#white heron cup waltz

[azalea4u]

A waltz between two people who have crushes on each other.

One of them has an inkling that the other likes them while the other is completely oblivious (hint: the first one isn't Dimitri)

Highkey, I headcanon that you need a partner to dancer with at White Heron Cup because the cutscene where the participates are dancing by themselves is soooo awkward.

And if you want, you have to dance the first dance alone with your partner which is the real reason why everyone avoids it, because who would want to dance in front of everyone...

Ofc Aislyn would win, so she forces Dimitri who told Byleth and everyone in the Blue Lions that she was the greatest dancer ever to be her partner.

[arcaeda]

what an interesting fate, to be faced with someone her partner knows and knows well. however that doesn't stop her from having fun with him, especially so because leonardo almost seemed excited to face off against edward. she's glad that she doesn't have to worry about bad blood or ruining any relationships.

the music starts at a low simmer, rising in level and intensity as the dance progresses.

though leonardo may be the lead, caeda takes just as much control herself in order to keep them on course with the fierce technical steps of the archanean waltz. step 1 2 3 4, step 1 2 3 4. twirl and part with joined hands. return to being a feet apart. caeda has it mesmerized— but her stubborn focus on making sure they hit the technical parts right get them both lacking in the style and choreo department.

style: 8 choreo: 8 technical: 9

@justices-blade @freedomarrow [ white heron cup starter! ]

sorry for stealing ur boyfie — whc round 1

[baldramuste]

cinderella waltz

the promised heron cup finally begins and sigurd can say with ease that he’s confident, with deirdre as his partner, that he’ll at the very least win a few of the matches. the music cues for the two of them to begin, and sigurd holds deirdre in a waltz form as natural as ever. it’s exactly as he remembers, dancing with her like this.

the smile on his face is almost unforgettable, showing how much he truly enjoyed himself with her. the twirls they pull off look especially stylish with deirdre’s dress, if just a bit tame in actual technique. all that mattered truly was how much fun they were having.

white heron cup starter for @nagaficat & @ylisseanstar !

[mommymooze]

Hermann Vestra- Tidbits

Lord Lonato’s Rebellion

Hermann was imprisoned by Seteth and Rhea for the entire time of the quest. Although it was the rebellion of the Western Church, and he is from the Eastern Church, he demands true and complete answers from Rhea as to why children were sent to do her ‘dirty work’ and why did she not allow the disputing church to air their grievances as it is explained in the Sothis Chronicles, Book 5, Chapter 17.

It is rumored that the next time Hermann saw Catherine, he gave her a black eye that would not fade for three weeks no matter how much faith magic was poured into it.

When he next enters the library, the other 9 books of the Sothis Chronicles are there, however book 5 is missing.

Conand Tower / Miklan

The Blue Lions request the assistance of Hermann for this quest. Ever since Hermann found out details of Miklan, he has been speaking with Sylvain. They sit at a small bonfire in the courtyard, talking the night before they leave for Conand Tower.

“You must have the strength to fight for what you believe in. You must do what is right.” Hermann pats Sylvain on his shoulder.

“You’re right. I can’t clean up after him any longer. He must be brought to justice. I will not run from him any longer.” Sylvain grits his teeth, a determined look on his face.

They stare into the fire, quietly watching the flames flicker and dance.

“Did you know that he threw me into a well? Right before a thunderstorm. I almost drowned. Then he left me out in the snow up on a mountain to freeze to death. I was just a kid.” Sylvain shakes his head, pulling his knees closer to his chest.

Hermann scoots closer to Sylvain, putting his arm around his shoulder. “Oh Sylvain. You are well aware as to who my brother is. Let me share with you some of his ignoble deeds. I’ll even show you a few scars to go with each story.”

“Damn, I wish you would have let me bring alcohol. This would have been a fucking awesome party. Maybe we should start a club. We’ll call it the ‘Victims of Fucked up Evil Brothers Club’. What do you think?” Sylvain grins.

Flayn’s Disappearance

Hermann immediately notices the change in Seteth’s demeanor. How desperately Seteth needs to have his sister returned safely. He makes certain to include both Flayn and Seteth in all of his prayers. He also provides words of comfort to Seteth.

“Please, you must eat something Seteth! What will Flayn say when you are reunited? You are wasting away to nothing!. Drink some water. Have faith, the goddess hears our prayers.” Herman urges the assistant to the Archbishop to try and eat the hearty soup he had prepared just for him.

In the catacombs below Garreg Mach, Hermann is on the front lines next to Byleth. His great axe taking out two enemies at once. The door that is locked that must be holding Flayn is no match for his great axe as he slices through wood and metal.

Claude steps back and mumbles, “Hey dude, don’t let me get in your way. Who needs a key with you around.”

Hermann stares into the glowing red eyes of the abomination before him. There is the skeletal visage of the Death Knight. The foul creature laughs as he glares down at the Golden Deer.

“My blade has been sharpened...and it craves flesh," the Death Knight rumbles.

“Foul beast! Return to the hell from whence you came! In the name of the progenitor god Sothis I banish thee!” Hermann raises his hands towards the Death knight, palms open and a look of fierce determination on his face. What seems to be a flash of light bolts from his palms to the enemy’s chest.

The Death Knight collapses, falling from his steed and hitting the ground just as the Flame Emperor appears. “You’re…done for now.” He announces as the Death Knight disappears.

Jeritza wakens in the designated catacomb below the monastery where Hubert and several of his spies tend to him.

Jeritza sits up from being on the ground, takes the mask from his head, looks into the face of it and shudders, throwing it ten feet away.

“Where am I? What am I doing here?” Jeritza looks around, shocked at his surroundings. “Why am I here, Hubert? I want ice cream.”

Hubert shakes his head and groans, he instructs a spy to fetch Arundel, they’re going to have to reprogram the Death Knight. Hubert then uses magic to draw a comical visage of his brother, then proceeds to punch it until the blood is running from his knuckles enough to blot out the face as he curses his sibling in five different languages.

Remire

The Death Knight appears, only to retreat at the sight of Hermann.

Hermann is horrified at the sight of the innocent villagers. Families torn apart by the evil spell they are under. Dedue is holding him back as the Flame Emperor appears, Felix keeping a hand over Hermann’s mouth. Hermann stays in Remire until the last of the dead is buried, until the last bit of healing is necessary for the survivors.

He writes letters beseeching the Eastern Church to send aid to the villagers. He also speaks with Seteth on multiple occasions and only stops when Seteth agrees to send some of the Knights of Seiros to work on rebuilding the village.

The Ball

Hermann is as excited as this is an excellent distraction from all of the horrible things that have been happening. He provides dancing lessons to anyone that seeks them. He represents the Golden Deer for the White Heron Cup. Alois cries, Manuela nearly swoons, and Shamir’s jaw drops open until she physically has to close it as Hermann performs his dance.

Hermann dances with anyone that wishes to accompany him. His perfect stance and moves, yet he always leaves room for the goddess. Seteth declines his request for a dance, he does allow Flayn to dance with him after she begs her brother for 30 minutes. Ferdinand is a gushing mess when Hermann finishes dancing a lovely waltz with him.

Hermann hesitantly approaches Edelgard to see if she wishes to dance. She looks inviting towards him, until Hubert steps between them and threatens his half brother within a centimeter of his life. Edelgard sighs heavily and decides to approach Professor Byleth for a dance.

Hermann does find the spiked punch. He advises the kitchen staff that this particular drink has turned bad and quickly requests that it be removed. He ignores the intentional shoves in the back from Claude and Sylvain who call him a party pooper.

@fireflyfalcon2309 for you and the 2 other people that read about this impossibly handsome man.

[mittelfrank-divas]

Dance of the Black Heron chapter 2

The next chapter of my Dancer Hubert fic! In which the other Black Eagles have opinions on this situation.

This fic is now up on AO3 for those who prefer reading there!

===

"I think it's a fine idea." Edelgard rounded one of the long tables in the Black Eagles classroom, carrying a stack of tactics textbooks. It was quickly growing dark outside, and every other student had long ago vacated the classrooms, but the pair of them were often found here at this hour by the flickering light of the candles and the dwindling embers of the fireplace.

At first, tidying the classroom had been an easy excuse for them to meet at night without suspicion. It was a perfectly appropriate activity for the head of the class and her attendant to engage in regularly outside of normal class hours, with obvious evidence of their work that they could point to the next morning if anybody asked where they had been.

Now, although better awareness of the guard rotations and lesser-used passages gave them plenty of other ways to slip out after dark, habit still found them here day after day. Hubert could not help but notice the pride that Edelgard took in maintaining the Black Eagles classroom, making sure the chairs were straightened and every student had their required materials ready in the morning. It did not matter that their classmates could easily retrieve their books and quills themselves, or that the room would be equally serviceable if the chairs were left slightly askew or that the floor could endure going unswept for a few days. Edelgard wanted the classroom to be perfect for her Eagles, and so Hubert was all too happy to assist her in that.

He automatically held out his arms for her to deposit the books into and began distributing them before each chair on one side of the room while Edelgard began passing out her own stack on the other side. He scowled down at the books in his arms as he sought out the one with the broken binding, which he always deliberately placed in front of Ferdinand's chair. "I did not expect you to share in our professor's folly."

"I see no folly in it." Edelgard was not quite so deliberate in her distribution, placing each of her own books without checking its state. Hubert doubted that any of the other Black Eagles noticed that the left side of the classroom always received the same books each day (the nicest one went to Bernadetta and their state of decay decreased down to Ferdinand's) while the right side was randomized, with each equally likely to receive the one wrinkled with water stains on one corner. Her egalitarian approach meant she always finished sooner than Hubert, and so she was first to move behind the professor's desk to retrieve the quills and ink pots. "I know you know how to dance, Hubert. I have seen you do it many times."

"Respectfully," Hubert grumbled, "our little bedroom waltzes hardly compare to a competition that will determine the composition of our class. You have seen me run before, but you would not ask me to participate in a marathon."

"Nonsense." Edelgard turned to him, a pot of ink in each hand. "That comparison would only be suitable if I had watched you outrun the entirety of our class. You are good at dancing. You have proper stance, you keep time well..."

"Lady Edelgard," Hubert set his final book down and met her eyes directly. "Did you convince the professor to choose me?"

Edelgard's pale eyebrows rose. "You are cross with me. No, I did not. I merely advised them that you would be a good choice. They were already considering you."

"I am not cross with you, I am…" Hubert sighed, and slouched down to rest his gloved hands on the table. "Alright. I am cross. I wish you'd consulted with me before agreeing to this."

