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generalsdiary · 4 months ago

Text

Interwoven

Mydei x Phainon

word count: 5.2k

description: gossip and myphai doing their best to look like the royal couple they're supposed to be (Chapter 3)

a/n: ty to my beta readers; citrus, rice cake and Sav <2

Chapter 4: Gossip of the fireflies

A hot, caffeinated drink filled the air with its bitter fumes around the three people: a cook, a swordmaster, and a guard, each with a cup in their hands and a tall circular table between them. Over the misty scent, the three fireflies share hushed words. One is standing on lookout, the other one is focused on her cup, with which she is attempting to wake herself up, and the third one is adding milk to their drink while slipping something stronger into the first one’s cup.

“I’m telling you – they have been acting differently.” Hyles, the guard, speaks up.

Erinys shook their head, “You know what I heard mountain dwellers say, Chartonus pointed it out himself.” They look over their shoulder and return the gaze to the woman, “That the prince’s sword feels as soulless as it did decades ago! Why would it switch again?”

Aelius snorted, placing her hands behind her back in a firm grasp, “Since when did you believe such stories from the dwellers? However, I have noticed some… other things.” She quirks an eyebrow, quickly catching the full attention of the cook and swordmaster.

“Speak, Aelius, what is it?” Hyles hisses quietly. A tremble in his hands reveals his eagerness, equivalent to that of an addict, making the hot drink nearly splash and burn his fingers.

“Ignis told me they have been much calmer. Their—“ Aelius leans into the table, to which the others promptly follow suit like a pair of chickens, and she whispers, “bedroom, has been deadly silent lately. Nothing. That is bloody unusual.” The woman leans back, fixing her armor in an attempt to look busy.

Erinys’ jaw is hung open and their eyes are widened, “You know what? On top of that— they are usually, always touching in some small way, but these days they just stand insanely close. And act like teenagers with crushes on each other.” They shake their head, taking a slow sip of the drink, which burns their tongue. The poor swordmaster starts blowing air, coloring their face a healthy shade of red, like a baby dragon learning how to spit fire.

Hyles purses his lips and adds, “The Prince has been leaving food on his plate that he always eats, it’s almost like his taste has changed. All of this is so strange.”

Unfortunately, fate chooses to spite them at that moment as the heavy doors open abruptly. The guard joining the outdoor conversation manages to spook the trio; they all jump, one spilling the drink on the table, the other onto the stone flooring, and the third one, the guard, squeaks and hides her face in embarrassment, “My Lords, we weren’t speaking ill of you, we wouldn’t dare, please don’t have our heads— we weren’t plotting I promise— my Lords PLEASE!!” Aelius is about to fall to her knees to plead, until the person who arrived snaps her back into reality. A feminine voice saves Aelius from further embarrassment, “Seriously? What the hell have you three mongrels been talking about to cause such a reaction?” Ignis frowns, placing the bowl of fresh cookies on the table before she bursts into laughter.

“Ignis, Kephale save us, you have scared us!” Hyles shudders as he cleans up the spilled drink on the table.

“Aelius was sharing some findings about the royal married couple, nothing else.” Erinys provides some insight to the newcomer with a heavy sigh, to which Ignis seems disinterested, yet she adds something that makes them all pause and light up, “I don’t know the last time I have seen them even kiss. It has been days.” The fireflies buzz up with gossip and speculations, and loyal Kremnoans burst into a passionate conversation and accusations. All in good faith, of course; all out of worry for their King and Prince. Their words travel on the wind, and luckily for them, they are far away from the royal couple’s balcony.

Luck also blows in another direction, towards the sneaky duo that was competing in wall squats just behind the corner of the building, who have caught every single word of it.

“It seems we will need to up our game, Mydeimos~” Phainon smirks, keeping his voice low, but the smug feeling is quickly subdued by the burn in his thighs expanding. Mydei recognizes the tremble of Phainon’s lower lip, a familiar sight from their previous spars and the battlefield. The noise which usually follows it makes Mydei automatically place his hand over the blond’s mouth in an attempt to not get discovered.

“It seems you’re losing, Deliverer.” Mydei chews on the inside of his cheek to hold back the victorious laugh that seems to be bubbling inside his throat.

“We will see about that when we need to kiss.” Phainon raises his eyebrows, words muffled behind the hand on his face, cockily denying his comrade the pleasure of victory. Phainon’s knees buckle and he is about to hit the ground, making too much noise as he does so. Mydei stops his victory lap in the wall squat to lean forward and catch the taller man. Phainon gasps and Mydei, with an arm around his waist already, flips him and slams his back into the wall, pinning him to it with the other hand still covering his mouth. The amber eyes burn bright when he scolds him, “Quiet.”

Phainon is seeing stars. An ironcad arm is firmly holding his waist, while the other is covering his mouth and he just hushed him. Mydei is standing so close that he can feel every outline of the Kremnoan’s armor against his body. The urge to be closer than they are now is tempting, making him wish that the rest of the barriers between their chests were gone, so instead, Phainon could feel Mydei’s skin on his. He wants to only breathe his air, stand and lay so close to him that he only feels their breaths mingle. The only oxygen he needs is the one that caresses Mydei’s lips too, the same oxygen that goes to his lungs. Would their noses bump if Mydeimos wasn’t covering his mouth? Would they be unable to stay away, to not meet lips?

The butterfly storm in his abdomen settles down and he is left with flower petals dancing in the wind. The fiery gold that burns in Mydei’s eyes softens to match the blue ocean swirling in Phainon’s. He grips the armored hand, slowly moving it off his face, “Mydei.”

And, by the Titans, the warrior leans in. Phainon holds his breath, stuck between a rock and a hard place, caught between two breaths. Yet… he has no desire to ever come up for air again. He’d rather stay a moment away from oxygen, decades away from his time, than let this second pass. Let him drown in this ocean, he will die happily.

Mydeimos closes his eyes and swallows hard. He lets go of Phainon and looks away. His eyes are sad and distant. Phainon resists the urge to grab his hand once more and hold it.

Possibly the best moment of his life and it has passed by. Far too short for his liking.

The two men quietly sneak away from the gossipers.

“Is this truly necessary?” Mydeimos groans, soothing the wrinkles on his forehead.

“My King, I’m—“ The elder in front of him is shocked by the half rejection he received. But alas, he presses on, despite the sweat drop rolling down the side of his face, “It is a tradition for royal couples, and you have always done it in the past with the Prince. It will also be helpful to… calm down the court.”

Mydei raises his eyebrows, straightens his back, and faces the man with narrowed eyes, “Calm down? What are you attempting to say?” His voice cuts straight through the man, and he takes a small, nervous step back.

“Nothing, my King! It is a highly praised ritual, and you have always looked forward to it in the past. To relive one good memory in your dreams was what the Prince also looked forward to as well. You, on the other hand, preferred the warning of a future event more. The land of our dreams is a blessed one, and one of the most highly secured secrets of our people. To be able to glance into the past and peer into the future, only reserved for the highest of our ranks, has won us many a great war, my King.” The elder attempts to quickly recap the ritual without sounding condescending.

Mydei furrows his eyebrows and pinches the skin of his nose. “Fine. Summon the Prince, we should do this sooner rather than later.”

“Care to explain what this is?” Phainon mumbles under his breath, holding back a sneeze. His hand and forearm are tied to Mydei’s with a yellow rope, they’re both kneeling and one of the elders is pouring ashes over their heads.

“Not the right place to explain. We have presumably done this multiple times in the past.” Mydei twitches a bit, also suppressing a sneeze tickling his nose. “I have never heard of it until today, either.”

Their conversation subsides with the interruption of one of the priests, “My Lords, we do apologize for the usual lack of fresh enemy’s blood, however, the ashes of Titankin should substitute without a hitch.”

Washed in the warm candlelight, a handful of people are inside the small windowless room, and they circle the royal couple, draping them in gold robes over the ashes covering their bodies. To both men’s surprise, a lukewarm wax drips over their joined arms and hands, solidifying their union. Strange murmurs and chants add to the mystery of the ritual, strong incense burns their nostrils, and smoke fills their vision. Phainon tightens his hold of Mydei’s hands, in an attempt to reassure himself. Mydei’s presence is grounding, stable, constant, but he finds himself unable to look at him and share the worry he is experiencing. They must keep up appearances and act natural. Over the hardened wax, hot water is poured and both men exhale in relief. That is what the wax was for: protection of their skin. Followed by a deluge of cold water pouring over them, the priests leave, uttering, “It is done, it is done.”

The silence is deafening in the small space. Mydei slowly turns to Phainon, “I think… we are supposed to take the gold robes off each other?”

Phainon nods, and clumsily, they discard the long capes, “We look very… unappetizing.”

“Seriously, your mind is on what you will eat?” Mydei scoffs, his nose scrunching in match with his small frown.

“That is not what I was addressing.” Phainon smirks, except to no effect, because he looks like an overgrown baby that was tossed into the mud.

Mydei groans and shakes his head, jumping on the spot to get some of the ash off. He breaks the wax and untangles the wine connecting their arm, “I need to bathe.” Dragging out the last word, Mydei imagines the lukewarm water washing off the filth from his skin.

“Tell me about it,” With a cackle, Phainon quickly agrees, “I’m thinking of throwing myself into the nearby river.” He laughs again. Alas it is only an attempt to distract his mind from how empty his hand feels.

“Basically, this ritual will give us two dreams, two nights in a row. A good memory to relive, and a future warning, or a bad dream.” Mydeimos discloses the details, brushing some of the ash off his arms.

“Ah, that’s not so bad… And you seemed worried because you have never heard of it before?” The blond questions, his eyes fixated on the broken wax, the mold of their joined hands, on the floor.

“Yes. It appears to be something meant only for the elite, and the ritual itself is of great significance. Let’s hope it will be useful to us.” Mydei exhales, shuddering like a wet dog, his previous attempt at ridding the ash having proved futile. “Deliverer, can we please go bathe now?”

Phainon’s eyebrows twitch up. Pleading? How refreshing. Perhaps they both don’t want to be without each other. “Yes, of course.”

The servants propose for them to bathe together and they barely manage to reject the thought, offering the excuse of being utterly too dirty to share it today.

“Do you think the first dream is the nice one? I’d… really like something nice.” Phainon turned to lay on his side, facing Mydei with his head resting on his propped-up hand.

Mydeimos is burning holes into the canopy bed’s ceiling with his eyes. “It is supposed to be… I suggest we do some workouts before sleeping tomorrow.”

“Hm? Why?” There’s always the sparring room and they both work out enough, even in their older bodies. Phainon fails to recognize the reason behind this request.

“The people have noticed our lack of affection.” Mydei tries to beat around the bush.

“Well, I’m the better kisser.” Phainon cheekily comments.

“We will see about that, Deliverer.”

Phainon feels a swarm of butterflies dance around in his stomach. Of course, he wants to kiss him, however the sugary excitement quickly turns bitter on his tongue. He doesn’t want to kiss him simply because they need to keep appearances. He wishes it could be because they both want it, both yearn for it. Is it truly too much to ask for?

The subtle frown on Phainon’s thoughtful face is obvious to Mydei. He turns towards him, mirroring his body language. Mydei’s eyes soften, and he muses, “Sleep well, Phainon.” The golden eyes slowly blink once, akin to a kitten, and then he turns around to sleep on his other side. Dazed by the gentleness, Phainon’s lips part in an attempt to say something, regretfully the words are lost on his tongue. Oh, how he wishes this could be every night. “…yeah.” Phainon nods to himself, almost in affirmation, “Good night, Mydei…” Sleep pulls both of them in much faster than either of them is used to.

Mydeimos was certain he was awake and that no dream occurred. The same bed, same late hour… it must have been reality. That theory is quickly drowned when he feels a weight on his chest and looks down to see his hand in Phainon’s hair. He finds himself unable to truly control his movements, nor speak exactly what he would want. It is a confirmation that he is reliving a good memory from the past; not his past, not yet – maybe not ever if he manages to change the future.

He feels his lips press onto Phainon’s forehead, easing into a smile. “Nothing fulfills me more than every single moment in your presence, my Prince.”

