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songsofadelaide · 5 months ago

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Race Against the Sunset

cw/tw: Duke Fraldarius Felix x Princess reader, Azure Gleam route spoilers, no use of yn, childhood friends to lovers, family drama and trauma, long flashback, swordsmanship references, mentions of the deaths of loved ones, marriage of convenience turned loving marriage. wc: 16k (I am going to cry again) ୨୧ This fic will not use 'yn' and instead follow my usual naming convention. Please kindly see yourself out if you're uncomfortable with fics using placeholder names for the reader. I do not use 'yn' in any of my fics. I still use 'you'/second person pronouns and write with a generic (f) reader in mind. The name isn't mentioned often and is just for my preferences since I find it jarring to write 'yn' frequently. Thank you for understanding!

For a moment, he remembered that week you spent in their estate at Fraldarius territory many years ago. He recalled the singing of the young women employed in their estate's kitchen and how you sang along as you helped in meal preparation, even though you weren't supposed to be there because you were a guest. Those were hymns to the Goddess even he was unfamiliar with.

"Blessed are they who bask in the splendour of Gloriana's unreachable, empyrean domain!"

Felix had never been a pious child even from the beginning, even though the Kingdom of Faerghus' roots were so deeply intertwined with that of the Church of Seiros. Yet here was a girl who made him worship the very ground she walked on.

The succession crisis between the two princes of House Blaiddyd was played out like a melodrama. Birth order meant little in the Kingdom, where a singular truth prevailed time and again: those born with Crests were destined for greatness, and the Crestless would have to settle for what would be handed to them.

You were born to your parents on the fifth day of the Harpstring Moon in Imperial Year 1163, four months after the birth of your cousin, who would become the Crown Prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Dimitri's birth overshadowed yours, a fate your father believed you shared, given his position as a king who never became.

Much to everyone's amazement, Prince Rufus doted on you immensely, so much that he seemed more human than the decrepit stand-in many thought him to be. Your father loved you dearly. How could he not? When you were born with the very thing he lacked, the blessed blood that made him so different from his younger brother, the sole reason he fell so short of becoming the king himself. Rufus cared not that you were born from a mistress mother. You were his blood— and his salvation.

…But mistress was hardly the correct term to refer to your mother. She hailed from a cadet branch of House Charon and was a distant relative of the current head of the ancient house. That must explain the auspicious mixing of blood between the descendants of Blaiddyd and Charon, which resulted in you being born with a Minor Crest of Blaiddyd— the very same one your cousin possessed.

When the plague swept through Faerghus, not only did it claim the life of the Kingdom's beloved Queen Consort, but your mother's as well, leaving your father and Grand Duchy household to care for you as you grew older. Rufus had no time to mourn his muse, and it was only after an exchange of condolences between the brothers that the king caught wind of the one thing that kept his older brother sane.

King Lambert was only made aware of his niece's existence when she turned five years old, a time in which he also searched for appropriate companions for the crown prince. On your fifth birthday, your uncle sent you many an exquisite gift from the capital— a lovely dress the colour of Blaiddyd azure, a tailored coat made of the finest winter fox pelts, a box of delectable sweets from the city's best pastry shop, an ornamental dagger with a mindfully crafted leather hilt— a kind that fit your little hands perfectly— and a letter of invitation to Fhirdiad. While it was addressed to you, it was clear from the tone that it was meant to be read by your father, who only looked at the gifts in disdain.

Rufus knew the truth behind the gifts and what you symbolised to the nobles of the Kingdom, especially those in the capital. Your existence was a threat to the current state of things and perhaps this invitation was Lambert's way of ascertaining his brother's allegiance to the Crown.

Yet he could not deny the truth of the matter, too. You were part of the Royal Family as much as he was… And the fact that your governess suggested a higher form of education for you only compounded his thoughts.

"Papa, look! It's so beautiful!"

Lifting his tired blue eyes from the letter sent by his younger brother, a smile lit his dire face when he saw you don the pristine white coat and twirl around at his feet, your sweet laughter of delight ringing in his ears.

The coat was of exquisite quality, its paleness further highlighting the features you inherited from your mother— and it pulled at your father's heart so. Many thought him incapable of loving anyone other than himself, but it was clear from the way he tenderly spun you around as you danced that he cherished you.

"And how beautiful you are, my little star."

And there was no way that he would let you out of his sight, not even at the king's command.

"The Grand Duke of Itha, Prince Rufus Thierry Blaiddyd, and his daughter, Princess Imogene Aislinn Blaiddyd."

In Imperial Year 1168, Rufus was astounded by the fanfare and celebration that marked his daughter's first visit to the Kingdom capital, and among those who received you at the castle town were the king himself and the crown prince. He had his watchful eye on you as you gracefully curtsied in obeisance to your uncle the king and your cousin the crown prince. The look on Lambert's face softened as he bent down on his knee to receive your little gloved hand in his. "The honour is all ours, my little niece. I know you must be rather tired from your travels, but Dimitri insists on introducing you to his friends…"

"Oh! You're wearing the coat I chose for you! I'm so happy you like it!" Dimitri remarked with a smile and a twinkle in his blue eyes. His face was framed with the same golden hair as your father. "Did you… like our gifts for you?"

"Yes, I did! Even the little cakes were so delicious!" You beamed at the boy dressed in the same Blaiddyd azure as you were, happily recalling the afternoon you shared the said sweets with your father and your governess. The castle at Itha Plains had been your home all your short life, with your father, your governess, and the household staff the only people you've known so far…

"Come with me. I would like to introduce you to my friends," the boy said with an outstretched hand. You hesitated and turned to your father, who only gave you a short yet apprehensive nod of assent.

"Very well, Your Highness. I—" You stated as you placed your gloved hand in his open palm, and he grasped you with a tremor that called your attention to his face once more.

"You need not call me that, mine cousin. You and I are family. We are cousins— and you are the only one I have in the world."

Your astonished eyes met his wide blue ones, the weight of his statement still settling in your mind. Dimitri was your cousin, bound by the shared blood of your fathers, and just as he was the crown prince, you were a princess of this country, too. "Very well, Dimitri. I would very much like to meet these friends of yours."

"Such a pretty girl can only take after her mother. Caitlin must be pleased," Lambert remarked as he eyed the children's retreating figures. While you had a semblance of your father, it was your mother's soft features that stood out more when you first came face to face with your uncle. "It does my heart good to see you well, brother."

Rufus was quiet in his place as he eyed the city alight with merriment. The plague that ravaged the country struck Fhirdiad at its heart, but here it was, beating once more, the castle town so full of life that you'd mistake it for another place or another time.

"The change is marvellous, wouldn't you agree? All of this was possible with the help of the talented Court Mage…"

He wondered how Lambert's grief did not blind him to the fact that so much had to be done in Fhirdiad if he wished for it to be a dignified place worthy of its glory as the capital of the Kingdom. He had to admit that this was a feat he could not have achieved without losing his mind in the process.

Rufus nodded at his younger brother, the two of them in their similar signature Blaiddyd azure regalia, yet still different sides of the same shining coin. "It is good to see you, brother."

There was a warmth in the king's face that unsettled his older brother, but it might have been the fact that Lambert was truly happy to host his niece and Rufus in Fhirdiad after many years. "You must tell me all about her. I doubt I'll have the time to speak with my niece myself now that she's with Dimitri. He was most excited to meet her…"

Dimitri's excitement was indeed obvious by the way he led you to his friends, most of whose names and stations you couldn't remember yet, but it was clear from the delighted looks on their faces that they were pleased to have finally met you, the Princess of Itha, and the crown prince's only known living cousin.

But you heard the whispers as well— men who called you a "usurper"— and only understood the meaning of it all when you were reunited with your father later that day. Rufus did well to politely decline Lambert's later invitation to remain at the capital for the remainder of the week, citing your "homesickness" as the reason for your departure to Itha.

He couldn't have you hearing those things. You were innocent… until he said otherwise.

On the carriage ride back to your home, your father held your hand in his. "Did you enjoy your time at the capital, my little star?"

You happily nodded your assent to his query. "Yes, papa! I had such a fun time with Dimitri and his friends! They were all so nice to me!"

A dark-haired boy was particularly awestruck by your presence, evidently surprised to see the resemblance between you and your cousin firsthand. The nameless boy shyly yet quickly stuffed his present into your small hands, and you held onto it for the rest of the day, the pretty wrapping paper crinkling in your grip. You were only able to ascertain what it was when the ribbons eventually came undone— a little decorative dagger with a blunt blade made of Mythril, the hilt delicately crafted with precious aquamarine stones.

"Will we come back again? To Fhirdiad? Dimitri said that I would always be welcome there… That we would always be welcome there. Because we are a family," you wondered aloud, the ornate dagger still in your hands. "I know that some of the people there hate me… but I would never take what isn't mine, papa. Madam Liadan told me that I shouldn't do it because it's bad… and the Goddess would punish me…"

Rufus was evidently surprised by your statement, which was far too forward for your age. He lamented the fact that he wasn't able to shield your ears from the mindless prattle of the Kingdom nobles under Lambert's file.

Had he been the one… you would be his heir. The crown princess. He offered you no more words, but simply hoisted you on his lap and held you in his arms until you fell asleep, the exhaustion and excitement of the day finally settling in your little bones. You clung onto the gifted dagger until you arrived back at Itha, refusing to part ways with it even as your father tucked you into bed.

That night, you dreamed of a dark-haired boy in aquamarine, his hazel eyes disappearing into his smile as he held out a gloved hand to you.

Following your first meeting, Dimitri often requested your presence at the capital. The boy only spent a day with you but already considered you one of the most important people in his life. Rufus received countless letters of inquiry and invitation and eventually relented— allowing you to visit every once in a while, especially since it was at the crown prince's behest.

Your visits to Fhirdiad were often short but memorable. While you spoke of the trivialities of your life in Itha, Dimitri often talked about how wonderful it would be to have your constant support and presence with him at the capital. It almost sounded like he was asking you to move there.

"It's nice to visit every once in a while… But papa has stressed the importance of my presence at home. As your future Grand Duke of Itha, I still have much to learn, and as do you, as our future King," you told him from across your table, laden with a spread of sweet tea and pastries for your tea party for two that afternoon. "Speaking of which, where is Uncle Lambert? I have not seen him since this morning."

"Father is on a campaign further north," the young prince replied to your query. "In Sreng."

"I pray to the Goddess for his safety…" You said rather quietly. "Surely they did not send him there unprepared…"

"You need not worry. Father has the finest men in the Kingdom riding by his side," Dimitri smiled at you. "Even I am not troubled in the least bit. Those men are his closest friends."

Friends. Your memory was jogged.

"That reminds me… When I first visited Fhirdiad, one of your friends presented me with this lovely dagger," you started, carefully pulling out the tiny ornamental blade from your floral embroidered satchel. "I never got around to asking his name. Your friend with the pretty black hair, I mean."

Dimitri inspected the dagger and easily recognised who it was from by the colour of the gemstones that dotted the hilt. "You must be talking about Felix. He is the second son of Rodrigue, who serves as my father's right hand at present."

"Felix…"

"If you'd like, mine cousin, I can ask Felix to come here as well on your next visit," Dimitri stated as he returned the dagger to you. "That way, you can thank him for his present."

"I would like that!"

"Your Highness," one of the house's older female servants arrived at the garden where your tea party was being held and gave a quick bow to your cousin. "Your weapons instructor is here. It is time for your lessons."

"Is that so?" Said the boy with a frown. "I'm afraid we'll have to cut our tea time short…"

"Weapons instructor? You mean you study how to use weapons?" You asked rather curiously.

"Yes. I will have to learn how to properly wield Areadbhar, the Hero's Relic entrusted to our family, though I am still not allowed to hold it, of course…" he replied, catching the curious yet crestfallen expression on your face. "You are to be the Grand Duke of Itha in the future. I believe you should at least know the basics of wielding a weapon. Would you… like to come with me, mine cousin?"

Dimitri saw the shine of wonder that lit your eyes this time, your excitement clearly uncontainable as you leaped off your chair. "Oh, can I really?!"

"Of course you can. I will have someone prepare a change of clothes for you," he said with the same warm smile as he beckoned the elderly servant to do as he had told. "But I must warn you. Gustave is a strict teacher. Just as he does not take it easy on me, he will not take it easy on you, too."

And not only was he strict, but an incredibly effective teacher. Despite his apprehension, Gustave was able to drill down the first principles of swordsmanship into you, even as you struggled in the lengthy trousers lent to you by your cousin. He sensed the same potent strength within you so akin to the king— and the crown prince… the blessedness of your blood.

The power of a Crest.

The feel of a sword was so different from holding but a mere dagger. You felt its weight in its entirety, dragging your shoulders down unless you put your back into lifting it. As you practised your swings with a blunted iron sword, Dimitri held an iron lance in his slightly larger hands, watching you sweat at your diligent efforts.

"Why did you teach her the sword, Gustave? Aren't axes and lances your specialty?"

"The sword is easy to teach to a beginner, Your Highness. It seems she has taken a shine to it, too," the older man stated, his tired blue eyes drawn to the corner where you stood, cutting through the air with the dull weapon he chose for you. "I do not want to cause any trouble by teaching her the lance. The princess, she… She must not get the idea that she, too, can wield your family's Hero's Relic. Not only is it a weapon of old, it is a symbol of your sovereignty. She must never aspire to even just hold it in her hands."

As your visits to the capital grew more frequent, the time you spent with your father grew less. Rufus always made time for you whenever you asked, but it was clear that he was busy with the affairs of Itha and many other discussions that required his attention more and more. Contrary to your initial thought that he would get angry at the swordsmanship lessons you had with Gustave at Fhirdiad, your father was amazed at your skill and the progress you have made so far.

In fact, Rufus was so pleased with your efforts that he purchased a rapier of excellent quality for you. You and Dimitri only admired it from inside its sheath and leather case as you continued your lessons with the red-haired knight, who marvelled at your shared strength and skill, which was clearly a family trait.

Gustave no longer looked at you with unease and trepidation whenever he instructed you but with a newfound admiration, especially on the rare occasions when he permitted you and the prince to spar against each other. You declared outright, after all, that you wielded your blade in the service of your king and your crown prince.

The skirmish between the two young royals would often draw the attention of many knights and squires in the training grounds, who watched in awe at the sight of your shared exerted effort. Many have learned to watch out for stray sparks and splinters whenever your weapons broke apart from yours and the crown prince's sheer strength.

Dimitri was a fierce opponent even at your young age. He never went easy on you but did his best to match your ferocity. You possessed similar Crests which meant you stood on equal ground, even though you were a girl. You didn't see any shame in losing to each other, either, but often considered each loss a learning curve. Your hands— now callused after how many moons of arduous training with the blade— no longer shook as your training sword clashed against your cousin's training lance.

It was during that sparring match that you encountered the boy who gifted you the aquamarine dagger once more, his present now one of your most prized possessions.

"So the rumours were true. You have been training the Princess of Itha as well, Sir Gustave. I can only imagine the number of weapons they've already broken," said an older boy with the same long and dark hair as Felix. He eyed the bout between the royal cousins and was both amazed and troubled at how well you could hold yourself against the prince. "It seems His Highness has found himself a stimulating training partner. That saves me some of the exhaustion, at least."

"Well met, Glenn. The princess has proven to be a keen student herself," the older knight stated as he acknowledged the presence of the two brothers. "She will be an asset to the Kingdom in time of need."

An asset is what many wished you'd be, but there was no denying the disquieting possibility that you may be used against the Royal Family— even though you were part of it, too.

"Well, here she is, Felix. A far cry from when you last saw her, huh?" The older boy, Glenn, chuckled as he placed a hand on his younger brother's head of dark hair. "You should join them. I'm sure Sir Gustave wouldn't mind another head to look after."

"You're free to join them, Felix. I know you've sparred with His Highness before, but I must warn you that the princess is not someone to be underestimated," Gustave said as he walked over to the centre of the castle training ground to call for a truce between the sparring cousins.

Felix stood there, his warm hazel eyes following the length of the prince's spear as its blunt pointed end met with the dull edge of your training blade. Dimitri lowered his weapon as his blue eyes fell to your face, a look of concern washing over him when he saw a small scratch on your cheek. He quickly reached out to cup your grazed cheek, but you only laughed as you gently swatted his hand away.

"Are you hurt anywhere else? I must have not noticed…"

"I'm fine, Dimitri! I swear!"

It was only when Gustave gestured towards the direction of the spectating young noble that you noticed him, another smile lighting up your face as you and your cousin made your approach.

"Felix! It's good to see you!" Said Dimitri as he held you by your hand. "My cousin had been looking forward to seeing you again."

"Your Highness," came Felix's rather distant and embarrassed greeting to his friend. He echoed the same sentiment as he finally came face to face with you this time. "Your Highness."

"H-Hello," came your nervous salutation. "I-I wanted to say thank you f-for your present when we first met."

"You're welcome, Your Hig—"

"You can call me by my name," you stated a bit more confidently this time. "A-Are you here because Dimitri said I wanted to see you again?"

"I— I am, my lady," the dark-haired boy sputtered as he shifted his gaze from you to the prince, who had a pleased smile on his face that slowly shifted into a chuckle.

"She said she did not need such formality, Felix. Just as you and I are friends, so are the two of you now," said Dimitri as he reached for his friend's gloved hand. He then brought your hand forward and engaged in a three-way handshake. "Now then, shall we call it a day? I believe you and Felix have a lot of catching up to do."

"W-We do?" Came your sheepish query. A soft laugh left your lips as you placed a warm hand on the back of your neck. "Well, if… If Felix i—"

"A-Actually, I would like to c…" Felix stepped up with a more determined expression on his face. "I would like to challenge you to a sparring match, Princess."

"I—"

"I-If you're amenable to that, of course!"

"I'd like that very much! I'm sure Dimitri is bored stiff having to spar with me all the time."

"I'm pretty sure you're talking about yourself," the young prince said with a smile and a small sigh of defeat. "Well then, carry on, my dear cousin. If Felix is here, then I'm certain Glenn is as well. He shall be my training partner."

Dimitri approached Gustave and gestured in your direction, clearly advising the older knight of your intention to spar with the second son of House Fraldarius. You adjusted your training clothes and trousers, picked up your sword once more and took a deep breath.

From your lessons with your governess, you knew that House Fraldarius is a family of warriors. Rodrigue earned his title as the Shield of Faerghus for defending the king in their last military excursion to Sreng. His eldest son, Glenn, was a knight in the making and Dimitri's preferred training partner, seeing as the older boy could keep up with the prince's stamina.

It was clear from his movements that Felix had the build and stride of a child at ease in battle. Such was their family's claim to success, apart from the fact that they, too, were the progeny of one of the Ten Elites. Your opponent shed his winter coat, a striking aquamarine blue with a collar made of the same fine winter fox pelts his family could afford. In his hands was a similar training sword, and in his eyes was a spark— an obvious exhilaration at having to do battle with an unfamiliar adversary.

"I won't go easy on you just because you're a princess," he said as he raised his blade and assumed his battle stance. "Just because you're my friend."

His statement was bold yet bright, compelling you to step up to the occasion with the same excitement filling your chest up to your throat. You steadied your feet and raised your blade in response to his declaration. "I welcome the challenge! Come at me, then!"

