re confused about what he means. “What are you talking about…” You have a slowly growing suspicion of what he means.

“I’m not married. Not anymore.” He looks up at you, there’s such hope in his eyes that it feels like a punch to the gut. “We can be together.”

“W-what? Yoongi… you can’t be serious. What happened to your wife?”

“Nothing bad, I promise. She’s fine. Much happier not being married to me.” He chuckles slightly. He tugs you closer and buries his face in your belly. “I couldn’t stand the thought of being with someone who wasn’t you.”

You reel from his news. He left his wife? For you? Could you two really be together? You think that he’d face so much backlash. You can’t stand the thought of him getting hurt again because of you. But to finally be with Yoongi the way you have both always wanted. You supposed that if you were around him all the time, then he’d always be well protected. 

“Moon,” he calls softly, drawing your focus back to him. “Stay with me?”

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Inspired by an argument they had in my head. And this post.

Tangle

-dragonswithjetpacks

Summary: Upon returning to camp, Ferelith finds her possessions have been disturbed. Without a doubt, she accuses Astarion who does not deny he is at fault. What begins as a squabble between the two ends in a fiery confrontation of how Ferelith begins to feel about her vampire companion.

Notes: To reference the tome in question, you can kind of read it in Campfire Conversations. I wrote that before I knew about the actual necromancy tome in game. Ferelith sort of collects all kinds of books and tomes and spells

Read here on Ao3.

The camp had been entirely quiet. It should have been a typical night with nothing but stars and campfires. But the silence was interrupted by an angry Ferelith, who upon her return had discovered her books had been misplaced. Her bag, neatly tucked away with her bedroll and belongings, had been pulled aside. Her books were out of order. And her necromancy tome had been opened. There was only one person she could accuse of rummaging through her things. And he was not shy about admitting the deed he had committed. Ferelith erupted into anger, storming out of camp in hopes she could calm herself. Astarion was hot on her heels, ready to admit his faults, but without a hint of guilt. She tried to ignore him, but it was no use. And she stopped as she passed through the old building.

"All I've asked is that you keep your grubby little hands to yourself," she shouted.

"It's not all that bad," he defended himself. "You can't blame me for slipping from time to time."

"Slipping? Slipping? Astarion, you can't just 'slip' into someone's belongings."

"I don't see what the big deal is. It's as if I've touched your precious tome."

"They're all my tomes," she pressed her fingers to the side of her temple, feeling the burden building from the stress.

There was a strong drink and an herbal tea coming after this conversation. She was certain.

"And you're being stingy. What if there is something useful in there? You know anything could help me."

"If there was anything I could do to help, I would have said something."

"Would you?" his eyes grew large, as they always did when he mimicked how one would feel if they were actually hurt.

"You should trust me. At least a little," she threw her hands up out of desperation, ready to be done with him and his games.

"I said I would," he shrugged.

Ferelith's brow tightened, the wrinkle of tension forming across the bridge of her nose. The tone suggested he was not taking her seriously. He very rarely did, but this was a different circumstance. He knew those books were important. And he knew by touching them he was violating her privacy. Again. She had been done with his prying. Done with his carelessness. And done with his selfish reasoning.

"You're not even trying!"

"How dare you. I've attempted and all you do is ignore the effort."

"What little effort that is."

"Ungrateful. That's what you are incredibly and undeniably-"

"I'm not ungrateful, I specifically asked-" they shouted over each other, their voices echoing off the old stone walls.

"And stubborn," he stepped forward aggressively. "Without reason, just... stubborn."

"I have enough reason, thank you. It's the only way I can tolerate you."

"Tolerate me? Ferelith, you despise me. Don't fool yourself."

"Despise isn't quite the word."

"How cliche of you," he was baring his fangs, now. "Yes, let's lash out with angry words because we don't know how to label our feelings."

A piercing stab jabbed her straight through the chest, sharper than any arrow she had felt. He was right. Her emotions had remained in a neutral state for so long, she did not know how to describe them. If she wasn't feeling emotions in all their intensity, she didn't feel them at all. Even when she desperately wanted to dislike Astarion, she couldn't. And she knew no word for it.

"Do not insult my intelligence with your mockery."

"Oh, but it's perfectly fine for you to insult mine? Your precious ego can't handle criticism? Let me guess your next tact... you'll wonder why you hadn't placed a bolt in my head, yet. Please, the threats are getting old."

"Maybe I can come up with something new," a flash of red flickered on her fingertips.

Astarion saw it from the corner of his eye, his instinct heightening his reflexes. It was almost one large sweep of his legs and he was over her. But she didn't flinch. The rush, however, caused her to lose concentration, dropping the magical energy she felt. It wasn't the surprise of his action that caught her off guard. No, it was the display in his eyes and the anger she felt looking up to him, causing her to widen her sight. She drank in all the anger he poured into her, filling up her body with a cold chill that drove her desire to defy him. Her shoulders straightened and her chest rose with contempt.

"You're not quick enough," he barked back at her.

It was not enough to knock her down. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to feel the contact of his face on her hand. And as she looked up, her face grew hot. His red eyes beamed down at her in rage. Her jaw clenched and the heat from below came swelling, bubbling up hot into her chest. That stupid face not two moments ago was attempting a sorry expression of pity. And now he was glaring down upon her with his fangs below curling lips. Her hands came up, but he was right. She was not quick enough. He caught them before they could reach their destination. She balled them into fists, rising up on her toes. She came dangerously close, but he was curious to see what action she so boldly came up with. The feeling of her lips on his mouth had not been an option he had considered.

What have you done?

The voice rang clear through her head, but it didn't stop her. Astarion, who she had expected to coil back with surprise, tightened his grasp, bending down to reinforce their kiss. He opened his mouth to hers, catching her breath. She sighed heavily, giving into the release of anger and feeling her body relax. He was afraid to let go, afraid she would pull away. But he had not initiated this. So his hands fell loose around her with the anticipation of her withdraw. The urge to push him was still there, and he could feel her hands lingering with doubt. But she did not tear herself from him. She stepped closer.

There wasn't another second of hesitancy, the moment he felt her hand over his chest, he knew his touch was permitted. His fingers stretched across the back of her as she grappled him. The doublet tightened with her pushing and pulling as her mouth opened and closed, using her anger to fuel the kiss. He did not question it, either, only relishing in their moment of passion and wondering what could be done to further it. A hand found it's way to her neck, a finger to the back of her ear and caressing the side. The touch. Just the soft touch. His fingertip pressed into her skin. Followed by another. The feeling of his fingertips sliding down her neckline brought a sensation that sang through her body, reminding her of the thoughts she had buried. His hands crawling across her. It felt like the night he drank from her. The image caused her to tense and her grip tightened as the singing grew louder.

Astarion defied her rigidness, scooping her lower back into him, closer, capturing her into his embrace. The hand, the one with it's gentle touch, had suddenly changed, becoming aggressive and hungry and wanting. It stretched to the back of her hair, his fingers tangling into it's long waves. They curled, pulling her head backward as he leaned into her. It sent a jolt of pleasure down the rest of her body, causing a soft moan to escape. Her eyes flew open, suddenly aware of what was happening by the unintentional sound she had made. She shoved him away, wiping her mouth and glaring at him. He stood, a thumb to his bottom lip and his eyes awaiting her next move. There was no evidence of shock on his face. Not in the least. It made her feel sick. She let out a sharp exhale, shaking her head as she left the ruin.