Phainon smiles in turn, his lips caressing the side of his neck, pressing soft kisses up his jaw and ending with one on his chin. “Is that so?”

They both shine with bright smiles… could they really be this happy? Mydei’s fingers continue brushing through the white locks with utmost tenderness. They are looking into each other’s eyes and existing in pure silence; they don’t need anything else. Mydei can feel his heart crack, much like a marble statue falling apart when it hits the ground. To be loved like that, to be looked at like that seems like a far too distant dream that will never happen. This Mydeimos, the King of Kremnos, has lived through this memory. Mydei allows himself a moment where he… tries this, tries to enjoy it, knowing that this may not end up being the future they will live through.

So when Phainon leans in to kiss him, he inhales softly, the scent of his future self’s partner filling his nose. He is one with this dream, moving in turn to meet those lips. Angling Phainon’s head for the best feeling, they brush noses. Phainon’s hand cups his cheek, dragging his thumb over the rough skin of his cheek and rubbing small circles on his chest. It is an old action, this body is far too attuned to it—to kissing his husband. There’s no electricity in the air, only the love of his life making his breathing light when his eyes close. Mydei can nearly feel the warmth of his lips, the taste of them as they approach each other, leaning in, succumbing to it…

And the dream ends.

Upon waking up, he immediately sits up, a dagger in his heart, and the helpless need that burns inside him ignites and shines brighter to kiss the man he loves. His gaze turns to the still asleep Phainon. The small dumbfounded smile on the sleeping man eases the timber in Mydei’s chest. His back relaxes once more on the soft bed. His eyes return to the ceiling, closing them in an attempt to continue the dream. The Titans have no mercy for him; sleep finds him, but the dream never continues.

“Let go!” Phainon yells at the man holding his sword, “How is that fair?”

“It isn’t my problem you failed to account for my armored gloves. If I can do it, I shall. It isn’t a dirty tactic like those you use.” Mydei smirks, firmly gripping the sharp edge of the longsword with his left hand.

Phainon lets go of the sword and tackles Mydei down. They toss and turn, flipping the other one from the top until they hit a stone wall, “HAH! I have won this one, Deliverer!” Mydei smugly looks down at the defeated man and stands up. He offers a hand to Phainon, which he gladly takes, “I want a rematch, Mydeimos!” Phainon takes a moment to adjust his armor and cape.

“Sure, we can have a rematch tomorrow.” Phainon beams at Mydei’s agreement, and he finally catches onto the reality of this situation. The strong sense of déjà vu makes him aware of the dreamscape he is in. Conversely, it slips away from him, and he forgets that he is dreaming as soon as it hits him.

“Awh, surely that immortal body of yours isn’t tired yet? Fight me now, I can take it.” Phainon puts his arms in front of his chest, ready to spar once more.

“You’re that eager for a beating? It isn’t bad to meet a relentless man who can match my vigor. Fine.” Mydei smiles, opens his arms, and taunts Phainon, “Come at me, Deliverer.”

Phainon rushes at him and the dream ends. His vision is blurry when his eyes open, the early morning and the Kremnoan in the bed beside him draws him back to the present-future moment. Despite not being aware of the dream’s true nature, he is happy he got to relive it. That was the day Mydei started to treat him as something more, rather than just a stranger or a Chrysos Heir. He recalls he could barely go to sleep that night from excitement. What a delightful memory.

A voice, rougher than usual, speaks up, “What did you dream?” Mydei became quickly aware that Phainon had woken up, as expected of a warrior like him.

“One of our spars. The one you won, however.” Phainon snuggles further into his pillow, catching a few more moments of shuteye. “And you?”

“Oh. I…” Mydei takes a moment to slowly breathe through his nose, “I dreamt something this future body has lived through… Not something in my past.” Mydei sighs and turns to face Phainon who perks up at the information.

“Hm… could it have been a warning?” Hearing the man shift his position, Phainon opens his eyes a bit to look at him. Mydei shakes his head, smiling for a fraction of a second.

“No. It was a good dream. Ended far too soon.” Mydei meets Phainon’s eyes and his gaze wavers slightly lower before returning to his eyes. Yearning, holding back.

“My… mine also ended too soon. It was nice to relive it.” Silence wraps around their bodies, mimicking a warm blanket in cold areas, such as Castorice’s hometown. Birds chirp their tune, the leaves rustle in the wind, the scent of lavender blows through the open balcony, and the two gaze into each other’s eyes without a word or sense of rush. Minutes pass, and nearly an hour goes by. This land, this time, has no war and the royalty can ‘sleep’ in.

How could anyone complain that their King and Prince are staring into each other’s eyes in bed? That would be improper. They are, if anything, encouraged to appreciate each other deeply. Hence, the guards do not disturb the couple taking a bit longer to get up and start their day.

The warning dreams were not as pleasant as they might have hoped.

Mydei first sees something simple, exactly what he had expected. A statue that he accidentally knocked down is about to shatter; Phainon is already bursting with laughter at his clumsiness, and the servants gasp quietly, but before it can hit the floor, the scene before him changes. From the sunlit courtyard of a rebuilt Castrum Kremnos, filled with life and a lighthearted air, he is standing in the same spot, yet when he blinks, his eyes open to see the ruined city, overgrown with weeds and cracked walls. The same, automatic workers move the indigo crystal without a sense of time.

A dark hooded figure dashes at him, sending slashes through the air. The red crystal throne stands in the middle of the open area, and the swordmaster sends shadows of themselves at him. Adjusted to his future body and trusting his instincts as always, he is in full control of this dream, this body, this… nightmare. He can feel the power of the Lance of Fury in his body, much like he could in his future self’s body.

However, this isn’t the future he lives in at this moment.

An itch bugs him in his mind. Alas, Mydei is too focused on the fight, too focused on parrying the attacks that come his way, that he ignores it. Sending the Lance of Fury at the shadows and the main individual, Mydei forms fiery red shards around them and sends the Lance of Fury at the newly formed crystal formation. He is filled with a sense of unknown security that he will kill them.

…It was a trick of light, a mirror illusion, he tells himself. He should have seen it coming. He should have heard them coming. A pained groan falls from his lips, and he falls to his knees. No strike should be lethal to him, to his body, yet the sword pierced his back and he cannot breathe anymore. Mydei’s wounds aren’t closing and golden blood drips onto the floor, pooling around his knees. He is flipped to his back, however it is not the cold stone that meets the hollow in his spine but a warm lap and a disembodied voice he doesn’t recognize.

“I know you wanted it to be me, and there is no other way, but…” The voice breaks, they sound like they’re crying—holding back gut-wrenching sobs, “It still breaks me every time. I can’t… This is the one thing I can’t— I can’t do this, Mydeimos.” The dark claw reaches to the shadowed figure’s face and pulls off their mask. Before Mydei could see the person that ends his immortal life, his vision goes black. His ears pick up screams and curses directed at the sky, “How dare you make me do this? What have I done to deserve this?” Sobbing is the last thing echoing in his mind when he wakes up.

Phainon’s dream starts similarly to Mydei’s. He stumbles into the bedroom he knows all too well and hiccups. His cheeks are flushed and he is smiling like a fool. Mydei rushes to him, feeling his forehead, “Are you falling ill? You feel warm to touch. And you're flushed— I can get some medicine—”

Phainon chuckles, “Darling, I am drunk.” He leans his head onto Mydei’s shoulder and hangs off it. Throwing Mydei a wink, Phainon grips his waist for balance, “I was having fun— playing that card game Aulus mentioned the other day—“

“Aulus is bad news, Phainon. You should know that you’re a lightweight—“ Mydei’s voice dissipates and Phainon is quickly sobered up by the bright light of Kephale, standing firmly on his feet just outside of Okhema. Mydei is still standing in front of him a step away, with an unhappy expression on his face—a deep-seated sadness he is fighting tooth and nail to hide.

The sudden switch makes Phainon aware of the dream, the warning, yet the explanation is too far away and he hears Mydei interrupt his thoughts, “But… if there’s a chance in the next life, you should come visit my library.” The soft smile on the Kremnoan’s features is too sour; Phainon’s stomach twists and turns, sending a familiar sense of nausea and anxiety to the lump in his throat.

He furiously blinks a few times, unsure as to what is going on. Why does it feel like a goodbye, and why the hell can he feel his body holding back tears? He opens his mouth to ask, What? Unluckily, the dream violently rips him, before the word can spill over his lips, away from the moment. Phainon gasps for air; the familiar sight of their chambers and Mydei beside him grounds him in the now. There’s a wet sensation on his face, and he reaches up to wipe away the heavy tears that have, also, drenched his pillowcase.

That dream, that moment… he wasn’t looking at his future husband Mydei, nor the King of Kremnos. It was a different line of future and it shook him down to his core. There is no hesitance in his decision to wake up Mydei. Immediately. With a hand on a warm shoulder, he shakes the man. “Mydei. Wake up… please.” Phainon’s voice breaks, shakingly swallowing down the mixture of emotions threatening to overflow him.

Shallow breathing turns into gasps, and Mydei awakens, his eyes wide open and unfocused. The feeling of a hand on him and the sound of Phainon’s voice falling apart makes him enter fight or flight or freeze. He focuses his lionlike gaze on the upset man, “Phainon—“ he scans the room, and upon deeming it safe, his eyes return to the man sitting up beside him; they soften, and he whispers, “Phainon.” Mydei sits up as well and embraces him, rubbing his back in a soothing manner. “You’re fine. I’m here, we are safe. Everything is okay.” Soft sobs escape Phainon’s lips and warm tears fall onto Mydei’s shoulder.

“Something— went wrong and I—“ Phainon’s voice keeps faltering, gasping for air and getting knocked back down. Mydei shushes him, “Breathe. It is gone now, it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. We are safe, you’re with me, it is just a stupid ritual. No one can harm you, no one can touch us.” Mydei continues reassuring him, firmly holding Phainon and refusing to let go for even a second.

The nightmare, that serves as a dreadful warning, is tossed from Mydei’s mind as soon as he realizes to which extent Phainon’s nightmare affected him. Something that awful has to be the product of superstition placing fear into his mind and Mydei cannot allow it to influence him right now. Nor does he want to acknowledge such a foe. It mustn’t be real, it can’t be real. If it made the most precious human to him cry in his arms, then he will get his vengeance upon it by disrespecting it and spitting in its face.

Half a system hour later, Phainon calms down and Mydeimos releases him from the comforting embrace. However, he is quick to cup his face with both hands and gaze into his eyes, “Do you feel better? Have the demons of your mind finally let go of you?”

Phainon wonders for a moment if this is truly his Mydei, and not the future one. The fire that burns in his eyes screams his Mydei, and he chooses to believe his gut, “It was awful. I can’t even remember the exact details, it was just too much.” His hands fall from Phainon’s face.

Mydei nods, “Let us not dwell on it. I dreamt of something unrealistic and there’s no need to… relive the moments in our heads.” He mutters under his breath, “Stupid ritual.”

Their hands are tangled in the cream sheets, propping them up, fingers twitching to reach out and hold the other’s hand. The pleading mutual gazing is the best they dare to do. “Unrealistic?” Phainon echoes, to which Mydei shakes his head, “We are letting it go.”

Phainon agrees with this statement, until some details flash in his mind, reminding him of the shifting scenery, “I think the future may be changing. You said you want this to be different for your people, I… believe your resolve may have already affected the events that will happen. But in that future—“

“Phainon.” Mydei’s gaze is stern, unlike the soft tone of his voice, “I do not believe the things I have seen. We should let it go.”

Phainon exhales and leans forward, resting his head on Mydei’s collarbone. His breath gets stuck in his throat, and he quickly adjusts, casually embracing the man clinging to him. Mydei holds back the urge to kiss his temple, wishing for moments like this.

Beyond the intimacy of their room, a figure is stopped outside Castrum Kremnos. With a childish charm, they attempt to get inside, “I have to see the King. I know he is in there, c’mon!”

“You don’t have a permit or any form of identification on your person. We cannot allow you to go see the King of all people, kid. Scatter.” The guard firmly denies it, feeling comfortable enough to even mockingly laugh at the person.