In Imperial Year 1171, the Saintess, Cornelia, welcomed an Imperial lady to her home, and the King was so besotted by her that he married her in the shadows. Lady Patricia was a kind woman who raised the prince as her own, and yet… There was a certain sadness to her that you couldn't quite put a finger on. It was during one of your visits to Fhirdiad that you were introduced to each other, and the older woman warmed to the idea of having you around as her company.

That same year, a girl from the Empire arrived in Fhirdiad, too— and there were whispers about her being a princess, too. You saw the delight that lit your cousin's face whenever he spent time with her, a girl whose air of precocious maturity matched the rumoured title she held. The girl, who simply introduced herself as El, taught you and Dimitri how to dance, and took pleasure in gently commanding your movements.

"You need to learn how to dance, too, Immie. You're a princess, after all!"

The young prince could only laugh and smile to himself whenever you blundered a step as El's partner. He cherished this memory— of you and him dancing with the girl who wore Adrestian crimson amid the pale blue cold of Faerghus.

There was a sadness in her you couldn't quite comprehend as well, so akin and similar to that of your new aunt. You tried your best to make them feel welcome in the capital, Dimitri even more so, but you both lamented being unable to do anything to ease the burden of their loneliness.

You could relate to them in a way, especially since you've been seeing your father less and less. The day you last saw him was on the annual New Year's hunt at the Itha Plains, which did not go as planned since Rufus was inebriated from the festivities the previous night. He, along with his counsel and companions, most of whom were family members of the Kingdom's western lords, rode deep into the thicket in the heart of the plains, closely followed by you and your attendants on horseback.

While it didn't please you to see your father drunk beyond his wits, the very thing you couldn't stand back then was the sight of several noble-born women flocking around him. They lauded his missed strikes, the sound of their shrill voices nothing but grating to your ears. And it annoyed you even more that he relished the attention.

You took the minibow you were equipped with and released a single arrow that struck a startled forest fox, much to the surprise of your father and his counsel and companions.

"Th… The first ki—"

You did not even wait for the knight to finish his declaration and rode towards your father with an indignant expression before lowering your head in exaggerated, mock reverence.

"May you have a blessed and bountiful hunt, Grand Duke," you coldly stated before riding off to the castle, leaving him behind with the rest of his men. You made your way to Fhirdiad not long after, not a single response from your father even after you sent word that you arrived there safely.

Part of you wanted to return home to Itha to see him. To reconcile with him. But part of you also wanted him to suffer in silence.

Your seemingly short visits to the capital soon turned into moons. And before you knew it, you were celebrating your birthday with your cousin's family rather than returning home to Itha. Your uncle and aunt were happy to have you there with them, but Lambert understood that you longed for your father, too, though your pride wouldn't allow you to admit it.

The king presented you with many gifts from his side of the family, but there was one Dimitri did not recognise as theirs— another leather case that contained yet another sheathed blade. "This is from your father. I believe he also has a letter for you."

It was another exquisite sword for you, the Crest of Blaiddyd engraved onto its silver blade. Along with it came a thick fur scarf made of the striking scarlet pelt of forest foxes native to the Itha Plains. You tried to receive the presents without tearing up and only read your father's message in the silence and solitude of your bedchambers after all the festivities celebrated in your name.

"Happiest Birthday, my little star. May you use this blade to strike forth and cut a path to your destiny, which I am hard at work to see come to fruition. Papa misses you so."

The letter was brief and had little detail, but you could tell from the erratic handwriting that your father was grief-stricken in his attempt at reaching out to you.

He would have to wait a bit longer.

The following day was your birthday celebration with your friends, all of whom piled presents upon presents in your arms once more. Despite being Dimitri's friends originally, they welcomed you into the fold as part of their close-knit circle. Sylvain, the heir of House Gautier, gifted you with a classical board game you used to play with your father, while Ingrid, the daughter of Count Galatea, presented you with a pair of fine leather riding boots.

This year, Felix gifted you yet another dagger, but this time was different, for he had given you a functioning toothed knife rather than another ornamental trinket.

"The Itha Plains is one of the best hunting grounds in the Kingdom, and perhaps all of Fodlan. As its princess, you're bound to host hunts there sooner or later. I can only hope that this will serve you well," he stated, handing his present to you with a short bow. "Happy Birthday."

"Thank you, Felix. And to everyone, too, for all your lovely presents! While all of these are so precious to me, the mere fact that you're here to celebrate this day with me warms my heart," you beamed at your circle of friends as they sat across from you, your table in the castle garden filled with sweet and savoury snacks and flowering tea. "I'll be going home tomorrow. As always, I'll carry my time here in my heart… And I hope to be back soon. For now, I have to speak to my father."

"Ah, that reminds me. Felix mentioned earlier that he can accompany you on your way back to Itha before he heads back to Fraldarius," Dimitri stated as he lifted his head from his cup of tea. "Have you not told her yet, Felix?"

"How thoughtful of you, Felix. Though I must tell you now that I have no intention of riding by carriage," you replied to your cousin's statement with a smile before eventually turning towards the dark-haired boy. "I will go on horseback, giving me the perfect opportunity to break in these lovely boots Ingrid got for me."

"And that gives us the perfect opportunity to race, too, Princess," Felix said with a small snort of derision. "That is if you're not against getting those new boots dirty, of course."

"Wanna make a bet while we're at it, too?" You said with a laugh. "The loser will do whatever it is the winner wants."

"Deal."

Dimitri could only shake his head in defeat as he listened to your thoughtless wager. By nightfall, he came to visit your bedchambers one last time before you went your way home. He found you packing your belongings, among those the ornate aquamarine dagger Felix first gifted you years ago. It sat on your bedside table on a special wooden stand carved by one of Grand Duchy's household staff.

You placed the toothed dagger next to the jewelled one and smiled to yourself. "I have so many knives and swords."

"It is a thoughtful gift. I don't know if this has been taught to you, but we from the Kingdom consider such weapons as tools of destiny. I believe Felix wishes for you to cut open a path forward for yourself…"

For an object to hold such weight…

"And though it might be purely ornamental, its message doesn't really change," Dimitri stated as he sat down next to you on the edge of your bed. "You are the Princess of Itha, but if there is anything else you wish to be, you… You have only to tell me. So we can discuss it."

"Well, I…" You started, a sheepish grin now on your face. "It might sound like a girlish dream, a-and maybe it is to you, Dimitri, but I…"

You beckoned him to lean down so that you could whisper your tender dream in his ear. A gentle laugh left his lips as he nodded to himself. "I think we can do something about that."

"But I will continue doing my best… so that he'll like me for who I am."

"I'm pretty sure he already likes you as much, my dearest cousin."

By daybreak the following morning, a retinue from the Grand Duchy Army was prepared to receive you, and they were surprised to see that you'd already mounted your horse, opting away from the carriage they readied for you.

Riding beside you was the second son of House Fraldarius, his dark hair already tousled by the calm morning breeze. Several Fraldarius soldiers tasked with his protection shuffled into your retinue's line.

"We'll race when we catch sight of Itha Castle," you declared as you gave your steed a gentle kick, prompting it forward. "For now, we have all the time in the world to talk, Felix. Have you thought of a prize if you win?"

"I have," came the boy's silent but confident response.

"I suppose I should think of one now, then."

"We have all the time in the world," Felix echoed your sentiment with a small smile on his face. "Consider it carefully, Princess."

From a view of a map, the Itha Plains was but a stone's throw away from Fhirdiad, but travel to and from still took at least half a day. The boy riding next to you asked you questions about your early childhood— from before you knew him— and even went so far as to ask you about your intentions in the future.

"I know that many still think I am a usurper… And that no matter how much time I spend in the capital, they will still look at me like I would intentionally cause a succession crisis," you said with a defeated chuckle, but not before raising your eyes to meet his gaze, your vision unclouded and clear of any hint of deception. "I've said it before and I will say it again— I've no intention of taking what isn't mine. When the time comes and if the need ever arises, I will fight for the Kingdom as Dimitri's sword. I've no intention of being Queen."

"That's reassuring to hear."

"I'm glad to hear you think that, our future Duke Fraldarius."

By the time the afternoon sun had made its way up in the sky, you and Felix had already spoken about nearly everything you could— and you already spotted your castle's first turret from across the horizon.

"Race you," you declared to him, gathering your horse's reins before giving it a small yet impactful smack on its behind. Your steed picked up its pace as the path towards the castle slowly tapered upward. While you were sure you had a headstart, you caught a flash of aquamarine in the corner of your eye. Your horses were sprinting alongside each other at what seemed to be equal speeds, but you could only laugh out loud as Felix and his steed narrowly edged you out and arrived at the castle courtyard mere seconds before you could.

"Welcome home, Princess," the dark-haired boy stated with a small smirk on his fine face. "Expect to see me again soon."

"I eagerly await that day, Felix," you said with a smile and a nod. "Thank you for taking the time to accompany me back to Itha. Please take care on your way home."

"Dearest ■

How fare you, my dearest cousin? Last I heard from you, you arrived at Itha safe and sound. It does my heart well to know that you made it back home safely.

I only heard from Rodrigue the other day that you spent about a week in Fraldarius at Felix's request. I thought your loss would teach you not to make such ill-considered gambles in the future, but it seems you enjoyed your time there with Felix and his family… Are you perhaps grateful for that loss? It sounded like a win either way.

I am more surprised at how you and Felix managed to convince Uncle Rufus to permit you to go on that excursion. The old man watches over you like a hawk, as far as I know. Regardless, I hope you had fun.

El says she misses you. I do, too.

I hope to see you again soon. Please tell me all about your trip to Fraldarius. I am pleased to hear that you and Felix are getting along so well.

Sincerely yours,

Dee."

"Dearest Dee,

How fare you, my dearest cousin? I have been well and I hope you are, too. I apologise for my lack of communication with you lately… and for the lack of visits to Fhirdiad. Papa and I had a lot of catching up to do.

Let us just say we have reconciled and leave it at that. Papa apologised for his mindless actions the last we met and I apologised for my impetuousness.

Can I ask you how you felt when Uncle Lambert remarried? I am not too keen on the idea, but I suppose papa is still a man… I just wished he would choose his companions wisely.

And as you already know, I spent quite a vacation at the dukedom. It was not so much a vacation, really, but more of a training camp. From sun up to sun down, Felix and I have done nothing but spar, hunt, and maintain weapons. Lord Rodrigue almost sent me home when Felix made out with their family's Hero's Relic without permission. It's a terrifying thing, isn't it? A Hero's Relic. The shield almost seemed alive and breathing to me. I shudder at the thought of having to wield something so… grotesque. But you've been training for that your whole life.

I miss El terribly, too. And you, too, of course.

I'll tell you all about my trip to Fraldarius when I visit Fhirdiad again soon. For now, stay warm and stay safe.

Yours truly,

■"

In Imperial Year 1176, your uncle the king perished in the Tragedy of Duscur, along with many other knights and vassals of the Kingdom. Duke Fraldarius lost his son Glenn in the clash, too, and you couldn't shake the thought that something more nefarious occurred in what should have been a peaceful diplomatic mission.

And even as you pleaded in tears to be allowed to go to Fhirdiad to see your cousin, who had just lost his own father, Rufus did not permit you to go.

"The Grand Duke is right, Princess. There is no need for you to rush," the Saintess, Cornelia, whom your father had taken as one of his closest companions in more recent times, also dissuaded you from heading to the capital. She spoke of the right moment to make your appearance, which was strange since you wanted nothing but to be by Dimitri's side at that time.

…Something about your father's calmness about the catastrophe unnerved you. His reaction was almost inhuman, but you didn't want to give it too much thought. He could have been shocked, for all you knew…

By the time you were finally allowed to visit Fhirdiad, your father's regency had been finalised, and the nobles of the capital and the castle's household only seemed to look at you with even more contempt. You did not see much of your cousin even though you remained in there for his sake. The lords loyal to the late king evidently did not want you around the crown prince, either.

You were almost violently rebuffed that one time you tried to help Dimitri when he was having a panic attack. His unfamiliar guardian from a foreign land shoved you away and spoke to you in broken sentences— both in the language of Fodlan and Duscur. It was only when your cousin placed a reassuring hand on the imposing boy's shoulder and explained to him who you were that he was able to quiet down.

"She is my cousin, Dedue. The only one I have in the world."

Dimitri, who was the sole survivor of the tragedy, was inconsolable for the first few moons after the horrific incident, and even you could not pick up your sword to train without being reminded— without imagining the hellscape he endured and survived— and the eerie feeling that clawed at your chest when you recalled your father's unbothered expression when he received the news of his brother's death.

Whispers of your father's involvement in your uncle's death did not help your reputation in the capital, either, and the fact that Rufus did little to disengage himself from the rumours only compounded the frigid treatment you've been receiving from the nobles and the castle staff.

The only ally you ever had was gone, too, driven away by his shame. Everyone had the same response when you asked about Gustave's whereabouts— "He's gone."

At Felix's behest, you were present with House Fraldarius when they held a memorial for Glenn, a true knight of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, or so Rodrigue said… But not even your soothing touch could quell Felix's fist, his entire body seizing in a tempered rage he tried his best to contain. He was not the only one who lost a loved one, after all. And yet, he couldn't stomach how his father glazed over his eldest son's death. No words of embellishment will take away the fact that Glenn was killed horrifically in the Tragedy of Duscur. Felix would resent his father for that.

It was Rodrigue who implored you to return to Itha while Dimitri gathered his bearings. He knew of the grievous treatment you endured in the capital, even more so now that Rufus preoccupied himself with the Saintess's company more than anyone else's.

"His Highness will certainly ask for you once he has figured everything out, Princess. Return home for now. I'm certain you're tired of all the suspicion yourself."

And you did so, only because it was true that you could no longer abide by the royal household's disdain for you. You did not know that it would take Dimitri four years to reach out to you again, the boy you knew changed beyond recognition.

In Imperial Year 1178, Dimitri, the Crown Prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and Felix, a knight in the making and the Heir of House Fraldarius, were tasked with suppressing an insurrection in Western Faerghus. Many of the knights who accompanied them attested to seeing the prince roll over the rebels with maniacal bloodlust.

You were half-certain Felix might have developed the same grisly instinct, but you were relieved to find out that he was blatantly disgusted by the boar's unhinged behaviour. The incident prompted him to step away from his knightly vows, his sole intention now was to become a swordsman of unparalleled skill.

You spent the past few years handling the affairs of Itha as the acting Grand Duke. As the regent, Rufus spent his days holed up in Fhirdiad under the thrall of the Saintess, Cornelia. He did not bother to manage the Kingdom, let alone reach out to his only daughter.

…Though you knew for a fact that you may not be your father's only child now.

You received no word at all from Dimitri, either, and you could only assume that he was busy with his responsibilities and studies as the crown prince.

Or maybe he wanted nothing to do with you, either.

Still, you handled the affairs of your home with all the knowledge and grace you possessed thus far. You often received wise counsel from the Head of House Gaspard, Lord Lonato, who once served as your father's retainer in their youth.

"Since it is now the Horsebow Moon, I suppose we should open a portion of the hunting grounds to the public…" You stated as you browsed through the stack of documents piling up on the desk in your father's office, which you have used as your own these last few years. "Oh, and the merchants and craftsmen from the Leicester Alliance should be accompanied by members of the plains' official hunting guilds. Many are unfamiliar with just how dangerous the grounds can be…"

Your elderly governess, Madam Liadan, now stood as your sole attendant and counsel while you were acting in an official capacity as the Grand Duke of Itha. She took pride in your expertise and manner of leadership as you steered your hometown in a direction that would benefit its people.

"A word, Your Grace," came a knock outside the den. "Lord Felix of House Fraldarius has requested an audience with you."

"…Felix?"

True enough, your dearest childhood friend found his way to your home with only a handful of guards. His dark hair was grown out, now kept in a messy bun. His once warm hazel eyes stared down at you with a fierce coldness as he refused to dismount his horse, riding around you and your courtyard as you came face to face with him after how many years.

"Ride with me, Princess," he stated with a small scoff. "Or are you content playing house and assuming a title that isn't even yours yet?"

"I—"

"We don't have to race this time," he said. "Just talk."

"Call for a stableboy to fetch Aureolin for me," you motioned to one of the household staff present to receive the heir of House Fraldarius. "And have one of the servants fetch my sword, the one from my father. I'm certain the heir of House Fraldarius did not just come here for a horse ride. Or to just talk."

"We shall have an attendant f—" Madam Liadan stated, only for you to cut her off with a mere wave of your hand.

"There is no need for that, Madam Liadan," you said with a smile that did not reach your eyes. "Lord Felix is my friend. He and I have much to talk about, none of which is any of your business."

You heard a faint chuckle leave the said friend's lips as he steered his mount to the castle gates once more.

"Receive his good men instead, please. Give them food and drink and allow their horses to graze," you instructed the household staff as you saddled and mounted your steed, Aureolin. "Shall we be off then, Felix?"

Your ride was quiet but meaningful, and it allowed you to rest your mind from all the noise of having to manage your household and lands. Felix noticed the pleased yet pensive expression on your face as he steadied the pace of his horse to match yours. He only spoke once you were in the heart of the plains, far from your meddling governess and the prying eyes of your father's loyal people.

"Before everything else…"

"Did you think I'd shirk my training just because I've been busy with paperwork, Felix?" You said with a low laugh as you swiftly dismounted Aureolin and unsheathed your sword. "Come. It's been a while since I had a worthwhile sparring partner."

The sounds of the grass in the plains crunching under your boots and the steel of your swords clashing quickly dissipated in the air, the open field unable to contain even your heavy breathing and heaving as you steadily held against your opponent.

"Well, I'm glad all of that bureaucracy didn't dull your skill," Felix stated with a smirk and a small grunt as he parried your blow. Your bladework in your youth was wild and untamed, but your hands were more steady now, your strength measured and concentrated in a way that matched his own. "This cursed strength, though—!"

"You aren't so bad yourself," you said with a huff and a laugh. "Let's put our back into this, Felix!"

"Blessed are they who bask in the splendour of Gloriana's unreachable, empyrean domain!"

Here was his Gloriana, her sword arm unmatched and her skill unparalleled.

Not that he would ever admit it.

It was only after you both broke a sweat that you called in a draw. You sat next to each other on the grass, knees and elbows brushing as you each wiped your swords clean with your cloaks, like when you were children.

There was only the faint sound of a calm breeze and the gentle swaying of the grass and weeds as you worked up the blade of your sword. You ran your thumb over the engraving of the Crest of Blaiddyd before eventually asking, "How is Dimitri?"

"Here," Felix stated, further slicing through the silence that enveloped you. He pulled out a single sealed letter from the inner pocket of his cloak and handed it to you. "The boar… has been trying to reach you for the last four years. Did none of his letters ever reach you?"

Letters? From Dimitri?

You shook your head. "No. Not at all…"

He sighed. "Figures. He said he sent you countless letters, but I wouldn't be surprised if this was your father's doing."

"My father?"

"Are you so out of touch with reality that you're in denial about what's going on in the capital? The boar no longer has allies there," he scoffed at your ignorance. "I'm not going to sugarcoat things for you just because he's your father. He's doing a terrible job as the regent and if you're going to pretend to be blind to that fact, then you're just as terrible as he is."