"Well..." he rubbed his lip in thought. "... that was certainly new..."

***********************************************************************

As the birds began to sing their song of the new day, Ferelith had already woken. While she would have preferred to be alone that night, she also did not want to risk running into Astarion in the wood. Her place had been warm by the fire all night, brooding and cursing quietly under her breath. She had remained undisturbed, even when Astarion had first returned. He was relentless with his stare, however, and refused to give her a moment of peace. Even if he said nothing at all.

The look from him alone was all she needed for her insides to curdle with regret. Or so she assumed. There was also a slight flutter in her chest when her eyes met his, a hint of secrecy in the enjoyment of her impulsive actions sparking the fire that flushed across her face. She would eventually needed to speak to him. Though Astarion was not patient enough to wait for that. She knew there was nothing more he wanted than to make her feel unconformable as soon as possible. And as she felt him approaching her as she packed her bag, she crossed her arms with a heavy and under prepared sigh.

"I hope you had a good hunt last night," she interrupted him just as his mouth opened to speak.

"I..." he looked at her curiously, "I did..."

"Good."

"I'm not sure if you wanted-"

"Shut up," she glowered, her voice dripping like venom. "Get your things. I need you."

"I knew you would," he grinned with enormous gratification.

Her composure held as long as it needed to, which was just enough to endure his gaze. The moment his back turned, her mind scattered into a thousand thoughts, some not even of her own voice. There would be a time for her to sort them out later. For now, she needed to keep her strength in appearance. 

[eunsuri]

Stay

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Summary: A peaceful moment in which you allow Loki to explore your memories during your time apart. Second part to Fool.

Word Count: 1,853

Warnings: A little angst over the events of Svartalfheim and just a tiny bit of implied smut oops.

A/N: I couldn't get this idea out of my head so I just had to post a little second part to Fool. If you're feeling a little confused, I'm very sorry! I've always loved the idea of a power duo as a couple, and so I have created a full origin story for you, the reader, hence all the references to your home world. Also, “Ketani” means “My Heart” in your world. You can also read this on AO3 if you prefer :) 

The air was sultry and soothing in the King’s bathing chambers. The ambient noise of water dripping and rippling filled your ears, while clouds of steam floated from the heat below you, creating a light mist over the thick columns. Shelved along the walls were stunning floral arrangements which hung over and provided a pleasant, fresh scent. A small fire flickered and licked at the wood towards the end of the room, adding to the shine of the raven locks between your fingers. 

Upon your arrival to Asgard, you had not anticipated that you would find yourself in the King’s private bathing chambers, wearing only a sheer silk gown, with the King himself between your legs. 

Your feet were submerged in the hot and soapy bath water, while you rested on the edge with your knees on either side of Loki, as he relaxed in the heat. Using a beautifully carved brush, adorned with golden markings, you gently combed through his thick dark hair from behind. Meanwhile, his long fingers trailed over the bare skin of your legs, barely touching you as he traced small circles over and over.

“Your hair has gotten longer,” you commented softly, running the bristles along the strands above his temples.

He remained silent and gave a slight nod, eyes closed with slow breaths. You could see his long eyelashes shying behind his pronounced cheekbones. His face was serene, undoubtedly enjoying your soothing touch along with the warmth of the water. Although he was not often the most affectionate of lovers, the many long months of separation and his survived death had now brought him closer to you. 

Once the knots in his hair were smoothed, you placed the brush at your side and pressed your cheek to his temple, twining your arms around his neck lightly. He brushed his fingertips along your forearms, calming your senses as your eyelids also fluttered closed. Moments of peace were fleeting in your chaotic lives, so you relished in the sensation of surrendering your steeled walls, however, your mind swam with memories of Svartalfheim and the events which occurred. 

You felt your stomach knot and your chest constrict as you recalled the memory of being hauled away from Loki’s lifeless body. It felt as though you were hallucinating the moment you had seen him, alive, only hours prior to your current situation in the bathing chambers. The thought of opening your eyes and finding yourself elsewhere without him was terrifying, so you tightened your grip around him.

“Are you getting in?” Loki’s smooth voice snapped you from your contemplations and you loosened your hold.

He turned to face you, taking your hand in his own when you nodded and tugging you towards him. Before you could speak, you found yourself immersed in the hot water, your white and gold gown soaked through.

“You should’ve at least let me take this thing off,” you cringed at the strange feeling of your drenched dress and reached to remove it.

“You do look rather ravishing in it,” he brought you closer with a pull at your waist while he eyed the way it sheered out further, your assets visible as the silk clung to your skin.

With a shake of your head, you chuckled lightly and placed your hands over his bare chest. You chewed your lower lip as you grazed your fingers over the space you had witnessed being torn through, and your heart plummeted. There was a faint scar etched into his skin, and as relieved as you were that he had survived, the same frustration you had felt prior began to prod at your chest and up your throat. You had watched him die.

Your chin was then tilted up and his bewitching eyes searched yours, his brows furrowing together. “What has you so distracted?”

You curled your lips in, pressing into a line and studying his features intently. Every bit of his face was just as you remembered, from his high cheekbones and his sculpted jaw, to his pointed nose and soft lips. Most of all, his captivating and bright, yet deep eyes were your favourite. You always felt as though he could see into every hidden part of your soul with them. 

When Loki’s hand cradled your face, your shoulders dropped, muscles loosening instantly as you realised how tense you had been. He tilted forward and gingerly touched his forehead to your own. You knew precisely what he was about to do, and so your eyelids fluttered closed and granted access to the storm within your mind.

The two of you were launched into the memory of Svartalfheim, where you had witnessed your lover’s slaughter at the hands of the mutated Dark Elf. The vision of his body laid among the terrain in the barren wasteland and his greying face, along with your cries and the chill of horror you had felt, passed through to him. He felt the adrenaline which had pulsed through your veins and raging fire in your heart when you had seen Malekith on Earth. 

Next came the sorrow which consumed you over the past months and the grim thoughts that flooded you, as you stood at the tall Temple of your home world. Although vengeance had been taken, nothing had quelled the dull ache in your chest and the guilt of neglecting your duties to mourn. Unwilling to relive the chaos, your hand landed upon his as an indication to break the connection. 

Once your mind was free, your gaze found his face again, taking him in as you had when he’d revealed himself in the Throne Room. 

“I assure you, I’m not going to disappear,” he tucked a strand of your hair back. “And you will never have to endure that again.”

Nodding silently, you rubbed your thumb along the contours of his lips, before lifting yourself onto your toes to tenderly brush your own lips to his. He responded with a mild hunger, the hand at your jaw moving to the back of your head, where he drew you nearer. You felt your stomach stir and a tickle made its way up to your chest, your breath shaky as though it was the first time. You melted into his embrace, your body releasing every bit of tension it held, and your soul drowned willingly, succumbing to the comfort of his touch. 

“Stay,” his voice came in a low whisper through another kiss.

“Hm?” You eased away from his lips with a puzzled frown.

Loki licked his lips and sent a knowing gesture. He had sensed your guilt. “You feel obligated to return to your post, but you should be here.”