“Yeah, yeah, but what if it is an old friend coming to visit? Huh, huh?” The person smiles and nudges the guard’s shoulder.

The guard chuckles, “The King’s friends have passed away, which one…” They lean in towards the stranger with a crooked smile, “…are you claiming to be?”

“Okay, I’m in a rush, this is time sensitive, just… tell him it is me and I’m sure he will agree to see me.” The person scratches the back of their head a bit.

“Word of your arrival won’t go beyond this point, kid.” The second guard joins the mocking of the person.

“It seems you two don’t have the authority to introduce me, bring me Krateros! He will know who I am!” They place their hands on their hips and stand proudly.

“Krateros has better business than entertaining the likes of you.”

“Ah, work with me here, hm? Please, I’m in a hurry~” The person pouts, trying every card they have in their let-me-talk-to-the-king-as-an-outsider pamphlet. Any laughter the guards have had for them has expired and they shook their heads, ready to leave and take them outside forcefully. As the two advance, the person raises their hands and steps back, “Hey, hey, let’s remain friendly, I’m friendly, I just need to see the King— it is a matter of life and death, can you please tell him—“ A guard shoves them further away from the main entrance, “Go back to the city, kid. You’re obviously not from here.”

“I will wait here, tell someone— anyone—“ The heavy doors slowly shut in their face, “—tell him it’s Caelus!”

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teakookssi · 9 months ago

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Before I Leave You [Eren/Levi x Reader FF]

[ full story can be found here or here ] [Overview & prologue] ➺ pairing: levi ackerman/eren jeager x fem!reader ➺content: mafia au, crime, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, angst, lol so much angst ➺warnings: violence, blood, strong language, guns/weapons, and illegal activities are all mentioned but hey, that’s aot for you, so if you can handle that, you can handle this (:

chapter 15: consequence

As Levi escorts you out the door, you find the driver your father assigned to you for the charity event waiting dutifully outside your car in front of your house. He’s one of your father’s men, no doubt, and looks a few years older than you, but not by much. You’ve never met him before but your father trusts him enough to drive you across the city so you don’t question his background or skillsets.

On your way to the car, you notice Furlan and Isabel are nowhere in sight, much to your surprise. You were half expecting them to be waiting in a car of their own, ready to tail behind since they’re known to never stray too far from Levi’s side.

But alas, this is an exclusive event, and they are no exception. As for the lack of presence from your own circle…Well, this you find less surprising. Your father has most likely assigned them to jobs outside of the city — not wanting any of them to interfere or provide you with the means to sabotage tonight’s event. Otherwise they’d be at your side or on the lookout somewhere nearby — as you reckon Furlan and Isabel to be currently doing despite knowing they shouldn’t.

—

During the drive over to Mitras, where Lord Reiss is to host his charity event, Levi informs you that the money being raised tonight is to help rebuild the hospital recently hit by an alleged Marleyan terrorist attack near one of the lower sectors. Although signs of a gas leak were ultimately presented, the tension between Paradis and Marley has only escalated since then, and the threat of war has become all the more real.

The king refuses to entertain any notions of war, and because of this, so has the high class.

Not that it matters.

Even if they were to take it seriously, and a war were to break out between both countries, the king of Paradis and his nobles would still be heavily shielded from the worst of it. The fact Lord Reiss is focusing on the rebuilding of the hospital for his cause this evening paints him as compassionate and honorable, but the man is known for taking advantage of situations such as these to flaunt his wealth and powerful connections (to the royal family in particular). Which makes him the worst of them all.

As your driver pulls up into Lord Reiss’ estate a while later, there is no doubting the nobleman’s strong ties with the crown nor of his lavish and extravagant taste. Exhibit A: there’s a bloody pair of peacocks roaming his front garden, of all things, and exhibit b: there’s a pond with a fountain in the center for the bloody birds to drink from.

You and Levi exchange glances in the car at the sight of them, stifling in your laughter.

Rich people.

The driveway up to the manor has a circular design so vehicles can drive in and out without trouble, but there is still staff directing incoming vehicles to the drop off area all the same. Your driver drives up to where they indicate for him to station while you and Levi step out of the vehicle.

“Lay low,” you hear Levi tell the driver from the door. “We’re not here to cause trouble.”

You hum in disagreement as Levi closes the door behind you. “That’s yet to be determined.”

Without waiting for him to reply back, you commence up the stairs to the manor, ready to get this over with. But Levi easily catches up to you and takes his place at your right, hooking your waist with an arm to secure you back at his side.

“Don’t stray,” he hisses at you in warning, taking the lead up the stairs. “We’re here together, love. Remember that.”

You tsk irritably. “So I’m on a leash now?”

Levi clenches his jaw beside you as you reach the front of the stairs. “If that’s what being engaged to me feels like to you,” he says bitterly, “then yes.”

You glower at him. “That’s not what I meant,” you say crossly, even though you still feel a pang guilty that he took it that way.

But Levi is no longer paying attention to you. He’s noticed someone up ahead that’s made him go tense beside you. Before you can follow his gaze, Levi subtly steps in front of you, forcing you to come to a stop before him. He leans in, making it appear like he’s kissing you on the forehead affectionately—which he is—but he’s also muttering to you under his breath.

“The Commanding Chief of Police is coming this way,” he informs you tersely. “For your father’s sake, love, do play nicely.”

Sure enough, as Levi steps away, you see a bald man with a structured build in a forest green uniform and wearing a matching colored hat making his way towards you. He has gold, hazel eyes and a distinguished mustache, with light skin and notable wrinkles under his eyes.

Your jaw tightens at the sight of him. **

Dot Pixis. Erwin Smith’s superior.

You’d never met the chief of police in person, but you knew of him. The highest commanding officer of Paradis with over thirty years of experience under his belt. Master tactician, sharp as a fox. There is no one else more qualified to look over this rich-infested district than Pixis. Nor is there anyone more capable of tearing your father down, if given the chance.

This very fact puts you on edge. Levi senses it and rests his hand at the small of your back, subtly reminding you of his presence at your side and telling your body to relax. That you are not here to threaten. Or attack. You’re here to play a part, and you must act it well. So whether you like it or not, the curtains have been drawn; it’s time to act.

Squaring your shoulders back, you straighten and force your sharp, siren gaze to soften. By the time Pixis comes to stands before you, a coy, welcoming smile curves your lips.

“Mr. Ackerman!” the old man says to Levi in greeting. “Is this beautiful young lady who I think it is?”

Levi gives him a small smile in confirmation. “Commander.” He then gestures to you with an open hand. “I’d like to present to you my fiancée, Anya Ymir.”

You automatically offer Pixis a gloved hand for him to take and you try not to recoil when he takes it and bows his head down to kiss it out of chivalry.

“Dot Pixis,” he tells you. “At your service, my lady.”

“It is an honor to meet you, sir,” you muster out politely. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And I of you. Truthfully, I’m surprised your father and fiancé even allowed you to grace us with your presence this evening.” Pixis turns to Levi. “To what do we owe such a pleasure?”

Levi opens his mouth to speak but he gets cut off by a deep voice behind you.

“You’ll have to forgive me for that, Commander.”

You and Levi turn simultaneously to find your father walking up the last set of stairs in your direction, looking as confident and powerful as ever in a dark tailored tux, black collared dress shirt, and black patent shoes. The proud look on his face as he takes in your attire before resting on your mother’s necklace with a smile of approval has you smothering down a smirk, but he’s easily boosted your confidence tenfold.

Your eyes then slide over to his right, to where Eren follows closely behind him. He’s wearing a similar dark tailored tuxedo over a white button up shirt and bow tie like Levi, but you’ve never seen this look on Eren before and you can’t deny that he looks all the more handsome in it.

At the sight of you, Eren halts in surprise, looking absolutely enthralled by you.

You swallow nervously, trying to steel yourself against the heat of his gaze. Because you shouldn’t care how he looks at you. You shouldn’t care that he’s looking at you with those heavenly green eyes of his like you’re the only person in the room, like you’re the only one that matters—but you do. You can’t help it. And you hate yourself sick for it, because of course, none of this goes unnoticed by Levi.

Your fiancé responds by wrapping his hand around your waist possessively to pull you closer to him, causing you to rest a hand against his chest to keep you balanced from the sudden shift. Eren gets the hint and hastily looks away, swallowing down the agony from having to see you at Levi’s side and being reminded that you’re already well spoken for.

Eren’s pained expression gives you an uncomfortable tightness in your chest, but the feeling quickly passes as Ymir draws your attention back to Pixis by coming to stand beside you to face the chief together.

“But as my one and only child,” Ymir continues to say coolly, “Anya is very precious to me. I can’t have her in the company of just anyone. As I’m sure you understand—” Ymir gestures towards Pixis with a raised brow “—being a father and… grandfather now, I believe?”

Pixis gives your father an even smile. “A baby boy, yes.”

Ymir smiles, not missing a beat. “Congratulations. I’m sure your son and his wife are overjoyed with the newest addition to the family. Please, do give them my regards.”

You study your father’s interaction with Pixis closely. As polite and civil as this conversation sounds between Pixis and your father, there’s an unspoken message being sent between them with this particular exchange of information.

I can get my hands on your own, Ymir’s icy blue eyes seem to say to Pixis, just as easily as you can get your hands on mine.

Pixis’ tone is measured as he replies, “I will be sure to let them know.”

Ymir nods. “Good man. Now if you’ll excuse us.” Your father turns to you and offers his left arm for you to take. “There’s a handful of people I need to introduce my daughter to this evening.” Ymir kisses you on the crown of your head. “Come along, sweetheart.”

Levi is forced to release you from his hold and step back as you reach out to link your arm with your father’s instead.

Pixis smiles. “Of course. Enjoy your evening.” He steps back and waves you all forward, removing his hat and bowing his head respectfully as Ymir begins to guide you away towards the manor to join the rest of the guests inside. “My men and I will be patrolling the area,” Pixis adds on as you go. “If there is any trouble, I assure you we will do everything in our power to make sure the ones responsible are held accountable for their crimes. Everyone’s safety this evening is our number one priority.”

You and Levi come to a halt the same moment Ymir does, having heard the underlying threat in the Commander’s words.

When you glance over your shoulder you find Pixis fixing you all with a knowing look and you watch your father closely beside you, awaiting for his next move. But there’s an easy, carefree smile on Ymir’s face as he glances over his shoulder to Pixis.

“And we thank you for your service, Commander,” Ymir replies back mildly before resuming the way into the manor with you and Levi at his side, Eren trailing close behind.

“He just threatened us,” you hiss at your father through gritted teeth, struggling to hold down your anger.

“And he certainly won’t be the last,” Ymir assures you dismissively as he guides you past the entrance hall and into the ballroom where all the guests are gathered.

You want to say more but the elegance and splendor of the ballroom before you distracts you completely. The room itself spans over seventy meters long and is adorned with colossal arched mirrors opposite various windows that overlook the gardens outside. Gilded ceilings and statues border its marble walls while dazzling glass chandeliers hang from the vaulted, ornately painted ceiling depicting the history of Paradis and the monarchy’s illustrious rule.

The glorious moment, however, is short lived.

The second you and your party walk into the room, heads turn. Your fingers naturally curl tightly against the fabric of your father’s sleeve, seeking comfort and trying to remain as poise as possible despite your uneasiness.

It’s not that you’re not used to the attention. In fact, you normally relish on having this kind of effect on people with your mere presence, but the look on these peoples faces isn’t one of fear or wariness, like you’re so used to eliciting. This crowd has a look of unmasked scrutiny and contempt that sets your teeth on edge.

Your father, however, pays them no heed and continues to parade you across the room with the same air of authority and confidence he always carries, letting the crowd part in half for him like they always do.

That’s when the reality of where you are really sinks in.

Being the capital city of Paradis, Mitras is home to the king of Paradis and his nobles. You shouldn’t be surprised by the amount of lords and ladies present. Of all the government officials and powerful businessman, both domestically and abroad, mingling freely under the same roof as you. But you are. Which is why you’re thankful it’s your father standing beside you right now because some of that confidence manages to rub off on you, and you will yourself to replicate his arrogance, even if its nothing more than a ruse. Because these are the kind of powerhouse individuals your father is after. It’s why he chose to reside here along with them instead of back with you in the Founding Sector. And why he’s got that hungry look in his eyes as he takes in the crowded room, like a boy in a candy store ready to dig in and take his fill.