Edelgard never cowered from anger -- his, or any other's. It was one of the many traits that made him admire her. Her pale lavender eyes met his fully. "I apologize. I thought it best if you heard directly from our professor first. It is not as though they can force the decision upon you, after all, can they?"

"No," Hubert admitted with a sigh, finally moving to retrieve the quills and ink alongside her. "They merely trapped me in my own logic. Forced me to admit that I can see no better option."

"Well?" She flicked her white hair back out of her eyes as she shot him a sidelong glance. "Is your logic flawed? Is there any other who we should choose instead?"

Hubert had been asking himself that very question since the moment he exited the professor's room. Dare he give up their only cavalry unit? Their only assassin? Could he ignore his own predictions that Linhardt would shirk whatever responsibility the role would demand of him? "I am beginning to question whether we require a Dancer in our ranks at all."

"Well then, I am certain that Claude von Riegan will make good use of it," Edelgard said crisply as she laid out quills.

Claude von Riegan. Claude von Riegan with somebody under his command who could effectively double the speed of any attacking unit. Hubert could already imagine a number of scenarios that Claude could manifest with such power in his hands, but worse were the ones that he could not imagine.

"Your attempts to bait me are rather transparent, I'm afraid." Even as he said it, Hubert attempted to shrug off the vision of the future Alliance leader darting out of their peripherals, bow at ready.

"A pity," Edelgard sighed, moving toward the professor's desk. She always made a point of organizing their notoriously scatterbrained teacher's class materials at the end of the day. "I had hoped I was being subtle. Transparent though I may be, however, do tell me if my plan has worked."

Hubert prided himself on his schemes, on his ability to out-think his opponents. Unfortunately, the fact that he had honed his skill by practicing with his closest friend meant that same friend knew him all too well, and easily turned those same skills back on him. "Of course it has," he conceded, and moved to stand in front of the professor's desk while Edelgard sat down in the chair across from him. "You know I cannot bear the thought of giving such a calculating opponent an edge such as this. Well spotted as ever, Lady Edelgard."

She pulled a stack of Byleth's disorganized notes to herself, a small smile creeping onto her face at her victory. Under normal circumstances, Hubert lived to see that smile soften her carefully-managed features. In this case, it was difficult to take joy in one more sign that his doom was sealed. Nevertheless, she nodded at him. "Alright, then. If our only goal is simply to keep the Dancer class out of anyone else's hands, the solution is simple. We send someone else to compete in the White Heron Cup, but we will not make use of the certification once we have it."

Hubert crossed his arms, considering her suggestion. It was an easy way out. They could send Dorothea or even Ferdinand to compete without interfering with their long-term plans. Edelgard was showing him a kindness by offering an alternative. The fact that he recognized it for a kindness made loathing for himself churn in the pit of his stomach. For her to settle on a lesser choice simply for his sake was intolerable. "An elegant solution, but a wasteful one. I doubt you would be satisfied with such a plan."

Edelgard sighed. "Of course I wouldn't be. I think a Dancer would be of great benefit to us, and I think you would be an ideal choice."

Hubert shook his head, leaning down to press both hands against the front of the desk. "I simply fail to understand why."

"It is just as you and the professor said. The Dancer must be able to anticipate the movements of the battlefield and turn it to their advantage. When I am at the front of the line, I want someone who knows my tactics and my plans, who can predict exactly what choices I will make, to be at my back setting the stage. It's true that anyone in our class could do the job adequately, but only you could use such a position to seamlessly carry out my plans." Edelgard leaned across the desk, her hand closing around Hubert's wrist, her pale eyes meeting his fiercely. "I would never order you down a path that you found intolerable, Hubert. If this is truly unbearable for you, then we will find another solution. I just wish you could see how much I think you would shine in such a role."

She truly had so much faith in him. Not just to be a Dancer, but to be her Dancer. Someone who could help her achieve her lofty goals. Maybe, if he actually could succeed in winning the certification…

Hubert's hand went to his head, pushing his black hair out of his eyes. "This is foolishness. It is not a test of skill, but of charm. You know that I could manage to hit every step perfectly and the judges will still favor whoever has the most attractive smile."

Edelgard's eyes glinted confidently. "And is that such a bad thing? You know as well as I that charm is a matter of manipulating perceptions." She leaned forward, using her grip on Hubert's arm to pull herself across the desk. At her height, Edelgard practically had to lay across the expanse of the wood surface to lean close to him, but she somehow managed it. "Hubert," she said lowly so none passing by the open door could hear, "when we constructed the Flame Emperor together, remember what you said? That we must create an image that strikes awe into the hearts of all who see him. It will not be you dancing out there. It will be the image we create for you. So let us create that image. Will you permit that?"

An image. A persona, like the Flame Emperor. Hubert could not imagine himself standing before the entire school, hoping to convince them of his appeal with a charisma he did not possess. But thinking of it as simply another mask…

His other hand closed over hers. "If you are behind me, I can try."

***

The evening was still early when he found his way to the ground-level dorms. Light glowed warmly from the open doors and windows of the cafeteria, chatter and laughter filtering down the stone staircase. It was a crisp fall evening, not yet cold enough to keep the students from lingering around the fishing pond or drifting slowly toward their dorms while carrying on their dinner conversations, trying to delay the night of studying ahead. It would not be, therefore, considered terribly untoward for Hubert to be standing outside of Dorothea's chambers at this time. He took a moment to steel himself before knocking sharply on her door.

He highly doubted that he was remotely within the sphere of people who Dorothea hoped would be standing on the other side of her door, yet her smile was dazzling anyway. The songstress knew how to perform even in the most mundane of venues. "Hubie! It's not like you to make social calls. Are you here to scold me for forgetting to use Edie's title again? Or is this about that saucy joke I made yesterday? Was that too much for her delicate royal ears to hear?"

Hubert stifled a sigh, already regretting this conversation. Dorothea's personality was entirely too much for him to face directly like this. Her irreverence around Lady Edelgard had been a point of contention in their first few weeks at the academy, but Edelgard herself enjoyed Dorothea's brash attitude and had told him to let it go. Truth be told, Hubert also took a certain amount of pleasure in watching a commoner breezily ignore social mores the way that Dorothea did, pointedly affixing his fellow nobles with all-too-personal nicknames rather than a deferential title. But it was a spectacle that he preferred to appreciate at a distance, without the full force of the songstress's energy and wit directed at him.

"Nothing so serious as that, I assure you." Hubert stiffly folded his hands behind his back, sifting through his mental notes to recall exactly how he had rehearsed this conversation. Unfortunately Dorothea's chaotic nature had already derailed his plans, leaving him to leaf frantically through his script to work out what to say next. The sound of laughter echoing across the square made him uncomfortably aware of the other students and monastery residents moving around behind him. "I thought perhaps that you should hear it first. The professor has chosen our candidate for the White Heron Cup."

He saw her smile falter a bit, and knew that she was doing the math. If Byleth had chosen her, then surely Byleth would be the one to deliver the news. Still, her voice remained as bright as ever. "Really? That's great news! Who is it?"

Hubert could not stand to look at that fading smile anymore, and his eyes found a particularly fascinating crack in the wall by her door. "You should know that this was not at all an easy choice. It was less a matter of who could succeed in the competition than of who we could afford to remove from another role. The composition of our class is..."

"Hubie," all warmth had drained from her voice now, replaced with a dangerous edge. "If you've come all this way just to soothe my feelings over Ferdie being chosen over me, you can just get it over with."

The very suggestion that Hubert would ever choose Ferdinand von Aegir shocked him into looking at her again. "We need Ferdinand on his horse, loathe as I am to admit that. Just as we need you continuing to study both Reason and Faith, a combination that we otherwise lack." He shifted awkwardly, resisting the urge to either fidget or flee. "I have been over the class roster many times, and unfortunately I see no other way around it. The professor is of the opinion that the only one who can be spared for this role is myself."

A single laugh burst out of Dorothea's mouth before she covered it with both hands. "Oh Hubie! Oh I'm sorry, it's not funny. It's just unexpected."

"I am quite aware of how unexpected it is," Hubert muttered, once again taking tremendous interest in the details of the wall beside her. "Which is precisely why I must request your assistance. There can be no doubt that you are our most gifted dancer. Moreover, you have experience with performing before an audience. I wish to ask for your help in preparing for this competition."

Dorothea stared up at him, cautious skepticism on her face. She did not trust nobles, and he shared in her loathing. Hubert himself nearly forgot sometimes that he would be considered one of them in her eyes. Dorothea may have acted cheerful around her classmates, but Hubert had seen the way she sometimes seemed to be bracing for them to turn on her. She looked like she was bracing for that now. "I'm sorry, did you say you need my help? You, Hubie, need my help."

"That is what I said, yes."

Dorothea snorted. "I'm surprised you aren't asking Ferdie, since he seems so very convinced of his superiority in every realm, including dance."

"I do not entertain that one's foolish ramblings." Hubert smirked as he said it, and was pleased that a smile crept back onto Dorothea's own face. She made clear her feelings on Ferdinand -- loudly, and as often as possible -- and it seemed that he won an ally in her on this front. "As much as it pains me to admit my own failings, I know that you are much more practiced in this arena than myself. If you are willing to assist me in this, I would be grateful."

She granted him that warm smile that she shared so freely with her classmates. "Well with a request like that, how can I refuse? Alright, Hubie. How about we meet on the training grounds tonight?"

Hubert felt his heart rate spike just at the thought of being caught practicing in such a public area. The training grounds were less crowded in the evenings, but there were many students who remained there even late into the night. There would be no hope of privacy in such a place. "Actually, I have somewhere more private in mind, if you'll allow. I'll meet you here at your room after class tomorrow and show you the way."

Her smile twisted itself into a sly grin. "Why Hubie, if you wanted to get me alone, a simple dinner invitation would have sufficed."

Now he did sigh. Truly, she was relentless. "I assure you, I have no such intentions. But if this is your way of requesting an exchange for your services, I will see what I can do about a meal."

"No fun at all," Dorothea sighed back, though he could see that she was still teasing him rather than truly disappointed. "Forget it, then. I'll see you tomorrow."

Dorothea closed the door, leaving Hubert standing awkwardly outside. He had the rest of the night ahead of him to fret over what awaited him at Dorothea's lessons.

***

Hubert had never before dreaded class. In fact, against all reason, he even sometimes enjoyed it.

That had been an unexpected development. That Hubert would accompany Edelgard to Garreg Mach, the very seat of the Church of Seiros, that he would attend classes alongside the frivolous sons and daughters of nobility, that he would sit in front of some church-approved professor and listen to their tiresome lectures… and he would not hate it. Sometimes he even learned something. Sometimes he even forgot that he was here under false pretenses, that he was only pretending to be a student in order to further Edelgard's aims.