"Felix… My father hasn't reached out to me ever since he assumed the regency of the Kingdom. Ever since Lord Rodrigue urged me to return to Itha four years ago. I wrote him letters but received nothing in return," you stated with furrowed brows after hearing everything for the first time. "And Lord Rodrigue told me that Dimitri would call for me once he's figured things out. The last I heard about him was after the Western Kingdom rebellion. You were there with him. He… must have figured things out by then, but…"

You pursed your lips as you held the unopened letter in your hands. "Part of me thought he wanted nothing to do with me anymore. Many of the nobles of the capital have made it clear that they hold nothing but disdain for me, after all."

"That's not true. The boar could never hate you."

"I feel so foolish," you said, swallowing a sob before it could escape your lips. "I should have stayed there with him."

Felix reached out and wiped away your tears with a callused finger. "No use crying over that now. And trust me— the boar— Dimitri doesn't hate you. He wouldn't have bothered with that letter if he did."

"Dearest ■

How fare you, my dearest cousin? It certainly has been a while. I can only assume that my previous letters never got to you. You would write to me as soon as you received one, after all. How can I be so sure? Because that is how we've always been. You are my only cousin in the world, the closest thing I have to a sister. You are a friend I know I can trust my life with, regardless of what other people think.

I've been hearing much about your good work at Itha. Many claim that your political acumen is just as good as your father's, but we can do more about that. I know things must have been terribly lonely for you, yet you handled everything with ease and grace.

I am writing to you once more to let you know that I intend to enroll in the Officers Academy at Garreg Mach next year. Many of our old friends, including Felix, will be attending as well, and nothing would give me greater joy than being reunited with you— and seeing you amongst the rest of the members of the Blue Lions House.

Believe it or not, Uncle Rufus and I have spoken about your enrollment, too. He did not say much about it but only agreed, which was all the more surprising given that he hasn't spoken to you much these past few years. I would know since he kept no one else close to him but the Saintess.

I hope you are taking care of yourself and I truly hope to see you again soon. And maybe we can discuss some of the things that happened back then.

Sincerely yours,

Dee.

PS: Let us celebrate all the birthdays we missed out on because we were apart."

In Imperial Year 1180, you joined the Officers Academy at the same time as all of the other noble children of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, forming the Blue Lions House under Dimitri's leadership. It was there you were reunited with your cousin and childhood friends and heard the truth about his way of life these last four years— and why his letters never reached you.

You didn't want to believe it at first, but every detail made sense. The Tragedy of Duscur, the death of your uncle, the Western Kingdom uprising, and Dimitri's solitary confinement in his own home… Everything pointed to your father and his obsession with possessing the throne that was never meant for him.

"I'm sorry, Dimitri… All the signs were there in front of me, but I never… I never…" You said, your voice cracking as you sat across your cousin, the tea and sweets no longer appetising and inviting after everything you heard from him. And Dedue, who wanted nothing more but to trust you after everything your father has done. He did not believe in blaming children for their father's mistakes, but you had a mountain of doubt to climb and overcome if he and the rest of the house were to trust you completely.

"It is not you who has to apologise," Dedue stated. "His Highness said before that he trusted you with his life. If you are still that person, then you must prove it with your actions."

"I don't care if it's not my fault, either," you sobbed into your hands this time. "I'll spend the rest of my life atoning for what he's done, I swear…"

It was only after you calmed down and had your tea that Felix approached you, a dour expression on his face as he spoke directly to you, ignoring your companions. "Are you finally done with your whining? Spar with me, Princess."

"Spare me, Felix. I'm too spent to even think about picking up my sword. The monastery is huge and the academic year has just started. I'm sure there are many skilled people just as eager to test their mettle against an unknown quantity…" You replied with a hand on your temple.

"I'll only be warming up with you," the dark-haired young man said with a scoff and a shrug. "You're right, after all. There won't be a lack of people to spar with here."

"Did you just call me a warm-up session, Felix?" You quirked an eyebrow at him. "You know what? I'll have at you. I'm angry and need a way to blow off some steam, anyway."

"Are you calling me a cooldown session, Princess?" He snorted. "On second thought, it's good that you're angry. That means you won't hold back."

While the peaceful school days gave you a sense of normalcy, those days did not last as long as everyone initially thought. Your latest mission saw the rescue of Baron Ochs's missing daughter Monica, who was found by your new mercenary friend in the bandits' hideout. Her reappearance opened a can of worms that needed to be cleaned out. Following the disappearance of the librarian Tomas, trouble and turmoil brewed in all three cornerstones of Fodlan simultaneously, like a masked puppeteer masterfully pulling strings— and everyone else along with it.

And unsettling as it was, the Blue Lions could only press forward into the truth you long sought, about who was truly running the show in Fhirdiad.

But your enrollment was swiftly withdrawn following the dangerous revelation about the truth of the identity of the librarian Tomas. And though you protested, everything fell on your father's deaf ears.

"He is right to be concerned about you, mine cousin," Dimitri told you as you shared a meal during what was supposed to be your last day of schooling. "And it would be wise not to anger him. That way, you can still convince him to return when the issue has died out."

"But I don't want to go home," you said with a little grumble, absentmindedly poking your food with your fork. "Not after we've only reunited…"

"Scared of missing out on all the fun?" Felix sneered at you, to which you responded by stabbing the remaining teppanyaki in his place and scarfing it down whole. "Wh—! Hey!"

You reluctantly parted ways with Dimitri and Felix and the rest of the Blue Lions House by order of the regent, your father. Ahead of your trek back home to Itha, you made a quick and unexpected detour to the Kingdom to see how he had been doing.

"Welcome home, Your Highness!"

You were welcomed by new Royal staff, all of whom took orders from the regent. Among those who received you at the castle town was a lord you were unfamiliar with by name, but you remembered him as one of your father's companions from the New Year's hunt.

"Have you been well, Your Highness? Allow me to take you to His Grace."

"Oh, thank you, uh…"

"Viscount Kleiman at your service, Princess," the older man gave you a quick bow. "You would do well to remember my name and my face, especially in this coming era."

This coming era?

You tried not to pay too much mind to the viscount's words and simply focused on who you came there for. "Has my father been well?"

"Perhaps you should see for yourself, Your Highness. I'm certain your presence will lift his spirits."

A strange chill danced up your spine as you were led to the former king's bedchambers, where Rufus paced and lounged these past few days.

"Papa?" You called out to him as the aged wooden doors harshly creaked open, as though they hadn't been for quite some time.

"Is that you, my little star?"

Your father looked worn out, and it was evident from the rubbish that littered the room that he accepted no other company apart from the Saintess, Cornelia, who closely stood next to him.

"Have you been well, papa? Oh, it's been so long…" You said, your voice cracking from both the joy and despair you felt as you stepped into your father's space. He was crowned with an unfamiliar circlet of precious blue steel, and the dark circles under his eyes made him look even more ragged and unhewn. He could only grasp your wrists in place as you lifted your hands to hold his face, your thumbs tenderly running over his cold cheeks.

"His Highness h—" Cornelia started, only for you to shoot her a look that could have killed if only possible.

"With all due respect, Saintess. I wasn't talking to you."

"How lovely you've grown, my little star," Rufus managed a small smile. It was his turn to gently hold your face in his freezing hands, which you tried not to notice. "Fret not. We won't be apart for long. You'll return to me once everything has been settled."

"What do you mean, papa? What will you do? What's going to happen?"

He did not answer your questions but only pressed a soft yet cold kiss on your forehead, the kind you were so used to receiving when you were a child.

When it was just you and him.

"Return to Itha, my little star. Stay there until I send for you," he stated as he turned away from you. "Go."

"But papa—!" You tried to reach for him, only to be rebuffed by the Saintess in crimson, barring you from approaching your father once more.

"His Highness needs his rest, sweet princess. But worry not. It won't be too long until you remain here for good. This is your home, after all."

"The Itha Plains is our home, Saintess. You would do well to remember that."

"The Grand Duke has fought tooth and nail for his house's future. Your future, if we are being more specific, Princess."

The same eerie chill swept up your spine once more as you locked stares with the green-eyed mage. Still, you showed no hint of trepidation as you approached her. "I did not wish for him to fight for me. I wish for nothing but to spend time with my father, not the regent. And once Dimitri is crowned king, he and I will return to our home."

Cornelia smiled at you, her eyes void of emotion but her voice was still saccharine and sultry. It was no wonder your father was so enthralled by her. "Of course, Princess. Believe what you will."

The days blurred altogether as you resumed your management of Itha. You expected your father to send for you sometime soon, but what broke your routine was a lone Kingdom soldier allied with the Crown Prince, riding past your castle security with haste.

"I have an urgent message for Her Highness, the Princess of Itha! His Highness and his counsel have sent for you!"

"What's going on? What happened?" You asked as you rushed past your household staff, not a care in the world with how undone you looked.

"It's the regent, Your Highness! The Grand Duke seized complete control of the capital and declared war on House Fraldarius! He is calling for the annihilation of Lord Rodrigue and his family! He claims they are controlling His Highness!"

No.

You felt your blood run cold at the revelation that was sent to you. All the signs yet again point to your father— and his fanatical, maniacal obsession with the throne. With killing Dimitri.

"This conflict will only end with one of them dead," you said, your lip quivering in terror at the thought. "I… I will ride to Fhirdiad!"

"You will not, Your Grace! His Majesty will send for you once he has put the usurper to rout!" Madam Liadan declared as she barred your way to the stables. "Such is the price of peace—"

"There is no peace and there will be no peace even with one of them dead!" You shouted, swallowing the lump in your throat as you flung her out of your way. "Get out of my way, Madam Liadan. I will plead for my father's life if I have to."

"Y-You forget yourself, Princess! Everything he's done, he did for you! You would disrespect him by begging for his life— for leniency?! From a usurper?!"

You once dreamed of officially inheriting the Itha Plains from your father. You dreamed of him accepting your choice of a husband. You dreamed of him as a grandfather, carrying your children— dark-haired, with eyes as warm as hazel and sunrise— and you dreamed of caring for him in his old age. You dreamed of a long life for him, far from all the melodrama he was initially born into… and a gentle death befitting the gentle father that he was to you.

But no matter how good of a father he was to you, the weight of his sins to his family and the Kingdom hung heavy and low in the scale. He would pay the ultimate price for it.

In your shock upon your arrival to Fhirdiad, in the aftermath of the succession crisis and Dimitri's resolution, you fell to your knees in tears of agony, crying and cursing yourself for arriving far too late— for never being enough for him to disregard the indignities of his youth.

"Hey!—"

The last thing you saw before blacking out entirely was Felix hurriedly reaching out to you.

Finally, you dreamed of your father holding you in his arms as you made your way back to Itha following your very first visit to the capital, blissfully joyful and unaware of all that has yet to transpire.

In the days that followed in the aftermath of the succession crisis, it was revealed that the Houses Elidure, Mateus, Kleiman, Rowe, Duval, and many other minor western lords played a part in the assassination of the late king. Dimitri's counsel worked swiftly to ensure your father's part in the ploy was also unveiled and made known to everyone in the Kingdom. You accepted that as the truth now.

Your interrogation was conducted by Margrave Gautier, who accepted your statement as fact. Even if you had known anything, you would have related it to your cousin as soon as you could.

"The Princess of Itha has made it clear that she had no involvement in the matter and knew nothing about the coup," the older man related to the young king and the rest of his counsel.

It made sense that you knew nothing of your father's scheme, for your role would come to pass in the future. For the pieces of his plan to fall into place seamlessly, you had to be blameless and unblemished. He kept you as far away as he could so he could present you as his faultless heir. Rufus would deal with the fallout in the years that followed.

But your father was dead, and you were nothing else but a misplaced pawn.

"I know," Dimitri stated. "How is she?"

"The princess is of sound mind if that is what you wish to know, Your Highness. I believe she is waiting for a chance to speak to you if you will permit it."

You remained confined under guard in your childhood bedchambers in the capital. This place was once filled with happy, joyful memories of your youth, but now it served as your prison cell.

More of your father's misdeeds came to light when you last spoke to the Margrave, and though he does not blame you, he also made it clear that your presence would mean contention for Dimitri. For once, you found yourself cursing the very blood that flowed through your veins. You cursed the Crest you were born with that made your father aspire for things beyond his grasp.

The indignities of your cousin's youth had yet to be repaid, and you swore to him that you would do so in kind for as long as he wished.

When Dimitri finally came to see you, you could only grasp his hands, unable to look him in the eye. "You've known where my heart and my loyalties lie ever since we were children, mine cousin. I swear to the Goddess. To our dead fathers… I no longer care what you wish to do with me, but believe me when I say not even once did I aspire to be Queen."

"I've known from the very beginning," he stated as he held your hands and quelled their shaking. "I believe in you. And I cannot cast you aside, even if you wish. You are the only family I have left… And I do not want for us to become like our fathers…"

"We will never be like them," you strongly declared through your tears. "Never."

Dimitri and his counsel worked tirelessly to restore order to the capital before eventually extending their reach to the rest of the Kingdom. You assisted with implementing many of the reforms after being proven innocent of the regent's attempts at usurping the throne.

You were used to the mistrust of the people, so much that you wished your cousin would delegate you tasks that required others to watch you carefully— just so you could prove that you meant him no harm. That your heart was nothing like your father's.

Your fate, as the elephant in the room, was the topic of discussion in one of their recent councils, where they burned their candles at both ends to come to a resolution. While some of them voted to banish you from the Kingdom, others argued your possible usefulness to the king's cause, including Felix, who attested to your skill with the sword, which you previously pledged to Dimitri's service, whenever he asked for it.

As it stood, you remained a political prisoner granted remarkable leeway— so much so that you were still permitted to eat, train, and spend time with the prince and your friends, much like when you were children.

"The matter with the princess is rather complicated. We simply cannot allow her to walk away from all of this," Margrave Gautier stated. "We cannot allow her to return to Itha, either, lest she be taken away by the remaining forces of the western lords—"

"—and be used as a symbol. A weapon against His Majesty," Rodrigue remarked.

"You're right. But she is no political prisoner. She is my family," Dimitri stated this time. "And she will be treated as such by everyone else while she is here."

Margrave Gautier turned to the young king. "If I may, Your Majesty. You said you trusted the princess. How can you be so sure that she will not betray you?"

"Because she spoke the truth. She never wanted to be Queen, even when we were children. The highest thing she ever hoped to be was…"

A ghost of a smile made its way to the young king's face, only for it to disappear following several puzzled looks from his counsel. Felix was equally perplexed by the sight.

"Unlike her father, she supports my claim to the throne and never once contested me for it. I'm certain that caused some kind of rift between them, but my uncle's desperation and determination to keep her away from the infighting only showed how much he cherished his daughter still…" Dimitri said with a thoughtful hand on his chin. "Since we're on the topic of what should be done with her, I may as well give you the best option. A way to ensure her loyalty to our cause… though I know we do not need such methods. It will require your approval, Rodrigue. But, ah… I suppose it would be more appropriate for the new Duke Fraldarius to have a say in it, since he is also part of this plan."

"What do you mean, boar?" Came Felix's incredulous quip, to which his liege only responded with a small but knowing smile.

"All she's ever wanted to be is your wife, after all."

For Dimitri, there was no turning back anymore from what had already been done. The Kingdom called for his ascension and he cannot put it off any further, no matter how he tried to avoid it. A mountain of tasks lay at his feet ahead of his coronation and you were there to carve open that path for him, at least that was what you endeavoured to do after everything that transpired. When word reached you that Felix would soon become the next Duke Fraldarius, you pondered where your place would be in all of this.

The Itha Plains, its surrounding lands, properties and territories have been consolidated under Kingdom rule in the meantime and all of the dealings you and your father previously signed off on have been effectively frozen. The new king will figure out what to do with the Grand Duchy once the more important issues have been resolved.

While you were initially part of Dedue and Rodrigue's reconciliation campaign to Duscur, Dimitri has made indications that he will need you elsewhere, and that your father's sins are not yours to bear. But until he speaks to you about it, you will continue your work as a basic weapons instructor in the Kingdom, alongside the mysterious mercenary from your academy days, the one who possessed a power so eerily similar to that of "Tomas" and the "Saintess", Cornelia.

It gave you no pleasure to put the knights in place, especially when they were loyal to your father, the regent. Some would declare their fealty to you, their blade under your command should you want it, but it was evident that they were misguided and led away by the false promises made by an irresponsible king who never was.

You missed Rufus, but it was clear to you that the Kingdom would fare better without him at the helm. And you would want nothing to do with ruling even in the future.

When the evening came and training sessions came to a close, it was only you and your mercenary friend left in the castle training grounds to round up and conduct an inventory on the weapons used throughout the day.

"For a princess, you're surprisingly diligent," they remarked as they gathered the used swords in place. "Whenever I think of princesses, I'm always reminded of how… delicate they must be."

"I'm a far cry from delicate, even when Dimitri and I were children, Commander. When Gustave taught me how to wield a sword, I fell in love with it at the first instance. And I suppose it's only fitting even for a girl like me born into the Kingdom, which values strength and our heroic bloodlines over everything else," you replied with a low chuckle as you carefully lined up the spears and lances in their racks. "My Crest made me stronger than the average person, too… So surely there was something I could do to support my cousin, too…"

"You know, Dimitri told me something before the incident… when I was questioning this… gift I had. I thought you ought to hear it, too. You both have the same kind of strength. He believed his power was given to him so he could protect others. Your cousin has always believed in the innate goodness of a person more than anything. That explains why he chose to trust me despite everything. I know for a fact that he believes in you and greatly trusts you, too," they stated with a firm resolution, a spark of hope in their amethyst eyes. "I'm only able to stand here before you because of Dimitri, who believes my gift can be used for the greater good. Do you think the same way as I do? The only thing left for you to do is to prove that you are worthy of his trust. Of our trust."

"I… I'll prove it. I wield my blade in the service of my king. There is nothing more I could want."

Your conversation was cut short when you heard approaching footsteps followed by your cousin's wide shadow spilling on the ground. "There you are, mine cousin. Gustave said I'd find you here."

"Well, we're just about done here anyway, so I'll leave you two to it," your mercenary friend said with a smile. Dimitri gently patted their shoulder as they passed by him. "I'm gonna help myself to some dinner now!"

"Oh, thanks for the help, Commander!" You managed to holler at them as they disappeared into the castle.

"I was hoping we could share a meal ourselves, mine cousin," the young king started as he offered his elbow to you. "You know, we never really got around to talking about your time in Fraldarius lands."

"That week I spent there was one of the most unforgettable moments in my life," you chuckled as you linked your arm in his. "Felix… still smiled a lot back then."

"That is true. I suppose we will see less and less of that once is officially named the new Duke Fraldarius," Dimitri stated as he led you through the castle halls, specifically through the Hall of Kings, where portraits of the members of the Royal Family hung. You paused between the portraits of your father and your uncle, the late king, the brothers in their similar signature Blaiddyd azure regalia, yet still different sides of the same shining coin. "My counsel and I have come to a decision regarding your fate. There were some who wished to banish you from the Kingdom, but I would not have that. I could not agree to that… out of my great love for you and my respect to my uncle, who was nothing but a good father to you, I believe. You are my only family left in this world."

"And you are mine," you solemnly nodded at him.