Power calls to power, after all.

Halfway across the room, a small middle-aged woman dressed in a fine silk kimono stops your father to greet him. She’s got small facial features, thin eyebrows, and black hair neatly kept in a bun. Ymir kisses her offering hand politely and introduces her to you as Kiyomi Azumabito, an international ambassador from a small, independent country called Hizaru.

As Ymir and Kiyomi exchange pleasantries, you spot Furlan and Isabel amongst the butlers, serving guests drinks and strange-looking delicacies. You glance over at Levi hovering behind you who has noticed them as well but gives no sign of recognition in his deadpan gaze — not that there would be when Furlan and Isabel are clearly meant to be undercover.

While one of these house butlers passes by, you swipe a glass of champagne from his serving tray and swallow it down in one go. Ymir doesn’t notice but Levi and Eren do and you sense their judgmental eyes on you from behind.

You blatantly ignore them.

As another butler passes by, you discard the empty one on his tray in lieu of a full one, but Levi snatches it before you can take it. You don’t have time to reach out for another because Levi quickly ushers the butler away.

You frown at him for doing this but he nods to your right and you reluctantly follow his gaze. A short, overweight nobleman with a round face, short black hair, and a light mustache is making his way over to your group with a wide and excited smile on his face.

Your father notices him too. “Lord Reiss!”

Ymir greets the high lord with a firm shake of the hand before beckoning you forward to greet the host of tonight’s event. When your father informs him of your engagement to Levi, Lord Reiss frowns and takes your left hand to inspect it.

“Is she, now? Well, where’s the ring?!” He then winks at you and leans in close for you and your father to hear. “You have been hiding her from the world too long, Ymir. You know, the king is in search of a bride for his oldest son and heir. I have no daughter of my own or I would have sent her to court long ago. But you, my friend, are blessed with a golden opportunity!”

You tense as Lord Reiss’ gaze falls to you meaningfully, making your eyes narrow suspiciously.

Is he…mocking you?

You, a girl with no real title, winning over a crown prince? You nearly laugh out loud at the notion, but Lord Reiss speaks with assertiveness as he directs his next words to your father.

“If you desire,” he offers rather slyly, “I can request an audience for her with the king.” He shrugs. “And who knows? If such a union were to come to fruition, I’m sure we can find a way for you to repay me the small favor.” Lord Reiss throws you a nefarious grin. “Though I’m sure she’ll do well in court. They value beauty above all else, and beauty like hers is fit for a queen. She was born to rule.”

Ymir smirks proudly. “She was born to rule indeed.”

You stare at your father in disbelief. Were you hearing this correctly? Is this why your father wanted you present at this event? To catch the attention of the royal court’s influences?

You turn to Levi behind you, waiting for his opposition. Him and Eren were close enough to hear the conversation despite Lord Reiss trying to exclude them from it so you know he’s heard everything. But Levi’s grey eyes are blank and void of emotion. Unlike Eren—who looks horrified by the idea of you marrying into the royal family—the only sign that tells you Levi’s remotely bothered by this is the tightening of his jaw and the faint traces of a scowl across his face.

Still, he makes no move of interfering.

And you don’t understand why.

“We’ll discuss this further another time. I’ll be in touch,” Lord Reiss says, clapping your father on the shoulder with finality before stepping away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see to the rest of my guests. But please, make yourselves at home and enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Your gloved hands curl into fists as you watch the noble go. You wait until Lord Reiss disappears amongst the crowd before turning to your father with a scowl.

“There will be no future talks of this, Father,” you tell him matter-of-factly. “I suggest you make that clear to him before this goes completely over his head and he tries to—”

“Silence.” Ymir commands roughly under his breath, sharply cutting you off while his eyes remain fixed on the people nearby. “We will not speak of this here.”

“There is nothing TO talk about!”

“Enough!” Ymir growls impatiently. “This is no place for one of your tantrums.”

You turn to your fiancé for help. “Levi!”

But Levi averts your gaze, quiet. Unwilling to speak against your father. And the betrayal hits you like a hard kick to the stomach.

You stumble back, feeling nauseous. Would Levi really stand aside and allow you to marry someone else if it meant respecting your father’s wishes?

You shake your head.

Fuck.

This.

You turn to leave, blinking back the tears welling in your eyes. But before you can take more then a couple steps, Ymir snatches you by the wrist and anchors you in place. “Do not forget why you are here,” he hisses in your ear. “Must I remind you what you stand to lose if you disobey me?”

You’re about to retaliate when someone calls for your father over his shoulder, drawing his attention away from you. As Ymir turns to face them, you catch a glimpse of a man with receding gray hair in a well decorated military uniform and a refined, middle aged woman at his side.

“General Zackly,” Ymir says, greeting the military official with a respectful handshake and the woman beside him with a kiss on the hand. “My lady.”

You raise an eyebrow at the military name, your interest momentarily peaked. General Darius Zackly was a name you’ve heard quite often and one who plays an essential role in your father’s plans regarding the expansion of his manufacturing business. Armin had once predicted that the threat of war would aid in your father’s ambitions to supply and manufacture weapons for the military, and based on the way the general looks so pleased to see Ymir, Armin was right.

Your father then turns to you with a smile so charming and radiant, you’re briefly reminded of why it’s so easy for people to get so taken with your father and want to say yes to him for everything.

Not that it works on you, of course. You remain every bit upset.

As Ymir introduces you to the general and his wife, Lady Irene, you take in the general’s sunken and tired-looking eyes. He wears glasses and has noticeable wrinkles on his face, as well as a gray scruffy-looking full beard and mustache. Not to mention he is also rather short for a man of such high status and power. He barely reaches your father’s shoulders, but that doesn’t seem to deter the man’s confidence or authority. You overhear Zackly asking your father about the progress of a shipment but you can’t really focus on the details because you’re still reeling from your previous encounter with Lord Reiss.

Zackly’s wife notices how flushed your cheeks are and looks to you with concern.

“Darling, are you alright?” She waves her hand in front of you like a fan to provide you with some air. “Do you need to lie down for a minute?”

Your eyes dart over to your father who watches you closely as all attention is drawn to you. “I’m alright,” you reply to her politely. “Thank you, though.”

“Are you sure?” Lady Irene smiles sweetly. “We can leave these men here to talk business while us ladies explore the gardens and get some fresh air.” She begins to lead you away. “Is this your first—?”

But your father takes your arm and holds you back, preventing Lady Irene from taking you anywhere. “My Lady,” he intervenes politely. “Thank you for your concern, but she is perfectly alright here with me.” He nods at Zackly. “General, I’ll keep you posted. Please excuse us.” Ymir’s hold on you never eases up as he ushers you forward. “Come along, sweetheart.”

You try fighting against your father’s iron-like grip as soon as he puts some space between you and the Zackly’s. “You can’t keep treating me like this!” you argue resentfully. “I’m not a child anymore!”

“I will stop treating you like a child when you stop acting like one.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, trying to stifle down your indignation as Ymir introduces you to another nobleman shortly after. But the most you can muster is a false smile before turning away, losing interest and not caring how rude it might appear to everyone around you.

You’re not used to entertaining such company as your father is, after all. The last time you ever attended one of these social gatherings was when you were twelve—when you realized you didn’t want to take part in such insufferable displays of dominance and frivolous activity. Your father had acceded to your wishes then. Had never thought it necessary for you to join him because it had never been in the cards for you.

So why was he all of a sudden changing the layout of the game?

Your father was an ambitious man, yes. But the crown?

Impossible.

It was beyond reach. There’s no way the Ymir clan could ever attain such level of power.

Except…

Your father has risen higher than any man of his background ever could. And you fear how long he’s had this idea brewing in his head. When exactly had it stopped being a mere pipe dream for him and become something more tangible?

Lord Tybur, an influential and powerful high lord from Marley, is the last person you stomach meeting tonight before you decide you’ve had enough.

You know your father’s guards are most likely on standby near the main entrance and will escort you back inside if they see you step out. And there’s no way of going out back through the servant’s doorway when Isabel and Furlan are annoyingly stationed. So you’ll have to improvise.

Taking advantage of the fact that your father has lowered his guard around you after playing docile around him for a while, and with Levi preoccupied with another nobleman, you turn on your heels without warning in search of an exit.

Ymir promptly reaches out to pull you back the second you do and when he fails, Levi rushes forward. Eren is the only one smart enough not to try.

“Anya!” Levi snarls when you roughly yank your wrist out of his grip and storm off.

You flip him off without looking back, swiping a glass of champagne from a butler walking by in the process. You down the drink in one go, ignoring all the hypercritical eyes and ears in the room as you do.

You’re furious and you’re hurt as it is. With your father, with Levi, with the world. You couldn’t care less about anything else.

Eventually you meander your way through a set of double doors leading out into a patio overlooking the garden.

Lacking a coat, the brisk November air slices through you like a freshly open wound as you step out into the night. You’re too emotionally unhinged to let it deter you though as you cut across the open area in search of a means to escape from this hellhole.

There’s a few guests scattered around the garden, taking leisurely strolls with their partners. Many of them begin to greet you as they see you approach but stop halfway when they notice the murderous look in your eyes.

You’re halfway through sweeping the area when you hear the familiar apprehensive footsteps behind you.

“There’s no way out through here, if that’s what you’re looking for,” Eren warns gently against the darkness of the night. “It’s gated all around.”

You halt in your tracks.

To be honest, you knew of this fact way before you’d even tried to break away from your father’s side. The moment you stepped foot inside this manor was you submitting to this truth, but hearing Eren say it depresses the hell out of you. And just for a moment, because it’s just him and this whole evening has been mercilessly wearing you down, you let your walls down.

You turn to him, your eyes pleading. “I need to get out of here,” you whisper desperately. “Please, get me out of here.”

Eren’s expression crumbles at the unsteadiness in your voice, at the frailness. Without hesitation, he moves towards you, ready to do as you ask.

Until Levi’s deep and sharp voice cuts through the night behind Eren, startling you both and making Eren freeze in place.

“I suggest you run off and tell Ymir we’ve located his daughter,” Levi warns Eren, coming to stand into view a few feet away from him. “Before you do something you will undoubtedly regret.”

Eren has his back to Levi but you know he can sense your fiancé’s glare radiating behind him, letting you know Levi had overheard you talking to him. Still, much to his credit, Eren looks at you with a torn expression, not wanting to leave you alone with Levi.

But reality ultimately sinks in for him and Eren’s shoulders begin to sag in defeat. You shake your head at him when this happens, silently begging him not to listen to your fiancé, wanting Eren to take you with him instead.

“Now,” Levi barks out impatiently when Eren lingers too long.

Eren frowns at Levi’s command but treats his departure like he were ripping off a band aid. Eyes shut regretfully, Eren hastily turns on his heels and forces himself to walk away from you in search of your father. He never once looks back.

Levi‘s eyes follow after Eren suspiciously as he walks past him before his deadpan gaze jumps back to you. “You were warned against acting out tonight,” he grits out, cutting the space between you. “How many times did I tell you to —”

You roll your eyes and turn to walk away before he can reach you. “Fuck off.”

Levi growls. “Now is not the time to act like a bloody brat!” He rushes after you before you can go deeper into the gardens. “Anya!” He reaches for your arm to make you stop, but you whirl on him before he can get a good grip.

“How long have you known?” you demand from him viciously, forcing him to draw back as you advance on him instead. “Just answer me that. How long have you know?”

Levi’s frustration leaves him the moment he sees the hurt flash across your face as you look up at him expectantly, knowing what you’re referring to and are anxiously waiting for an answer.

“I swear this is the first time I’m hearing of it.”

You shove at his chest with fists full of rage. “Liar!”

Levi flinches, hating that you don’t believe him. “I’m not lying!” He tries to reach out to you, trying to stop you from walking away from him, but there’s no pulling you back in at this point. You slip out of his hold and force him to stand by and watch as you walk around aimlessly in front of him, your eyes wide with hysteria.