But class had never before felt like such a trap. Never had he so cursed Edelgard's preference for sitting in the very front row, as well as his own decision to accompany her there. Hubert felt that every single pair of eyes in the room must have been on the back of his head. Surely such a thought was irrational, since only Edelgard and Dorothea yet had reason to suspect his distraction when he failed to turn his tactics textbook to the correct page.

Worse, their distractible professor left Hubert to suffer in silence through the entire lecture, carrying on as though his humiliation was not imminent. It was only when Byleth was about to dismiss them for lunch, threatening to draw out the torture even further, that Edelgard came to his rescue. "Professor, I believe you had intended to make an announcement."

Byleth paused, blinking at Edelgard in that dreamy way they always did when they forgot vital information, such as their own plans. "Oh, yes. We've chosen our candidate for the White Heron Cup."

A general murmur of excitement rippled through the classroom. Hubert pointedly closed his book and began organizing his things, trying very hard to ignore the chatter behind him.

"You were wanting to be choosing, weren't you Ferdinand?"

"I assure you, I know nothing about the professor's choice. If they have selected me, this is the first I am hearing of it."

"It's not me, right? You wouldn't pick me just to make fun of me, would you? Oh no! You have, haven't you? Aaaaaaah I don't want to do iiiiiiiiit!"

"Finally!" Caspar's voice rang out over Bernadetta's cries. "Who'd you pick, professor? We've got so many good dancers here, I bet we'll win no matter what!"

Byleth did not waste time on drawing out the suspense with theatrics. "I've chosen Hubert."

The din faded to uneasy silence. Of all the times that Edelgard had urged the Black Eagles to learn the art of being quiet, somehow this was the moment in which the lesson finally took.

"I don't think he's a bad choice at all." Dorothea jumped in to helpfully damn Hubert with faint praise.

"Indeed, if the strategy is to frighten the judges into choosing our house, you could not ask for a better candidate." Linhardt, naturally, chose to wake up from his nap exclusively for the purpose of contributing this jab.

Having run out of anything left to do with his own class materials, Hubert moved on to straightening Edelgard's notes for her. Might as well let his classmates get this out of their system so they could hopefully never speak of this again.

"Hubert's not going to assassinate the judges, is he? Noooo I can't be an accessory to murder!"

"Bernie, nobody's going to assassinate anyone."

"Is this being a contest of violence? I thought it was of dance."

"No, there's no violence. Bernie's just being dramatic."

"Imagine if it was though? Like what if we had to fistfight Alois to win? That would be awesome!"

"But I don't want to fistfight Alois!"

"Bernie, absolutely nobody is asking you to fistfight Alois."

"Well I trust in our professor's decisions." A single voice boomed above all the others. Caspar may have existed in a perpetual state of yelling, but Ferdinand von Aegir projected his voice at all times as though he was in the midst of orating to a crowd. "I am certain that they have good reason to choose Hubert to represent the Black Eagles house, and we should be proud to support him. Why, regardless of whether or not he's had training, with a few weeks, he should--"

"I have, actually." Hubert was already out of his chair and turning to face Ferdinand before his nerves had a chance to catch up with him. The ginger with his all-too-bright smile was staring at Hubert, startled at being interrupted mid-speech. "Which is something you might already know if you ever deigned to dance with those you consider beneath your status, Ferdinand."

Ferdinand's mouth hung agape, his ears turning a satisfying shade of scarlet. "What is that supposed to--"

"Alright!" Edelgard stood, inserting herself between them as she stepped into the center of the classroom. "Honestly, is this any way to behave before a competition? We are supposed to present a united front before the other houses. I expect all of you to give Hubert your full support, just as you would any one of us."

Hubert made a point of avoiding any further eye contact as he exited the classroom. With resounding support such as this from his own class, did he even need rivals to compete with? Perhaps they might send one of Bernadetta's plush toys to compete and save him the trouble.

[firemblem-fics]

dancing. | yuri

SORRY this is purely self indulgent

It’s also the longest thing I’ve ever written but I’m on mobile so I’ll put a “keep reading” thing later love y’all

Also, I’d like to remind everyone that requests are, in fact, closed. Your request will be deleted, sorry!

When Yuri was forced to compete in the White Heron Cup, you’d think his life was over. The way he groaned and moaned and moped around the day the professor asked was on another level. You’d never complain about Hilda’s whining ever again.

However, today the pink haired girl was quiet as you sat with her and the professor, watching Yuri stumble over his feet as Byleth clapped the 1-2-3 rhythm of a waltz. Hilda was holding her hand over her mouth, trying to keep her giggles silent every time Yuri messed up.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You were a dancer back home, but you’d used the Monastery as an opportunity to stray from that class and instead found yourself loving archery. To you, Yuri actually wasn’t doing bad. At all.

Sure, he had a few hiccups, but that was expected from anyone who was just learning the routine.

Byleth eyed you as she continued to conduct, making eye contact with Hilda from over your head. Hilda only smirked.

“Hey, Y/N, how about you practice with him a little? You are a dancer, after all.” The pink bitch laughed.

Yuri suddenly scoffed. “You’re a dancer? Then pray tell, why am I doing this and not her?” He asked Byleth.

Byleth only shrugged. “You were making fun of everyone who wanted to compete. I thought I’d put you in your place.” She looked back at you, motioning for you to join him.

“Oh, no, I haven’t danced in ages-“

“Bold of you to assume I’m giving you a choice,” She cut you off. You only groaned and got up, walking towards Yuri.

He raised an eyebrow flirtily- or was he just being cocky?- and held out his hand. Once you took it, he led you to your starting position, bowing and kissing your hand. Your eyebrows furrowed.

That wasn’t a part of a waltz…

You brushed it off and linked your hand with his again, resting your other on his arm that was placed strategically around your waist. He took a step forward, you took a step back. A few measures of the invisible music later, Yuri released your waist and spun you, latching back on- a little too stiffly.

“Loosen up a bit,” You whispered, “You look constipated.”

“Maybe I am.” He joked.

“Yeah, emotionally.” You rolled your eyes.

“I feel like you’re taking a jab at me.”

“Me? Of course not. Why would I? I have no reason.” You feigned innocence. You most definitely had a reason.

Ever since the Ashen Wolves had joined the Golden Deer class, you had been infatuated with the purple haired boy. Yeah, he was cocky, and crass, and rude, and sneaky, but he was also kind, and thoughtful, and gorgeous. He was the perfect mix and you wanted to dive right in.

You started by simply asking him questions- about homework, sparing, Abyss, anything you could. You’d pick back up the conversation quickly if you’d gone too far and caused him to shut down. Quite frankly, you considered him as a friend. Maybe one day he’d be more-

“Ow! You little shit!” You exclaimed.

“Language!” Byleth scolded.

Yuri snickered out an apology, his smirk only growing wider when you glared at him.

“You did that on purpose.” You pouted

“And if I did?” He tilted his head closer to yours, your noses barely brushing. “It’s not like you’re gonna do anything about it.”

You flushed and shoved at his chest, making distance. “Break time!”

— — —

The day of the White Heron Cup was stressful for everyone involved.

Many wanted to pull Yuri aside, wishing him the best of luck. He’d thank them and awkwardly make an excuse to leave, not comfortable with the attention.

Overwhelmed, he made his way into the men’s quarters of Abyss. He had two hours until the competition started and despite claiming that he “couldn’t care less about winning”, he was a little nervous.

Scratch that, he was very nervous.

Yuri stood in the quarters, his arms around an invisible partner, and began muttering a soft “1, 2, 3” to pace himself.

An hour passed and he was only getting more and more frustrated. The more he worked, the more he messed up. That’s not how practice was supposed to go, right?

Was it left foot first? Or right? After what cue did he dip his partner? He had to win this. He’d be an embarrassment if not. But he was forgetting how to dance-

“Yuri?”

Was that an angel? Coming to save him from this hell?

No, it was just you.

Same thing, Yuri thought to himself. He turned around to face you, slightly out of breath from practicing.

“Professor sent me to check up on you. You’ve got an hour to go- are you okay?” You stepped into the room, making him take a small step back.

He’d hoped you hadn’t noticed, but you did.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Yuri turned away from you. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He had hoped that you’d stop the subject, but you only stepped further. “Are you nervous?”

“Nervous? For what,” he laughed. “I do not care about this. One bit. It’s a waste of time.”

“For someone who doesn’t seem to care, you sure were practicing a lot just now.” You looked around for a minute as Yuri didn’t reply. “Do you want me to practice with you one more time?”

The boy looked at you over his shoulder, his lavender eyes softening a little. “Sure.”

You walked over to him, curtsying. Yuri grabbed your hand and pressed his lips to it again before bringing you to his chest, his hand going to rest on your waist. You were slightly confused.

“You know the proper form is to have your hand on my shoulder blade, correct? And you shouldn't kiss your partner’s hand.” You tried to correct him.

He only tutted. “Yes, I’m aware, but you’re more than just a dance partner.”

You flushed a little, but stayed silent. You let Yuri guide you this time, trusting in his judgement and movements. Besides his hand placement, he was doing everything correctly. You had no clue what he was nervous about- he was practically perfect.

Unlike you.

You tripped over your feet again and again. Your body was shaking and you couldn’t tell if it was from your rusty dance skills or the fact that Yuri just made you so.. damn.. flustered. You’d accidentally stepped on his foot for the third time before you decided to stop.

“Goddess, Yuri, I’m so sorry.” You shook your head. “I’m not the best practice partner-“

“You’re wonderful.” Yuri cut you off. He hadn’t let go of your waist, instead letting his other hand release itself from yours and drag its fingers across your cheek. “You’ve helped me so much already.”

“I wish I could’ve done more,” You sighed, leaning into his touch a little. Maybe he returned your feelings? Or was he just being Yuri?

“Stop, stop degrading yourself.” He laughed. His eyes held… adoration? “You’re exceptional. I wish there was some way to repay you.” Yuri thought for a moment, and then snapped his fingers before brushing the same hand through your hair, bringing your forehead to touch his. “Actually, I know how I can repay you.”

“You do?” Your eyes were half lidded now.

Yuri only nodded. You closed your eyes, preparing yourself for a lovely kiss, but only felt a light pressure on your cheek. You opened them angrily.

“That’s for your tutelage.” He smirked. “I’ll give you the real thing if I win.”

He pressed another kiss to your cheek and walked out of the quarters. You stood there for a few seconds, praying to the Goddess that Yuri would win.