A sigh pushed away the cloud of steam near your face before you spoke. “The people need me, I must return.”

“You are one of many Guardians, I am certain they could spare you to me for a time,” he remarked as you freed yourself from his grasp.

“You forget that I was the one who found and returned the Eyirdin Star. They expect me to remain at the Temple,” you glared down at the bathwater, spinning tiny whirlpools with your finger.

“Ah, yes, the Champion of the Arsya,” he chuckled lightly and tilted your face up to analyse you. “Saviour of the people.”

“Please,” you scoffed at the title with an eye roll, dipping yourself into the water and floating to the opposite end, behind him. “I only did what I had to. I wasn’t going to let my family go down along with the apocalypse.” 

“Truly admirable, darling,” he swivelled around to face you, a smirk curved across his lips. “But, you must stay.”

“I took an oath, Loki. And what of Thor? I’m sure he will question what business I have spending time here with the Allfather so closely,” you added as you swept your fingers through your wet hair.

You noticed his jaw clench slightly for a moment as he muttered. “My brother will not be an issue. I assure you, I have measures in place to notify me should he return, although I doubt he wishes to leave the side of his beloved mortal.”

“Yes, Jane Foster, I am surprised to hear she still lives. Mortal bodies are rather fragile, I didn’t think that she would survive long after having absorbed the Aether,” you recalled and rested your back against the edge of the deep pool.

“Mortal lives are transient,” he agreed, stepping forward and caging you in with his hands against the wall of the bath. “But, you are diverting from the current matter at hand. You will stay.”

“Ketani,” you breathed as you brushed a thumb over his forehead to smooth away a loose strand of his dark locks. You had only called him that once before, but the twitch of his lips indicated that he understood. “There is nothing I’d love more than to spend eternity at your side, but they will call for my return soon. You are a King, you of all others should understand the responsibility of protecting your people.”

“And you are a Guardian, the burden does not fall upon your shoulders alone,” he insisted, watching you contemplate his words. 

Your world was finally at peace and the balance had been restored, but after the time you had spent apart, Asgard was the only place you wanted to be. Though the prospect of it was precarious, you pondered the response of the Council of Elders upon your request to remain in another land. Would the loss of one Guardian for a period truly compromise the safety of the Temple? They have no quarrel with Asgard, but handing over the ‘Champion’ could raise outrage among the Council... 

“Causing possible tension between our worlds might not be ideal. Asgard is safely prospering under your rule and I would not see that blemished. Your people love you,” sighing, you dropped your hand and tucked it into your elbow, folding your arms. “But I’m unsure that even your silver-tongue could sway the Elders to relieve me of my duties.”

“You doubt your King?” Loki’s tone was taunting and his eyes glittered.

“No, and you are a great King,” you countered with a small frown.

“Then as King, I command that you remain in Asgard,” he ordered firmly.

“But you are not my King, Your Highness,” you snickered and lowered yourself into the water once again, slipping around from behind him, but your arm was caught as you floated away.

“First you attempt to slaughter me, then you defy my orders. You forget that you are in my dominion,” his hand travelled up to your shoulder while the other laced into your hair, tugging your head back to reveal your neck. “I should have you punished for your treason.”

“I doubt that the Elders will be pleased to hear Odin has imprisoned their Champion,” you couldn’t resist a smile as you felt his lips caress the skin below your ear, sending a shiver through your spine. His fingers trickled along your neck and shifted your gown to cascade your shoulders, lips following the path.

“Stay.”

[merakilyy]

Rinse and Repeat

Pairing: Dimileth and Sylvelix (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)  Tags: Post-game, married fluff, angst with a happy ending, pregnancy, miscarriage, overprotective Dimitri Summary: The first time Byleth conceives a child, she miscarries. Then it happens again. And again. And again. And again. Despite these challenges, Dimitri remains the world’s most supportive husband who only wants the best for his beloved. 

Pregnancy, for Byleth, was unexpectedly difficult and her lack of a child increasingly began to weigh on her.

Byleth and Dimitri were completely blindsided by her first pregnancy, only finding out about the child after Byleth had fainted in the gardens while on a walk with a visiting Flayn. Dimitri had been completely beside himself when he’d heard the news, storming out of a meeting with some of the Dukes from the former Leicester Alliance. (Luckily, Dedue was able to smooth over the remainder of the meeting using the very detailed notes Dimitri had left behind in his haste.) He made a beeline for the infirmary, breaking three doors and a bannister in the process, only to find Byleth awake and well. She was sitting up in bed, laughing at a story Mercedes had been telling her, when Dimitri barged into the room.

“Oh Dimitri! We were wondering when you’d show up!” Mercedes greeted cheerfully.

Dimitri paid Mercedes no mind as he went directly to Byleth’s bed and knelt at her side. His face was lined with deep concern. “My beloved, are you well? I was just informed of your fainting spell in the gardens. Have you eaten today? Did you drink enough water? Was the sun too much for you?”

Byleth beamed, unworried about Dimitri’s numerous concerns. Showing her emotions was still not something that came naturally to her, but it was easy to share her feelings with Dimitri. “No, nothing of the sort, darling. We are fine,” Byleth said, taking Dimitri’s hands into hers. “Just a dizzy spell.”

“We?” Dimitri repeated, confused.

Mercedes clapped her hands together. “Yes! Congratulations on expecting your first child!”

“A child?” Dimitri repeated again, a smile slowly spreading across his lips. “Our child?”

“Yes, darling, I am with child.” Byleth squeezed Dimitri’s hands. 

Dimitri raised Byleth’s hands to his lips, laying a soft kiss on the back of each hand. “You are with our child! Our heir! The product of our love! How far along are you?”

“Three moons. It would seem that the stomach flu I had last moon was not a stomach flu after all.” Byleth released one of Dimitri’s hands so that she could bury her fingers in his hair and pull him in closer.

Mercedes quietly stepped out of the room then, knowing Byleth and Dimitri needed some time to relish in their joy. Mercedes would just return later to give them instructions on how to proceed and with more information of what to expect from pregnancy. In the meantime, she closed the broken door as best she could to give Byleth and Dimitri their privacy.

~~~

A moon later, Byleth was back in the infirmary. 

Instead of tears of joy, Dimitri cried tears of sorrow as he watched Byleth curl up on the infirmary bed. Her arms wrapped around her midsection where her dead child was slowly and painfully expelling itself from her body. He could do nothing but watch and hold Byleth as she endured painful cramp after cramp for two days. He could do nothing but watch as Mercedes periodically removed cloth stained with blood clots and fetal tissue from Byleth, grimacing as he was watching Mercedes literally taking away the remnants of their baby.

Throughout her miscarriage, Byleth shed nearly no tears until the very end as a particularly painful cramp caused her to cry out and she only openly grieved her lost child for a day. 

That day, Dimitri would bury the bloody remains of their child in the garden as Byleth watched from her chair. She had lost too much blood during the miscarriage and wasn’t quite strong enough to help Dimitri yet. Later, she and Dedue did plant new flowers around the little stone that read “Baby Blaiddyd”.