“This has been the plan all along, hasn’t it?” you say with sudden realization, finally making sense of things. “Why he’s been prolonging our engagement. So he can marry me off to the crown.”

Levi shakes his head, pained. “That’s not true—”

“Maybe he’ll even get lucky and they’ll bestow him the title of Duke. Then he’ll be just like them right?” you sneer, pointing in the general vicinity of the Reiss manor somewhere to your right. “That’s what he wants, isn’t it?”

Levi takes a ginger step towards you. “Anya, lower your voice.”

You draw farther away. “Why should I?” you say even more loudly. “It’s a grand plan! Everyone should hear of it! ‘What a brilliant man!’ they’ll say. ‘He did really well for himself.’ He’ll be the prime example of what a middle class businessman can achieve, if they just work hard enough.” You laugh dryly. “Oh, I can just see it now. He’ll be eating it all up! With people marveling at his feet.” Your eyes sharpen as your gaze locks with his and you add in a tone laced with venom, “Just the way you do.”

Levi’s eyes narrow at the snide comment. “What are you talking about?”

You shrug. “You seem perfectly okay with this. And why shouldn’t you be? You’ll finally be free of me forever—”

“Don’t be absurd!” he snaps at you. “Of course I’m not okay with this! But you know as well as I do that Ymir needs more than just strong influences to make this happen.”

You bark out a laugh. “Are you serious? Look around you! My father’s network runs deeper than any ocean. It’s taken him years, but trust me, he’s got all the right friends in all the right places.” You resume your pacing. “Now it’s only a matter of time. Soon I’ll get married off to some pompous prince, get locked up in some golden royal cage so I can’t cause trouble for anyone. I’ll be nothing more than a pretty puppet with the hands of the royal court pulling my strings. They’ll keep me under their control, docile and complacent. When the old king dies, the country will have it’s new king and queen, and everyone will live happily ever after, right?”

Levi shakes his head, his jaw taut. “That’s not going to happen,” he insists through clenched teeth. “Ymir wouldn’t break off the engagement like this. He’s a man of his word.”

But even as he says this, Levi sounds uncertain. And for good reason.

You yourself would have thought that no matter how inclined your father seemed by the idea, he wouldn’t break the pact he sealed with the Ackerman clan years ago—out of gratitude and respect for his fallen friend. If he did, surely, the Ackerman clan would retaliate. They’re lethal regardless of the small numbers they have.

Except…

Ymir would have the royal crown supporting him. All his past crimes would be pardoned. And with the military after them, the Ackerman clan would be silenced indefinitely.

“You know him as well as I do, Levi,” you tell him flatly. “We know how his mind works and we know what he wants. And… we very well know the great lengths he’ll go to get it.”

Levi shakes his head. “You’re wrong. This is different.”

A flicker of annoyance flashes across your features by his stubbornness. “Levi, he’s going to break off this engagement.”

“No.”

“Whether you like it or not doesn’t matter. In the end, we’re nothing but pawns in this little game of his.”

“Is that what you think of yourself?” an approaching voice says in bewilderment. “A mere pawn?”

You look over Levi’s shoulder to find your father walking into the clearing before you, with Eren at his heels, avoiding your gaze.

“You were the one who had wanted to join in on this game of power and vengeance, darling,” Ymir points out almost mockingly. “So here I am, putting you on the playing field, as you wanted. And not just any piece. The most powerful playing piece on the board.”

You scowl, stalking towards him. “No. This is what you want. To build your legacy.”

“Yes,” Ymir replies back firmly. “And my legacy is you.”

You stop dead in your tracks, momentarily taken aback by his words. But just before they can mellow you over, you snap out of their hold with a shake of the head. You refuse to be so easily swayed.

“Then what of Levi?” you demand, gesturing to your fiancé standing across the clearing, watching your father with anticipation. “And the Ackermans? You would turn your back on them for power and glory?”

Ymir gives Levi a long, evaluating look before finally saying, “I will forever be in debt to the Ackerman clan. They are family.” Ymir then turns to you. “And we honor and value family and loyalty above all else, do we not? That will never change, no matter what happens. Understood?” He then extends a hand out for you to take. “Now come, I’ve saved the best of tonight for last.”

You turn to glance over at Levi warily, neither of you quite satisfied or certain of where this has left things in terms of the future. Ymir expects you to trust him and have you believe that he’s doing all this for your benefit, for the family’s benefit.

So why don’t you believe him?

—

On your way back to the manor, your father unbuttons his jacket and takes it off to drape it over your shoulders after hearing you sneeze just moments before. Whether he did this as a form of affection or because he’s trying to win you over is unclear to you, but you accept it all the same. Once bundled up, he resumes escorting you across the garden and up the stairs to the patio. Levi and Eren following suit.

As you arrive in front of the double doors leading back to the ballroom floor, you brace yourself, knowing you have no other choice but to get back in there.

Ymir notices this.

“You look just like your mother,” he says to you with as much casualness as if he were conversing about the weather. But when you look up at him, his eyes are soft and warm at the mention of your mother, and for a moment, you catch a glimpse of the man he was before your mother died. His gaze is rueful as it then falls to the diamonds around your neck. “Wear them proudly.”

You eye him strangely. This is the second time tonight your father has complimented you so openly and you don’t know what to make of it.

Your father doesn’t notice your reaction though, and reaches out to open the door for you, waving you forward. The second you step back inside, you grimace internally as you’re immediately bombarded with the liveliness and bustling noise of the room. But the champagne in your system has worked its magic into your bloodstream. Your agitation has, for the most part, simmered down.

All that is left to be placated is your curiosity.

You glimpse over your shoulder at Eren walking behind you. His purpose here in particular. But given that oblivious expression on Eren’s face, it’s clear that even he doesn’t know as to why your father requested his presence here tonight.

So he does as you do now. Follow silently and without question as Ymir begins to lead you to the far back of the room and down a hallway to the right, away from the main event and its many guests. The hallway itself is adorned with random, overly-valued sculptures made of delicate marble. And you struggle keeping your intrusive thoughts from taking over as your fingers twitch with the desire to push one off its pedestal. For no reason in particular. Just to see what would happen.

But then your focus snaps back to attention as the door at the far end of the corridor opens.

A tall man with blue eyes and wearing circular glasses steps out of the room. He’s got shaggy blond hair and a matching mustache that connects down to his beard. He’s also got broad shoulders and a well-toned physique that can closely match your father’s.

You frown at him oddly. There’s something familiar about his face that jostles your memories. Which is strange because you're certain you've never seen this man before in your life.

As blondie spots your father coming down the hallway, a wide smile breaks across his face, his arms stretching out to welcome your father. “Well if it isn’t Thomas Ymir!”

Before your father can greet him in return, something shatters loudly behind you. You turn around the same moment Ymir and Levi do and find Eren with a pale and horrified look on his face.

Your eyes instantly widen as you realize why. Lying on the floor is one of the marble busts you all passed by moments before, now in pieces by his feet.

Levi pulls you back so you don’t step or slip on one of the shards scattered on the floor as you snicker in amusement. “Someone’s had a little too much to drink,” you tease Eren, thinking that might help him relax a bit since he continues to stand tense and frozen in place before you.

For a moment you think such behavior reasonable. He did just single handedly destroy a valuable work of art belonging to a very powerful high lord, after all. But at a closer look you realize his eyes are not drawn to the irreparably broken sculpture before him, but rather at the tall man in glasses down the hall facing your father.

Your voice seems to break Eren out of his paralysis though and he begins to draw back, excusing himself and mumbling something incoherent about informing someone about the broken mess. He then turns the corner and disappears from the hallway.

The second he does, Blondie bursts out laughing.

“Did you see his face?” he asks your father. “Young lad nearly pissed himself! Where did you find this guy? He looks hopeless!”

Ymir doesn’t join in on the jest, merely smiles politely at Blondie before replying, “He has his purposes.” Ymir then turns and beckons you to come forward so he can introduce you to him.

You sigh inwardly, but adhere to him all the same.

As it turns out, the guy’s name is Zeke Ksaver, one of your father’s business partners from Marley. And based on the traces of tattoos peeking out from under his sleeve and the thick gold ring he wears on his right index finger with an ape signet in the center, he’s none other than the crime lord of the Beast Sector in Marley. Not an enemy of your father’s per se, but a rival all the same.

“Ah, yes,” Zeke tells you after Ymir introduces you to him, “I’ve heard all about you.” There’s a dark gleam in his eye as he sizes you up and it rubs you the wrong way as he then adds, “What an absolutely stunning, murderous little thing you have here, Ymir.”

Levi growls lowly beside you, his radar going off as well. “Careful how you speak of her, Beast.”

The second he hears Levi, Zeke points at your fiancé excitedly. “The orphan! Yes? Levi Ackerman. Your skills and talent are quite admirable, son.” He extends a hand in front of him for Levi to shake in greeting, but Levi gives no signs of taking it.

This doesn’t faze Zeke in the least. Withdrawing his hand with a mere shrug, he bids your father farewell and takes his leave.

You scowl after him as he goes with your arms crossed over your chest.

Something was really off about that man. Of that much you were certain of. Your disgust only increases when Eren decides to return with the clean up crew just as Zeke is about to turn the corner out of the hallway. He pats Eren on the shoulder as he passes which makes Eren flinch and you catch his eyes flicker nervously in your direction.

You throw invisible daggers at the back of Zeke’s head with a glare. “You keep the most horrid for company, Father,” you remark, not bothering to hide the distaste from your voice.

“You’ve seen nothing yet, darling,” your father replies vaguely. “Now, come.” He turns towards the door Zeke came out of moments ago and reaches for the handle.

“What’s in there?” you ask.

“Unfinished business,” is all your father says.

—

You obediently follow your father inside with Levi close behind you. Eren trails in moments later after leaving the house staff to clean up after his mess. But after you realize the kind of room it is, you wonder if he’ll end up walking back out.

Ymir has led you into an entertainment room that consists of pool tables and other recreational activities for guests to utilize at their disposal during their stay.

You look around the room full of old men drinking and smoking and playing poker or throwing darts with a frown. “I don’t get it,” you say to your father. “Why are we here?”

Ymir gives you a crooked smile. “To deliver a message.”

You follow after him as he moves further into the room, scanning the crowd as he goes, clearly on the hunt for someone. You have no intel over who your father’s after, but you don’t really need it.

In a table at the far end of the room sit a couple of old geezers playing poker. One of them glances up from his cards and notices Ymir walking towards them. And when the old man's face turns sour, you know Ymir has located his target.

Ymir stops in front of his table, his hands in the pocket of his trousers, appearing calm and relaxed. “Lord Wald,” your father says, addressing the fat noble in the center of the table.

The noble in question is an overweight man with a round face and a balding head. He’s got wavy blond hair on the sides, gray eyes, and a blond mustache curled at the tips.

Lord Wald forces a smile. “Ah, Mr. Ymir. I’ve been meaning to ring you up. I’m afraid I have bad news.”

Many of his buddies beside him snicker at this which unfortunately only serves to boost Lord Wald’s confidence, mistakenly giving him the impression that because he’s with his rich and powerful pals right now, he’ll be safe from your father’s retaliation.

“We agreed to fifty thousand for completion of business,” Lord Wald says flippantly. “But my wife and I’ve had a bit of misfortune in the market exchange, you see.” He pushes a couple of chips from the center of the table in front of Ymir. “There’s twenty here. You’ll have to wait for the rest.”

You scoff in disbelief, your blood boiling at this dismissive treatment. As if your father were nothing more than some street dog willing to accept any form of food with an excited wag of a tail.

But Ymir doesn’t react to this news at all. It’s almost as if he’s been expecting to hear this, which catches the nobles at the table off guard when Ymir glances down at the chips on the table, but does not move to take it.

Ymir then begins to slowly circle the table the way you know predators circle their prey, all the while his voice remains pleasant and mild. “After my people completed their task, they collected all the photographs, letters, and cheques that were causing you concern. I now have them in a safe place.” After a meaningful beat, Ymir locks eyes with Lord Wald and adds with a tight smile, “For now.”

Lord Wald’s face turns scarlet red as the rest of the nobles turn to him curiously and with raised eyebrows.