He did.

[cotharach]

wiggly wiggly worm

starter for @atypicalsenerio

With the arrival of the White Heron Cup the following moon, the monastery had become a stage, and Flayn, an unrelenting performer.

Her skirt flies with every spin she does across the halls, green curls bouncing along to the rhythm of her movement as she spreads her figure around. There is no need for a song to sway to, the saint finds, when her body was an orchestra loud enough. Boots tap lightly against cobblestone, and outstretched hands hit walls and students alike as she continues her performance.

Flayn’s sorry to be a bother, but her apology will simply have to come in the form of her dance.

After minutes of endless spinning and waltzing, she reaches her desired audience. She greets him with a smile and a curtsy.

“Soren, there you are!”

Flayn twirls around and does a jig, arms outstretched in a grand ending pose. She ignores the sweat dripping down the side of her face in favor of widening her grin. She hopes he’ll ignore it too.

“I am sure you are wondering why I would approach you so laxly despite having only met once. Well, you see...” she shakes her hands, embellishing her words with a flourish, “I had heard tell that you are learned in the ways of the dance floor. I have also seen for myself how...”

( “Soren’s squirming was outmatched only by the most enticing of fish baits— any more wriggling and squealing, Flayn thinks, and the sight of him would excite even the balkiest of fish.” )

 “...wiggly your body can possibly be! If it is not too much, may I ask for your assistance in dancing? I am eager to learn from you, what with the White Heron Cup fast approaching!”

[arcstral]

|| 💃 || Was there any doubt that dragon would ask Hero-King to dance? Not at all. With a grin, Kana weaves around the crowd until he finds Marth just at the start of a new song. He bows, as was custom of royals, of course, before extending his hand to the other. "Care to dance, Marth?"

               Whether it is to know them as treasured friend or long detested enemy, his intimate dealings with the dragonkin seems a song as old as time. It even feels writ in his blood, that.

               From the single moment that Anri severed the Shadow Dragon’s head with shining Falchion in hand, to the two where his nephew Marth did but the same. Tiki, as well—the Divine Dragon princess had loved him as fiercely as her Dolhr brethren wished to see him destroyed. Now here, under the fulgurating crystal-lights and glittering golds of a ballroom, he is yet again reminded of the historic connection he bears to a race not his own; a dragon-prince who has taken to him a great shine.

               He turns upon a heel and halts at the youth’s voice, pleasantly amused, as the starry commotion of the ball swarms around them. Kana has mustered up the fine imitation of etiquette, bowing neatly at his waist to herald the start of a dance and invitation. It makes his gaze soften, then melt, for there is nothing he can refuse of this one. Not that the boy knows at least and so he sees it said.

              “  With you, my young friend? Always,  “  drawls the king warmly, offering up his own hand as the song escalates and slides down the merry slope of a waltz.   “  It is to my understanding that you are participating in the White Heron Cup with Maria! Perhaps you might be able to show me a taste of your skill?  “

               Despite his words, for the confidence of his age and experience he is the one leading and there is an unfaltering patience in the fact. His companion cannot match his longer strides no matter his expertise and so he cuts them short, stepping here and there like a man of great economy rather than grandiosity. Still he finds his enjoyment—and if there is the occasional bungle of a shorter white head bumping into his chest, or their gait unmatched to the tempo overhead, Marth thinks it only a welcome addition to the process.

[emo-rejects-archive]

❝ may i have a waltz? ❞ (Daniel to F!Byleth!)

“Hmm? Oh, I really wasn’t expecting to dance tonight… But very well. I’ll indulge you. I’ve gotten compliments on my dancing skills recently. I did assist Dorothea in achieving her victory in the White Heron Cup after all.”

[13-blackbirds]

happy nagamas, @adorable-tactician-charlotte!!

Sorry this is a bit delayed!  Here is my offering of a little bit of Ferdinand/Hubert solstice fluffiness to end the festive season.

I hope you enjoy it and had a wonderful new year + holiday season! 

i’ll follow where you lead

"Why me?"

Ferdinand struggles not to sigh in frustration — it would be unbefitting of a noble to display irritation so crassly — and instead brushes a hand through his hair with a light shrug.

"Believe me, I would not have come to you if I were not out of options otherwise," he says.  "Bernadetta wouldn't even let me finish saying her name before she slammed the door in my face."  Admittedly, he'd been somewhat surprised her door had even deigned to open and thus been unprepared to make his perfectly persuasive pitch.  "Linhardt stepped on my toes four times as he fell asleep, Caspar could barely make it through five bars before running off in boredom, and Dorothea —" had laughed in her signature manner, making a quip about nobility that left him as confused and vaguely contrite as usual before swanning off "— was unavailable.  Alas, Petra is not familiar with the Enbarrian waltz variation."

Hubert's eyes are narrowing so Ferdinand hurries along in his explanation.  "And all other things aside, you are a noble and were raised as such.  I expect learning the proper waltz steps were a standard part of your education."

It goes unsaid that the only remaining candidate for dance practice partner in their House is Edelgard and Ferdinand has the distinct feeling that, however poorly Hubert appears to be responding to his request now, it would double if he impedes on Edelgard's precious time.  Not that he, Ferdinand von Aegir and future Prime Minister of Adrestia, is afraid, of course!  It's only that ... well, he had come across Hubert first and to be perfectly honest, he suspects Hubert, with the seriousness with which he undertakes every task, is a better dancer than Edelgard.  

And with the White Heron Cup only weeks away, and the honour of not only Black Eagle House but House Aegir on the line, he cannot afford to lose time instructing an unpolished practice partner.

Hubert's lips thin and his expression darkens further but he does not immediately decline, so Ferdinand presses forward resolutely.  "Surely, no matter our differences, we are both invested in seeing Black Eagle House prevail in the White Heron Cup!"

It takes a minute (during which time Ferdinand's smile is fixed to his face through sheer force of will) but Hubert eventually nods, reluctantly.  "Very well.  I already know that if I don't agree to this ludicrous idea, you will have no qualms about vexing Lady Edelgard with this and that I cannot permit."  It's certainly less enthusiastic than Ferdinand would have liked, but not unexpectedly so.  He decides to count it as a victory.

The going at first is hardly smooth as they both try (insistently) to lead, but Ferdinand has the upper hand when Hubert scowls at his admonishment since he is, after all, their Cup candidate.  Once Hubert accepts (not entirely graciously) that he must play the part of the follower, he turns out to be an excellent partner, his steps crisp and elegant, able to follow the nuances of Ferdinand's movements with minimal prompting.  Not even his commanding height advantage is as much of a hindrance as Ferdinand had feared. 

And when Ferdinand hears his name announced as the winner of the White Heron Cup (not that he ever had any doubt he would emerge victorious!), he instinctively looks first to Hubert, beaming.  He is pleasantly surprised, and warmed, to spy a miniscule uplifting at the corner of Hubert's lips that, for once, is devoid of any mockery or foreboding.  It's not a bad look, a tiny voice at the back of his head murmurs — Hubert should consider donning it more often.  Then he is swept away in Caspar and Petra's enthusiastic congratulations, the tiny voice silenced for the time being.

Little did either of them know at that time that the memory of those practice sessions would bring them much-cherished measures of peace and warmth through the hard battles and cold nights of the years ahead.

*

The first proper celebration of the winter solstice after the wars (one fought in the open to unify Fodlan and depose Rhea, and one in secret against Those Who Slither in the Dark) is a grand affair, the palace at Enbarr once again decked with thousands of lights, its halls filled with laughter and conversation rather than tension and war councils.  However, for all of its superficial similarities to pre-war traditions, the occasion differs greatly in one key way: it does not honour any saints or deities, but rather the return to peace, the passing of winter, and the anticipation of a new year with all of its hopes and promise.  Nobles and commoners, those with Crests and those without alike mingle freely, taking comfort in food and drink and the festive atmosphere on the longest night of the year.  

Ferdinand remembers, both fondly and with the ruefulness of hindsight he has now, the celebrations of his childhood in this very palace, standing proudly next to his father, a young boy so assured of his bloodline and his Crest and his future, accepting the flattery and accolades heaped upon him by lesser nobles as his due.  He is older now, feels even older than he actually is, and knows much better.  Outside, it has started to snow — the first of the season — fat fluffy clumps floating down gently, aglow in the moonlight. 

Unlike when he was younger, he not only knows the existence of darkness, but understands it intimately.  And among all the glittering gowns and finery of the attendees, his eyes are drawn instead to the slim cut of black velvet, trimmed subtly with gold thread, that marks Hubert's presence in the illuminated ballroom.  He is stationed, as always, at Edelgard's shoulder.  Ferdinand is nodding politely to Countess Bergliez's remarks about the new diplomatic mission from Almyra there that night, when he sees Edelgard murmuring something to Hubert, the Minister of the Imperial Household leaning down to hear his liege better — a most familiar sight.  Then, surprisingly, Hubert's eyes flash upwards, cutting his way, and Ferdinand nearly jumps at the tingle that runs down his spine when those dark eyes meet his.

He doesn't see the way Edelgard's lips curve upwards in amusement or the light encouraging hand she places at Hubert's elbow before walking off, alone, to continue her circuit of the vast room.  He sees only Hubert start toward him and, unconsciously, as though drawn by a thread, he excuses himself to meet Hubert halfway.

"Happy solstice," he says when they reach each other, smiling up at Hubert.

The smile he gets back, soft around the edges, and Hubert's rich "happy solstice" in return warms him more than the spiced wine he'd sipped at earlier.  The opening notes of a familiar melody radiates out from the musicians' corner and when Ferdinand glances over instinctively, he catches a glint of gold and red sweeping away from the maestro stand.

"May I have the honour of this dance?"  Hubert bows formally, pulling Ferdinand’s attention back firmly, and his voice is as steady as ever, but Ferdinand sees the tinge of red at the tips of his ears and is at once delighted and enchanted.

"But of course!" he laughs, taking the proffered gloved hand happily as other pairs, reacting to the music, begin to form around them.  "I'll even let you lead," he adds graciously, grinning, and Hubert responds with an amused chuckle of his own, acknowledging the shared quip.

It's not the darkness of this longest night that matters most, Ferdinand thinks as they sail together across the floor.  It's the reminder that the darkness is passing and he is lucky enough to pass it in the arms of one of his most cherished people.

fin

(and because I am bad at using tumblr, and I don’t know if I tagged you properly in the title, I’ll tag again here: @adorable-tactician-charlotte)

[claudemblems]

Fluff scenario of yuri x reader where the reader always wanted to learn how to dance (waltz), but doesn't know how and post time skip yuri teaches the reader how to dance plz?