~~~

As they soon discovered, becoming pregnant was not an issue. Within the next year, Byleth had conceived four more times. With each subsequent pregnancy, she had grown increasingly desperate and increasingly cautious about her actions so as to avoid the pain of her first pregnancy. But at the end of the year, after her meticulous planning and careful contemplation over her each and every action, she still had no child to show for it.

The second miscarriage had happened very early on, just three weeks into her pregnancy. Neither Byleth nor Dimitri cried over this child as they hadn’t known about this child’s presence until it was gone. Yet, Dimitri could see how the loss of another child weighed on Byleth as she spoke, ate, and trained less afterwards. But again, he could do little but hold her and love her as he promised they would try again.

The second child had no remains, but Dimitri still placed another small stone in their garden a short distance from the first. This stone read “Baby Blaiddyd #2”. Dedue and Byleth planted yet more flowers.

~~~

The third pregnancy wasn’t a miscarriage, exactly, but Mercedes was forced to remove the child to preserve Byleth’s life as it was an ectopic pregnancy. At first, Byleth and Dimitri were cautiously optimistic and saw Byleth’s lack of morning sickness as a good omen. But, in the third moon of the pregnancy, Mercedes called for both Byleth and Dimitri. Byleth didn’t shed any tears as Mercedes explained how there was no choice but to terminate the pregnancy, but there was no hiding the wateriness of Byleth’s gaze as she stared blankly at the wall behind Mercedes. Dimitri had insisted on staying in the room for the entire procedure so that Byleth would not be alone. Byleth said nothing, but her numbing grip on Dimitri’s hands told him how grateful she was for his presence.

Once again, there were no remains so Dimitri set up another small stone for “Baby Blaiddyd #3”.

Byleth didn’t help Dedue plant the flowers for this child, but she did select the seeds for Dedue to use.

~~~

The fourth pregnancy was the worst. It began with extreme morning sickness. In the early moons, Byleth lost so much weight that her already lean physique was beginning to appear emaciated. Even as her child expanded her abdomen, Byleth was losing weight alarmingly quickly. Without knowing otherwise, it would not appear as if Byleth was with child at all and this persisted well into the fifth moon. Byleth was unable to leave her room much, lacking both the energy and willpower to do so, nevermind attend to her duties as Archbishop or Queen. Fortunately, having already heard of her earlier pregnancy struggles, Seteth took on most of the Archbishop’s duties from Garreg Mach so as to lessen the burden on Byleth.

Dimitri took on as many of Byleth’s queenly duties as he could, and Ingrid filled in as a proxy for Byleth wherever and whenever her presence was required. Meanwhile, Byleth spent the majority of her fourth pregnancy on bed rest. 

The timing of the fourth pregnancy coincided with Sylvain and Felix’s visit to Fhirdiad. Officially, they were in Fhirdiad to discuss more advanced education for commoner children but Sylvain, Felix, and Dimitri all knew they were really just here to see Byleth. 

“How many rules do you think we’re breaking, entering the private bedchamber of the Holy Queen of Faerghus and the Archbishop of Seiros?” Sylvain joked, though a tightness in his eyes gave away his true concern for Byleth. 

“Well the Boar King has already broken tradition by technically marrying a commoner and keeping a shared bedchamber with his queen,” Felix smirked at Dimitri. Like Sylvain, Felix’s quips were only a cover for his genuine concern.

“I wish I could share my bedchamber,” Sylvain mused. “I didn’t think Dimitri had it in him! Too bad my lover lives all the way in Fraldarius, though. Must be great to wake up to your lover every morning.” Sylvain wriggled his eyebrows suggestively at Felix. 

“Ugh. You crass beast,” Felix responded by smacking the back of Sylvain’s head just hard enough to make his point. “If you thought with your big head instead of your little head for once you would know exactly why I can’t just move to Gautier.”

“Hey! You didn’t think it was that little last night!”

Albeit strained, Dimitri still smiled as he watched his childhood friends, former classmates, and invaluable wartime allies squabble beside him. “I see your relationship is as strong as ever,” Dimitri quipped dryly.

“Shut up,” Felix muttered, though his words were muffled by Sylvain’s shoulder. 

Sylvain had pulled Felix into a tight embrace, further mussing up his hair. “Don’t mind Feli-Feli,” Sylvain cooed as he half dragged Felix down the hall, “He just missed his morning sugar. You know, me,” Sylvain clarified, as though he had not been obvious enough. Dimitri laughed as Sylvain emphasized his point with a wink.

Felix swore as Sylvain placed a very loud and very wet kiss on his forehead, though Felix made no move to wipe his face afterwards.

For Dimitri, Sylvain and Felix’s banter was a welcome distraction from the seriousness of Byleth’s predicament. As soon as Dimitri opened the door to his bedchamber, Sylvain and Felix both froze at how weak Byleth appeared. Her skin was pallid and, other than her protruding midsection, she was little more than skin and bones. 

“Hello, Beloved,” Dimitri said with a gentle smile, having gone immediately to sit at the foot of their shared bed. He gathered Byleth’s feet in his lap and began to massage them. “Sylvain and Felix are here.”

“How lovely,” Byleth smiled weakly. She pushed herself up from the bed as best she could so she could greet Sylvain and Felix. Dimitri reached over to support her back as she sat up. “Hello Sylvain, Felix, “Byleth greet softly. “It is good to see you both. I apologize for the circumstances. This really isn’t a very proper setting for a Queen of Faerghus to be entertaining guests now, is it?” She chuckled self-deprecatingly. 

“No,” Felix recovered first and spoke quickly before Sylvain could stuff his foot in his mouth. “But anything that would drive those old nobles who refuse to accept common sense is usually the right thing to do.”

Byleth laughed in response and Dimitri brightened up at finally seeing his wife so happy.

Upon reaching the sixth moon of her fourth pregnancy, Dimitri and Byleth finally began discussing names.

“If we have a boy, I think it would be nice to name him after Rodrigue,” Dimitri said pensively. He was reclined in bed, back against the headboard, while Byleth rested between his legs. Her back pressed up against Dimitri’s chest and he gently massaged her shoulders, loosening her muscles to help her relax. “I did not ever truly thank him for all he did for me,” Dimitri continued, “For acting as a surrogate father, for his loyalty, and I took advantage of his dedication until he died for me. There is much I am indebted to him for, and it is a debt I will never be able to repay. He helped pull me away from the ghosts of my past and I wish to honour him.”

Byleth agreed, “That is a lovely thing to do. But I would like to honour Dedue as well. Is Rodrigue Molinaro an agreeable name to you, Dimitri?”

“Rodrigue Molinaro Blaiddyd,” Dimitri murmured appreciatively. His hands stopped massaging Byleth’s shoulders, instead running down her arms until they intertwined with her hands. He reached around, resting both his and Byleth’s hands on her bump. “Rodrigue Molinaro Blaiddyd,” Dimitri said again, “I love it. It will be an excellent name for a son. But what of a daughter?”

“Hmm,” Byleth hummed. She tilted her head back so that it was resting against Dimitri’s shoulder. “I have no preferences. Though I would like to honour Mercedes for all she’s done for us, especially in recent moons.”

“I quite like the name Leanna. My father once told me old fairy tales of Faerghus when I was young and I quite liked the character Leanna. She was the sneaky counterpart in the adventures of Loog. Would Leanna Mercedes Blaiddyd be agreeable to you, my beloved?” With their hands still connected, Dimitri gently stroked Byleth’s belly. He grinned when he felt the baby kick in response to his ministrations.