"I know the Itha Plains is your birthright, but we have decided against granting it to you. There are still some who fear the contention you pose and think you will not be so different from your father. There are still some who will not think twice to herald you as the rightful heir to the throne."

"Perish the thought," you said, your brows furrowed as you shook your head in dismissal of the notion.

"I wish to keep you close, for I know that I can still trust you with my life, but in order for that to happen, you will have to renounce your royal title."

It was an unexpectedly lenient consequence, but not entirely surprising to you. You had no right to be begging for anything after everything that has happened, and to prove your worth and compliance to the Kingdom's cause, you agreed. "That is something I can do. Perhaps something I deserve, too."

"And marry Felix."

???

You looked up at Dimitri with eyes as wide as saucers. He did not just say that, did he? "Wh— Wait, what did you say?!"

"You will marry Felix and become his wife as your way of ensuring your loyalty to the Kingdom's cause."

"I— I would have renounced my title either way, Dimitri!" You attempted to disentangle yourself from him, only for him to hold you hostage with his grip. "A-And what did Felix have to say about this?! He must be seething in anger at having such an important thing be decided for him—"

Your bickering drew yet another set of footsteps this time, followed by the familiar, cynical voice of your childhood friend, who just happened to be your topic of discussion.

"You ought to stop putting words in other people's mouths, Princess," Felix stated as he made his approach. "Are you done talking with her, boar?"

"Since he's here, you may as well ask him yourself," your cousin said with a smile as he placed your hand in the other young man's open palm. "I suppose I'll have dinner with our mercenary friend while you're at it."

"D-Dimitri! W—" You groaned to yourself as you watched the young king's figure walk away from you, as though he successfully led you into a harmless trap.

"What's this I heard about you wanting to marry me ever since we were children?"

Felix was never one to mince words, so you weren't at all surprised that he didn't evade the issue.

It was embarrassing to hear him talk about it upfront, though.

"Th-That's—! Th-That was supposed to be a secret between me and Dimitri!" You squeaked at him. "I-I didn't expect him to actually find it usef—"

He squeezed your hand, reminding you of where you were and the decisions that had to be made. "And you'd rather it remain a secret than find out what I think about it?"

"I…"

"Hmph. Will marriage to me be such a chore for you?" He scoffed as he slowly released you, only for you to grasp his sleeve.

"N-No! I— It's true that I've always wanted to marry you, Felix! But I… I would never want for you to marry me out of obligation! Doesn't it sound like a punishment to you? I-I'm practically a traitor's daughter to everyone else, more or less… B-But this—! This… is such an important matter! This is marriage! I-If we agree to this, you'll be spending the rest of your life with me, of all people…! A-And—"

Oh, you were rambling at this point, your words strung together and incoherent as you attempted to explain your side to no avail. It was only when Felix held your hands in his once more that your mind was silenced from the thoughts that crowded it.

"Princess," he said, his low and steady voice slicing through the noise of your thoughts. "I'm not marrying you out of obligation. This is not a punishment and you are not defined by your father's sins. Only fools refuse to accept the fact of your innocence. I agreed to that decision because I want to marry you."

"I… I—"

"And we're only having this difficult conversation because the boar beat me to it," he grumbled this time, his embarrassment evident by the blush that crept up his neck to the tips of his ears. "S-So what's it gonna be, princess?! Are you going to marry me or what?!"

"Y-You want to m-marry me?! S-Since when?!"

"Wh— Why does it even matter?! Just say yes so we can be done with this!"

"O-Of course I'll marry you, Felix! Th-This is like a dream come true! B-B—"

"I—"

"I-I've liked you f-from the start!" You sputtered at him, your hands burning in embarrassment as you squeezed him right back. "A-At first you were the boy with the pretty black hair, b-but when I started training with the sword and we started training together, I— I've been thinking of so many ways to grab your attention!"

You only realised now that you didn't have to try so hard.

It is now 1182. Two years have passed since Dimitri's ascension as the King of Faerghus. As part of his reforms to the Kingdom, he established his private army spearheaded by none other than the not-so-mysterious mercenary from your academy days, who proved to be a reliable and trustworthy person. They grew to be a well-respected commander by both the nobles and the commoners who banded under the banner of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.

As agreed upon by the king's counsel, Rodrigue stepped down from his position as Duke Fraldarius and passed his title to his named heir, Felix. After renouncing your royal title, the two of you were wed in a simple yet elegant celebration in Fraldarius lands, the snowscape becoming the perfect backdrop of your union.

The promise was sealed with a pretty ring he inherited from his mother. For all his austerity, Felix was a good husband and he was exceptionally kind to you, even though it was mostly him growing and maturing into his role— both as the Duke Fraldarius and as your spouse.

For your efforts in aiding Dimitri in his reforms, you were officially appointed a Kingdom General. The title couldn't come any sooner, with Adrestia's declaration of war against the Central Church. That same church is now knocking at the Kingdom's doorstep and to deny it assistance would be denying Dimitri's ascent to the throne. As a member of the Kingdom vanguard, you understood that the declaration wasn't just a mere threat, but a promise that the Empire would do whatever it could to accomplish what it set out to do.

But the deeper into Imperial territory you step into, the looser the lid on the can of worms becomes— that can pertaining to the cloud of mysteries left in the wake of the Tragedy of Duscur. The string of deceit will unravel by the King's hand, and many of your allies who lost someone dear to them in that incident will receive the closure they deserve.

You don't speak much about it, but Rufus sometimes visits you in your dreams, sometimes in unpleasant ways that rock you awake. When Dimitri was held hostage in Fhirdiad after being captured by the witch Cornelia, you hardly had a wink of sleep because of the image of your father's headless corpse standing at the foot of your bed.

The exhaustion you felt deep in your bones was forgotten in the rage that nearly consumed you in the battle to liberate Fhirdiad. You backed your husband and the commander as they made their way into the castle before eventually safeguarding Rodrigue, who was tired but thankful. In a moment of respite, he spoke of how their captors brought them to heel by means of manipulating the king's heart for his people. Dimitri, who was once consumed by the throes of vengeance for the dead, was so concerned about the living and breathing that he willingly surrendered Areadbhar in exchange for a fragile peace in the city.

There is no peace, you told yourself as you angrily charged at the enemy soldiers that attempted to attack your father-in-law. No peace for me, either.

Cornelia had nothing but a haughty look of derision as you brought her to heel. "Well, if it isn't the Princess of Itha. Ah, but you're no longer that person, are you? To see you reduced to a wife of a mere lord. Your father must be turning in his grave."

"Silence, witch. You're fortunate Dimitri still requires answers from you. I would have struck you down without a second thought if I could," you stated, pressing the pointed end of your silver sword to her throat. "Don't speak of my father. Don't speak as though you knew him. You only corrupted him. And for all it's worth, you were the one who killed him."

That night, you dreamed of your father's decapitated corpse once again, only to find him holding your head in his hands this time.

Ahead of the decisive skirmish against the Western Coalition, Dimitri beseeched you to step away from the fighting for only this instance. He said he couldn't risk you being taken hostage by the western lords and be heralded as a symbol— be used as a weapon against him. Felix agreed with him, surprisingly, but only because your husband noticed your severe lack of sleep.

"Felix is right, mine cousin. We can't have you collapsing on the battlefield because you didn't get enough rest," Dimitri said as you spoke ahead of your war council. "But more importantly, I know the western lords aren't above using atrocious tactics to upend the battle, even more so if they find out that you will be fighting in it."

"For once, I agree with His Majesty," your husband remarked. "Royal title or no, it doesn't change the fact that you are a princess of Faerghus and the daughter of the dead Grand Duke who started this all."

"But don't you see? All the more I should be in this battle. To teach those western lords the error of their ways. To show them once and for all that they will gain nothing from putting me on a pedestal."

Your declaration would have been perfect if you weren't nearly captured in the ensuing battle. It was a misstep you attributed to your exhaustion, your sound decision-making crippled by the fatigue that enveloped your head.

Your head. In your dead father's hands.

No.

When word reached Felix that you were overwhelmed by the opposing forces, he raced through the battlefield in a fit of rage and fury and a flash of aquamarine, nearly razing the enemies to the ground in lightning and ashes.

"Get your hands off my wife!"

You were awakened by the golden glow of the setting sun that peeked through the opening of your lodging. As you moved slowly, you were surprised to find yourself encased in an embrace as your husband slept soundly and calmly on your warmed bed. You were out of your battle regalia and in a comfortable sleeping tunic. There were clear signs of your injuries having been cleaned recently and you couldn't help but think of how much of a burden you were to your allies after having made that thoughtless declaration of strength, too.

Felix mumbled in his sleep, his brows furrowed as he buried his face further into your chest. As you settled into his arms, you noticed the crimson ribbon holding his ponytail slightly coming loose, so you decided to untie it, allowing his silky hair to fall behind him. You caught a lock of his hair and gently toyed with it, curling it around your finger until it eventually came loose.

"Are we… actually a love match?" You quietly mused to yourself. You didn't mind not getting an answer. You cherished these quiet, tender moments where he was nothing but a husband to you. Not Duke Fraldarius. Not a general of this army. Just Felix. Your Felix.

"You're not one for words, I know that much. You've saved me countless times. I don't even know what to say…" You started, your voice hushed to a whisper. He smelt of your favourite tea blend, too. "And for a man who values strength above all else, I still can't help but wonder what it was you liked about me."

"Mm…" You felt his low grumble reverberate in your chest.

The colour of the sunset was lovely, casting a warm glow over your entangled figures, illuminating the space until it prompted Felix to wake.

"How're you feeling?" Came his gentle inquiry.

"I'm well, thanks…"

"That's good to know," he started, slowly releasing you and sitting up. "Because you're going to get an earful from me! This recklessness of yours really runs in the blood, huh? You and your beastly cousin are cut from the same tough cloth!"

Here comes his tirade, you thought to yourself with a small sigh. But it's only right, I suppose…

"I'm sorry, Felix," you said apologetically, your hands gently reaching for his own. "I have no excuse for being caught unaware back then."

"What is going on with you, anyway? You haven't been eating. Your bladework has been sloppy," he sharply replied. "And you've been having trouble sleeping?"

You didn't want to conjure it in your head— the image that's been keeping you awake.

"Hey," he called out to you as your mind wandered, your lashes lowered to your quivering hands. "Tell me what's going on."

"I…" You started, eventually prompted to continue by the way your husband squeezed your hands reassuringly. "I see him in my dreams, Felix. My father. I see his headless corpse holding my severed head in his hands. Maybe I am as guilty as he is."

"You're not."

"Then why? Why does he visit my dreams in that form?!" You sobbed at him, warm tears filling the corners of your eyes. "I…"

"That's not him," he stated. "Those are just your regrets. You regret not being enough. Not being able to save him. So much that you wish you were dead as well."

Instead of lashing out at his realisation, Felix simply encased you in yet another warm embrace. "The truth hurts but it is the truth, regardless. There was no saving your old man after how far he'd gone. And you have to understand that his sins don't define you. How many times must you hear it from me and your cousin?"

You blinked away your tears and gently coiled your arms around your husband's neck. "Does he ever visit you in your dreams, too? Your big brother, I mean…"

"I can't count the times he did," he replied with a low hum. "Perhaps not as grotesque as your father's appearances, but it was still jarring all the same to me."

The two of you sat in comfortable silence before Felix posed another question to you. "Do you remember the jewelled dagger I gave you on your fifth birthday?"

"I do. It is one of my most prized possessions."

"It was Glenn who suggested I give you a dagger. I thought it was strange at first because we hardly knew each other back then… But he told me, regardless of whether or not we knew each other, I should wish for you to carve open a path for yourself. And that's exactly what you did."

"Did I really?…"

"You carved open a path for yourself the moment you chose to follow Dimitri rather than fight him like everyone else around you expected you to do."

"Oh, yes. I think I did that," you said with a soft laugh. "I never wanted to be Queen, anyway. I wanted to be the Grand Duke Itha and your wife, though I knew I could only be one of those."

"Hmph. Well, I'm sorry if the Fraldarius Dukedom is all I can offer, Princess," Felix replied with a teasing scoff. He gently released you from his embrace and reached for a carefully wrapped parcel on the floor. "Speaking of which, I have something for you. My mother had it delivered to us."

"What could this be?" You wondered aloud as your fingers nimbly tore through the thick parchment. "Oh!"

You couldn't take your eyes off the finely made mantle the moment you unwrapped it.

Aquamarine, with cream white fur lining the collar and hem to protect your neck from the elements. You ran your gloved fingers over the Crest of Fraldarius that was embroidered on the cape with sturdy yet delicate-looking silver thread.

"Beautiful…" You murmured in tears yet again.

"I know the Itha Plains is your home, but it's likely that it will go to one of His Majesty's children in the future," Felix stated as he unfurled the cape to its full length before draping it over your shoulders and fastening the clasp on your chest. "This is to remind you that you still have a home. With me."

It was heavy— both the weight of the mantle and the duty tethered to its creation. You would never be the Grand Duke of Itha, but you were the Lady of House Fraldarius and wife of the Shield of Faerghus.

But first and foremost, you were Felix's wife. A dream made manifest the moment you whispered it in your cousin's ear long ago.

You've faced the shadows of your past and supported each other through the most pitch black of moments. Your love, once a quiet promise made in the innocence of your youth, has blossomed into something profound and enduring.

That night, you dreamed of your father in your youth, nary a trace of all his exhaustion, but only a calm smile on his face as he finally bade you farewell, your figure cloaked in Fraldarius aquamarine this time, your husband's gloved hand in yours as you marched ever onward, racing against the setting sun.

୨୧ The images used here are from the lovely webtoon All Colors of Snow by Ah Ai Maria. 💛

#songsofadelaidewrites💛#fire emblem warriors three hopes #fire emblem three hopes #fire emblem three houses #azure gleam #fire emblem x reader #fe3h x reader #felix hugo fraldarius #fe3h felix #felix fire emblem #felix x reader #fe3h felix x reader #floral divider from @/sweetmelodygraphics

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giggly-squiggily · 7 months ago

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Time Wasn't In Our Favor (Demon Slayer)

We're just going for the angst this week huh- kjajkearjkeajkr

Heyo everyone! I wrote this a while back and did a small poll with everyone on which Obamitsu fic they wanted to see: the super fluffy one or this. The fluff won. All this time later I finally decided to share this with everyone! :D I hope you like it!

CW: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR DEMON SLAYER MANGA. Angst, Heavy angst barely any comfort, mentions of past abuse, mentions of past torture, mentions of past bullying, insecurity, blood and injury, death, food mention, almost confessions, just lots of pain and heartache y'all I cried writing this kjarjkekjarjek

Summary: Four times Obamitsu almost confessed, and the one time they finally did.

“Kanroji looks…uneasy.” Obanai mused out loud one day, watching the pink haired Hashira speak with the others. While she smiled and greeted everyone as per her welcome, there was clear discomfort on her face whenever she was alone. She was always clutching the ends of her uniform, tugging on it as if it would somehow get longer.

“I don’t blame her. That perv was the one who made the uniform.” Sanemi grumbled, referencing none other than Maeda- one of the many tailors in the Demon Corps. He was good at the craft, but notorious for his…revealing design choices. “I heard he tried to pull the same thing on Shinobu and her Tsugoku. She burned it before him.” The Wind Hashira snickered, clearly pleased with the thought. “Shame she didn’t get to him a third time.”

“He designed yours too, yes?” Obanai eyed the bare chested Hashira, his scars gleaming brightly against his skin. “I assumed he only did that for the woman.”

“Ay, eyes up here, buddy.” Sanemi snapped his fingers, focusing the other. “And yeah- I told him to make mine like this. Makes the whole bleeding thing easier.”

The ‘Bleeding thing’ was what Sanemi called his Marechi blood- a rare type that demons craved like an addiction. He often used said blood to kill his targets, luring them in with the smell and cutting their heads off clean. It left him with scars all over, but the white haired man didn’t seem bothered by it.

Obanai was about to remark on Sanemi’s other intentions regarding the choice of clothes when his eyes went back to Mitsuri. She was now talking to Shinobu, her stance relaxed once more. It must have been comforting, having another woman on the team to talk to. While he hasn’t seen any of the Hashria leer at Kanroji, he wouldn’t be surprised if those outside their group have, taking in her entire being like a piece of meat.

The thought alone made his stomach turn. He wanted to hunt them all down and gut them.

“Ayo, your bloodlust is showing.” Sanemi reached up and nudged his foot, bringing him back to reality.

“Says the man with the most bloodlust here.” Obanai retorted, earning a snort.

“I save it for demons.” A half truth. Sanemi followed his gaze, humming softly. “She’s a tough woman. You don’t have to worry about anyone being gross to her. She’d probably knock them out with those killer biceps.” He nodded approvingly, flinching when Obanai punched his shoulder. “Ouch, damn- what the hell?”

“Don’t be cruel.” He growled, feeling protective. He didn’t know much, but they seemed to be an insecurity for her- her arms. The way she tucked them in when in groups or kept her hand gestures close to her chest. It was like she was trying to shrink in on herself.

“I wasn’t....” Sanemi rolled his eyes before turning back to the girl in question. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I like her arms. I think they're great.” He nodded. “Don’t hit me again- I’m not trying to steal your girl.”

“She’s not my-”

“But she does look uncomfortable.” He carried on, furrowing his brows. “Especially with the skirt. Think she’d feel better if we force Maeda to make her a longer one?”

Obanai doubted it. Not only would it not be ready for a while, but the implication felt…wrong. Like he was telling her what to wear, or that he was only looking at her legs.