I decided to go ahead and post this one even tho I wanted to wait until I had more requests done but!!! Wow!!! Did you guys know I’m in love with Yuri Leclerc??? 💖 (Also I’ve got another request from you in my inbox, so I’ll be getting to that one shortly) :D I hope this gets posted correctly, too. Tumblr has been doing weird stuff when I copy my writing into here. Thanks Tumblr 😂

---

Dancing had never truly been your forte. 

So when you were selected to participate in the White Heron Cup to acquire the dancer class, you began to wonder if the professor was really in the right state of mind during their decision making.

However, over the years, you’d grown quite well into your role as a dancer. You moved across the battlefield with ease, strengthening your allies’ morale while also swiftly striking enemies with your blade. It was odd to think something that had once been your weakness had become one of your greatest strengths.

Ballroom dancing, however, was an entirely different story.

You’d been urged by your friends five years back to participate in the ball held at Garreg Mach, and though the idea sounded exciting, you knew you couldn’t keep up with noble dances to save your life. Dancing in the middle of battle became instinctual and natural. Trying to execute certain types of dances felt anything but natural. Not to mention they required you to look people in the eyes. Despite their pleading, you opted out of socializing or dancing with anyone at the ball, choosing instead to hide in the background, and now the lingering regret came back and bit you hard. Those had been such happier days...days you couldn’t get back.

Normally no one was allowed near the archbishop’s room, but since your house had yet to determine her whereabouts, you often traversed through her quarters as you pleased. You just wanted to stand on that grand balcony, distant from the hustle and bustle of the world, but still appreciating it for what it offered.

As you stood on the large balcony, you recounted those old noble dances, and your feet began to move. Two steps back. Two steps forward. Two steps back. Turn—wait, did you turn yet? Or was it a step to the left? Or a twirl? You could feel the heat rushing up to your face. No one was even watching you, and yet you still made yourself feel like a complete moron.

“I didn’t know you practiced ballroom dancing in your spare time.”

A high-pitched squeak left your mouth as you turned to see Yuri leaning against the wall, a smirk gracing his face. 

“Ugh, just when I thought I was the only one having to deal with me looking pitiful.”

“Hey, now, don’t start thinking you’re that far gone. You’ve got hope, still.”

You sent Yuri an icy glare that sent him into a fit of laughter. “Don’t look so pleased, will you?” he teased.

“Are you just here to make fun of me?”

“While that sounds quite entertaining, no, I’m not. I came to see where you were.” Yuri took in the scenery around him, eyes alight with curiosity. “I didn’t know this is where you’ve been sneaking off to.”

“Well, it’s just so nice and quiet up here.”

“And far away from people.”

“Exactly!”

The two of you laughed as Yuri came to stand beside you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, and you leaned into his touch, always willing to be embraced by your favorite person.

“Did I make you worried?” you asked.

“Well, I was just driving myself crazy trying to figure out where you kept going to avoid social interaction.” You jabbed him hard in the side at that, and he huffed out a laugh. “You did have me a little concerned, though. If I had known you just needed some time to clear your head and bust out some beautiful dance moves, I wouldn’t have questioned it.”

“Ha ha. Tease me all you want, but yes, I needed a break.” You took in a deep breath of fresh air, relishing the breeze drifting across your skin. “I just started thinking about how things were five years ago. How easy we had it, all before this war came upon us.”

“It’s true. Those days were much easier, light-hearted days.”

“And I regret not participating in that ball.”

Yuri raised a brow at that. “Ball?”

“Don’t you remember? The one after the White Heron Cup?”

“Oh, right. I didn’t even want to come, but Constance dragged us all along, and we were told that since we were students we were “required to attend”. How can you require some distant underground dwellers to mingle at a ball? Surely we’d stand out like a sore thumb.”

“Constance sure seemed to thrive,” you laughed.

“Yes, she got to be in the comfort of night while also parading around with every person she saw, declaring her intentions to “restore House Nuvelle to its former glory”! Give me a break,” Yuri groaned.

“Don’t make fun of her, Yuri! She’s just...rather passionate about her goals.”

“I think overzealous is a better word.”

You rolled your eyes and looked out at the setting sun, its rays painting the sky with orange and violet hues. “I just regret all the things I could have done, but never did, and will now never get the chance to…”

Yuri stared at you out of the corner of his eye, soaking in your words. You were too preoccupied watching the sunset to notice. However, you felt a weight lift off your shoulder and soon his hand was intertwining with yours.

“Not everything is all long gone,” Yuri said. Raising your hand, he bowed. “You may not have gotten to dance back then, but we can make the opportunity now.”

Your eyes widened as you asked, “Are you…?”

“Going to teach you? Yes. I may not live a grandiose lifestyle and harbor noble blood, but I’ve seen the dances enough to know them by heart.”

“I don’t know...I’m really clumsy when it comes to actually following rules for things. I’m usually just relying on my instincts.”

“You’ve got no reason to worry,” Yuri assured, wrapping an arm around your waist as he kept his grip on your hand. You hoped he didn’t see the heat creeping up into your cheeks. “Just follow my lead. We’ll take it slow.”

And with a nod, you were off.

Yuri moved in step with a nonexistent rhythm, carefully guiding you through the steps. His movements were fluid and easy-going, yet surprisingly precise. He’s a natural, you thought. And though you feared embarrassing yourself in the process of dancing, at least it would just be in front of Yuri. 

Your steps were mostly hesitant, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at the ground to make sure you didn’t step on his feet. Yuri tipped your chin back up with his finger, urging you to keep your eyes on him, to trust him. But that was harder than it looked, not only because of your constant worry of misstepping, but also due to the fact that you couldn’t meet his adoring gaze; your heart was ready to burst.

“See? It’s not so hard.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“The reason you end up being so clumsy is because you’re too focused on what other people are thinking of you than focusing on the subject at hand.”

You considered his words, letting out a sigh. “You’re right.”

“With dancing, you should be enjoying the moment, taking it all in. The way your feet drift across the ground, the magnificent sights and sounds around you, the feeling of someone’s gentle touch. It should make your heart pound, not out of worry, but out of exhilaration.”

You finally managed a genuine smile. “The way you describe things makes me want to see the world through your eyes.”

“You just have to remember that there are times where it’s okay to let loose a little bit, to enjoy life without being on edge. Trust me, even the boss of Abyss needs breaks.”

You leaned in closer, Yuri’s hair tickling your cheek. “You’ve always worked hard for the sake of others, never once concerned about yourself. Promise me, when this war is over, you will place some importance on yourself. Protect those you love, help the helpless, but remember that you have to be kind to yourself as well.”

Within such close proximity, you could feel his lips tug upwards. “I promise,” he whispered, placing a kiss on top of your hair. “I might need you there beside me to remind me, though.”

“As if you think I wouldn’t be there in the first place.”

Yuri shook his head and laughed. “Of course. You’ll always be there to set me straight.”

“And you’ll always be there to continue to teach me how to dance?” you asked.

Yuri took his hand from your waist and cupped your face, eyes alight with real hope and anticipation for the future. Pressing a kiss to your lips, he answered, “I’ll do so for the rest of my life.”

[sanity-writes]

Pas De Duex (Yuri Leclerc x reader)

The final dance before curtains close.

Word count: 514

Genre: Fluff then angst

Warnings: Minor spoilers for white clouds. Mentions of blood

A/n: requests? Please? :3

Yuri watched the enchanting way his darling (n/n) moved her body. He soaked in the way your arms moved, the way your hips swayed, to the rhythmic steps of your feet. Yes, his little dove was the winner of this year's white heron cup. (Y/N)’s dance came to an end as you posed delicately. The accessories littering your outfit and body jingled and glimmered from the faint light the torches of abyss gave.

“Excellent work dove.” You gave a soft laugh before you made your way to where Yuri stood. a soft voice rang around the relatively quiet room. “I still need to work on the transitions.” Yuri felt the corners of his lips curl upward. “Looked fine to me dove.” You let out a hum as you moved your hand and placed it on top of Yuri’s shoulder. The other hand laced your hands together. “Can’t keep your hands off me can you?” Yuri remarked with a charming smirk. You flushed a bright rosey colour before letting out a small snort. “Flirt.” Yuri’s bright laugh rang around the room. He placed his remaining hand on your waist and raised your entwined hands. He let you lead the way into a music-less waltz.

A week has passed since then. Oh how he wishes he could go back to then. Back to when you were in his arms. Safe. Dancing without a care in the world. Now here you lay in the middle of battle, head cradled in Yuri’s arms. Crimson soaked both of your outfits, the air leaving the burning scent of iron. A weakened voice pierced his train of thoughts. “Y-Yuri…” It pained him so much to see you in such a state. “Quiet (Y/N). Save your breath. Marianne and Mercedes are coming. Hold on just a bit longer.” His words of comfort came out more strained than he'd like. He could feel the tears blur his view.

Time was on the line and you looked paler by the minute. Weaker. Closer to death’s door. A shaky bloodied hand reached out to gently cup Yuri’s face. Your eyes flowed with tears of pain. Pain from leaving your Yuri and pain from the gash you have sustained. “L-looks like… I’ll be leaving y-you know.” Your voice was so faint. So strained. Yuri let the tears flow freely now “D-DON'T SAY THAT! The-there’s still hope. We still have s-so much time l-left together! Yuri could feel his heart skip a beat as your hand fell from your hand. Nononono. You gave a final, tiny smile before the light left your eyes. You were gone. Yuri let out an agonized cry. “D-dove? W-wake up! Please!” His cries went unheard as the battle continued around him. Your body felt so stiff and limp. Yuri stood up. A newfound rage filled him. Those who took his dear (Y/N) would pay.

[tickly-tufts]

For the FE3H question, I personally would like to see some Claude and Dimitri (I think the tag is something along the lines of Claumitri or Dimiclaude)

“AH!” Dimitri jumped, startled by a sudden jab to his side. The quill he’d been using promptly snapped in his grip, falling to pieces before he whipped around. The young prince was stunned to find the leader of the Golden Deer grinning back at him.

“How goes the studying?” Claude asked casually, hands folded behind his head.

“It’s progressing,” Dimitri replied, though he continued staring at Claude in confusion. “Is there something you needed? You could have called my name.”

“Actually, I did, but you didn’t seem to hear me. Figured the hands-on approach would work a bit better.”

Did he really? Had Dimitri simply been too absorbed in his notes to notice?

Deciding it was a reasonable enough explanation, Dimitri bowed his head.