Byleth shifted her body and turned slightly so that Dimitri could see the smile on her face. “Very much so, my King.” She tilted her head up and laid a kiss against Dimitri’s jawline. “Very much so.”

But, just mere days after Felix and Sylvain’s visit, mere days after they had chosen a name for their child, Byleth went into premature labour. 

Having wanted to account for any possible event, Mercedes had sent for Manuela and even Rhea herself as soon as Byleth’s pregnancy had been confirmed. Yet, even with all their preparation and Byleth’s care, there was nothing to be done for the child.

Once again, Dimitri was adamant that he remain at Byleth’s side. He held her hand all throughout the thirteen hours of labour. He raised a glass of water to her lips periodically, wiped her face and her tears with a damp cloth, held Byleth’s nightgown out of the way when Mercedes or Manuela or Rhea so requested, and he murmured reassuring words but there was nothing he could do as he watched his wife give birth to a dead daughter after thirteen hours of pain and suffering.

Byleth was bedridden for another two weeks after the delivery as she had hemorrhaged during labour and Mercedes wanted to be overly cautious. As such, she wasn’t able to join Dimitri when he buried their stillborn daughter and set up the little stone engraved with “Leanna Mercedes Blaiddyd”. 

Nor did she accompany Dedue in planting flowers for her dead daughter. This time, too deep in her own grief, Byleth did not even select the flowers and she could not bring herself to visit her dead daughter’s grave.

She remained in bed, trapped in the very room where she had lost her daughter. Leanna Mercedes Blaiddyd was not Byleth’s first failed pregnancy, but Leanna Mercedes Blaiddyd was the first of her dead children whom Byleth shed tears for. Dimitri shared Byleth’s grief but there was nothing he could do.

(And Byleth knew better than to use the divine pulse when it wouldn’t erase the hurt she was feeling from losing her daughter, and when she knew that her daughter could just die again and she did not have the strength to feel her child die inside her a second time.)

~~~

The fifth pregnancy was comparatively uneventful. Byleth conceived her fifth child out of a growing desperation to carry a child to term despite Mercedes’ and Dimitri’s concerns over Byleth’s declining health. Yet, Byleth still conceived. Not entirely unsurprisingly, Byleth then miscarried the baby two moons later. 

Still melancholic from the stillborn Leanna several moons earlier, Byleth was fairly numb to her most recent miscarriage. However, her succession of failed pregnancies was beginning to give rise to malicious rumours.

Byleth first learned of such rumours when she overheard the conversation between a maid and a serving boy around the corner.

“Really,” the serving boy said snottily, “his majesty should get himself a new wife by now. It’s not like he’d be throwing the Queen to the wolves. She’s the Archbishop of Seiros, for the Goddess’ sake. She doesn’t need to also be the queen. Shouldn’t she be at Garreg Mach anyway? Especially since she’s useless at providing heirs.”

“I hate that his majesty needs to suffer with such a useless wife. What good at noblewomen other than having children? It’s not like they know how to work,” the maid said.

A second maid piped up then. “But Her Grace isn’t a noble. She was a mercenary. I don’t think she should get to be the Queen and Archbishop. The Goddess deserves an Archbishop who is truly devoted to her.”

“At the very least,” the first servant boy spoke again, “his majesty should take a mistress who can actually provide an heir.”

Stung, Byleth didn’t hear what was said afterwards. She headed straight for Dimitri’s office, accidentally alerting the maids and servant boy to her presence. Though the look on their faces at having been caught gossiping by the Queen of Faerghus and Archbishop of Seiros herself was priceless, Byleth did not get the opportunity to enjoy it. 

Before Dimitri’s office door, Byleth took a deep breath. Steadying her nerves, she knocked.

“Come in!” called Dimitri’s voice through the heavy oak door. 

Seeing Byleth enter the room, Dimitri immediately brightened. He stood from his desk, abandoning his mining reports, to greet Byleth. 

His face fell immediately after seeing Byleth’s expression, his joy replaced by concern. “My beloved, what is wrong? Are you unwell?”

“Dimitri,” Byleth’s voice broke as she stumbled in Dimitri’s arms. Despite her emotional turmoil, the weight of Dimitri’s thick fur cloak wrapping around her was as calming as ever. 

With her face buried in Dimitri’s cloak, Byleth couldn’t see Dedue. But, she heard Dedue say “I will take my leave, your majesty. I shall be in the garden.”

Although she didn’t hear Dimitri’s response, Byleth let out a sob at the mention of the garden. She had yet to visit her last two children and couldn’t bring herself to face her failure. 

Once the door had closed behind Dedue, Dimitri gently guided Byleth towards the couch. The fire had been lit by Dedue earlier so the sparks crackled in the background as Byleth fought to regain control over herself. Dimitri said nothing. He simply held her in his arms and gave her a reassuring smile as he waited for Byleth to speak first.

“I…” Byleth spoke so softly that it was almost a whisper. “I love you, Dimitri.”

“And I love you too, Byleth,” Dimitri responded without hesitation. Byleth didn’t immediately continue, but Dimitri patiently waited for her to continue.

“I love you,” Byleth said again, voice stronger now, “but I know I am not the best queen for you.”

Dimitri’s eyebrows rose in shock. “Why would you say that, my love?”

“I…” Byleth dropped her gaze as her eyes began to fill with tears. “I failed to give you an heir. But you need an heir. And I would understand if you wanted an annulment or if you wished to take a mistress so you could have an heir.”

“Byleth, what brought this on?” Dimitri knew Byleth’s question and current vulnerability was not due to a lack of love on her part, but was a consequence of her string of consecutive miscarriages in such close succession. Despite her best attempts to appear otherwise, Dimitri knew that the loss of each subsequent child was taking its toll on Byleth both physically and emotionally. But, Dimitri also knew that Byleth would not consider such extreme measures, even in such a vulnerable state, without someone else having said something. 

Byleth sniffed, burrowing herself even deeper in Dimitri’s cloak. “I overheard some of the servants and maids speaking. They think I am a failure as a queen. Nearly three years of marriage but still no heir.”

“Byleth…” Dimitri reached over to tilt Byleth’s face so she was looking at him. “I don’t care about an heir.” He could see the mixture of uncertainty and disbelief spelled out on Byleth’s face so he continued, “Byleth, you are my love, my beloved queen, and I need you to listen carefully, alright? For you, I speak nothing but my honest truth. Will you listen to me? Believe me?”

“But…” Byleth’s protest drifted off when she saw the look Dimitri was giving her. Instead, she nodded. 

“My love, you know that I would do almost anything for Faerghus -- for my people.” Dimitri paused to gently cup Byleth’s face in both his bare hands. “But there is no question that you will always come first. Byleth, there would be no Kingdom of Faerghus without you by my side. My Queen, I have lost so much already. My father, stepmother, Glenn, Rodrigue, and even Dedue for those few long years. You saved me from myself then, saved me from my ghosts, and I am forever in your debt for that. But Byleth, “Dimitri’s eyes began to water, “I do not believe I would be able to ever recover from losing you. Without you, I fear I would lose myself to my ghosts permanently. I would lose myself to someplace so far that I would truly be beyond saving.

“I would love to have a house full of children. Children with my hair and your eyes, children with my nose and your strength, all running around the palace causing trouble for their tutors and maids and wreaking havoc upon the training grounds. But I would never, could never, choose them over you. I want no child, unless it is yours, and I would not protest if you wanted to give up on having children. My beloved, it is hard enough for me to watch you suffer with each child and I cannot imagine how much more difficult it must be for you to feel each child dying inside you.

“In the end, no matter how much I wish for children of my own, I wish to have you by my side for as long as I can. It is selfish of me, but I will choose you first. Byleth, I do not know what I would do if you were to pass while giving birth to my child but I know that I will never stop blaming myself for causing your death. Watching you destroy your health for me, for the hope of a child, I cannot bear to watch it for much longer.” Dimitri paused, tears leaking from his eyes. With her own tear tracks mirrored on her face, Byleth reached out and wiped Dimitri’s tears from his cheeks. 

Dimitri took a deep breath before continuing. “I want a child but I need you, Byleth. Please, I will give you all the children I possibly can if that is what you so desire. But please stop pushing yourself for me. We are young and healthy, and this is peacetime. Please, my love, I will beg of you to recover your health fully first. Please, do not join the ranks of the ghosts of those whom I failed. I love you, with or without a child, and I want nothing more than to see you happy and healthy once more.

“You are not a failure as queen.” Dimitri said, wiping Byleth’s tears from her cheeks. “You are a wonderful queen and your job is not solely to provide an heir. You have done much in rebuilding Fodlan and renegotiating treaties. None of the peace and wealth Fodlan enjoys today would be here without you. You have reinspired faith in the Church, you are a wonderful teacher and exemplary leader, and the best wife and life partner I could have asked for. You are a wonderful Queen and Archbishop for the people of Fodlan and those who cannot recognize that are fools.”