Legs…wait a moment…

“Don’t. It’ll make things worse. But I do have an idea.” Obanai mused, starting to perk up.

~~~

“Oh wow…Iguro-san, these are beautiful!” Mitsuri gushed as she held up the socks. They were knee high, light green with stripe detail down the legs. Thick enough for coverage but light enough so she won’t sweat. They matched the tips of her hair, she realized- a detail she hadn’t even thought of herself. “I love them!”

“I’m glad.” Obanai smiled behind his mask, fighting down the blush threatening to spread over his cheeks. He looked away politely as she pulled them on, Kaburamaru hissing in approval as she squealed with delight. “They’re on! How do I look?” She asked, striking a pose. Already she looked much more comfortable in her own skin.

Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Obanai almost said it as he took in her smiling face, the look of utter joy in her green eyes as she fluttered about- beyond pleased. It was like the sun was eclipsed until this moment- finally peeking out behind a mass of dark matter to shine down on them, enhancing the world around them. Obanai nearly forgot to breathe when she smiled at him like that.

“You look wonderful.” He got out, making her blush and shine more.

One day, he’d tell her.

One day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mm! Mm, mm mm! The smell is amazing!” Mitsuri was in heaven- her cheeks flushed with absolute joy as she breathed deeply. She had gotten back from a particularly long mission, and she was starving. The plan had been to go home and make something, but she ran into Obanai along the way. The first thing to greet him, much to her horror, was the growl in her stomach.

“Hungry?” He asked, voice teasing. Her face burned.

Now they were here- a small restaurant that Mitsuri knew well. The shop owner loved her- she tipped well and always made his day better. When she walked in, the old man greeted her with open arms and a bright laugh. “Welcome back, Miss Kanroji! Ah, I see you brought a date!”

“Oh, this is Iguro-san! He’s a fellow Hashira.” She reassured him, her cheeks bright red as the man and his wife came around to properly say hello. She dared a peek- Obanai looked rather flushed himself. Don’t let this get awkward, Mitsuri. “I’ll have my usual, though er…keep it to one serving.” She shifted, forcing a smile.

“Just one? But we made a whole pan-” The kind man began, cutting off when his wife pinched his arm. “Alright then- a serving of Curry rice for the lovely lady, and for you sir?”

“I’ll have the same thing.” He nodded, his voice quiet. The couple faded away as Mitsuri and Obanai took a seat, side by side along the table. She knew she should sit across from him but…”Sorry- is this weird? I’ll move.” She offered, starting to stand.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.” He patted her hand, keeping her there. He didn’t look uncomfortable- even if he seemed to stop breathing for a moment. Oh dear, did she take too much space? She wasn’t exactly slender. Was she crushing him?

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind-” She began again, only to stop when the restaurant owner came by, placing their bowls before them.

“Here we are! I added half an extra serving for you, Kanroji. I know how much you love our curry rice!” He winked playfully at her before heading back, ignorant to the way her soul dropped to her stomach.

“Kanroji? Are you okay?” Obanai asked, brows furrowing as he took in her pale face. “Is there something wrong?”

“No! No, not at all!” She squeaked, shaking her head as she gathered her chopsticks. “I’m fine! Totally fine! Let’s eat, shall we?”

If she were completely honest- she wasn’t fine. When she usually came here, she was either by herself or with Rengoku. The Flame Hashira ate as much as she did, so she never felt weird polishing off so many bowls of the delicious curry rice.

Awful as it sounds, being here with Obanai- it reminded her of her ex fiance.

“You’ll never find a man who will welcome your presence for the rest of your life.”

“You eat like a boar. What man would want you?”

“Your hair is hideous. And your arms? God- it’s like you're more monster than woman.”

All this time later, and those words still stung. She felt them clawing up her throat, choking her. Her eyes burned as the shame she felt coated her skin like oil, sticky and suffocating. She couldn’t let Obanai see her eat that way. It was bad enough he saw her hair. He saw her fight demons in a way that was without a doubt not fit for a lady.

If he saw her eat like a monster- like a demon…

“Kanroji, are you okay? You look like you're gonna be sick.” Obanai sounded so concerned. He looked at her bowl, taking a sniff. “Is there something wrong with the food? You haven’t touched it. Do you want me to get you something else?”

I want to disappear. She thought helplessly. I want to fade away. I want to be more what the world wants. I want to fit in, to blend in. To go unnoticed. I want to be forgotten.

“I…” She began, freezing when she saw the chopsticks before her, holding some of the rice.

“Erm…sorry if this is…eh…” Obanai seemed flustered as he offered the food, his cheeks red behind his mask. Still, he held her gaze. “I think…I think eating something might make you feel better. Sometimes we get stomach aches from not eating…at least, that happens to me.” He nodded at the rice. “Erm…this is kinda awkward, if you want me to put it down I’ll-”

Her lips closed around the chopsticks, the rich flavor melting on her tongue. It was a little embarrassing, being fed, but… “Thank you.” She smiled, taking the chopsticks from his hand. Taking a breath, she looked at her bowl. She wanted so badly to dive in and eat, but…

“Kanroji, please.” Obanai nodded. “You should eat. If you want, I’ll keep feeding you-”

“Oh no! I got this!” She tried to eat slowly, but before long she was devouring her bowl, lost in its flavor. When she finished, there wasn’t a grain left. “Mm…mh!”

Oh no. Oh god. She forgot. She forgot he was-

The untouched curry slid into her view, Obanai’s eyes kind. “If you’re hungry, eat. A Hashira needs their fuel, and you especially.” At her questioning gaze, he nodded. “Love breathing is a branch of Flame breathing. Those types of moves burn through calories like nothing. You need to restore your energy, so eat what you want.” He nodded. “Besides; I think the restaurant owner here would be pretty sad to let that pan go to waste.”

Her eyes grew misty, but not from hurt. She smiled wobbly, taking the bowl. “Thank you, Iguro-san.” She paused then, suddenly feeling bad. “But your food…”

“I already ate.” He dropped casually, making her stare. “Really. I had those snacks you left me. They were amazing.”

“You really liked them?” She asked, her heart starting to swell. As she turned to her bowl, she heard Obanai ask the old man to bring Mitsuri her usual order. “And some Sakura Mochi. They’re her favorite.” He nodded, making her heart race within her chest. He remembered.

~~~

“That was amazing!” She sighed, patting her belly as she and Obanai left. The restaurant owner and his wife saw them off, smiling at eachother knowingly. She had a feeling she was never gonna hear the end of it from them next time she came. “Thank you so much, Iguro-san. You really didn’t have to pay though! I know my order can get…expensive.” She almost cringed at the amount of bowls she tucked away.

“It’s no trouble at all. You were happy, and that’s what matters.” He nodded, not quite looking her way as he tugged on his mask. His ears were red now, something she found rather cute. “Please never feel the need to hide from us, Kanroji. We’d never judge you for how you live.”

The unspoken “I” was there. It made them both blush.

“Thank you, really. I…” She wanted to say more then. It had been a long time since someone made her heart race like this. Someone who looked at her only fondly as she ate, no judgment in sight as she finished off bowl after bowl. He never pointed it out, only kept the conversation going; talking about missions and life and friends.

He made her feel…normal.

She wanted to tell him that.

She wanted to tell him more.

“Hm? What is it?” Obanai asked, looking at her curiously.

No. Not yet. She swallowed her heart back to her chest.

“Nothing. Just…thank you again.” She smiled, tugging at her hair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Obanai was more careful than this.

As the Serpent Hashira, he was rather fast on his feet. He moved like his breathing style, slithering and evading demon attacks as he brought them down one after the other. At best, he walked away without a scratch.

Today, he wasn’t so lucky.

“Iguro-san! Oh no, you’re hurt!” Mitsuri was beside him before he hit the ground, the demon fading into ashes behind them as her hands steadied him. His entire body hurt, and his face felt wet. When he blinked, nothing fell from his eyes- it wasn’t tears.

Which meant it must have been blood. Lovely.

“It’s alright- are you okay?” He grunted, the smell of Sakura Mochi telling him she was rather close. Her hair was frizzy from the fight, and her eyes were wide with worry. She had a bruise along her chin, and her clothes were frayed at the sleeves.

Bruised and dirty, but she was alive. Good.

“Nevermind me, you’re bleeding!” Her hands reached out, hesitating momentarily before she took his chin, gently turning it to look at the cut. “It doesn’t look that bad- if Kocho-san was here, she’d know exactly how to handle it.”

“It’s alright- I can take care of it.” If anything- he’d prefer to. The cut ran past his mask, cutting it to the middle. In order to clean the wound, he’d need to remove said cover.

The cover that hid his scar and the painful memories it carried.

“You’re so strong, Iguro-san.” She smiled, cheeks pink as she wiped the blood away with a portion of her Haori. “That’s what makes you so great- you can handle just about anything.”

The words made his face heat up, and he was about to tell her not to use her Haori on him. “The blood will never come out!” He was about to say.

Only for the words to get caught in his throat when he felt his mask slip.

“Oh!” Mitsuri caught it before it could hit the dirty ground, the damage it took was more severe then they realized. “I’m so sorry- I must have worsened the damage! I’ll fix it up-” When her eyes came back to Obanai, he looked stricken, pale and shaky as he clamped a bloody hand over his mouth. “I-Iguro-san? What’s wrong? Are you about to be sick?”

He didn’t answer, his throat closed with fear and his mind racing a million miles a minute. No- no no no! This wasn’t supposed to happen! She can’t see it- she can’t!

His fingers pressed tightly against the scar tissue stretching past his lips, reminding him of that horrible day. The knife glinting in the candlelight. The pain stretching along his face. His tears as he begged and begged them to stop, to let him go, to kill him.

All for that horrid Serpent Demon. All to keep the stolen riches the demon provided.

He wished he could forget it. How he was almost given to that horrid beast, and the consequences that came when he escaped.

All of it, there on his scarred mouth. If Mitsuri saw it…she’d know what he was.

A coward. A monster.

“Iguro-san…” Mitsuri bit her lip, eyes wide with worry as she took in the shaking Hashira before her. Then her eyes grew clear. she grabbed her sword.

Before Obanai could stop her, she sliced through a clean chunk of her Haori, the strip long and thick. Folding it, she brought it up and pressed it over the hand covering his mouth, her touch light.

“It’s not much, and it probably smells weird, but it’ll have to do for now.” Her eyes were so gentle, so kind as his hand fell away, his mouth once again secured. Her hands came around and tied his new makeshift mask into a secure knot, careful not to catch any of his hair in the process. “There we are! Feeling better?” She asked.

The mask smelled like sakura mochi and tea and home. Even with everything that happened, she never lost that scent. Tears burned his eyes and cut off his voice, making it impossible to speak. Instead, he reached out and took her hand, squeezing it tightly in his own. He hoped she’d hear his silent thank you.