You can’t help but smirk. Your father's voice never once rose as he spoke, but everyone had understood what Ymir had insinuated if Lord Wald didn’t do as your father says.

“On Monday, you will give me the fifty thousand we agreed upon,” Ymir says with finality. “In cash.”

But just as Ymir turns to leave, Lord Wald jumps out of his seat, flipping his chair out from under him and looking barking mad. “How the bloody hell did a man like you get into a position of trust?! In a place of power and privilege?!”

You react impulsively, stepping forward with hands curled into fists, ready to climb across the table and take a swing at the bastard. But Levi puts a hand in front of you in warning to keep you from interfering.

“A man like me?” Ymir repeats dryly. “A man like me?” Ymir steps forward and leans over the table separating him from Lord Wald, eyes piercing. “I’ve seen the photographs, my lord. Monday.”

—

Not long after this encounter, Ymir has Eren fetch for his coat, having completed his business for the night. Even as you all cut across the room to head out, Ymir retains that same charismatic presence about him as he says his farewells to his business partners and acquaintances.

All the while you remain livid.

Once you get a clear view of the door leading outside to the open air—to freedom—you walk out, not waiting for your coat or for your father to finish with his last parting wishes to Lord Reiss or whoever the fuck he’s saying goodbye to.

The second you’re out of the manor and on the curbside waiting for your car, the pent up frustration and emotions that had been building up inside you since the social event first started came rushing to the surface.

When Levi gets to you seconds later with your coat, you’re pacing back and forth, struggling to keep it down. “Fucking bastards,” you keep cursing out loud to no one in particular.

“Oi,” Levi warns, urging you to quiet down. He approaches you, trying to get you to put on your coat, but your skin is hot and burning with fury. You’re anything but cold.

As Ymir finally comes down the stairs of the manor to join you with Eren close behind, you can't do it anymore. You go off on him.

With lethal strides, you march up to your father until you stand face to face with him, startling Eren behind him with your intensity.

“Never in my life will you make me go through that again, understood?” you say through bared teeth. “Lock me up, disown me, I don’t fucking care. I refuse to be looked down upon like that again.”

“Anya, this is not the place for this,” Levi hisses in your ear, trying to pull you away from your father, but you roughly shove him aside. There’s no one out here right now except the four of you, but even if there were, you’re far from caring.

“How can you stand them?” you ask your father incredulously, pointing to the manor behind him. “They’re worse than us! Politicians, fucking lords and ladies. They’re all worse than us! But you want me to grovel at their feet like we’re somehow beneath them?”

Ymir offers you no reaction. He stands before you in that same relaxed manner he’s been in all night, looking down at you calmly, patiently, as if waiting for you to finish with your tantrum like any parent might do with their kid when they’re causing a scene in public.

This only pisses you off even more. You shove at his rock hard chest even though he hardly even moves. “Talk dammit! You saw the way they looked at us! No matter how legitimate we become, we will never be seen as their equals. Why can't you see that? Why do you insist on—”

Levi steps in. “That’s enough, Anya*.* Let’s go.”

Behind you, both your car and your father’s car have arrived and Levi starts to drag you to your car while you try and resist him.

“No, stop!” you cry out. “Let me go!”

“Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder,” Levi warns impatiently, caging you in his arms from behind. But before Levi can attempt to shove you into your car, Ymir speaks, and you and Levi stop your wrestling.

“You’re right, Anya,” your father begins to say, moving slowly to the car parked behind yours. “We can’t change how they perceive us. We can only show them what we are capable of.”

You watch anxiously as his driver opens the door for him and your father steps inside. But he doesn’t enter fully. He keeps his right foot outside on the ground and rests a hand against the open car door in front of him to face you. “Perhaps our friend, Lord Wald, is in need of a little demonstration?” he says, throwing you a meaningful look. The small smile on his lips, encouraging. “Care to do the honors?”

You blink for a moment, confused and at a loss for words. Unsure of what to make of this. Was he saying what you think he was saying?

Unconsciously, your eyes slide over to Eren standing beside him. He is looking at you beseechingly, silently begging you not to do this. But then you recall the look of contempt and disrespect all of those nobles had casted in your direction at the sight of you. The way Lord Wald and his buddies snickered at your father, fully intent on making a fool out of him before your father had gone and given them a quick reality check.

Your siren eyes harden. “With pleasure,” you reply gruffly, pointedly ignoring the disapproving look on Eren’s face as you turn your back on him and step inside your vehicle. Levi following right behind you.

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free-luigi-mangione · 3 months ago

Note

i know that we have been taking all of the typed letters with a grain of salt but i think i might have found a way to find fakes or at least tell different fakes from each other

this is the header from the "ghetto" (ugh) letter that was confirmed fake on the info website. pay attention to the font used on the numbers

and this is the header used on the lorax letter. the difference can be seen especially on the 5 where the fake looks like a regular 5 but the lorax letter is a bit elongated especially circular part. idk if it's proof that the lorax letter is real but maybe something to lookout for

thank you for this!! i personally have been going with the 'it sounds like him' feeling and then checking with the catalogue and so far i'm yet to be bamboozled so i think i'll depend on that for myself.

#i know it's not foolproof but like if it works it works right??#also nah i don't want this to sound dramatic like i know how he speaks/writes #this is all just based on his letters and that's just it #i cannot exactly say that he sounds a particular way but he sounds very 'him' if that makes sense #like if you put all the letters together you'll see he's basically the same in all the letters #asks

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aimeedaisies · 2 months ago

Text

Court Circular | 6th May 2025

St James’s Palace

The Princess Royal, Royal Patron, National Coastwatch Institution, this morning visited St Ives Station, the Lookout, the Island, and, having been received by His Majesty’s Lord-Lieutenant of Cornwall (Colonel Sir Edward Bolitho), afterwards attended a Reception at Tregenna Castle Resort, St Ives.

Her Royal Highness this afternoon visited South Crofty Tin Mine, Pool, Cornwall.

The Princess Royal later visited Cockwells Modern and Classic Boatbuilding Limited at South West Shipyard, Ponsharden, Falmouth, Cornwall.

#princess anne #princess royal #court circular

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leiawritesstories · 1 year ago

Text

swords and sea breezes, 3

part one // part two //

word count: 3.5k (oops)

warnings: weapons, pirates, swearing ;)

enjoy!!

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

After two weeks with the pirates of the Queen's Cadre, Aelin was convinced that Rowan was deliberately sailing in large circles to throw her off. Little did he know that she had an impeccable sense of direction, and she'd seen the same constellations in a circular pattern over the last fortnight.

She may be the wealthy young heiress to the Ashryver-Galathynius duchy, but she was no vapid damsel.

Aelin yawned as she strolled into the galley, stretching her arms above her head. Thanks to Elide's daily knife lessons, her body was remembering the skills she'd learned as a young girl before her parents had decided that self-defense was unladylike, and her aim and accuracy were rapidly growing sharper. Almost too rapidly---she had to remind herself not to advance too quickly lest the pirates suspect she was hiding more than her weapons skills.

"Morning, everyone!" she chirped as she picked up a tin mug and filled it with coffee. The dark, bitter beverage had been strictly a servants' drink in her family home, and she reveled in the freedom to drink it, though she had to stir in nearly half as much sugar as coffee.

"Hullo, milady," drawled Fenrys, one of the ship's two lookouts. "Much better of a mornin' now that you're here with me."

"Your flattery is entirely unnecessary, Fen," Aelin smirked. "I'm still not going to let you into my bed."

Fen shrugged and draped one broad arm around her shoulders. "I'm a patient man, sweetheart."

"Like hell you are, Fenny," Elide scoffed, fondly tugging on the man's curly blonde braid.

He squawked in protest. "Don't mess up the beauty, Lochan!"

She snorted. "Is that what you tell the endless string of partners you bring into your room every time we're in port? Because I recall you saying something very different."

"What happens in my bedroom---"

"Can't possibly stay in your bedroom, because we all have eyes and ears," Aelin cut in, grinning. She winked at Fen as she sipped from her sugary coffee. "Right?"

"All I'm sayin' is that it proves my prowess," he sniffed, pretending to be offended by the good-natured teasing.

"Aye, is that what you tell yourself at night, Fenny boy?" Rowan strode into the galley, and once again, Aelin had to force her heartbeat to remain calm and steady at the sight of the man.

"Sure is, Captain!" With a blindingly sunny grin, Fenrys got up, tipped his empty mug in a salute, and tossed the cup across the room. It landed neatly in the dirty dish bin. "Right, I'm headed up to the lookout."

Rowan nodded. "You know what to do if you spot anything." He picked up two bowls of oat porridge, thanked the cook, and sauntered over to sit directly across from Aelin. "Good morning, my lady."

She arched a brow. "If it's such a good morning, why are we still sailing in circles?"

The galley---hell, the whole damn ship---went silent.

Very, very slowly, Rowan raised his eyes to hers, unable to hide the pure unfiltered shock in them. With his spoon frozen halfway to his lips, a blob of porridge splattered on the table from where it had fallen, he made a perfect portrait of incredulity. "What?!"

"Don't play stupid with me, Whitethorn." Aelin placed her hands flat atop the worn wooden table. "You are clearly clever enough to sail in a wide pattern so that ordinary people wouldn't suspect we aren't going anywhere, but you forget that I am not ordinary."

"Clearly," Rowan whispered, something almost like awe hidden beneath the rasp of his voice. He cleared his throat, placed his spoon back in his bowl, and narrowed his gaze, his moment of wonder shifting to calculation. "How long have you known we're sailing in circles, Aelin?"

The rest of the ship was utterly silent, waiting with bated breath for their captive's answer.

She shrugged. "I realized several days ago that the constellations looked the same as they had on my first night here, and further observation confirmed that we're traveling in a circular pattern."

"You got all that from the...stars?"

"You can't believe a noblewoman would know how to track the stars?" she shot back, irritation sparking her blood.

"Actually, that part is no surprise." Rowan tipped his head to the side, assessing her. "My shock comes from how you didn't hesitate to confront me in front of my entire crew."

"I thought an audience would keep you honest." She sipped her coffee, willing her expression to remain calm, if a bit smug.

He huffed in disbelief. "Well, it certainly did." His lips tipped up into a grin. "Eat, Aelin." He pushed the second bowl across to her.

She stared blankly at the bowl. "I'm not on any kind of hunger strike, Rowan. There's no need to be concerned that your ticket to Dorian Havilliard's whatever-it-is will keel over from starvation."

Rowan chuckled, low and throaty and warm. "Would you believe me if I said this was an attempt at proper manners?"

"What are those?" With an angelically innocent smile, Aelin picked up the spoon and took a bite of the porridge. For ship's fare, it was surprisingly good---steaming hot and slightly sweetened with sugar and a hint of warm spices.

"Something you constantly remind me I lack." Rowan's smirk lit up his features, and Aelin couldn't help but return it. That calculation had returned to his gaze, though, and he had the decency to wait until she was finished eating before he took up his usual train of questions. "Perhaps we're sailing in circles because we know we're near the island."

Aelin burst into laughter.

Rowan's brows quirked. "We could be."

"Awfully hard for you to be near something that doesn't exist," Aelin chuckled. She brushed a few loose strands of wavy red hair out of her face. "It's been two weeks, Rowan. Surely you have enough sense to tell that I'm used to your questions."

"Apparently not," he muttered, half to himself. Abruptly, he stood up, collecting both his and her empty bowls and setting them in the dish bin as he left the galley.

That went fucking brilliantly, Galathynius, Aelin thought to herself, mentally giving herself a slap upside the head for potentially revealing more than she was ready to reveal. She stood up, waved cheerily to the few crewmen still lounging around, and tossed her empty mug into the bin as she left.

She stopped at her room to tie back her hair and strap her two daggers to her hips before she went up to the deck to meet with Elide. They had developed a routine of training in the mornings, when the heat wasn't quite so bad, though Elide had been trying to convince her to start shooting pistols with the crew in the evenings.

But Aelin and explosives were...a bad combination. For many reasons.

"Ready to pick up a gun yet, milady?" Elide joked as Aelin came up to the deck.