~~~

Byleth didn’t conceive again for another year. By no means was her sixth pregnancy easy, but it was nothing compared to the nightmare that was her fourth. She suffering morning sickness and fainting spells her first trimester which gave way to odd food cravings in her second trimester, all of which finally gave way to swollen feet and a chronic ache in her neck and back for the last months of her pregnancy. 

But, Byleth carried this child to term and all of Fodlan was shivering with anticipation for the latest news from the Royal Palace.

~~~

“To the good people of Faerghus and of all Fodlan,” Dedue and Ingrid stood on the palace balcony that was used for important announcements. “On behalf of his majesty, King Dimitri, and her grace, Queen and Archbishop Byleth, I would like to announce this joyous occasion of the birth of the Crown Prince, his highness Prince Rodrigue Molinaro Blaiddyd, first in line to the throne of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.” 

Ingrid continued, “The Goddess has blessed us for both mother and son are alive and in good health. We welcome all to join the Lady Mercedes von Martritz in the Royal Garden this evening in prayer for the continued good health of mother and son, as well as his majesty King Dimitri.”

~~~

Later, when baby Rodrigue finally settled for a nap, Byleth looked at Dimitri who was sprawled out next to her. Despite her clear exhaustion, Byleth was still relishing in the glow that only a new mother has. Dried tear tracks still stained her cheeks. They were remnants of tears of both pain and joy.

“Hey,” Byleth said softly so as to catch the attention of Dimitri without waking her newborn son, “we did pretty good, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” Dimitri smiled, cradling baby Rodrigue’s tiny foot between his fingers. He pushed himself up to support his weight on his elbows and kissed baby Rodrigue’s nose before leaning up to place a chaste kiss on Byleth’s lips. 

“You did perfect.”

[naiatabris]

A Dragon Age 2 drabble

I have many thousands of words of DA2 drabbles hiding on my hard drive. I thought it might be fun to post some of the better ones on Tumblr--so, here we are! This is a take on a slightly different aftermath for Fenris’s Act II Questioning Beliefs.

“Care to hear the story?” His smile was slightly off-center, his words just a bit unsteady; despite his apparently celebratory mood, he seemed even angrier than usual. 

Hawke reached for the bottle of wine and took another long drink herself. The more for me, the less for him. “I thought you avoided talking about this.”

“Not on special occasions.” That crooked, half-mad smile again.

In spite of herself, Hawke smiled back. “Why not? I enjoy listening to you talk.”

Just for a moment, Fenris’s expression shifted, the anger replaced by something else. “There are few pleasures greater than speaking with a beautiful woman.” 

Something in his tone made Hawke catch her breath. Focus, Juliet.

“Let’s see. You’ve heard of Seheron?”

Fenris was no Varric; the story that followed, he told in sparse language, confined to the bare facts of what had happened. Under attack, Danarius had abandoned Fenris. A group of Qunari rebels had taken him in. Unsurprisingly, Danaris soon returned for his slave. When the Fog Warriors refused to let Danarius take the elf, the magister ordered him to kill his protectors.

“So I did. I … killed them all.” Fenris had the bottle of wine back in his hands now; he turned it over, staring at it. His voice was ragged.

Hawke felt as though someone had thrown cold water on her. “What?” she gasped. “Why?”

“It felt inevitable. My master had returned and this … this fantasy life was over.” He didn’t meet her eyes. “But once it was done, I looked down at their bodies and I felt … I couldn’t … I ran,” he said abruptly, sitting back and moving his gaze to the wall. “And never looked back.”

Hawke closed her eyes for a moment as a memory of her own welled up: Bethany, dead at the ogre’s feet. Her little sister had paid the price for their escape from Lothering. How much worse did Fenris feel knowing that his freedom had come at the price of the Fog Warriors’ lives—that he had wielded the sword that struck them down, only realizing he had had a choice when he saw his friends dead?

“This can’t be easy to talk about,” she said quietly, trying to keep her words matter-of-fact, free of any trace of pity.

Fenris shifted back towards her voice, his eyes still focused on the bottle of Aggregio. “I have never spoken about what happened, to anyone. I’ve never wanted to.” His eyes finally met hers. “Y-you and I don’t always agree, but …”

“But?”

“But I … it felt right, that you should know.” He sighed. “Once again, I am a poor host. I burden you with my past and barely offer you a drink.” He held out the bottle of Aggregio for her to take. It was significantly lighter than the last time she’d held it.

Hawke took a drink; too large a drink, as it turned out, for some of the red liquid spilled over her chin. She swallowed quickly and tried to catch the drops. “Blast it,” she hissed.

Her fumbling drew a laugh from Fenris—a slightly drunken one, but genuine. She smiled in return. “A good host would offer me a glass. Or at least a napkin,” she teased.

“I don’t know, I’m rather enjoying this,” Fenris smirked as Hawke tried to rub away her mishap with the back of her hand. “You’ve missed a bit.” His expression still amused, he leaned forward, reached out his hand, and lightly brushed his thumb across a stray drop just under her mouth.

Hawke froze in shock. Fenris had never touched her before—she had never seen him touch anyone.

Fenris noticed her stiffen. His eyes met hers in shared surprise. His thumb came to rest at the side of her mouth, his fingers curling tentatively across her jaw and down her neck. The metal tips of his gloves were cold against her skin, but below that, Hawke could feel just the faintest warmth from Fenris’s fingertips. Her mouth went dry and her entire body felt flushed. 