When she squeezed back, fierce and kind- she squeezed his heart as well.

~~~

Later- with his face newly cleaned and his clothes fixed, Obanai found a small parcel waiting for him. The note on top was written in curly strokes, a heart dotting her name.

Iguro-san, I fixed your mask! It was kinda dirty, so I cleaned it as well.

With love- Mitsuri

He held it close to his chest, his newly stitched and clean mask. It still smelled just like her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Master Ubuyashiki was gone.

He gave his life so he could end this Demon war once and for all.

Mitsuri wiped at her tears, running through courier after courier as she searched for the demon in sight. She would not let Master’s parting gift go to waste. She would make his dream come true!

Now if she could only find the freaking thing!

This particular one- an Upper moon she believed- was rather elusive. Anytime she got close enough to cut her head off clean, she’d strum her Biwa and the room would shift. One minute Mitsuri was above her, the next she was free falling into yet another part of the tower.

“THAT IS IT!” She raged as she stood, racing through more hallways. The changing made her head hurt, and she was sure if she saw another Biwa after this the instrument would only play sour notes. Still- she had to pursue!

Flying high, she raised her sword, the witch once again in sight. “I’ve gotcha now-”

And then there was a door.

Smacking her then and there, pain exploded across her body as Mitsuri flew off the edge. Her nose was bleeding- but she didn’t know if it was from pain or embarrassment.

Or both. Most likely both.

Falling backwards, she knew it was not gonna end well. Her body was already sore from crashing into various walls and floors. This time she suspected she wouldn’t make it.

Suddenly, arms were around her, and she was flying. Blinking, she barely registered her savior before they rolled onto a nearby column. “I-Iguro-san!” She gasped, staring up at him. Her heart did a hundred funny things then as she looked into those concerned mismatched eyes.

And then her face burned, shame bringing her back to reality. “I’m so sorry- I got ahead of myself.” She moaned as she covered her face. “Forgive me!”

“It’s quite alright, Kanroji.” He reassured her, helping her to her feet. “You’ve done well. Please be careful- we don’t know how this Upper Moon works or what her abilities are. She very well could have more than we expected. It’s better to analyze her now and look for any openings.”

“Right!” She nodded, the logic in his voice soothing away her nerves. “You be careful too, Iguro-san. This whole room shifting thing isn’t fun to deal with.” Her bruises screamed in agreement, making her wince.

Obanai nodded, a picture of preparation. “Very well. Let’s-” Suddenly the floor split, sending them in different directions. “IGURO!” She cried, barely breathing as he dodged the column. Obanai called out something to her, but before she could react, she was suddenly flying once more, this time towards the ceiling.

With a wall jump and a slash of her blade, she was safe- barely. She shook it off as she turned to glare at the Upper Moon. “You won’t be able to attack me with the same move twice!” She cried, going for an opening.

The room changes, a door opens. She’s falling again.

Well damn.

“GAHHHHH!” She raged as she fell. She was so mad she nearly forgot what Obanai called out to her.

“MITSURI LOOK OUT!” Was what he called.

Mitsuri.

He said her name.

The realization motivated her, pushing her to her feet. “He said my name…I have to live, so I can say his.” She nodded, running once more.

And then…

“Later.” She decided. “I’ll tell him it all later.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rain would have been appropriate in a situation like this.

Footsteps she knew like the back of her hand came towards her. Gentle hands pulled her up, resting her against a bloody chest. “Kanroji..I’m back.” Obanai’s voice was raspy. He didn’t have long left.

“Please…call me Mitsuri.” She breathed, the phantom pain of her missing arms nearly choking her. There was blood everywhere. She didn’t know who it belonged to. At this point, did it really matter? “Did we…did we do it? Is he dead?” She had to know. She needed to know.

“Yes. He’s gone.” Obanai breathed, blood dripping from the cuts where his eyes once were. She wanted to see them. To run her once there hands along his cheek, brushing away the blood that coated his face and just feel him.

Muzan took that away from her. She hoped he burned wherever he went.

“Good…hey, I can’t feel anything.” She laughed up blood, shaking her head. “I guess I’m dying.”

“I’m dying too.” The words cut, even if she knew it was true. “So you won’t be alone.”

“No…don’t die yet.” She breathed as her eyes filled with tears. “You can’t die yet.” Her voice grew sad then. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t much use in the fight.”

“No, don’t say that. It’s not true.” His voice was so gentle as his hand came up, running through her shredded locks. “Do you remember that day? The day we met?”

“Of course. I got lost in the mansion.” She giggled at the memory, it felt so far now. “You helped me then. Thank you.”

“It’s the other way around.” His voice grew soft as he reflected on all their moments together. The day they met- how she laughed like bells and smiled so warmly at him. How their time together made him feel like they were just normal people living their lives.

“You’ve saved so many people with your bottomless kindness. You should be proud, Mitsuri. Thank you. Thank you so much for letting me stand by your side.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she let out a sob, shaking her head. “I’m so- so happy Obanai. Thank you, for always making me feel loved. Meals tasted better with you. I just- I want to do it all again.” She looked up at him through the blurriness, and it was like she could see him for all that he was- human and the love of her life. “If we are to be reborn, please- make me your bride!”

“Of course. If you will have me.” He pulled her closer, his lips brushing hers as the last of her breath faded away. “This time…I’ll be sure to make you the happiest person alive. I won’t let you die next time…Mitsuri, my beloved.”

Thanks for reading!

#Demon Slayer #spoilers #demon slayer manga spoilers #mitsuri kanroji #obanai iguro #obamitsu #angst #heavy angst with a sad ending #there's pockets of comfort but also lots and lots of pain #tw: death #tw: blood and major injury #insecurities #past abuse #past torture #trauma #lots of trauma bless them #They deserve only love but sometime we need angst #I'll try to write something fluffy after #food

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stepmarchen · 8 months ago

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Comparing different POVs of Shuri's first day at the Neuschwanstein Manor

potential spoilers below:

Narrative POV (above and below):

As Johannes narrates, we get this sickening visual of Shuri arriving at the manor. She's wearing a hat, a symbol in literature of her newfound noble class. It casts her in shadow and engulfs her small head. The bow tied neatly under her chin like a flamboyant collar to her new life.

And unlike the other POVs, she is completely alone, standing before the looming golden manor. A heavy wind blows against her, pushing her forward, forcing her towards the steps. She's stricken with unease, knowing that something larger than life is awaiting her.

Shuri's POV:

"In the beginning it might have been an obligation." - Shuri to Jeremy (ch. 54) "He is the first man I met... who as courteous... and kind." - Shuri (ch. 86)

Shuri's carriage ride to the Neuschwanstein Manor is briefly shown in a fleeting memory. Just from the single panel alone, we see a complex emotion on Shuri's face. She's not giddy to be dressed in pretty clothes or to ride a fancy carriage like Johannes' POV would suggest.

She was just abandoned by her family in exchange for a dollar amount. There was no time for goodbyes or to process that she would be leaving a life of poverty. The man she just met is now sitting before her, as her husband. It was just yesterday that she was daydreaming what her future might look like. She would've never expected things to change so quickly.

Gwen's POV:

"I was born and raised in Neuschwanstein Mansion. I've been a maid since I was young. I've heard many stories, regardless if I wanted to or not. I've always felt a little lonely, a loneliness similar to Milady's. When Milady first arrived, even though it was a little embarrassing, I thought I could understand. I wanted to help you" - Gwen to Roberto (ch 13)

Gwen might just be the closest age peer in the manor during Shuri's move-in. She may be sympathetic towards Shuri given her own backstory, but due to her lower status, Gwen's POV is quite detached from what we might expect. But that gives us our only unbiased take on the situation.

Even from a neutral standpoint, Shuri looks small and wide eyed, unlike the poise of the master of the household. She holds her wrist anxiously awaiting introductions. Even as a maid who lived her whole life around nobles, she's embarrassed and taken aback from the situation. After all, her master took off on a vacation alone and returned with a new wife less than a third of his age.

Jeremy's POV, imagination:

"She was sold at age fourteen. She had no connections... and it wasn't out of love... It wasn't her choice to get married... and then... she became the mother of us four siblings. Has any one of us really thought about what Shuri went through... and how she was feeling?" Jeremy to Elias (ch 100)

During Jeremy' investigation of Shuri's background, he discovers the transaction between her parents and his father. Roberto reports this with a flustered expression, likely crossed between accidentally making the late Marquess look strange in front of his eldest son.

He never saw Shuri during that first day at the Mansion. But he knew enough to draw his own conclusions: his father had replaced his mother. But now that he knows the truth... and Shuri's sacrifices. He's taking account of just how young she was, just how innocent she must have been. A young girl with a bright future ahead of her, only to be ruined by the heavy burdens of his wretched family affairs.

Jeremy's version of Shuri is angelic, idolized even. He wouldn't know the feelings she experienced that day. Wouldn't come close to being able to imagine it. She has always done the most to make sure him and his siblings would never have to suffer the hardships she was put through.

#a stepmother's marchen #the fantasie of a stepmother #shuli von neuschwanstein #jeremy von neuschwanstein #gwen #stepyapping

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dalenthas · 7 days ago

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I've just finished my Rhythm of War reread. Only the second time I've read it, the first being right after it came out. I think I liked it better the second time, having known more of how the story would play out before I started. I think it suffered the opposite problem of The Way of Kings, for me.

When I read The Way of Kings for the first time, I was waiting the entire book for the plot to start. Halfway through the book "Ugh, Kaladin's still in the chasms? Ugh, when's this Shallan subplot going to be relevant to what everyone else is doing?" I didn't know the destination, so I couldn't enjoy the journey.

Rhythm of War, when I first read it, I assumed the occupation of Urithiru was like the Siege of Kholinar was in Oathbringer. A fun little side adventure before everyone came back together for the climax. Then it took the entire rest of the book to be resolved. I kept turning down perfectly good stopping points to take a break because "well, the occupation hasn't been resolved yet, might as well keep reading until we get to the end of it."

I still think Dalinar's side quest to Tukar could've been handled better. "Ishar clowns on Bridge Four's third stringers" isn't exactly contributing to the main plot of the book. Seemed like it was more setup for a future book than necessary for this one.

I also feel like, despite being "Venli's book", Venli herself doesn't do nearly enough. All she does is enable other characters to act. Which, I guess, fits with her Ideal. Still would've been nice to see her do something a little more active than getting Lift out of jail.

Wind and Truth will have to wait, we're getting to the time of the week where my days are less my own. Saturday, we'll start. Hopefully be able to unblock those spoiler tags by the 10th.

#the stormlight archive #rhythm of war #row spoilers #cosmere

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stillness-in-green · 1 year ago

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What Helck Does Right That BNHA Is Doing Wrong

I wrote this out in a spate of frustration a while back, lost it, and then was able to recover it again, so in the interest of conservation, I figure I might as well share. It contains massive spoilers for Helck—details of its ending, its overarching plot, deep world secrets, and so on—so read at your own risk if you're one of the few people following the anime. On the other hand, very few people do seem to be watching Helck, so if you watched the first episode and then dumped it for being too goofy and comedic, this write-up will definitely give you some context for where that story goes.

(More people should read/watch Helck. Please read this and then go read Helck.)

(If you prefer, you can also just skim the Helck bits until you get to me complaining about BNHA’s crappy endgame. Hit the jump, either way!)

Helck: What It Does

For my readers unfamiliar with the series (e.g. probably most of you), Helck’s elevator pitch is, “After the Hero defeats the Demon King, the demons hold a tournament to select the new Demon King. But wait, why is there a human here?!” It’s riffing, obviously, on the foundational JRPG story, and starts out in a high-key goofy comedy mode, which, while representative of its sense of humor, is not actually very reflective of the tonal zone it winds up occupying for most of its run. The darkness and horror elements of the series are foreshadowed by the title character—Helck, the human who showed up to join the Demon King selection tournament—cheerily proclaiming that he hates and wants to destroy all humans. Something is very wrong in the human lands, it seems, and the main character—Vamirio, one of the Four Heavenly Kings of the demon empire, sent to oversee the tournament—uncovering and then responding to that wrong forms the bulk of the story.

That said, it takes a good long while for Helck to reveal the true nature of its conflict. While there are some key villainous figures that have been in play for long before that point, the ultimate truth is that the world of Helck contains a disembodied force that contacts people when they’re in their darkest, most despairing moments, providing them an “answer” for why their situations are so miserable and how to go about fixing the world that hurt them so badly, as well as power to help them do so. The answer given by this force, called “The Will of the World,” is twisted and omnicidal, but between a degree of implied mental influence and the timing of the approach, lots of otherwise innocent, hurt people can wind up becoming the figures behind literally world-threatening dangers.

Eventually, we find out that Helck himself was approached by The Will when he was a child in a bad situation. He wasn’t quite ready to give in yet—he had a kid brother to look out for—and so he powered past it, but it’s remained in the back of his head since that day, ever-ready to whisper its apocalyptic solutions to extreme class disparity and abuse. This gives him a degree of empathy for the villains of the series, even as they do extremely awful stuff that he can’t otherwise forgive.

In the epilogue, a new king is crowned and we’re generally assured that things in Helck’s country are going to improve from now on. The demons are developing magical treatment to reverse a once-thought-irreversible transformation from sentient person into mindless monster, preparing groups that will venture forth to find all the affected humans still wandering the countryside so that they can be helped. Helck himself could easily rest on his laurels, either settling in with the human friends he had to go to extreme lengths to save or accepting his demon friends’ invitation to come live with them, the ones who fought at his side and gave him hope when he was so often on the verge of despair.

But he does neither, because he knows that The Will of the World is still out there whispering to other people in pain—it’s a force of nature that will always be out there, until someday it succeeds at finding someone it can use to overturn and restart the world. It can never be killed, only circumvented. However, The Will can’t act on its own, only through those that have fallen under its sway, and those people don’t start out as raving, gleefully evil maniacs! They start out as people experiencing unconscionable suffering, because people suffering to that extent are the only ones who can be convinced to believe that the answer is total annihilation.

Helck knows better than to assume that simply installing one good king in one overall-good country will be enough to save everyone in the world—or even in that one country!—from despair, and he’s intimately familiar with what that despair is like. So, he packs up with one of his besties and they set out on a journey that will, implicitly, never really have an end. Of course, he’ll come visit his friends and loved ones from time to time, but what he’s really dedicating himself to is finding and rescuing other people, other victims, giving them reasons to hope, reasons to believe in the world as it is now, because, as he himself experienced, that’s the only thing that can really stop someone from falling prey to The Will of the World.

Saving those victims is a practical means of preventing all the harm they would have gone on to wreak, yes, but it also means said victims don’t have to be put to the sword when they turn up at the head of an army of monsters or some shit a few decades down the line.

Helck’s answer to the problem of recurrent, inevitable suffering is thus threefold:

Improve the system at large by clearing out the corruption on top.

Dedicate active, ongoing efforts to redressing the sins of the previous system and helping its victims, even if they seem too far gone.

Proactively seek out and bring aid to problem areas before the sufferers there metastasize into world-shaking dangers.

Its characters are involved in all three of those stages—the heroic side cast does Point 1, Vamirio and her allies handle Point 2, and Helck takes up the responsibility of Point 3. He goes out into the world to be that extra safety net when the better society he helped put in place inevitably still fails people, in places where his allies can’t reach. To find them—the people who are in such bad situations that apocalypse looks like a reasonable solution—he’s going to have to wade, personally, into the deepest and worst mires he can find, pulling people out of that darkness one hand at a time.

As a series, then, Helck believes in systemic change while also believing that systemic change will never be sufficient on its own to prevent all suffering. However, rather than then simply shrugging and accepting that suffering is inevitable and so the heroes will have no choice but to deal violently with the people who fell through the cracks when they inevitably return as dangerous villains, it sends its hero out to do that ground-level work of saving people. And he himself isn’t enough either, but his actions are still meaningful, because every life he saves is both that one soul saved from darkness, and one more vector cut off that could otherwise spiral into exponential amounts of suffering and death.

BNHA: What It's Not Doing

We can see an echo of the path into darkness which turns victims into villains in BNHA, where the villains are not Born Monsters, but rather become monsters because of the circumstances of their lives. The pain they endure, the discrimination and violence they face, leads them to their extremist reactions to try and repair—or simply destroy—a world they perceive as fundamentally hostile to them. While there’s no overarching Will of the World manipulating them for its own ends—All For One is akin to it in how he operates, but at the end of the day, he’s still just another man, not a literal planetary anima—the end result remains the same: people forged by suffering into enemies so dangerous and resolute that they threaten the entire foundation of the world as it currently exists, as well as all those who are living in peace and happiness in the current world.

So, when faced with the prospect of enemies who are an unavoidable consequence of the endurance of the status quo (because the status quo the heroes have chosen to support is full of discrimination and repression), what exactly is BNHA proposing to do about those enemies arising in the future? How will the heroes’ course of action regarding those enemies be different at the end of the story than it was at the beginning? Well, so far we’ve got:

Shouji functionally telling the heteromorphs at the hospital that all they can do is endure their suffering until the people around them decide on their own to improve.

Even as she’s embraced by a Hero, Toga believing there’s no possible ending in which she can reach a world she wants to live in, and so resigning herself to finding a satisfactory death instead.

The seeming resolution of the subplot concerning the civilians lashing out at the heroes for their failure being for them to collectively agree to support heroes even more, with no explanation of what that would change for the children out of view of a hero, like Tenko was, or being victimized by a hero, like Touya.

I feel like the manga wants us to believe that the future will be better because heroes as a group, inspired by the kids of 1-A and with the corruption of the HPSC purged, are going to be more empathetic towards villains as a group going forward. I don’t believe that, however, thanks to even the students’ (and especially Deku’s) continued willingness to completely ignore the humanity of the villains they don’t have pre-existing bonds with. Their empathy for “their” designated villains is admirable, certainly, and a good start on the necessary change, but it’s not sufficient if it starts and ends with that highly conditional empathy.

What is going to be different on a systemic level to help people like Toga or Spinner? What will change in society at large such that the average person on the street will become willing to help someone off-putting and potentially dangerous like Tenko or Jin? What overhaul of professional heroism can we expect to help prevent situations like Touya’s or assuage the generational grudges behind Mr. Compress or Re-Destro? What new oversight mechanisms will be put in place to prevent more children from being scooped up to be raised as weapons like Lady Nagant and Hawks? What can be done to catch people like Muscular or Moonfish at a younger age and intervene before they grow up into murderers? What better counselling programs in prison could be introduced such that someone like Ending might actually be less suicidal when their prison sentence ends than they were when it began? What social safety nets need to be strengthened such that children like Overhaul and Geten wind up in normal, loving homes with the resources to help them sort through their issues rather than criminal organizations and cults?

After the dust settles on this endgame, what in god’s name is going to change?

Further, even if those changes are enacted, what are the main characters going to do personally for those who still slip through the cracks? As @robotlesbianjavert wrote previously, once everything has been done as best it can for the greater good, what’s the second safety net there to catch those who can’t be saved in the greater good’s first pass?

BNHA vs. Helck's Threefold Answer

Consider again the three points Helck’s ending contained—improve the system, care for the victims that already exist, and proactively seek to prevent the creation of new victims—and contrast them to how things are going in BNHA’s end game.

1: Have the main characters improved the system?

No, not at all. The most concrete change to the system has surely been the death of the HPSC President, but no heroes had no hand in that, much less one of the kids. Clone Re-Destro took her out, one villain to another, so no hero had to sully their hands or risk taking on the very office that grants them their authority. Even with her death, we have no guarantee that whoever takes her position next will be any different than she was.

All Might’s retirement shook the system, but the series is out there as I type this recanonizing All Might and his legacy as wholly beyond reproach.

Endeavor and Hawks were exposed as, respectively, an abuser and a murderer on national TV and absolutely no official consequences befell them.

A heteromorphic mob stormed a hospital and the best a professional hero could muster was a feeble apology for not “realizing sooner,” with not a single word from anyone about being more mindful going forward.

Ujiko was removed from the web of orphanages he was maintaining, but there’s been nothing to address how he managed to get away with cultivating his “seedbeds of hatred and ferocity” right out in the open for decades, either, and so we have no real reason to believe the vulnerable children in those institutions are going to be safe from the next unscrupulous figure with ulterior motives to come along after him.

There’s been no recognition whatsoever of the role quirk counselling played in Toga’s repression, no discussion of making prisons more humane, no intention stated of making the current system even the tiniest bit less regressive via actual changes to the law and government-funded social safety nets. The system shows no signs whatsoever of improving, least of all due to any actions on the part of the main characters.

Neither Deku nor any other student has shown the faintest inclination to push back against the reactionary violence demanded of them by the system they intend to join. While they may act mercifully on their own time, they are wholly unwilling to actually protest against the authority that gives them their orders.

2: Are the main characters making efforts to care for the victims that already exist?

Yes and no. This is about the only one I can give them even partial credit for, but partial credit they do still get.

Ochaco made a world-shaking offer for Toga, one that melted away Toga’s aggression and brought her violence to a dead stop. That’s amazing! Shouto has managed to stop Dabi from killing himself and everyone around him against all odds, and we have every indication that he’ll keep dedicating himself to that for as long as it takes. Deku has concretely changed the paths of Gentle Criminal, La Brava and Lady Nagant,[*] and I have little reason to believe he’ll do any less for Shigaraki, however that turns out to look. Attempts are even being made to help the Noumu, following the reveal of Shirakumo’s lingering presence in Kurogiri.

…But that’s about where it stops.

[*] I hate absolutely everything about the way Lady N reacted to him, mind you, but what’s on the page is on the page.

Shouji never bothered to actually ask Spinner or Scarecrow what drove them to villainy, nor do we have any indication that he’s going to follow up with them now that the riot they were leading has been quelled.

Deku’s compassion begins and ends with people whose motivations he can understand; he has none to spare on those whose desires and goals are alien to him, or he attaches that compassion to stone-hearted ultimatums he has no authority to make.