“My apologies, then. How may I help you, Claude?”

A quick exchanging of lesson materials later, the incident was all but forgotten.

—

“I believe you’re supposed to take two steps forward, then one step back… Like this perhaps?”

Dimitri fumbled as he spoke, hesitant in his dancing. The only thing he was even less certain of in that moment was his ability to instruct.

Goddess only knew what had led Claude to asking him of all people for help.

“You were picked for the White Heron Cup, too, right? That means we’re in this together. I’ve never taken part in any of these stuffy noble dances, so it’ll be a learning experience for us both!” Claude beamed. 

Dimitri didn’t know how Claude was so relaxed even as they waltzed together, the two of them swaying hand-in-hand with little space left in-between.

“Now then, where was I supposed to put my other hand again? Right about… here?”

“Hah!” Dimitri gasped, immediately jerking backwards at the sensation of squeezing against his ribs. However, with his arms still around Claude, it was only a matter of seconds before they both lost their balance and toppled into the grass.

“Claude…” 

“Yes, your Princeliness?” 

“Was that intentional?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Looking far too comfortable sprawled out on top of him, Claude smiled, revealing nothing as Dimitri frowned.

—

“So, I just have to make your back hit the ground?” Claude questioned, already in a battle stance. 

“Yes, and I promise to hold back my strength to make it a fair fight,” Dimitri answered. “Of course, you’ll be the loser if I pin you down first.”

“Fair enough,” Claude shrugged, and so the match began.

…and ended before either of them could even consider breaking a sweat.

“I win,” Dimitri announced, a rare glint of smugness in his eyes.

“…You cheated,” Claude deduced upon realizing he’d been tricked.

“Whatever do you mean?” Dimitri shot back, and even though he knew he was in a vulnerable position, Claude couldn’t help but be impressed by the cleverness.

“Well then, what do you plan to do now that you have me captive?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“First things first…” Dimitri’s free hand, the one that wasn’t wrapped around Claude’s wrists, migrated downwards. “What was it you were doing before? Those two times you tried to feign innocence.”

Claude’s eyes widened.

“Now, now, let’s not do anything hasty. Dimitri? H-Hey… DIMIHEHEHAHA!”

Bursting into laughter before he could finish his entreaty, Claude hid his face against his arm, hoping to muffle his reaction even as jolts of ticklishness threatened to overwhelm him.

“Did you think I wouldn’t retaliate?” Dimitri wondered aloud, poking and prodding at Claude’s stomach through his shirt. “Or maybe you assumed I wouldn’t even notice what you were up to,” he theorized, kneading at Claude’s unprotected flanks.

“OHOHOKAHAHAHAY! I GEHEHEDDIT AHAHAHALREADEHEHEHEE!”

“Hm, are you blushing?”

It was an honest observation rather than a tease, yet it still served to make Claude’s cheeks burn brighter.

“NOHOHOHOHO!” he denied through hysterics.

Things only got worse when the tickling moved to his ribs.

“EHEHEHEHEHEEK! W-WAHAHAHAIT! DOHOHON’T!”

“Ah, so that’s why you targeted this spot last time.”

“EHENOHOHOHOUGH! P-PLEHEASE STAHAHAHAP!”

Ever the gentle soul, Dimitri chose then to show mercy, removing his fingers from where they’d been digging into Claude’s ribcage. 

Before long, the prince was back on his feet, offering a hand to his exhausted companion.

“Are you alright?”

Picking up the pieces of his shattered dignity, Claude sighed, accepting the aid.

“Swear you’ll never speak of this again, and I’m golden.”

[qvill-s]

it’s real ashe loving hours right now, so may i request 2 and 3 from the good parts list for him? [eyes emoji]

NOTES: in this house, it is always ashe loving hours. i love He™ and his floofy hair and his freckles and his laugh and i’mm somft  ( ; ω ; )

not gonna lie, though, this got really long and i kind of drifted away from the prompt a little bit. it’s not explicitly said, but i hope that the feeling the prompt asked for is still conveyed.

ashe + “we were dancing but all of a sudden it’s a slow song and we’re standing here awkwardly staring at each other” &&. “i just told you i liked you but now i’m shy and say ‘never mind, forget it’ and why are you looking at me like that?” under the cut !!!

“So,” you begin, tone hushed in the quiet of the library, “the professor chose you for the White Heron Cup.”

When you slid into the seat in front of him, Ashe knew that you didn’t come to study. He’s known since a few minutes earlier, when you picked up the book on wyvern tacks and saddles—he’s quite certain that you weren’t wyvern rider, and he hasn’t heard talk of you thinking of becoming one?—and began reading it upside down. He chose not to comment. He also chose not to comment on how you locked eyes with him when you entered the library and then proceeded to ignore him until you sat down.

Now, however, your charade is over. You close your book and place it on the table, steepling your fingers with utmost seriousness. “Can you dance?”

“I…” That wasn’t what he was expecting. He sees the furrow in your brow beginning to deepen, so he hastens to get out his answering, “No?”

“Is that why—wait, what?” Ah, it seems that wasn’t what you weren’t expecting that either. “You can’t dance?”

“No,” he says, with finality and as a statement. It’s the truth, and he knows it’s the truth, but having it said aloud brings the familiar heat of a blush under his skin. You press your fingers to the seam of your lips, regarding him with a thoughtful sort of determination. He fights the urge to squirm under your scrutiny.

After a few minutes, you finally announce, and rather loudly at that, “I’m going to teach you.” The students at the next table over collectively send the two of you the nastiest looks they can muster, and Ashe feels the heat of embarrassment under his skin burn a little brighter.

“That’s nice,” he manages, a bit lamely, in his opinion, gaze darting back to the next table over. Man, if looks could kill. “B-but, ah, maybe we should, talk about this somewhere else?”

You nod solemnly, get up from your seat, and say, “Courtyard, five minutes.” With a smooth turn on the heel of your shoe, you’re gone.

And Ashe remembers that you left a stack of wyvern books on the table. 

Well, he reasons, adding your stack to the one in his arms with a quiet grunt, it’s not as if you’re a terrible dancer. In fact, from what he’s seen, you’re a great dancer. He’s seen you waltz Dorothea into the dining hall, seen you dance with Annette before class. Though both occasions were in good fun, there was a grace and litheness to your steps and the way you carried yourself that belied your abilities. You’re also from a family of nobles in Faerghus. He’s sure that dancing was a part of your curriculum before Garreg Mach, the art of it being drilled into your head since you were young.

So if you’re offering (Demanding? Forcing?) to teach him how to dance, he decides that he couldn’t have asked for a better teacher.

When he makes it to the courtyard, you spot him right away, rising from your seat on the benches and dusting off your uniform. You give him another nod and another scrutinizing up and down glance. “Are you ready to begin?”

“I— here?” In the courtyard? In public? In the direct line of sight of so many people who know how to dance?

“Yes, of course.” Your head tilts a little to the side as you ask, “Is there a problem?”

“There’s…” He surveys the people milling about in the ever-busy courtyard, “There’s, uh, so many people around.”

“And what about it?” You press a bit obliviously, and Ashe wonders if you’ve ever felt the embarrassment of having people watch you fail. “People will be there to watch you dance for the White Heron Cup, anyway. Might as well get used to it now.”

“You,” he concedes, holding back a sigh, “have a point.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile and another nod. You clear your throat, and begin the first lesson with, “Now, the first thing to know about dancing is the importance of how you hold yourself…”

❛ ━━━━━━━━━･❪ ❀ ❫･━━━━━━━━━ ❜

And your time together goes on just like that. You teach him how to dance after classes and training sessions are over, and he tries his best to keep up. It’s a bit… awkward, in Ashe’s opinion, folding his arms around the formless air and pretending it’s another person as he one, two, three, steps his way through your instructions. You stop him periodically to fix his stance, raising an elbow to the correct height, telling him to keep his back straight, and then allow him to continue the boxes he’s dancing around the courtyard.

You’re not as strict of a teacher that he thought you would be. While he expected that you wouldn’t be lenient with your sharp eye and perfectionist attitude, he thought you would be the type to run him ragged in making sure that he’s getting everything right. You do, in fact, the opposite. While breaks during practice don’t come as often as he would like, they come often enough, coupled with reminders to drink water and a query of whether or not he was starting to get sore. You even remind him to get some rest when you part ways for the night, departing for your room with a wave and a “See you tomorrow” in a gesture that was far more casual than what he expected from you.

Come to think of it, you’ve thrown a lot of the things he’d expected of you out of the metaphorical window. He didn’t think you’d be fond of the monastery cats until he saw you surrounded by them in the courtyard, scratching them behind their ears and under their chins as you spoke to them in the softest, gentlest of voices he’s heard from you. He also didn’t think you’d enjoy sweets until Mercedes gave you a box of her famous pastries in the middle of your practices and he saw the way your eyes lit up and the small smile that graced your lips as you thanked her.

Granted, he’s not particularly close with any of his classmates—as in, spill all your secrets and worries close—but he knows them well enough to start some friendly conversation. The moment he realizes that he’s never even had such a conversation with you, that the two of you stick mostly to small talk and schoolwork, is like a bucket of cold water to his face. He elects to rectify this immediately.

“So,” Ashe begins in the middle of your break, “I’ve been wondering…”

The two of you sit on one of the courtyard benches, a box of pastries shared between the two of you. Mercedes had come by earlier, offering the delicacies as thanks for, in her own words, “working so hard for the Blue Lions.”

You tilt your head at him, in the way he’s found you’re inclined to do, swallow a bite of cookie, and prompt, “What is it?”

“Why did you, uh”—again, offer? Demand? Force?—“um, offer to teach me how to dance?”

You only offer him a little, “ah,” and bite thoughtfully into your cookie. He lets you gather your thoughts while he scatters his, wondering if this question was too forward for two acquaintances (Student and mentor? More than acquaintances but less than friends?) having their first friendly conversation with each other.

After a while, you ask, “Can I be honest with you?”

“Sure,” he answers, perhaps a bit too eagerly for his tastes.

You seemingly have not taken any note of this, leaning back against the bench as your gaze shifts to the clouds drifting across the blue sky. “I actually wanted the professor to pick me,” you admit quietly, pointedly not meeting his gaze. “For the White Heron Cup, I mean.”

“Oh,” he says, and he feels a bit guilty.

“I was a little mad at first, and a little hurt, too. I was actually coming over to, ah, politely”—here, you send him a sheepish look that tells him you were going to do anything but—“ask you why the professor chose you over me. But when you said that you couldn’t dance, I realized that you probably didn’t want to be in this situation, so I decided to help you out and try to teach you what I know.”