So much for being over my crush.

After a long moment, Fenris lowered his hand. “I … I have been thinking about what you said,” he admitted awkwardly. “About giving me more problems. Hawke … I have never allowed anyone too close.” He shifted back in the chair, drawing himself away. “When my m-markings were created, the pain was … it was extraordinary. And the memory lingers.”

“Does it hurt when someone touches you?” Hawke asked hesitantly, trying to puzzle out why he was telling her this.

“Not exactly. The markings pain me from time to time, but it’s the memory of the ritual. It … it feels as if it ought to hurt, if anyone touched me. If were to be with someone.”

If you were to be with someone? “Are you … saying what I think you’re saying?”

The elf shrugged. “If there was someone before, I have no memory of it.”

“And after?”

“I stayed nowhere for long. Who would I trust? I didn’t think I needed anyone. Or wanted anyone. Until now.” His gaze dropped to the floor.

Hawke took a deep, silent breath, trying to wrap her head around what he’d just said, the real reason for his hesitance in returning her interest. She felt horribly out of her depth. Searching for something to say, she handed him the bottle of Aggregio. He accepted it with a faint smile but didn’t take a drink.

“Fenris, if you don’t want … more problems, I do understand,” she said quietly. “Say the word and I’ll never mention it again.”

His head lifted at that. His green eyes were bright and brilliant in the dim light of the candles. “And if I do want them? If I thought it might be different with you?” 

She thought her heart might stop.

“Then ... we could find out. N-not right now, I mean,” she added quickly; he was in no state to be making that kind of choice tonight. “But …”

“On another evening, perhaps,” he finished for her, his voice husky. “We—I—I’ve had a fair amount of wine.”

“And unlike me, you haven’t been spilling half of it on your clothes?” Hawke asked wryly, trying to lighten the mood.

“Just so,” he answered with his usual half-smile, standing and crossing the room. Hawke wondered if he were simply going to leave her there, but he soon turned back with a goblet in hand. He poured some of the remaining wine in the glass and handed it to her, then raised the bottle. “A last toast, then. To the fallen!”

“To the fallen,” Hawke whispered, thinking of the Fog Warriors, of Bethany.

They sat in silence for a while after that, watching the fire, finishing what was left of the Aggregio. Eventually Hawke felt her eyelids getting heavy and, with a wrench of will, forced herself to stand. “I should go home,” she said quietly.

He nodded, not looking over. “Good night, Hawke.”

“Good night, Fenris.”

Halfway to the door, a slight scrape of a chair caught her attention. “Hawke. Wait.”

Hawke turned and started slightly. Fenris had soundlessly made his way across the room and her turn had brought them face-to-face, just inches apart.

The tip of his tongue moistened his lips slightly; Hawke swallowed, trying to hide how badly she wanted to kiss him. Even through the fog of the alcohol, however, she knew she needed to wait, that he had to be the one to begin.

“I—Hawke, I …”

“I know,” she said, inanely, since the truth was she had no idea what he was trying to say.

He reached out his hand, brushed her hair away from her face, brought it to rest behind her neck. With agonizing slowness, he leaned forward and placed his lips against hers.

It was an awkward kiss, closed-mouthed, tentative. Hawke ached to open her lips, to deepen the kiss, to pull his lean, taunt body against hers and run her hands beneath his clothes, but she held herself in check, only allowing herself to return the pressure of his mouth. She felt Fenris’s other hand on the small of her back, pulling her closer. The heat from his hands, from his body, almost made her whimper out loud.

“You’re not touching me,” he said softly.

“Do you want me to?” she whispered, keeping her hands firmly at her sides.

“Maker, yes,” he breathed. “I … I don’t know how to do this, Hawke. Show me.”

It took everything Hawke had to move slowly after that. She put her hands on his waist and leaned in to kiss him again. She brushed his lips lightly with hers, gentle kisses, closed-mouth. His arms tightened around her and she could feel him against her, all slender muscle and sharp bits of armor. When they had found a rhythm, she flicked her tongue against his lips and felt them part in response.

The taste of wine in his mouth brought her back to reality. Not tonight.

Slowing the kiss was almost physically painful; she felt half on fire from wanting him. But finally, their lips parted. She moved her palms to his chest and leaned her forehead against his, trying to signal that this was not a rejection, just a pause.

“I’ll show you the rest on another night. If you want it.”

He chuckled; Hawke relished the way his chest moved under her hands when he did. “Am I truly that drunk?”

“I’m not sober either,” she said, evading the question. But yes, you’re too drunk to sleep with tonight, damn it all.

His fingers brushed through her hair again. “You are … kind, Hawke. More kind than I deserve.”

“Bullshit,” she said, a bit embarrassed. Kind wasn’t exactly the word she wanted Fenris to have for her. “I’m an awful person. Ask anyone.”

That chuckle again. “Consider me warned. I … will look forward to learning the rest.” His arms released her. “On another evening.”

Hawke drew in a shuddering breath. “Good night, Fenris.” She stepped away, left the room slowly, only removing her eyes from his form when she stepped outside the doorway.

And then she half-ran back to the Amell estate, afraid she would turn back and do something they might both regret.

[kaylewiswrites]

Drunk WIP Week Day 3 - The Forgotten Grave Society

For those of you who haven’t heard me yelling about this for the past three days, I’m shrugging off the burden of trying to look like I know what I’m doing, and introducing my WIPs the way I do when I’m drunk and excited. 

If you like assholes, superpowers, camping, and people who almost get along, check out Day 1. 

If you like slow burn lesbian romances, political intrigue, ragtag groups who come to love each other, and deserts, try Day 2. 

If you like empowered middle school girls who start to see dead people, then congrats, you are, temporally, in the right place. 

The Forgotten Grave Society

Premise:

Today is easy. The world building is like, nothing. 

TFGS takes place in a small town in a small state, where life on the seaside brings in tourists, and also, sometimes, ghosts, apparently. (I am really liking excessive commas today, aren’t I?) The story begins in the small town on the mid-Atlantic on the first full day of summer vacation, in a graveyard that is commonly overlooked. 

Characters:

Marcy: Here’s a girl who looks average, not tall or short, tan or pale, large or small, and has not one single physical feature that makes her stand out. Bank robbery is Marcy’s backup career, since so many people overlook her. But her personality makes up for the middle ground that she exudes: All or nothing. 

She’s either trashing her room, or organizing everything by color. She cooks gourmet meals or rips cold rotisserie chicken straight from the fridge with her hand. To her coaches annoyance, she’s unable to figure out jogging. You can’t just sprint and walk, he tells her. But she doesn’t really get it. 

Marcy spends a lot of time in her own head, and it’s very, very easy for her to miss where the conversations around her are going, while she takes a side path down another road, and by the time she brings up something she founds there, everyone else is miles away. She got laughed at a lot because of this, and now rarely talks with all of her track friends. 

Talents include: running, jumping, getting A���s the three times a year she studies, cooking, and being brutally honest without meaning to be brutal. 

Ava: Ava was born the cutest child you had ever seen. Perfect brown ringlets in her hair, cherubic round face and rosy cheeks, innocent freckles underneath her big round eyes, everyone just adored Ava from the moment they saw her. And then she opened her mouth. 