Tsuyu’s got Ochaco’s back, and Iida has a line that you could interpret as being charitably disposed towards Dabi, but no one else in the class seems to be making any efforts to reach out to villains. Shinsou might have brought Gigantomachia to a place where he could confront AFO, but he damn sure didn’t give him a choice in the matter.

Things are even worse on the professional level. Between the flying coffin and the mass arrests, we’ve had no indication that the Pros are doing or are interested in doing the first damn thing to try and help the victims of their flawed status quo.

The first thing Hawks does when confronted with a risen Twice is scream to kill him again, for god’s sake. That’s as clear an indication as I could possibly ask for that nothing he’s experienced has altered Hawks’s methods or his willingness to use them.

As I said above, the empathy a tiny handful of students have for their villain foils is commendable, but insufficient to serve as tidemarks indicating an improved status quo.

3: Is there any indication that the main characters will proactively seek to prevent the pain that leads to the birth of villains?

No. In fact, under the current system, that isn’t even possible for them. That is simply not what professional heroism is or does. Under the current system, heroes are definitionally reactive; they’re not there as a preventative against suffering so much as they’re a topical ointment for it once it’s already arisen. Because the role of heroes seems on track to remain the same as it ever was, heroes can’t go into the dark places because that’s simply not their job.

Addressing bigotry and discrimination is not a hero’s job unless someone perpetuating it is using their quirk to do so.

Preventing domestic abuse is not a hero’s job even if a quirk is in use because quirk use is legal inside the home; abuse is thus a problem for police and social workers to handle, not heroes.

Dealing with corrupt systems and repressive laws is not a hero’s job because they’re enforcers for systems and laws; they can try to change them through the legal pathways available to all citizens, but they can’t bring their powers to bear without becoming villains themselves.

Heroes cannot walk into the heart of darkness of Hero Society because their job is to exist outside, in the open, in the light. Their only function is to stop villains—people using their quirks illegally—and to help out in disaster situations. That’s it. That’s all they’re there to do. And if the parameters of their jobs don’t change, that’s all they’re ever going to be able to do: try to talk a victim who’s already gone sour out of getting worse.

As it stands, if the 1-A kids are still just running around being Cool Heroes Punching Out Villains in the epilogue, they are failing to act as the second layer of aid Helck represents, but rather still only acting as their society’s last defense against those who have become twisted by pain and unaddressed need. In effect, they will continue to be the sword that puts down a monster rather than the hand that reaches out to a victim before the monster can be born.

Right now, I have seen precious little to convince me that, ten years down the line, they’re going to be anything more than fractionally better heroes than their predecessors were—punching first, asking questions virtually never, standing around in the aftermath congratulating themselves for their victories, posing for cameras as the people they just unthinkingly pummeled get packed into police cars to be dumped into a perfunctory legal system followed by a monstrously inhuman carceral complex.

The Impact of Timing

Is anyone thinking that it's not fair of me to compare stuff in BNHA's endgame to stuff in Helck's epilogue? Couldn't most of my complaints be handwaved in BNHA's epilogue? I mean, I guess, yeah, but with the small problem that such a resolution would be incredibly unsatisfying.

The thing with Helck is, that series doesn’t leave those three points for the epilogue; rather, its epilogue is a natural extension of the choices its characters have been making all along.

Helck leaves his chain of command, his kingdom, even his own species, when he realizes how deep their corruption runs. Helck’s struggle to overcome corrupt authority is the foundation the entire series rests on, from its beginning hook of, “Human hero tries to become the new Demon Lord,” to its climax of fighting against The Will of the World itself. (Point 1: Improve the system.)

Vamirio decides upon getting to know Helck that humans, her enemies, are ultimately victims of the corrupt power manipulating them. She shouts out loud her intention to save them, exulting in the sense of relief it gives her to clear away her uncertainty and come to that decision. Later, she passionately declares that she will disobey orders from her Emperor himself, if those orders are to fight humans with the intent of killing them. She’s a figure of authority amidst her own kind, but she is more than willing to go against that authority—and vocally so—if her morals tell her she must. (Point 2: Dedicate active efforts to helping the victims of the corrupt system, even if they already seem too far gone.)

I’ve already talked about Helck’s decision to wander the earth in the series’s epilogue, and this of all points would seem most likely to be relegated to the aftermath, but no, dedication to preventing future tragedies can be found in the body of the series itself as well. Vamirio’s peer Azudora has history with both humans and the transformations wrought by The Will of the World, and he’s been working on a cure since before the series even began. His efforts bring hope to the series at a critical point and provide a model for Helck’s decision at the series’s end, as both men make the same choice: to devote their lives to the hope of doing something that will better the future, even if it doesn’t change things for those who have already been lost. (Point 3: Proactively work to save today’s victims so that they don’t become tomorrow’s monsters.)

In essence, the entire run of Helck is dedicated to presenting the problem Vamirio and Helck are facing, exploring how and why they come to the decisions they do about how to solve that problem, and then forcing them, over and over, to face down their own doubt and fear, their allies’ hesitancy, and their opponents’ highly dedicated efforts to break them down and defeat them, be it through force of arms or despair. The heroes get the ending they do because they decide on the ending they want and then they spend the rest of the series damn well fighting for it.

BNHA’s epilogue handing the kids the passel of resolutions and changes they so desperately need for their bright futures to be remotely convincing—offscreened, timeskipped victories to battles they haven’t even yet realized the need to fight!—will just cement this rant’s contention that the series and its heroes don’t have half of the clarity of purpose and intellectual integrity of Helck and its lead duo of shounen manga Determinators.

In summary, please read Helck.

Disclaimer at the bottom: I don’t want to utterly oversell Helck here. The way it handles its classism angle is simplistic, even reductive, a bog-standard portrayal of, “All nobles are cartoonishly evil save the one (1) pure-hearted exception who just isn’t for some reason.” Its big change to its corrupt system at the end is simply to replace a “bad king” with a “good king,” which is self-evidently not a change that’s guaranteed-effective beyond the good king’s lifespan. Further, there’s obviously going to be a difference in realism between a story set in a medieval fantasy JRPG world and one set in a modified version of real-life, present-day Japan—BNHA does portray a much more complex, well-articulated society.

Still, even acknowledging that comparing the two series is kind of comparing apples and mandrakes, it’s striking to me how similar the themes are when you strip out the language of their respective genre idioms. Both are interrogating notions of traditional heroism and villainy, examining what drives villains, pushing to recognize the humanity in the traditionally monstrous. In that sense, Helck is just across-the-board better, more honest, and more passionate at portraying those themes, while BNHA consistently gestures at them only to bafflingly write them off again the moment they get a little too challenging to deal with.

#bnha #helck #helck propaganda #bnha critical #stillness has salt #my writing #unrelated note: i was reading helck for the first time as i was also reading frieren for the first time #and let me tell you guys #THAT is a fun compare and contrast exercise #need frieren to be a blowout success so it can get a season two and i can get the golden city arc animated please and thank you #but it'd be nice if helck's very...adequate anime did well enough that they could at least get through the whole thing

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batchild9000-blog · 3 days ago

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SPOILER WARNING STORMLIGHT ARCHIVE WaT!!!

R&R with R&R

I love these boys, what can I say. BIG BIG SPOILER WARNING, again, right up front for Brandon Sanderson's Stormlight Archive, especially Wind and Truth. In my head this is an in-world fanfiction written by an Azish bookseller in Urithiru, who is a little too invested in the lives of the royal family. I find it hard to imagine that fanfiction and smut are not both extremely common, and unmentioned to men in good Vorin society. So take that Brandon. It's cannon to me!

Renarin was conflicted.

The several months within the domed tower, despite everything, may well be the happiest time in his memory. Grief for his father and aunt, anxiety for Adolin and Shallan, likewise fear and horror for the world behind their new crystalline prison, were real and omnipresent in his mind and heart. Despite them, Renarin felt joy, and hummed to it in turn.

A warm hand at his back roused him. Renarin opened his eyes from where he was seated, cross legged, on the stone. The view from the very top of Urithiru made the dome enshrouding the place impossible to ignore. The light split on the more tightly curved peak of the dome, sending prisms of multicolored light raining down, the distorted image of the mountain tops hovering strangely in the distance. Sitting up here, so near to where his father… where his father had first bonded the Stormfather, where he at last had united them, where he had died, made Renarin thoughtful. He leaned back into the large man beside him. Their eyes met, sapphire and onyx, the ocean and the night each sparkling in the light of the setting sun.

They kissed.

Rlain hunching just slightly to get the right angle, even still side by side as they were, it ended up a half kiss. Renarin had promised himself that he would not take these for granted. The kiss, in its mundanity, became incredibly precious to him. He moved back. Breathed in the moment, and shifted his torso. Now on hands and knees facing Rlain who lounged on a pillow they had brought, Renarin kissed him again. Just a peck, following it up with one on his cheek, then the other for good measure. Such variety in form and function kissing had. He understood the hype now.

His uniform was unbuttoned to the third after a long day of tending to some small portion of his aunt’s responsibilities. How on Roshar had that woman done it all? Still he wore his bridge four uniform. It was familiar even if Urithiru was technically no longer at war. Bridge four outlasted wartime. Luckily Jasnah also, remained. She did much of the work of keeping the city running. Her hours were filled to bursting with soulcasting duties, arguing with merchants, attending to her mothers remaining ardent scholars, researching the ancient Elsecallers for leads on travel to and from Shadesmar, practicing for hour upon hour with plate and blade, anything to keep herself busy, it seemed to Renarin. He was concerned for his cousin. She had confided in him though he expected there was still much she had held back. Her relationship with the suddenly MIA Wit was not a topic she seemed to be able to stomach yet. Besides that, Renarin could see just how thoroughly Odium had beaten her, and in a more profound way than one could ever hope to beat Jasnah, in her head. He wished Kaladin was here to help her through this. He was supposed to be able to deal with things like that right? He smiled slightly, imagining Kal tromping up to Jasnah as she was now in her whirlwind of distracting activity, and demanding she stop being so storming responsible for once. The image brought him a smile, and a pang in his chest. Still no word from Shinovar. The lack of knowledge about the outside world was agony.

Waving back the thoughts, he stood, the sun having finally dipped over the horizon her warm red and gold vanishing quickly. Renarin pulled Rlain to his feet via his outstretched hand before beginning to gather the small picnic items scattered on the rooftop. They descended the lifts and stairways that led to their chambers. THEIR chambers. The thought brought Renarin’s heart a giddy little flutter. Barely a word passed between them as they entered and began settling in for the night. Renarin showered first yet another thing he refused to take for granted. He liked a few minutes to study before bed each night, it seemed to help his mind absorb the symbols more easily. Writing came slowly, but steadily as he had seen happen with his father. Reading was easier for him. Small stacks of books had begun growing at the corners of the room, on tables, and beneath papers on the room’s small wooden desk. Rlain liked buying him books nearly as much as he enjoyed reading them. Even without knowing what precisely he was buying, the idea of so much information living between the hog’s hide covers seemed to fascinate the singer. He often requested Renarin read him excerpts in a poetic facsimile of a traditional Alethi relationship. Stepping out of their washroom in his pajamas, Renarin leaned up at the passing singer, granting him another blessed kiss. This time a deep warm one, with Rlain’s carapaced hands on either side of his face, before he ducked into the now humid stone washroom. After a cursory drying of his hair near the room’s central heating fabrial, Renarin tucked in under the covers of their bed, pulling Rlain’s latest literary acquisition from the bedside table. The cover was an unassuming maroon, the title, Letters From the Moor. It seemed like a novel, similar to the kind Renarin enjoyed in his youth, although it might be less interesting to him, what without the swords and horses often illustrated on their covers.

Page 20 nearly accomplished what a thunderclast and the fate of the world itself could not do, it damn near killed Renarin Kholin.

The baron’s hot tongue brushed against the conch of my ear. It elicited the desired response I suppose, that being the breathy catching moan that fell to the flat of the wall in front of me. “Sir!” The exclamation, equally breathy, played at the dangerous line between admonishment and desperation. His arms, still wrapped tightly around my middle, squeezed slightly as he answered my quiet pleading. “Yes… Pet?” the nickname, spoken as he had, so ragged and dark. Storms he was as tightly wound as I was! The words flowed over me like a thick coating of something hot and sugary. and melted the tension away from my shoulders and arms before settling finally at my apex. My hands unclenched from his forearm, although they stayed in place, seeing as they were my last bastion of hope for staying upright. “What if someone hears us?” As if to punctuate my sentence with its own absurdity, the highstorm chose this moment to send a rattle of thunder boiling down followed by its characteristic maelstrom winds. We both laughed. The tension, but not the heat of the moment evaporating as he released me in truth. I turned to face him, but did not retreat. “If you do not wish for me, Evelyn, I will go. But tell me truthfully. Bear no fear, for I could not harm you. I will not harm you regardless.” The sincerity there, something so uncommon from that debonair man touched me deeply. My hand met his cheek, and pulling him down into a kiss, I spoke. “Bethyl, I wish it, more than anything” My resolve, beaten and bruised, finally gave. Thank the Almighty.

I made quick work of his shirt, loosely tucked as it was. I may have even sent a button flying in my haste, though I didn’t stop to check mind you. I saw his smiles flickering, first surprised, then amused and truly happy, then darkly commanding, as his own hands went for mine gripping them firmly. He pulled them up above my head, and with one swift movement shifted to hold them in his large left hand alone. His right now free, he traced along the palm of my gloved safehand. It sent bolts of lightning down my spine, building up in my core, the echo -no- the prelude to something devastating. He pulled my glove free after a few teasing tugs on each finger individually. My breathing was heavy as his large body pressed against me. He brought my left hand down in front of him with a gentle touch, releasing the other. A gentle kiss he pressed to my knuckles, then my palm, then my wrist. He undressed me, skirts and fabric fell in a circle I was more than happy to step out of, as he finally worked his belt from its place around his waist. His coverings fell, if he were wearing undercovering, they were not well fitted. His cock sprang free, the tip glistening in the warm light of the nearly dun topaz at our feet.

I resolved at that moment to do something I had been itching to do for far far too long. I sunk to my knees the fabric of my discarded skirts acting like a nice little pad, and placed a kiss to the tender flesh rising high and regal before me. I let my tongue linger. Savoring the mild musky fragrance of him while I pressed open mouth kisses to the head, the velvety soft shaft, the pulsating vein that ran down its length, and so on. The truly debauched sound this yielded from his throat urged me onward. Taking his cockhead in my mouth finally-

The door to the bathroom opened. The book shut too hastily, Renarin realized. Reaching up to his face, that seemed now several degrees hotter than the rest of the room, he tried to steady his breathing. The progress of which was then actively thwarted by Rlain’s entrance. He looked good. Really really good, storms. Clothed only in a towel around his waist, the broad chested singer’s damp carapace seemed to take on a slight translucency deepening to a luminous crimson. Renarin felt himself swallow dryly as he traced the now familiar curves and swirls of his partner’s pattern. Quietly humming to Peace he continued to prepare for bed, Rlain seemed not to notice how quickly Renarin stowed the novel. He watched, attempting not to leer, as Rlain changed into a pair of loose sleeping pants that were his preferred garb. They often changed in the same room, that was not out of the ordinary, but the incessant beating of Renarin’s heart at his neck quickened at the intimacy of it. A more pressing matter was that of the quickly tenting fabric of Renarin’s own sleeping pants. His arousal was hidden for the moment beneath the sheets, his knees raised as they were while he read. He wasn’t so much ashamed as unsure of how to proceed. He knew that singers experienced attraction and arousal differently than humans. Outside of mateform, Rlain wouldn’t feel this sort of… demanding impulse. This was the first instance Renairin could point to where there was no straightforward way to remove himself to calm down or… relieve himself accordingly. Now Rlain approached his side of the bed, and seeing that Renarin was no longer reading, closed the shade of a sphere filled wall sconce dropping them both into a comfortably warm darkness. Renarin felt the bed dip under the weight of his partner. The mental image of Rlain crawling toward him in the darkness did not help his predicament.

He sat up, and draped his legs over the edge of the bed. Rlain’s rhythm shifted to Confusion. “Just need to use the restroom.” He hoped his voice sounded sure. Using familiar tactile landmarks in the darkness he stood and made his way to the washroom. A chip lit the space just slightly, as a night light. He shut the wooden door behind him, and quickly pulling sleep pants and underwear to his thighs and, with a little saliva, began stroking himself. Over the toilet as he was, he was able to lean forward letting his forehead rest on the cool stone shelving above the basin. He hiked his right shin onto the edge of the inset bath. Within a few minutes he was there. Left hand shot up to his mouth in an attempt to quiet the heavy breaths and irrepressible low moans that his climax elicited. He let his shoulders drop, and breathing slow for a moment before reaching down to flush. A soft knocking at the door brought his mind back to the present. “Renarin?” Rlain’s voice was slightly concerned, though spoken to the tune of Curiosity. “Are you alright in there?” Renarin nodded, before remembering a verbal response was necessary. “Yeah.” he cleared his throat, and repeated in an attempt to clear the heady cobwebs of his orgasm from his voice. “Yes, I am alright” Flushing, then washing his hands quickly, he exited. Consequently, he smacked directly into something large and warm. “Oh!” he exclaimed quietly more out of surprise than anything else. Rlain’s voice hummed, practically purred, to Amusement, the vibrations of which Renarin could feel through where his fingertips had landed near the other man’s waist. He felt fingers brush through his hair, worrying at the roots, and tugging gently at them. The closeness and wonderfully tingly sensation on his scalp caused the momentarily abated arousal within him to jolt back to life, something he had a suspicion was related to his Radiant status and the additional physical effects of the bond. Renarin tried to move toward the bed, but Rlain’s hand at the small of his back shifted his direction slightly, setting him on a better course in the darkness… “Can you see Rlain?” A hummed answer, followed up by a verbal one “I believe that singers have more effective night vision than most humans, yes. Most of our senses are more highly tuned in all honesty.” The guiding hand at his back stopped him, and feeling. Rlain at his back, hands resting casually at Renarin’s waist said, “Our hearing especially,” a gentle squeeze wrought with implication “ tends to vastly out measure the human ear.”

Almighty above, Rlain could hear him.

Renarin let his head drop, nodding just a little and shutting his eyes even in the abject darkness around him. He let out a little breath realizing that the time for this conversation was here. “... Rlain, I.” He turned so he was facing Rlain, hands falling to rest on the singer's forearms. Even in the darkness Renarin’s eyes drifted to the floor by habit. He let his words flow to Abashment “You know, of course, that humans experience arousal and attraction… differently than singers. I occasionally need a moment to… compose myself.” He allowed his fingers to gently trace the line of where carapace met skin on Rlain’s forearms, having memorized their shape. “It normally happens randomly, for no good reason…” His voice trailed off, unsure of how to proceed. These things are storming difficult to talk about,

“I understand that.” Rlain’s voice rumbled to … Consolation? Renarin still had trouble identifying some of the rhythms. “I have experienced mateform, however uncomfortable it was. I know the signs.” As if to punctuate his words he slid his armored thigh between Renarin’s own, pressing carapace to the quickly tightening fabric there. Renarin gasped at the unexpected pressure on his now sensitive flesh. Still, he didn’t move, anchored in place as he was by Rlain’s large hands. “You hide your needs, Renarin. Needs that I feel responsible for in no small part.” Renarin fought back the urge to move against his partner’s leg.

He spoke, disregarding how ragged his voice had become. “Don’t blame yourself, Rlain. It is the simple result of living with someone you find so attractive.” He chuckled a little “That new book is also… of an exciting nature, hence.” He gestured towards where he believed the washroom was. A measure of Surprise from Rlain, then to Amusement,

“I wondered why that shop girl gave me such a strange look. I’m used to confusion, anger, disgust; but she seemed completely dumbfounded.” Renarin laughed again, this time reveling in the feeling and letting his head fall to Rlain’s chest in front of him. “Renarin, I don’t wish for you to disregard or hide this thing. That is not what I meant.” He hummed to an unfamiliar rhythm for a moment, trying to find the right words. “I am, for all intents and purposes, your mate. Typically ‘once-mate’ is used outside of the form, however, that seems inaccurate. I believe it is my duty to help you accordingly, if you will allow it.”

Renarin tapped his partner’s arms absentmindedly to Relief. “I couldn’t ask you to do that, Rlain. It seems… unfair? I guess. In all honesty, I don’t have enough information on the matter to know how you would be able to help.” At that the two both attuned to Consideration, humming as one.

“I… When I was in mateform. I had time to consider this thing. If you are willing, I would like to try.” Renarin cocked his head a little, Curiosity beneath his fingertips.

“Ok, yeah. Urk!” the exclamation being the result of Rlain pressing his hips toward the bed, tipping him backward through the darkness and onto the soft sheets. Renarin laid there for a moment, unsure of where in the room the other man had gone. The red light of the heating fabrial intensified enough to illuminate Rlain at its side adjusting the controls. In this light the red in Rlain’s pattern stood out starkly, liquid rubies running in rivulets over shoulders, across muscular shoulder blades, and down his armored stomach to where they were lost beneath those loose sleeping garments. Renarin’s throat again ran dry imagining their destination. The light also revealed his own state. Pants, only hastily redonned, held low to his hips. His erection, now fully restored, threatened the security of his waistband. Hopefully he would need it to hold for much longer. Rlain stood and stalked over to the bed. Renarin’s position made just how storming huge the man was in warform all the more obvious. He felt the rhythm of Awe bubble up in his chest. Rlain moved the pillows at the head of the bed into a little cushioned mound, then patted the area indicating that Renarin lay there. He moved accordingly, and was rewarded with Rlain’s fingers in his hair, gently running through then smoothing down his unruly locks. Rlain leaned down and proffered a kiss, his left hand remaining mussed in Renarin’s hair, the other gently holding his chin in place. The rhythm of Praise rang out as Rlain pulled away from the kiss and gazed lovingly down at his partner.

Renarin’s eyes were glued to Rlain as he made his way to the foot of the bed, and gingerly climbed forwards onto it. The mattress dipped beneath his weight; he reached forward, pulling off Renarin’s trousers and undergarments. The fabric was discarded, leaving Renarin wholly bare. Renarin hadn’t experienced anything like this before, but he held to the familiar. The comfortable room, the man he loved, that firm gentle touch on the top of either thigh as Rlain studied his face. “You will tell me? If it becomes too much, Renarin, or if you wish to stop?” He nodded. “Good. Also tell me if you like any specific thing in particular.” he tacked on.