"Ask again when pigs fly," Aelin laughed, taking her stance next to Elide and stretching her arms above her head. "I'll keep to my knives for now, thank you very much."

Elide shrugged. "Suit yourself." She spun a pair of ebony-handled pistols around her thumbs, squeezed the triggers, and with a bang and two puffs of smoke, two of the bottles sitting on the deck railing burst into shards.

"You weren't lying about being the best sharpshooter here," Aelin mused, in awe of Elide's skills.

"Course not." The shorter woman raised one of the pistol's muzzles and blew the curls of smoke away from its barrel. "Why else d'ya think I have the grumpiest man on this ship on his knees for me?"

"Gods above," Aelin groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. "We already hear you two every night."

"Damn right!" Elide snickered.

Aelin shook her head, laughing, and launched both of her knives at the corkboard target, one after the other. The blades thudded into the dead center of the circle painted onto the cork, barely a hairsbreadth separating them, with their handles pointed outward at opposite angles so the tips of the blades could both hit the center.

Elide whistled. "Shit, Ae, looks like ya hardly needed my lessons!"

"More like your lessons have taught me that I can do this," Aelin replied, shrugging off Elide's praise. "I guess the self-defense lessons I used to take as a child are still lingering."

They trained for their usual hour before they had to part ways, and as Aelin tucked her knives back into their sheaths, Elide glanced up at the sky and whistled, long and low. It had been a cloudy morning, and as the day went on, the clouds had gathered ever closer, coalescing into an ominously dark mass that thickened the air with the promise of a storm.

"Might want to get below, Ae," Elide said, her brows furrowed. "Looks like we're in for a squall."

Down in his office, Rowan paced back and forth across the floor, a scowl etched into his face as he argued with his right-hand man.

"Dammit, Whitethorn, stop being so fucking stubborn!" Lorcan snapped. "We aren't gonna make it past this storm unless you pull your head out of your ass and get us through."

"We're still too fucking far away!" Rowan shot back, his jaw clenched. "I don't have much left, and getting through the storm is probably gonna take all of it. Where the hell will we be then? Powerless?"

Lorcan shot him a fierce glare. "Those ain't the words of the captain I signed on with."

"Well, that captain was fresh from Doranelle," Rowan retorted.

"And just what the hell difference did that make?"

"All the difference." Rowan stopped pacing and braced his hands on the wall, staring out the window across the choppy waves. "A year ago, I didn't realize I couldn't return to Doranelle without a guide."

"A year ago, you were so goddamn drunk on power that you didn't listen to the warnings." Lorcan spoke softly, but no less fiercely. "Where's that confidence led you, Whitethorn?"

"Here." Rowan's admission was hollow.

Lorcan nodded, one sharp dip of his chin. "Here. In the middle of the ocean, without a map or a guide, 'bout to hit a storm that'll take the last of that goddamned token to get through."

Rowan's expression tightened. "We do have a guide, I know it."

"The Galathynius girl?" Lorcan scoffed. "You're desperate, and I can understand why, but you're wrong about her." He paused for a moment, then continued, ruthlessly. "Pull yourself together. I'm goin' up top to get ready for this storm."

Rowan just nodded. "I'll be up."

"You know what happens if you're not." With that, Lorcan left.

One deck above, Aelin stood frozen with shock as the conversation she'd just eavesdropped on raced around her mind. The token. A year ago. Get us through the storm. In her mind's eye, all the pieces started to click together, threads weaving into a tight pattern that revealed why Rowan Whitethorn, pirate captain of the Queen's Cadre, was so insistent upon getting to the island Doranelle.

Power.

She shoved down the thick fear that clogged her throat at the thousand possible implications of that word, and she hurried back to her cabin as the ship's lights began to go out. Salvaterre, who was second in command, had ordered that all open flames be extinguished as they sailed into the storm---to lessen the risk of fire, for there was nothing so feared and dangerous as fire aboard a ship. Back in her cabin, she made sure the small window was securely latched, and then she changed into trousers and a blouse, stepped into the set of water-resistant oilskins that Elide had given to her, tied her hair tightly back, and went up to the deck to join the crew.

Nobody paid any special attention to her, since she was dressed like the rest of them were and the pelting rain blurred the field of vision. Her hands were sure and nimble on the lines as she helped secure the ship, and she followed a crewman towards the stern, in the direction of the captain's cabin.

The winds picked up, throwing the ship back and forth as she fought against the choppy waves, struggling to keep her balance as she sailed deeper into the maelstrom. Aelin ducked behind a bulkhead wall and peered cautiously out to the stern deck, both surprised and not surprised to see Rowan standing there, his face turned into the howling winds.

An opaque white spear of quartz dangled from a silver chain in his hand, the stone faintly flickering with light. Aelin closed her eyes, straining her hearing against the powerful shriek of the storm winds, and just barely managed to pick up a faint counterpoint melody, its notes halting and frail, coming from the stone in Rowan's hand.

A storm token.

The Queen's Cadre lurched sharply, timbers creaking as she clawed through a steep cresting wave, and a fresh wave of the downpour soaked Aelin through her clothes as a gust of wind tore her hat off her head. Grunting with effort, she grasped the lines above her head and hauled herself up, bracing her body in the net of ropes.

"Now, Captain!" Lorcan yelled over the roar of the storm.

Rowan set his jaw, a fiercely determined look settling like steel over his face, and raised the storm token above his head. His body shook with effort, but ever so slowly, a ripple shuddered out from his fists that were clenched around the flickering quartz. The ripple grew and broadened as it rose into the sky, shaking and shuddering against the force of the storm, until it exploded outward and upward with a faint, high-pitched keen that Aelin just barely heard over the wind.

And the sky went silent.

Cautiously, Aelin lifted her head, and her eyes widened. A bubble of calm surrounded the ship, keeping the storm at bay and propelling the ship through the fierceness of the maelstrom. His feet rooted to the stern deck, Rowan gripped the storm token tightly, his body quivering with the strain of keeping the ship protected as she pushed through the rough waters. Getting through the storm will take all of it. The words, a snippet of the conversation Aelin had spied on, echoed through her mind.

She'd barely thought the words before a fissure cracked through the bubble of calm protecting the ship.

"Hold on!" Lorcan roared. "Nearly there!"

But the wind shrieked louder, as if enraged that Rowan had dared to use his storm token against it, and the bubble of calm fractured, once again exposing the ship to the storm. The quartz in Rowan's hand flickered once and went dark, its opaque hue as ordinary as any other stone. A sharp gust of wind scraped across the deck, pushing the Queen's Cadre into the trough of an oncoming wave.

And Rowan, drained after the effort of using the storm token, tumbled off the side of the ship into the surging waves.

Fuck it all to hell.

Aelin leapt off the ropes, her booted feet slipping on the drenched deck, and hastily freed the stern rowboat. With a grunt and a heave, she shoved it over the side of the ship and dove after it, abandoning the pirate ship as the storm finally subsided.

She clutched the side of the rowboat and dragged herself in, spluttering and coughing. The oars practically fell into her hands, and she pushed backwards, towards where Rowan had fallen, cursing him and herself the whole way. Stupid fucking pirate!

"If you're not fucking floating, I'm leaving you to the sea goddess," Aelin seethed as she scanned the waves. There! A surprising jolt of relief shot through her, but she smothered it as she headed for Rowan's prone form. "Get...in," she grunted, hooking her arms under his armpits and practically throwing him into the rowboat.

He lay sprawled on the floor of the tiny boat, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, passed out asleep. Clearly, the storm token had protected him from inhaling any water, but he remained unconscious.

A small mercy.

"Now stay the fuck asleep," she muttered, pushing her soaking wet hair out of her face. With a deep sigh, she settled herself on the bench, hoisted up the oars, and began to row, guiding the boat through the subsiding waves. The rain had slowed from a deluge to a shower, and it eventually trickled to a full stop as the sea calmed from the storm.

Aelin closed her eyes, tipped her head back, and opened her eyes again, staring up into the stars as they appeared in the night sky, breaking through the darkness. The storm clouds had blown away, revealing the constellations etched into the skies, a map for anyone who could decipher it. She glanced down at Rowan---still asleep---and back up to the stars, scanning the shape of their paths.

The Queen's Cadre was to the southeast of them, and by now, she would probably have recovered enough from the storm to discover that her captain was missing. A brief twinge passed through Aelin's heart, for despite her pretenses, she had come to find friendship among the crew of the pirate ship.

But Doranelle came first.

The island lay to the west, so it was westward that she turned, nudging the little rowboat onto a new course. As she rowed, Aelin sent up a quick prayer to the gods. Please, let Rowan stay asleep. It would go better for him if he didn't wake up before they'd reached their destination, both because he had no idea what the island actually protected and because her fear lingered. What Doranelle protected was power, and men were known to do terrible, terrible things for power. Even if Rowan had changed from the "power-drunk idiot" Lorcan had called him, she still couldn't trust that he would leave Doranelle in peace.

The sun rose and fell in cyclic rhythm as Aelin steered the little boat, switching from oars to the boat's single sail after she'd established her course because constant rowing would drain her entirely. Almost miraculously, Rowan remained in his stupor for the five days it took to reach the mists encircling Doranelle, and Aelin breathed just a bit easier knowing that he was unaware of their new path.

When the rowboat reached the mists, Aelin struck the sail and took up the oars again, and she rowed through the thick films of mist that veiled the island. The mists served as both a protective barrier and a misdirection tactic, since the ancient spell woven into the mists kept away anyone who approached with ill intent. As the rowboat broke through the mists, Aelin tilted her head back and inhaled deeply, basking in the achingly familiar richness of Doranelle's air and its faint trace of rain and embers. The island sprang up ahead, and she steered the rowboat into the docks at the land's edge.

Rowan stirred, his eyes cracking open. He blinked several times, clearing the bleariness from his face, and slowly raised his arms, as if testing his range of motion. "Where am I?" he croaked, not yet having recognized that he was alone with Aelin.

"Awake, apparently," she said.

He bolted upright into a seated position, wincing at the ache of the rapid movement. "What? How long...?"

"Five days, give or take, ever since your stupid ass fell off the ship during the storm." She stepped out of the rowboat, keeping a cautious eye on him, and slowly walked backwards up the dock's weathered wooden planks.

"My ship," he breathed, fear flickering across his features. "Where are we, Aelin?"

Her booted feet hit the soft, grassy ground, and she nearly wept with joy at the feeling of standing on her beloved island's turf once again. "A place that does not exist."

Pure shock slackened Rowan's jaw. "Doranelle," he whispered, his voice echoing with awe. He pushed himself up onto the bench, only wincing a bit at the tingling in his legs after five days asleep, and began to stand, clearly intending to get out of the boat and walk into the island.

Aelin's hand flew to her knives, and a blade was clenched in her raised fist almost before she could blink. Her other hand curled behind her hips, her stance defensive. "Stay in the boat, Rowan." The voice that came out of her rang with a note of command that he'd never heard before.

"Aelin, I---"

"Stay. In the. Boat." Her shoulders tensed, and she rooted her feet to the ground as a familiar tingling rose from the ground up to her raised hands.

Confusion crossed Rowan's face. "I mean no harm, Aelin, truly." He swallowed thickly. "But this place...it is a miracle."

"A miracle that is unforgiving to strangers." Her fingers curled.

Brows furrowed together, Rowan abruptly stood up and stepped out of the rowboat. He reached for the pistol that he habitually kept on his hip before remembering that he'd lost it in the storm, but he walked forward, his gaze trained on Aelin. She pressed her lips together, the knife quivering slightly in her raised fist. He reached out towards her. "I won't harm anything, I swear."

She shook her head. "I can't trust a pirate's promise." Deep in her soul, Doranelle called, sending a warm wash of sparks through her blood.