“I’m sorry,” he replies, almost automatically, feeling a lot guiltier than he had earlier.

You brush his apology off with a wave of your hand, a strange gesture that somehow knocks his words off of his tongue. “Like I said, you probably didn’t want to be in this situation anyway, so there’s really no harm done. It’s not your fault that the professor decided to pick you.”

With that, you send him a reassuring smile. A tiny one, yes, but a smile nonetheless, and his heart jumps to his throat. He somehow manages to return it, and nods in lieu of his currently malfunctioning vocal chords. 

The two of you elect to finish the last of the pastries in comfortable silence, and Ashe wonders why exactly your smile had him reacting the way he did. Preoccupied with his thoughts, he reaches for another delicacy to munch on as he mulls over the events that have occurred—and finds your fingers instead.

He withdraws his hand from the box immediately, drawn out of his thoughts by the electric touch of your fingertips against his knuckles. “Sorry,” he apologizes again, hoping against hope that the blush on his cheeks isn’t noticeable. It most likely is.

You are, at the very least, in a similar state, cradling your hand to your chest and conveying the same shock he felt at the foreign sensation. He pushes the box towards you. “You can have the last one.”

“I… Are you sure?”

He smiles in a way that he hopes will defuse the sudden tension. “You’re the one working the hardest out of the two of us, you know. I’m not too good of a dancer, I’m afraid.”

You look as if you’re about to protest, lips parted and a retort in your eyes, but your mouth suddenly snaps shut. With a shyness that’s a bit off-character for you, you reach into the box and withdraw the last cookie with a soft murmur of thanks.

He nods, and stands from bench, stretching a little. He turns back to you, and asks, “Should we get back to practicing, then?”

You eye the cookie in your hands thoughtfully, then meet his gaze with a, “No, I think we’re good for now.”

“Oh,” he says, and tries (and fails) not to sound a little disappointed.

“Ah, I mean,” you add, a little hurriedly, “I still have to finish that assignment professor gave us on ballistas and trajectories—”

“Oh, of course, don’t let me keep you,” he adds, equally as hurried, as if being hasty would be enough to apologize for jumping to conclusions.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, though, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees, “see you then.”

As he makes his escape from the awkwardness that’s suddenly enveloped the two of you, he wonders if maybe the whole aura of awkwardness between the two of them could be his fault entirely. 

And maybe, he concedes, stooping down to pet the brown tabby he’s affectionately named Fish, it was. Maybe it was, because the simple brush of your fingers against the back of his hand felt like a bolt of Thoron running through his body. Maybe it was, because the simple, innocent touch of your fingers leaves him wanting more and wondering what your palm would feel like pressed against his own.

❛ ━━━━━━━━━･❪ ❀ ❫･━━━━━━━━━ ❜

Dusk came and went, seeping the orange of the sunset from the sky into a dark blue dotted with winking stars and a crescent moon, but for what seems to be the millionth time that day, you tell him, “Again.”

“Is it— is it alright if we take a little break?” He suggests, meek in his fear of his request being rejected and in his desperation for a reprieve from the monotony of one two three step and waltzing around the courtyard. He spares a glance at the grass the two of you stand upon, and he can easily mark where he’s danced for the past hour or so, patches of green flattened and worn down with how many squares he’s danced on them. He looks back at you again, meeting your stony gaze, and asks, “Please?”

You do nothing but cross your arms over your chest in response. You look so determined, stubborn; so much so that Ashe immediately concedes defeat, moving to resume his position and wait for you to count off.

When what comes instead is a sigh, he turns just in time to see you deflate with the sound, rubbing at your temple as you did so. Before he can speak, you beat him to the punch with, “I’m sorry, I think you’re right. We should take a quick break.”

You smile at him encouragingly, but the emotion is warped, tainted by the taut line of your shoulders and the look in your eye. With another sigh, you lower yourself on the bench, all choppy movements and stiff limbs, lacking in the usual grace with which you carried yourself.

There was something worrying in the furrow of your brow, and he wastes no time in taking the seat next to you. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you answer, almost immediately. He levels you with a look of disbelief until you amend your previous statement with a, “Just… worried about tomorrow.”

He frowns. He wasn’t that bad, was he? He thinks that you’re a great teacher, and he’s always made sure to take your comments and suggestions to heart to make sure he can represent the Blue Lions house well in the contest tomorrow. He tells you as much, voice hesitant, but somehow sure in defending the improvement of his ability.

“No, it’s not that,” you tell him, quick in your reassurance. He finds comfort in the fact that you looked aghast at what he thought you were suggesting. “You’ve definitely improved from before. It’s just, I feel like something’s missing.”

“How do you mean?” 

“Your arms, they way you’re holding them”—you hold your own up, rigid and blockish—“it doesn’t look natural.”

You were mimicking him, he realizes, feeling his face flush as your arms lower back down. He sees now why you deemed it to be such a problem, and one that could prove detrimental tomorrow. “How do you suppose we fix it? Do I just relax more—”

“Have you ever held someone like that before?”

He sputters to a stop, flushes harder, the heat crawling down his neck and up to his ears. “No,” he admits after a while, bashfully, quietly, “I haven’t.”

“How about a hug, then?” You press, “Have you ever hugged a friend? Your family, maybe?”

“Sort of?” He searches through his memories for a hug that resembled a waltz, and finds none. He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure, really.”

“Right,” you frown. He feels your scrutinizing gaze sweeping over him once more, a curled finger pressed to your chin as you mulled things over.

“I have an idea,” you announce finally, perking up with a snap of your fingers. “Are you finished with your break, or do you need more time?”

“I’m good,” he says, feeling somewhat rejuvenated from the few minutes he spent sitting down in conversation with you. “What is it?”

In lieu of answering his question, you get up from the bench and, meticulous as ever, brush off whatever imaginary dirt you saw in your clothes. When he moves to follow, he is stopped by the sudden appearance of your hand in front of his face. He blinks, staring uncertainly as his gaze shifts between your face and the hand you extended towards him. 

“I don’t bite,” you joke softly, giving him another smile and an curl your fingers encouragingly. “Come on.”

His heart thunders in his chest as his palm flattens over yours, his palm against own, your fingers curling around his wrist. You tug him forward, off of the bench and on his feet, fixing and adjusting his posture until one hand is held tight against yours and the other rests on the curve of your waist.

You’re standing close, closer than he’s ever been with you—or with anyone, really. The two of you are chest to chest, nose to nose, and he almost forgets how to breathe. 

“Ready?” You ask, voice toeing the edge of a whisper. He swallows a lump in his throat, takes in a breath, and nods. You return the gesture. “Okay. One, two, three…”

He finds it hard to concentrate with you so close to him, with the dip of your waist, with the weight of your hand in his. He can even feel your breath fanning out across his chest through the layers of his clothes, counting out the beat with your gaze directed downward to watch his feet.

“Relax,” you tell him, glancing up at him with another encouraging smile, more genuine that the last. “You’re doing great.”

You punctuate your sentence with a squeeze to his shoulder. He eyes the plush of your bottom lip, and he wants nothing more than to lean down and—

He stumbles on the third beat, but you catch him with a strength and ease that didn’t seem to belong in the intimate act of dancing, pulling him up and into the rhythm with a tug of his hand and a step back to adjust for his mistake.

You never miss a beat.

❛ ━━━━━━━━━･❪ ❀ ❫･━━━━━━━━━ ❜

Ashe wins the White Heron Cup, and he thinks he’s done enough dancing for a while. In the after party, however, he finds there is still more dancing to be had, and that the professor is giving him the opportunity to become a dancer for the class, to rejuvenate their spirits in the midst of battle and give them the strength to fight again. He’s a bit embarrassed, of course, in the way that any praise thrown his way seems to do, but he’s flattered all the same, especially when Annette throws her arms around him in a hug and tells him that he should because his dancing was beautiful. He’s surprised to think that he wishes it was you instead.

The professor is his first dance for the party, and they tell him that they’re proud of him, even giving him one of their rare, small smiles. Annette is second as a more playful song plays, and they have fun with going off beat and dancing a new dance. When she leaves him to find Mercedes and drag her to the floor, he feels a tap on his shoulder, whirling around to find you.

“Do you have enough time for one more dance?” You ask, holding out your hand in the way you did yesterday, with the inviting curl of your fingers and the curve of a smile on your lips. He nods almost immediately, mimicking the smile on your face as he places his hand in yours. As if you’ve even needed to ask.

It’s when you drag him to the middle of the floor than he realizes that the song is still upbeat and definitely not a waltzing song. “How are we—”

“Do you trust me?” You ask, eyes shimmering with a curious and foreign sort of mischief that intrigues him.

“Of course.“

“Follow my lead.” 

You tug him into a dance of quick steps and flying feet, guiding the two of you through the throng of dancers in a routine that seemed both improvised and rehearsed all at once. It certainly wasn’t like any dance he’s seen or read about before, but there’s a measured quality to your steps that belied some form of premeditated decision. Or maybe, he decides, following the best he can to your beat, it’s just you, confident enough in your ability to dance that you were able to adapt to whatever situation and add new things to old ones.

He stumbles here and there, adjusting to the new pace like he was only learning how to walk, but you’re there to catch him before he falls, just like before, ready to turn his mistake into a new step to the dance the two of you weave together.

He wants to see you like this forever. He wants to see you this free, this lively, this happy as you lead him through a series of complicated steps and turns. He wants to see the joy that twinkles in your eye and curves your lips upwards as you dance, your cheeks reddened from laughter and the exertion of your actions. 

He wants to be with you like this forever.

All too soon, the song slows down to something more personal, more intimate, washing the inevitable truth over Ashe with every waning beat of the drum: if he danced with you like this to this song, in front of everybody, he would cross a boundary he wasn’t sure he could cross. The line was drawn firmly into the sand, marking the divide between you and him in painstaking clarity. You were from a noble family, and a powerful one at that. Your future is laid out before you, and has been ever since you were born. There would be no place for a commoner like him.

So, as couples move towards the center of the room and friends move to the sidelines, he steps away. He’s a coward, he knows, when it comes to matters of the heart, but he’s no fool. He will not cross those boundaries or jump over the line in the sand or rewrite what is already set in stone if he does not know that you’ll be with him.

He murmurs something about being tired and getting to bed, backing away from you slowly, but before he can get too far, your fingers close around his wrist once more. When he looks back at you to catch your gaze, to ask you why, he sees the question you left unsaid, hidden behind your lips on the tip of your tongue and your fingers press into his thundering pulse.

And he knows.