Ava hates having high expectations held over her head, so she’s learned how to dash them as soon as possible. On the first day of first grade, the teacher called on Ava to introduce herself first, (since she would obviously become the teachers favorite, by the look of her). Ava stood up on her chair and gave a loud, scientific description of how babies were made. She’s been a class clown ever since. 

Known talents are: Causing a scene, making fart noises, disrupting the class. She hides the real ones: sculpting and casting, non-fiction reading, getting under Marcy’s skin (ok, maybe she doesn’t hide that last one)

Ronnie: Everyone knows Veronica is going to become some big engineer or bio-chemist or astrophysicist. Her grandmother was the first black professor at the Marine Biology Department that’s housed in their small town,  so she knows she’s got big shoes to fill. 

But the truth is, Ronnie doesn’t know what she wants to do. She hates that question. You know what she likes? Reading. She likes reading her text books and science theory books, and she likes reading cheesy romances, too. She likes conducting complicated experiments, sure, but she gets just as much pleasure out of the simple steps of her skin-care routine. She relishes in routine and anything she breaks down into small rituals she can. Making a sandwich. Programming a robot. All straightforward if do it one step at a time. 

Talents include: almost anything STEM related, designing inventions, choosing cute outfits, memorizing song lyrics, and coming up with really cool club names.

Plot

Its the first day of summer, and three very different girls from different classrooms and different friend groups somehow find themselves in the same graveyard. 

While there, they realize that a lot of these graves are like, really, really old. People aren’t putting flowers out for them like they do for the new ones. The girls decide to remember those graves for them, and thus the club is born. 

They spend the whole summer hanging out in a graveyard, cleaning stones and making bouquets of definitely-not-stolen-from-people’s-yards flowers. But when it’s time to go back to school, they feel themselves being torn apart by clubs, friends, and work. When they meet in the graveyard again to try to figure out what to do about this, they see a ghost. 

Of course ghost-seeing powers would kick in in September and not June, they think, but discovering the supernatural is real IS a good motivator for spending more time with each other. The Forgotten Grave Society decides to be both about sitting around graves eating snacks on warm summer mornings AND solving ghost problems so they can move onto the next life/afterlife/whatever you believe in (this book takes no assumptions into what happens after the ghosts leave). 

A short snippet is under the cut if you’d like to read! I’m always open to questions, comments, and critiques, so don’t be afraid to give your thoughts. I’m tagging @aomory for this post. If anyone would like to be tagged in more Forgotten Grave Society stuff, let me know! The WIP page is here. 

"Do you think they know?" Ava asks after two weeks of remembering. It's early July, hot and hazy, and humid enough at 9 in the morning that all three are planning on battling tourists to take a dip in the ocean later in the day. They remembered a woman that day, Elizabeth Holson, who died in 1931, and now they're eating lunch in front of her grave. The three girls sit with identical bags of salt and vinegar chips (on sale) and fruit cups filled with syrup. “What’s we’re doing, I mean.”

"You're asking if we believe in life after death," Ronnie responds.

"Well, I guess it's implied," Ava shrugs.

"No." Marcy shoves some chips in her mouth.

"Well, that’s decisive," Ava snorts.

"It seems like a natural, human response to death for me," Marcy states. "Think about it. You see someone die, you realize that one day you will too, and you panic. The idea of nonexistence terrifies people. So they say, no, when you die you go to somewhere better, where you're always young and your whole family is there, or all your stuff is there, or you come back to earth as something else. It's either that or admit that you and everything you know is temporary and unimportant to the world as a whole."

"That's logical, I guess," Ronnie admits. "But I like the idea that something comes next."

"Exactly my point."

"We learn about heaven in Sunday School. I'm going to go ahead and believe in that. It sounds the best."

"In science we learn that matter can't be created or destroyed, only changed. Maybe that happens when we die."

"What do you mean?" Marcy asks. "When, like, a flower dies, it's just gone right? It'll break down into nothing." She gestured at the dead flowers still sitting in front of their first grave. What remains of them are shriveled and dark.

"You're right about it breaking down, but not into nothing. It's releasing carbon dioxide into the air, bugs and larvae and fungi are eating it and turning it into energy the same way we do with food, releasing it as waste, which continues to break down further. All the different parts that made it a living flower are separating back into nature. Remember the Periodic Table? Everything in the universe is made up of those elements, and nothing can ever be added or subtracted."

"So a human body does the same thing. If it's not cremated, it breaks down into it's elements," Ava follows. "What does that have to do with an afterlife?"

"You're body breaks down, but your body isn't the thing that goes to heaven, right?"

"No, it's your soul."

"Exactly. So if nothing can be removed or added from the equation, I think we might be reincarnated."

Ava chews on the tiny plastic spoon that came with her fruit cup. "You're assuming that a soul is made of matter."

"Everything else is."

"But then wouldn't we be able to see it? Feel it?"

"The air around us has mass, but we can't see it, and can usually barely feel it."

"Wouldn't it have to be made of some of your elements?" Marcy asks. "Someone would probably have noticed it by now."

"There could be different molecular constructions that we don't have the technology to detect, a new isotope we haven't thought to look for-" She realizes she’s lost them. "Science is growing every day. Sometimes impossible things are just things that haven't been explained yet."

"You've been thinking about this for a while?" Marcy asks.

"No. Not until Ava just asked."

"This is what we get, making friends with the smart girl," Ava laughs. "So. What's your theory's answer to my question? Do you think these people know what we're doing?"

Ronnie thinks for a moment. "I doubt it. That would imply that they are somehow omniscient about anything that is connected to their past lives. Do you guys have any memories of your old graves?"

"That's a weird thought," Ava shudders. "And no."

Marcy shakes her head.

"Which means that people, or most people, disconnect from their old life when they start a new one. Or it means that my theory is wrong," she chuckles.

"So if you two don't think they know, why are you doing this?"

"I don't think it matters if they know or not," Ronnie says.

"It's like when you do someone a favor,” Marcy says before chugging the syrup from her fruit cup. “If it's important that you take credit for it, then you're not doing it for them. You're doing it for you."  

"Wow. Such kind words from the girl that split open Hannah Bover's lip over a boundary dispute."

"Her foot crossed the line, that shot shouldn't have counted-"

"So you elbowed her in the face?"

"I like doing it," Ronnie cuts in, knowing how long Ava could keep Marcy on this track. "It's peaceful, and it makes me happy. Do we need a reason?"

"Maybe we're subconsciously afraid of being forgotten, so we're trying to remember everyone else. I know I want people to say my name after I'm gone. Everyone deserves to continue existing,” Marcy says with a shrug.

"So Ronnie comes for herself. Marcy comes for them."

"Who do you come for?"

Ava wraps her arms around her legs, as if she were cold. "Neither of your theories allow for ghosts."

She avoids their eyes, and looks very un-Ava-like all of a sudden.

"Do you come for ghosts?" Ronnie asks in the most neutral voice she can manage.

"No," she says defensively. "I mean, I-I didn't. I like doing this, and- just- wouldn't it be cool? If they were watching us, from the shadows, appreciating it?"

Ava becomes more and more nervous as the silence stretches on. Finally, Marcy smiles.

"You're assuming that they're all nice."