Renarin’s hand moved to run through his hair as he nodded again “I will.” Seeing his partner in this position, poised just above his waiting cock, what had the book called it debauched. A fine descriptor. Rlain repositioned slightly so he was essentially lying between Renarin’s legs, large torso pinning his thighs in place. One arm draped over Renarin’s right thigh as a support. The other arm began to touch Renarin lightly. First palming the warm skin low on the stomach, he inched closer and closer to the now fully erect member which shook gently with each of Renarin’s shallow breaths. He moved his hand up and down Renarin’s shaft, a familiar movement from many years ago. A bead of preejaculate collected at the tip, and was soon swept up in the languid movements of the singer. The occasional sweeps over the head caused a quiet hitching in Renarin’s breathing. The lubrication from before was beginning to dry with the additional friction. Rlain lowered his head to the tip, and trying his best to avoid contact with any teeth, brought the man into his mouth. He added suction, and Renarin gasped, his hips jolting just a little. The smaller man’s hand fell to the bed, seeming unsure of what to do, scratching at the sheets and gripping the air ineffectually. Rlain guided the hand to his helmet crest, which ended just at the back of his skull. Renarin held to it like a lifeline, allowing Rlain to continue. Continue he did. Rlain gained some confidence that he wasn’t going to accidentally bite his partner. Once he felt comfortable he worked faster, letting his free hand stroke the final third that wouldn’t fit in his mouth with each bob. Renarin’s legs began to shiver erratically.

“Darling-” a hoarse whisper. “I -mmn… I’m going to come.” Rlain’s left hand squeezed Renarin’s thigh in confirmation. The Alethi man’s breathing became ragged. He soon came, one hand still clutching desperately at Rlain’s crested carapace, still in the other man’s mouth. A moment later, after Renarin opened his eyes when had he squeezed them shut like that?, he felt a dry cloth gently dabbing at his sensitive groin. He saw his lover, still between his legs, with a slight smirk and a handkerchief in hand.

“Feel any better?” The singer asked. Renarin was too blissful to identify a rhythm, but the voice felt warm. He also had trouble formulating a coherent verbal answer at the moment, settling for a slight nod and a hum in response. The handkerchief was laid aside once Rlain determined him sufficiently cleaned. Renarin reached up for the singer’s head crest, a motion that fell flat, as it was just out of reach from his current seated position. With an over exaggerated huff, he let his hand fall back to the bed. Amusement played at Rlain’s features and his humming as he dipped his head forward in answer to the silent request. With the target now within reach, Renarin could take hold of the carapace, and with gentle force, haul Rlain face to face with himself.

They kissed.

A warm, passionate, deeply grateful kiss that Renarin wanted to hold forever. He relented, however, and shifted his light grip on Rlain to have him rest his head on the smaller man’s chest. Rlain obliged, letting his weight drop. A long satisfied sigh left Renarin. Within a few minutes, both were soundly asleep.

#stormlight archive #stormlight spoilers #m/m romance #rlainarin #renarin x rlain #romance #what is the stormlight archive if not extremely long form boy love? riddle me this batman #wind and truth #way of kings #words of radiance #oathbringer #rhythm of war #cosmere #brandon sanderson #books and reading #fanfiction

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queenburd · 7 months ago

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there's a hole where your heart lies (i can see it with my third eye) - 1

A/N: hello. hi. I have this teslaverse/Queenie fic that I've been working on for the better part of two years, possibly longer, and it's just been kind of stuck for a while. but I think about it often, and chapter 1 has been done for a solid minute. I've edited it and re-edited it and it's just. it's sitting here. I wanna show people. so I am posting chapter 1 for now. and if I get more done, then I get more done.

warnings for this fic as a whole...? there's a lot of child trauma, but to get into details would be massive spoilers and I'm going to keep them under wraps. for this chapter? well, there's rather dismissive language about horror victims, and there's an extended horror scene near the end. also, BUGS.

chapter 1

The world's in gray-scale.

The dirty white buildings are tightly clustered, in a courtyard that only barely meets the definition—it's a glorified parking lot, if anything. Dark gray concrete stretches out in all directions, cut through with lightning-bolt cracks that are unevenly colored in with rubbery black filler. A low fog hangs heavy above bare trees and benches with once-white paint that flakes off the dead wood.

There's no wind, but the stagnant air still manages to sting cold, sharp and biting. There's a deadly silence that rings, makes one uncomfortably aware of his own heartbeat and breathing. An abject misery hangs from the sky over the buildings like a thick, suffocating blanket.

In truth, the place seems more like a penitentiary than a children's school.

At the end of the empty lot, from a narrow gap between buildings, comes the grating gravely noise of an object being dragged across the concrete. It approaches steadily in the same way rain drums against the roof of a car; a consistent thrum of rolling, unending noise.

The child crosses the concrete at a steady pace; her wheeled backpack rolls through the silence in a deafening grind that thunders loud like a heartbeat, louder and louder and louder still, until the moment it stops. The silence races back in to fill the gaps, faster than the mind can conceive, leaving a sensation like ears popping under the release of pressure.

The girl and her cargo have stopped. Her eyebrows are furrowed, mouth set in a perplexed frown that turns into an abject, angry scowl.

“You're not supposed to be here.”

Kass snaps upright from the mattress, lungs burning for air. His hand clutches frantically at his chest where his heart pounds away under his skin, viciously trying to escape him. Dib hovers at his elbow, eyes wide and flicking between him and his bed-mate. She's still, chest rising and falling slowly; her breath softly rattles on every exhale. The pads of Kass's fingers press to his aching sternum, massaging at the space to little avail as he tries to catch his breath. His mouth is dry and cottony; he takes the time to swallow and find it in him to speak.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

It's been four days since he pulled the van back up into the garage; four days since he gathered up her limp, light body from the cargo hold and carried it into the garage through the back doors. Four days since Dib paced back and forth, crushing a feather that's dangled off his wrist for the better part of two years in his fist, pleading, “I need help, I need help, come on, why isn't it working,” as Kass set her down onto his bed with a terrible gentleness, and set his body into autopilot so that he wouldn't retch.

Four days of fighting the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her awake, while Dib frantically went through his own dark websites trying to figure out what went wrong.

Four days. Four days ago they were sitting next to each other in the van.

The streetlights are cutting stark patterns through the dirty windows of the van as it grumbles down the eerily quiet city street. The yellow-orange beams aren't enough for Dib to see his notes for more than a couple seconds before they are gone, then there again, then gone. He grimaces where he sits in the cabin, just behind the driver's seat.

“Do we know anything about the survivors?”

“Survivor, singular. Not much more beyond what I sent you,” comes the terse reply from the driver's seat where Kass white-knuckles the steering wheel, eyes straight ahead. “The little delinquent's comatose, and he's not getting better. Even with the feeding tube, doctors are saying it's getting worse.”

“Some kind of vampire maybe?”

“Definitely parasitic, but nobody's caught anything creeping in and out the place.”

May looks out the window from her place in the passenger seat silently, her shoulders hunched and curled inwards. Dib shifts uncomfortably, catching how the streetlights cut her profile in the window. He watches Kass turn his head towards her, like he's trying to catch her in his peripheral, before something in his jaw tightens and he focuses on the road.

This isn't what Dib was expecting when Kass texted him the previous night, suggesting he assist with a paranormal hunt. When they'd discussed it, there had been no mention of... this, this weird, palpable tension that's settled over the two people in the front seats. He doesn't really know what to do with the suspicion he's likely been invited along to break some of that tension.

He pushes through valiantly. “What about the other kids? I know their condition was, uh, pretty bad, but couldn't get much detail off the news articles.”

“Husks,” Kass says, his tone clipped. “Dried up like they'd been there decades. No bites, no scratches, basically mummies without the wrapping paper.”

“But the articles said they'd been missing--”

“Four days, I know, Einstein. You do realize I read the articles before I sent them to you, right? Why do you think the nasty particulars were kept out of them? The press would have a field day if they knew how the kids looked. It's why all their parents opted for torching. Can't imagine any of them would be interested in open-casket.”

It's crass, which isn't new. Beside Kass, May's fingers curl a little tighter into her sleeves. The van jostles as it pulls off the street into the empty parking lot in front of the deteriorated storefront. It comes to a rough stop that leaves Dib gripping the shoulder of the driver's seat, before the engine dies.

“Right,” Kass says. “Come on.”

They exit the vehicle in relative silence. As he climbs out the back, Dib examines May's face closely. Her eyes won't meet his, a fact he's becoming more and more alarmed by, but before he can try to reach out to her, she's trailing away from the van towards the boarded up storefront without a word. Huffing, he slams the door to the cabin shut and runs to catch up with Kass, who is two steps behind May, hands shoved into his coat pockets.

“I thought you said this place was closed up. It looks in bad shape. Why are the lights on?”

“Whole block is paid for by the city. Since the other storefronts are open, they don't bother trying to get this one shut down. Plus,” Kass says with a grimace, “wiring's at least two decades old. It's all knotted up with the other stores, so taking it out would mean rewiring the whole bloody building. Costs less to just let the bulbs burn out.”

True enough, past the dirty and broken panes at the top of the store windows, the lights inside flicker with irregularity. When they step onto the pavement, Dib can't help how his eyes are drawn to the bright yellow police tape that flutters slightly in the night breeze, stretched in front of the locked sliding doors. “You sure we're not going to have to worry about authorities?” he asks suddenly, uncertain. “Isn't this an active crime scene?”

Ahead of them, May has shifted without looking back and flown up to one of the broken windows to creep in. Kass's gaze follows her, his mouth a firm thin line. “Not anymore. Police can't find evidence of foul play, since they've gotten fuckall from the scene they're trying to retrace the victims' steps. Hell, they can't even pinpoint what day they died because of the condition of the bodies, so they're looking into other avenues.”

“But,” Dib starts, gritting his teeth when the front doors slide open slowly with a grinding noise, the padding bristles rotted and the mechanism complaining from lack of oil. May pushes them to fully widen with a grimace, and tears at the police tape with hardly a thought. “But,” he starts again, “you guys are pretty sure it's supernatural.”

“Like you said. Vampiric tendencies.” Kass steps into the store past May, and pauses there. Dib narrows his eyes, squints at the way Kass's arm lifts, as if to set a hand on one of her shoulders—before it moves up instead to scratch at the back of his head. “Hurry up now.”

Dib huffs again and follows, falling in step with May, who had stayed in the door frame. “Hey,” he says, nudging her shoulder with his to try to catch her eyes. “Thanks for getting the door.”

May finally meets his gaze, offering a crooked little half-smile that slips away far too quickly for his liking. Her brows are creased upward, and in the flickering LED lights he can't help seeing the deep dark shadows under her eyes. “S'what I'm here for.”

“Pfft, no, there's plenty of other ways we could've gotten in, you're here for way more important reasons.” Dib grins. “Somebody's gotta have some sense here. You are the one with the brain cell in the party.”

That prompts a quiet huff of laughter. “Truly, we are doomed.”

“When you two are finished playing out your sitcom,” the short tone snaps from ahead, “come look at this.”

Rolling his eyes, Dib focuses forward again, where Kass has stopped just past the customer service counter near the store entrance. He finds him looking down the expanse of the building with a grimace, and follows Kass's gaze.

“Jeez. This place is worse than the garage was when you were living in it.”

The store may have closed several years ago, but it still hosts plenty of racks and rows and shelves, numerous nooks and crannies covered in dust, grime, cobwebs, and who knows what else. It's big, too, and it only feels bigger from the broken mirrors that line the ends of the clothing racks and hover in every dark corner of the building. It's impossible to see the entirety of the store from the front, the view blocked by the shelving and the supporting pillars, save for the two main walkways down the length of it. Overhead, bugs drift lazily around the inconsistent lights.

“I thought it would be... emptier,” May says from Dib's other side. “I mean, I know the whole chain closed, so they'd have to try to sell the stands and so on, but... I guess they didn't manage.”

Kass taps his index finger against his thigh in irritation. “Bollocks. Right, strategy is going to have to change considering the mess we'll have to sort through. We'll have to be methodical about this.” He turns suddenly, his annoyed squint aimed at May. “You used to work retail. Any suggestions?”

She seems taken aback that he's looking to her, so she stumbles through her words for a few seconds. “Oh, I—um, when—When I worked retail they had us in sections for our shifts. You'd sort of weave through the aisles and shelves in that section to make sure everything was in place. And, you know, to keep an eye out for security devices.” May brings her hand up to her mouth, curling a light fist to press against her lower lip while she thinks. “Oh, and, when going to and coming back from breaks, we'd have to loop the perimeter and go through the aisles there in the same way.”

He nods, clearly thinking while he paces forward a few steps. “So starting at the corner and weaving through to make sure nothing's overlooked. I'll take the front left side and head towards the back. Astro-boy, head to the back right side and move towards the front. Duckie, take the middle racks.”

Dib frowns crookedly. He can see the logic in Kass's strategy, but it's definitely not the safest approach. Beside him, May seems to have similar thoughts.

“I don't know if it's such a good idea to split up, Kass,” she starts, before stepping back as Kass turns to stride towards her.

“What do you suggest, then? If you've any opinions on the subject, please feel free to share with the rest of us.”

Dib's missing something, if the way Kass's words make May's shoulders go right up to her ears is anything to go by. He watches uncomfortably as she visibly steels herself, words tripping through a false start. “I'm not—I'm just saying it's a lot more dangerous that way.”

Kass's voice becomes poisonous saccharine. “How about I go start in the corner, and you come back to me when you decide what you want to do instead, if what I want is clearly so unrealistic.” The humor drops and leaves chilly anger in its wake. “You make up your mind and tell me what you want. If you ever feel like bringing it up.”

“That's not—” she starts, but he has already stepped past her without giving her another glance. Dib watches her forcefully swallow, hands curled into little fists that she presses under her arms, shoulder curling inward. “That's not fair,” she finishes quietly, to nobody in particular.

There's a creeping awkward silence, where neither she nor Dib move. Then, with a small huff, May presses her fist to her mouth again and begins walking with purpose. “C'mon,” she says quietly. “We'll weave the right side together, see about getting things done more efficiently.”

Dib trails after her down the right main walkway towards the back of the store, heels of his boots feeling loud on the filthy concrete tile and broken glass. “Hey,” he says, mostly to her back, “May, slow down, c'mon.”

“What, Dib?” The question is short, terse, but she obliges, lets him alongside her. From here he can see her eyes are still on the floor, her arms still tight bands against her chest. They pass mirror after mirror, and May's profile is distorted in the cracked reflection. It makes him uneasy, how many mirrors there are.

“Are you okay? No, wait, that's a dumb question,” he admonishes himself quickly. “You're not okay, I can see that. But—what's going on between you and Kass? I mean I know it's not my business, we've been over that a million times, but I'm really... you look...”

“Like shit,” she finishes in a deadpan voice. “Yeah, I know.”

“I mean I wasn't gonna say that.”

“Yeah, but we both know it's accurate.” May gives a hard sniffle, gritting her teeth like she's angry with herself. “It's—We're. We had a... disagreement. He's angry. He's...”

Dib scowls. “He shouldn't be taking it out on you, whatever the hell it is he did.”

“He didn't—Dib, you can't always...” They reach the back of the main building, and May stops and turns to face him, pinching the space between her brows hard enough to dent the skin with her nails. “He's frustrated, and it's my fault. He's allowed to feel frustrated with me.”

“That doesn't change the fact he's being needlessly mean.”

“Can we please not talk about this anymore?” There's a desperation in her voice, and a threat of her voice cracking. She looks up to the ceiling, where the lights capture the passing silhouettes of winged insects, moths and gnats alike. Her eyes shine as she clearly and valiantly attempts to not cry in front of him. “Can we just do this and, and I'll sort it out myself? Please?”

Dib audibly lets the air out of his nose. “I'll stop bugging you. Here,” he says suddenly, “you take the right side starting from the back. I'll take the left side from the back, and meet up with Kass halfway. We'll start on the middle.”

May's eyes flick from the ceiling to him, the corners lined with resignation. She looks so deeply tired, and below the flickering light the bags under her eyes look stark, the sockets sunken and shadowed.

“You know that I know you just want to pick a fight with him, right.”

“I'm not gonna pick a fight!” he says, unconvincingly defensive.

She sighs and squeezes her eyes shut, clearly frustrated but too worn to pursue the subject. “Fine. Go on. Don't hound him though. I'll meet up with you in a bit.” She doesn't look at him when she turns the corner and walks away from him, her silhouette terribly small besides the tall stands before it disappears from view entirely.

Dib takes a deep breath, and then he goes to the corner. He turns, and he doesn't weave, but beelines for where Kass is about a third of the way through the aisles, crouched by an endcap that faces the wall.

“Thought I told you to go to the other side, Encyclopedia Brown,” the man states without looking up from where he's examining something on a low shelf.

“May's started there. I need to talk to you.”

“No, you don't,” Kass retorts. “You need to turn back round and trot off like a good loyal chihuahua and take your nose right out of my business where it doesn't belong. I know you have eyes, Dib, but according to everyone in your little yes-man group, you also have a brain, so do us the honor of using it for once, and keep your trap shut.”

“Okay but you realize you just brought it up yourself before I could even say anything.”

“I'm well aware we're about the furthest thing from subtle, Columbo, even someone as emotionally constipated as you would pick up on it.”

“Could you stop being an asshole for five minutes?” Dib says utterly exasperated. “I know you don't care about what I think, and I know it's not my business, but May's in bad shape and you have something to do with it. Big shocker, I know, but I have a problem with that!”

Kass finally looks away from the shelf to put his elbow on his knee and press his forehead to his fist with a grimace. “I know, chrissake. I know, Dib.”

His tone is startlingly pained, even fraying with a waver laced through his words. Dib hasn't heard anything akin to it in his life—well, no. That isn't true. It's remarkably reminiscent to an apology offered in a deserted mall to a younger Dib. The stark surprise is enough to render him silent.

Kass continues without acknowledging whatever might be on his face. The man looks almost agonized, teeth grit and brows drawn tightly together.

“You think I want this? D'you think I find it fun? That I enjoy being an absolute arse-shit to the one person who I—who actively enjoys my presence? I don't, believe it or not, I actually truly don't.” He stands, turns sharply to face Dib, expression hardened. “But this isn't on me, this whole clusterfuck. I can't fix it. It's broken but, if you can even comprehend it, I'm not the person who cocked it up and has to try to patch it.”

Dib swallows, body tensing when Kass approaches and bullies his way into his personal bubble. They're about matching in height these days, so Kass can't loom over him like he used to, but the man's whole posture is still actively aggressive, on the offensive--

No. That doesn't seem right.

There's this thing that some species in nature do to protect themselves—it's called deimatic behavior. The phrase is used to refer to animals that do things when under threat, like make themselves look bigger, or show off bright toxic colors, in the attempt to scare off the thing hunting them. Frill-necked lizards fan out the frills on either side of their faces and open their mouths wide while standing on their hind legs, to look as large and imposing as possible. Some species of snakes flatten the skin around their heads to look more like a cobra. It's a bluff tactic, only really a type of defense mechanism.

What Kass is doing is not much different, Dib thinks. He looks posed to strike, but he's only resorted to this after an intense negative reaction because of what Dib said. He's trying to look large because he's trying to protect himself.

Dib has seen Kass in a bad way before, but hindsight is 20-20 and he lacked the context at the time to recognize a large amount of the cruelty was means of lashing out to keep himself safe. It doesn't help that, as a baseline, Kass is sullen, unpleasant, sarcastic and all around nasty around most people.

But, when Dib was younger, Kass didn't need to posture as much, not until he was on the back foot. He only doubled down when he felt actively in danger.

So this...

Kass seems to realize his reaction in the same moment, because he steps back and pinches the brow of his nose, letting out a breath.

“I know she's not okay. I know I'm not helping. I get that you have it in your head that you can just thwack me over the head to the point of concussion until I apologize or some other children's show nonsense, but this is not something either of us can fix. We can't just put a plaster over it like a baby boo-boo. Do you realize how aggravating that is, to see something so fucked but not have any power over the situation?”

Dib swallows. He bites the inside of his cheek.

“She said you were frustrated with her. I thought she was just—trying to justify you being a shithead.”

Kass doesn't say anything to that, rubbing his hand against the side of his face.

“Did she... do something?”

“She didn't do anything,” he finally mutters. “She never--”

He's cut short by a noise Dib doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget. May is screaming.

They're both moving before his brain even fully processes the sound; experience has ingrained instinct. Kass bolts ahead of him through the aisle, and they both see the stark, blazing light that reflects off the mirrors and leaves spots in Dib's retinas. It pulses and shines like a star, there by the right walkway where the aisles turn into racks.

They're still a few yards from it, their boots thudding and squeaking loudly on the dusty floors, when the screaming cuts out. Kass lurches forward, gun drawn and arm yanking at the wheeled rack, pushing himself forward. Those last few feet, Dib pushes himself desperately for a last burst of speed, so he's unprepared to run face-first into Kass's shoulder where he's stopped suddenly.

Before them, May screams around a massive bony hand that wraps around her face to hold her entire skull against the floor. The sound is muffled by the noise of swarming insects—moths of every size, in the air, on the floor, crawling out of the thing that has pinned May to the ground while her heels skid and squeak against the tiles in a futile bid for traction. They're in May's hair, on her clothes. They flutter through the exposed ribcage made of rotting wood--

The monster is a massive, skeletal thing. Wide empty sockets stare at its captured meal, out of a shattered skull where the winged insects crawl and alight on the branches of a dead tree. It's part bone, part wood, part flayed skin and exposed muscle, all pressed down on May's chest, its thin limbs caging her small body.

Kass shoots it straight in the skull, expanding the shattered hole into the eye sockets. The only reaction it provides is a tip of its head, bits of matted thin hair swaying as it tilts its face towards them.

The noise of the swarm rises, moths flying in thick clusters as Kass shoots again at a target Dib can now barely see. “Stop, stop, you'll hit May!” Dib shouts over the noise—but before the sentence is even fully out of his mouth the noise dies entirely.

The moths are gone. The creature is gone. The only sounds now is their panting, and the horrible wheeze that rattles out of May's throat as she convulses on the floor for only a moment more, before going entirely, deathly still.

Dib pushes forward past Kass, who still holds his gun as he scans the store rapidly. Dropping to his knees on the floor, Dib presses his hand to May's shoulder, then her face.

“May! May, wake up!”

By all accounts, she seems physically unharmed. She's still breathing, though it still sounds somewhat strained. But despite his shaking her shoulder, despite his hands pressing to her throat and her cheek, her eyes stay closed. She doesn't rouse. She doesn't move.

And there's something else.

“Kass, she's not waking up! She's not—I thought she was invulnerable!”

He glances over his shoulder where Kass has approached, and finds the man has gone still at the sight of them. The color has left his face entirely. He doesn't answer Dib, which is probably the most frightening thing.

“Isn't she?!”

Kass drops beside him. He touches May's hand, her cheek, and confirms what Dib has already discovered. Her skin is almost cold to the touch.

May is never cold. She's a goddess of light and life, a literal firebird, always barely warmer than the rest of them. Now, her cheek is cooler than even his own fingers.

“How was I supposed to know,” he breathes out. “I wouldn't—if I'd known this was necrotic based, I'd never have been so stupid as to have brought her.”

He looks up at Dib. The lights above are stark and harsh, which only adds to the ghastly pale shade of his face, drawn up in unfamiliar terror.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know?!”

end chapter 1.

#may writes #may loves teslaverse #queenie #kass #there's a hole where your heart lies (i can see it with my third eye)#if you bother to read this: i love you.#i put a stupid amount of work trying to capture kass's stupid. gestures.

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