He knows his answer, knows that it will never be anything less than a resounding yes.

Later, the two of you dance once more, surrounded instead by the darkness of night and watched only by the twinkling sky and the shining moon. Your hand is clasped in his, your ear pressed to his chest, his nose in your hair—

And you dance to a song only the two of you can hear.

[dimimagines]

Hello! Hope your new blog is gonna be successful sweetie! can you do D for Dimitri X Reader pls?

Dimitri x Reader - Fluffy Alphabet - D is for Dancing!

You nervously sat at your seat in class, as you averted your eyes away from Professor Byelth. Today, the professor was going to choose which poor unfortunate soul would be entered into the White Heron Cup for the Blue Lions and you were silently praying that you wouldn’t be chosen for the task. You didn’t know how to dance, and if you were chosen, you’d surely embarrass yourself in front of all your classmates.

Fate however, was not on your side today, you realized after seeing Byleth’s finger pointing towards you, gesturing to the class that you would be this years representative for the Blue Lions. Try as you might, there was simply no changing Byleth’s mind. 

So that led you to where to were now, awkwardly dancing alone in the courtyard, trying to learn and remember the steps properly. You sighed as your feet stumbled, tripping over themselves. It just wasn’t working. Nothing you did seemed right. Did you even have the steps memorized correctly? It didn’t feel like it.

“This just won’t work... At this rate, people will mistake me for a confused dancing crab on the dance floor. Even I’ve confused myself. There’s no way I can perfect this in time for the actual competition!” You face palmed, feeling your cheeks warm up at the idea of dancing like this in front of a crowd. Well, perhaps living underground wouldn’t be such a terrible fate to resign yourself to, afterwards.

“If you’d like, I’d be more than happy to help you. I’m not particularly good at dancing myself, but I’ve been taught the basic steps when I was younger.” You heard a voice say, as you looked over and saw Dimitri walking towards you, a small smile on his face.

“Are you sure you want to? Surely you saw my dancing just now... If we were to practice together, I might accidentally step on your foot, if I don’t make us accidentally fall over first.” you sighed, meeting him half way.

He shook his head and held out a hand, “Nonsense, you’re not as terrible as you’re making yourself out to be. I think you just need to visualize the dancing a little more. Dancing with an actual partner rather than the air should help you with that.” He explained, as he slowly tugged you along into a waltz. You fixed your posture and looked down at your feet. The last thing you wanted to do was step on him, after he went through the trouble of helping you.

“Don’t worry about stepping on me, I’m sure my feet will be fine. Just focus on me for now.” You nodded and looked up at him, making eye contact. It was a little awkward at first, as you were still stumbling around a bit, but eventually you fell into a perfect pace with him. He smiled gently at you, looking at you with warm eyes. You smiled back up at him, a soft giggle escaping your lips.

“I knew you could do it. You’re a natural, your footwork has greatly improved. You were too stressed and tense over this earlier.” He explained, as he continued to dance with you, he gently dipped you down, placing a kiss on your cheek swiftly before bringing you back up.

“I think I’ve only improved so much because I had such a wonderful partner to dance with. Though, it’ll be awfully hard to dip myself like that during the actual competition.” You giggled, giving him a gleeful look. “Thank you, for helping me like this. You may not know it, but you just saved me from a life of embarrassment. If I were to dance in front of everyone the same way I had earlier... I don’t think I could ever look at anyone in the face ever again.”

“Interesting that you say that, considering you’re able to look at me, and even dance with me just fine even though you know that I saw you earlier.” He teased, smirking at you as he raised an eyebrow.

“That... That’s different! We’re together, so you’re... You’re allowed to see me looking like that.” Your face was flushed as you explained yourself. He chuckled and nodded, accepting the answer you gave him.

The week went by quickly and before you knew it, the White Heron Cup was upon you. Taking deep breathes, you remembered what it was like to dance with Dimitri as you glanced over at him with a smile. You could do this. You felt confident enough to dance in front of everyone, knowing that he was there silently supporting you. As fate would have it, you managed to win the competition for the Blue Lions. As fate would also have it, however, you were also now the dancer class for the Blue Lions.

[edelgardlesbians]

excerpt from ch. 4 of everything i write turns into a body

read the whole fic on ao3! Ferdinand looks around wildly. There is no one else around to see him make a fool of himself, so this is surely as good a time as any. “There is happiness to look forward to even now,” he says. “Dance with me?”

Hubert opens his eyes and angles his body slightly towards Ferdinand, “The party is long since ended.”

“There is still music, is there not?” Ferdinand says. He’s trying to sound casual about it, but he is surely failing. He doesn’t feel casual, not even a little bit. His whole body feels taunt, and he’s pretty sure that his hands are shaking, but it’s not from the cold.

Hubert’s scowl does not ease, “What music?”

“Well,” Ferdinand says, turning to face Hubert. “There is the sound of crickets, the wind in the trees, the lap of the pond against the docks…” His heartbeat is so loud he can almost taste it: this thudding in his ears might never cease.

“That is not much to dance to.” Hubert says, emotionless, “You cannot keep time to the wind.”

He’s already dug a grave this deep, it is pointless to pretend that he can hide his feelings.  Any heartbreak between the two of us will be his doing, he’d told Edelgard, and he intends to mean it. Ferdinand exhales slowly and takes Hubert’s hand, bringing it up to his chest. “There is always my heartbeat,” he says.

Hubert does not move. There is no flash of a knife to eviscerate him, no swirl of his cloak as he sweeps away. Ferdinand cannot see his expression, and he is perfectly content that way. He stands perfectly still with his hand pressed to Ferdinand’s chest, feeling his too-fast heartbeat. “Ferdinand,” he says, and a condemnation is sure to follow, Ferdinand can feel it. “Look at me.”

Ferdinand lifts his gaze to meet Hubert’s, expecting the worst. Instead, Hubert is looking back down at him with an expression that is very nearly devoid of malicious intent, red dusting his pale cheeks. “Hubert, your face,” Ferdinand says, “you are blushing.”

“I’m aware.” Hubert says. “Now, you said you wanted to dance? I’m afraid I’m not much of a leader,” Hubert says, bringing his free hand up to rest on Ferdinand’s shoulder.

Ferdinand’s mouth is dry, and he can still feel his blood roaring in his ears. His ridiculous heart is going to leap right out of his chest at this rate. He’s going to die in Hubert’s arms before they have even ever kissed and it will all be very poetic and tragic. Dorothea can sing about it at his funeral. It will make a splendid opera. He hopes everyone cries. “That is convenient, for I am not much of a follower,” he replies, bringing his left hand to rest at Hubert’s waist. It fit there better than he had thought it would.

Hubert chuckles, threading his fingers through Ferdinand’s right hand, the one that is still at his chest. “I remember.”

“Yes. Right.” Ferdinand says. He feels a fool. For all his talk of nobility and the values that it’s instilled in him, he cannot even woo one man correctly.

“Well?” Hubert says, looking down at him. Those three extras inches of height have never seemed so vast before. “You are supposed to be leading.”

“Right.” Ferdinand says again. He adjusts his grip on Hubert’s hand slightly, and then steps forward.

In truth, Hubert is no dancer. It does not help that there is no music to guide them, no din of conversation to fall back on if the silence between them becomes overbearing. There is only Ferdinand’s heartbeat, still pounding in his ears louder than any drum he has ever heard. It has to be enough. It is enough.

Ferdinand could dance a waltz in his sleep, but he has never been more grateful to be awake before. There are no words between them, just this slow, halting dance. Ferdinand counts threes in his head and is sure that his rhythm is uneven, but that hardly matters in the wake of Hubert’s hand on his shoulder and Hubert’s hand clasped in his.

After a few minutes the line of tension in Ferdinand’s shoulders eases and he tightens his grip on Hubert’s hand. “You volunteered for the White Heron Cup back at the academy, did you not?” He asks, a smile curling across his face.

Hubert clears his throat, “I take it my dancing skills are not up to par.”

Ferdinand laughs, “They are perfectly adequate, to be truthful. Although I highly doubt that you would have beaten Felix.”

“Would you believe that perfectly adequate is the best my dancing has ever been called?” Hubert asks.

Ferdinand’s grin widens, “I am not surprised at all. Were I not such an outstanding partner, I daresay this would be disastrous.”

Hubert opens his mouth, presumably with some witty retort, but steps on Ferdinand’s foot before he can reply.

“Ah, I see it is no use,” Ferdinand says. “We will have to keep at it. Your dancing skills need much work, and I will bear the burden of being your teacher.”

To his surprise, Hubert does not continue their conversation. Instead, he slides his hand down from Ferdinand’s shoulder to his waist. “Must it always be this much of an event with you?” He says tonelessly, as if Ferdinand hadn’t frozen in place the second that Hubert’s hand moved.

“I-” Ferdinand opens his mouth and then closes it again.

Hubert looks pleased. “Have I rendered you speechless? Had I known it was this easy…”

Ferdinand licks his lips. Hubert’s eyes flick down when he does so and Ferdinand does not know how to process this emotion. He should say something, do something! He is Ferdinand von Aegir, and all it takes for him to lose himself is a gentle touch from Hubert.

“Dancing!” He says, “We were. Dancing.”

“You stopped,” Hubert replies, still looking obnoxiously unaffected.

Ferdinand still does not move, and Hubert squeezes his hand gently and lets go, setting his other hand on Ferdinand’s waist. Cautiously, as if he is approaching a horse that will flee if he moves too quickly, Ferdinand loops his arms around Hubert’s neck.

How it goes is this: Hubert says something that makes Ferdinand laugh, and Hubert’s arms tighten around Ferdinand’s waist, and they sway, lightly, in time with the gentle evening breeze. Ferdinand steps closer, rests his head on Hubert’s chest, and Hubert’s arms do not move from around his waist.

Ferdinand has had lovers, in the past, but they had always been flights of fancy, casual things for both parties. He has always assumed he will one day marry a girl with advantageous connections at his father’s behest, and that in time the two of them wouldgrow to love each other. But his father is imprisoned, and they are at war. Anything can happen. He has danced with plenty of pretty girls, has danced with Linhardt and Caspar before, but he has never danced like this, dancing simply for the excuse to be close to another. He has never been held simply for the sake of being held before. It makes him feel safe and care for in a way that, if he had any remaining sense of propriety, would concern him greatly. But now it seems that that there are few things more important than Hubert’s arms around his waist, the warmth from his palms seeping into Ferdinand’s bones. Hubert’s chin rests on top of his head and Ferdaind’s emotions swell so greatly that he feels he may choke on them. There is no plausible deniability about this sort of intimacy.