And finally, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius burst into fire.

~~~

TAGS: please lmk if you want to be tagged!

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

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@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

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@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

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@renxzs

@anarchiii

#my writing #swords and sea breezes #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #elide x lorcan #elorcan #throne of glass #pirates au #pirate au #throne of glass au

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whencyclopedia · 1 year ago

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Astronomy in the Scientific Revolution

The astronomers of the Scientific Revolution rejected long-held theories of ancient thinkers like Claudius Ptolemy and Aristotle and instead set out to systematically observe the heavens in order to create a model of the universe that fit observable facts rather than preconceived theories.

Astronomers like Nicolaus Copernicus, Tycho Brahe, Galileo Galilei, Johannes Hevelius, Edmond Halley, Christiaan Huygens, Johannes Kepler, and Isaac Newton were determined to use observation, scientific instruments, and mathematics to reconcile theory, phenomena, and data and increase our knowledge of the world around us.

Aristotle & Ptolemy v. Scientific Method

Astronomy had interested many ancient thinkers, but two views of the universe dominated and endured right through the Middle Ages. These were the models proposed by Aristotle (384-322 BCE) and Ptolemy (c. 100 to c. 170). Aristotle's model had the planets move in a uniform way through an undefined medium of invisible spheres, always at fixed distances from Earth, the central point. Ptolemy proposed that planets moved within a small circular orbit of their own (epicycle) while still following a larger orbit (deferent) around a fixed central point, the Earth (equant). Perfect circles reflected the perfection of the Creator, and Earth's position at the very centre of it all reflected the belief in humanity's importance. These models survived antiquity and held a seemingly iron grip on the minds of medieval astronomers. The problem, though, was that they left many questions unanswered. The Scientific Revolution was all about questioning age-old beliefs, putting them to the test of observable phenomena, and expressing these findings in the new international language of mathematics. Findings were then shared with and scrutinised by independent thinkers. This idea, or something similar, had first been proposed by Francis Bacon (1561-1626).

In the new scientific method, astronomy led the way over all other fields. The astronomers were on the lookout for new, more satisfactory answers to age-old puzzles. No longer were they satisfied with 'saving the phenomena,' that is the mere measuring of celestial motions, now they began to use their precision scientific instruments to challenge the natural philosophers. The astronomers wanted to prove their own models of just how the universe works.

#History #Aristotle #Astronomy #Copernicus'#WHE #[#]

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lucky-clover-gazette · 4 months ago

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got carried away and storyboarded a short scene from my niche beloved 50k word totk npc & oc fic, mask off

From the fic:

“Watch your step,” Mimos warned his companions as they reached the base of a large stone structure. It was built like a very long ramp, snaking around the mine as it gradually elevated. Link helped Traysi onto it and the trio began to climb.

Traysi noticed a small poe on a ledge as they passed, her blue-illuminated eyes widening with intrigue. Those things were a story of their own, Link realized, and felt a little better about dragging Traysi into this mess. It was what she’d wanted, right? In the Depths, scoops abounded.

A few more sharp turns later, they reached the top of the ramp. It ended above the large circular structure in the center of the mine, directly facing the zonaite forge on the other side. Given the elevation of this specific area, the extra height provided a panoramic view of the surrounding Depths—silhouettes of trees, distant light roots, and several nearby monster camps.

In the center of the circular roof, there was a raised hexagonal platform above a small hole. Some glowing pieces of zonaite lay in the rubble beneath the almost drill-like structure.

And, of course, there was the boss herself—a petite figure dressed in a familiar red uniform, standing with her hands clasped behind her back. She stared out at the Depths like she owned the place, almost reminding Link of Purah at Lookout Landing. In addition to the typical golden Yiga earrings, a banana-shaped hairpin was pierced through her tight bun. Wispy pieces of black hair blew in the slight draft from the zonaite forge.

Mimos removed his mask, revealing a familiar face—soft, approachable, definitely not what one would expect from a career assassin. His bowl cut, the feature Link remembered most prominently from their previous encounters, had been pulled into a short ponytail.

He really was just some guy, Link realized, and he couldn’t bring himself to hate this person who explicitly wanted him dead.

“Hey, boss,” Mimos said, and then cleared his throat. “I’ve secured the prisoner.”

The mysterious figure—Musa—didn’t turn around.

“Did anyone see you?” she asked in a low, gravelly voice. Traysi’s eyes widened with what Link assumed was recognition.

Mimos winced. “Not… anyone who matters?”

“Mimos.”

“Yes, boss?”

“I’ve asked you not to call me that.”

“Sorry, Master Musa.”

“Not that either. You know how I feel about alliteration.”

Traysi narrowed her eyes.

“Musa,” Mimos corrected himself. “Sorry.”

There was a long pause.

“Take her to my office,” the woman said, her back still completely turned to her present company.

Mimos looked at Link. “Uh, there’s something else—”

“My office,” she repeated, and then she dropped through the hole in the circular roof. Just abandoned the conversation entirely.

Mimos sighed. “She does that,” he informed Link and Traysi. “We’ll take the long way down.”

#this was so fun #i love sequential art so much i just wish i was better at it #i've been told that my writing is like. cartoon/animated. and that's so flattering #my writing #mask off #yiga clan #totk #tears of the kingdom

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jujutsukgojo · 1 month ago

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I'm a hero now pt 4

hitoshi shinsou x reader

chapter 1, 2, 3

Summary: The end. tw: light smut, final chapter!

He squats on the beam and looks down. He doesn't know if you want to see him as much as Doe says. She's a horny forty something year old woman who craves his teacher. She isn't the most reliable. Could she be right about this though?

The building’s roof is round and open, hence the name the Dome. There are hundreds of seats full of students, family, and friends. Hung on the walls and on the beams are pretty lights. Hitoshi is close to one.

He sees the large, circular stage that a blue carpet leads to. On that royal blue you’ll walk down like a bride. In all of this, Hitoshi finally spots you. You're three students down from the line. Even from his standpoint, he spots your heavy breathing and trembles. He shouldn't care. He's hurt and mad, too. But…this is you. Years of silent devotion are hard to get rid of. He still imagines you when he fights villains. The gang of criminals that rampaged the city and an area so close to you and Doe’s, has dwindled in numbers. Even when he takes them down with wounds and blood, Hitoshi sees your face and the possibilities.

Hitoshi stays on the beam soundlessly. The host calls your name. You tentatively walk up the stage. The crowd wonders why you're going so slow. Even the host is getting antsy. You get on the stage and grab your degree. Your eyes dart around to the host, the audience, and the ground. Hitoshi waves his arms while you look around. Finally, you see him. He nods to you in encouragement. You walk off the stage and bite your lips as you smile down at your hard-earned award. He’s still upset with you. Still hurt from what you said and how this all went down. He’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t damn proud of you.

After seeing that you’re okay, he jumps and swings away, feeling something shed off the heaviness.

------------

Doe’s words stick with him like annoying glue. He constantly thinks about them, just like how he envisions your graduation. Since then, a week ago, he hasn’t been to Doe’s. He needs to go and see a therapist like Doe suggested. It is the only way he can get over his affection for you and understand his worth. He isn’t a villain. At least not anymore. Hitoshi abused his quirk, abused you. So much so that your memory has been stripped from you, and all that was left was the horror he left. A lasting suffering from his quirk when used too much on a person is a spotty memory. It is no wonder why you lost important and beautiful moments of your childhood, only to be replaced with his voice.

But he isn’t that person. For a year he’s shown you that he is a hero, or at least could be. He tried so hard to impress you and care for you. He knows without a question, that the urge to be there for you has been rooted deeply. Even now with him standing on a streetlight on the lookout for the last of that terrible villain gang, he wonders how you are. Did you celebrate? Have you hung up your degree on your wall? These thoughts are comforting to him. A familiar part of himself that he doesn’t want to let go but has to.

The memory of you is painful and soft at the same time. It is something he has had dreams about and you are something he has worshipped. He needs to let you go. Your feelings are set in stone and he has to accept that. The only way he can is by therapy. As much as he understands this, he feels like crying, mourning for a dream and dare he say, love.

A suspicious character walks the street. Even from here Hitoshi can see the tattoo on his wrist and identify their face that is close to the sketch. It’ll be nice to have some stress relief.

----------

One year later:

The first session was hard and the second was worse. Hitoshi felt a tear stroll down his cheek when he recalled the bullying and isolation. He knows it was from you who had good intentions at his expense. Despite that, he has a right to be hurt. What he went through he carries to adulthood, just like the pain he inflicted on you.

It's been a year or so since he’s seen you. He hasn’t been to the diner, either. He misses your cooking and wants to have a good cup of coffee again. The popular franchise a block away from his agency doesn’t hit as good as people claim. It’s overhyped and priced. Hitoshi will never forget how ordering a simple black coffee gained the scolding from Kaminari for wasting the opportunity to get a sugary complicated drink. When Denki listed its ingredients, it took most of the patrol.

Doe’s diner comes into view. The outside has changed a little. The white paint is replenished, and the cigarette burns on the side of the wall have been cleaned up. Where there were stains and cracks have all been cleaned up and restored while still maintaining its charm.

Hitoshi opens the glass door of the diner. The bell rings signaling his arrival. It smells like your cooking and strong coffee. He’d recognize your work anywhere by the salivating scent.

A woman comes from around the corner. She looks up and smiles. Doe looks a little different from last he saw her. Her pinned-up hair is a different color that still matches her nails, her uniform is now grey and is longer. She runs up to him and smacks his head. Her smile leaves.

“Where have you been? I need to see my boy toy at least three times a week or I’ll get wrinkles! Look what you did.” She huffs and crosses her arms.

“Still gorgeous, babe.”

“I know. I’m unbeatable.” She primps her hair. Hitoshi can’t help but find joy. He’s missed her and her antics. It isn’t like he wanted to cut off contact forever, but life got in the way. Plus, the memories of this place, you, might’ve been too much for him at the time. However, seeing Doe for the first time in a while and having her pick at him, reminds him of his affinity for her. It has been far too long to go without Doe of all people.

“Well, other than me, you must want to see (Y/n), right?”

Hitoshi scratches the back of his neck. Doe smirks and pinches his cheek. “She’s not here. She left right when you got here, I think.” Hitoshi looks at the floor and nods. Doe hums. “But she does take her lunch at the park on fifth. You’ll catch her there.”

“Nah, she won’t-”

“Both of you got help, didn’t ya?” Doe teases. “Now that you two finally decided to work through your own issues, I don’t see what’s the harm in talking to each other.” Hitoshi wouldn’t have guessed you’d get therapy. Granted, it’s probably just his denial of how deep your scars were.

He clears his throat, suddenly feeling self conscious. If Hitoshi looks, he’s sure to find some eyes on him. Doe speaks again. “I think it’s helped you. I can see it. Yeah, you still have those dark circles that add a certain sexiness to you, but you’re brighter. I’m happy for you.” She pats his shoulder. “She’s doing good, too. I’m sure you’d like to see her.”

One of the lights has a fan that slows down. “Want me to fix that?”

“No, no, no. You’re trying to change the topic. I’m not having it!” She shoos him out the door. “Besides, I know those pretty hands of yours can’t fix that.” Hitoshi scoffs at her assumption. His shoes hit the door before his hand does.

“I-” Hitoshi straightens up. He turns around to tell Doe how it’s not necessary. If you two meet again, it’ll happen organically. Not to mention he wants to defend himself from her assumption.

“Nope, nope! Go get her before Rieka burns down the house.” Out of the kitchen window pops Rieka. Her thick mascara is beginning to run from what he assumes is sweat from the heat in the kitchen rather than tears.

“I’m doing a good job!” she shakily exclaims. He waves at her. Unfortunately, he was wrong, and she is crying.

“The hell you are!” Hitoshi looks above Doe and sees Ito, the regular who complains about everyone else’s cooking except yours. He sits in his usual spot holding a mug. “You just now learned how to make a semi-decent cup of joe. No need to lie to yourself. We know the truth.” He begins to grumble in his cup. He looks the same with just a few more wrinkles and a new shirt.

Rieka whines for Doe. “She’s at the park on fifth, boy toy. Shoo, shoo!”

Once he’s out the door, he’s barely out of ear shot when he hears, “Now all they need is a good session. That’ll fix everything.”

------

You stand out like a light in darkness. You’re not wearing Doe’s uniform. Instead, you sit on a bench with a skirt and a decent blouse. In your hands is a rice ball, if he sees correctly. You bounce your leg as you chew. Hitoshi spots comfortable looking heels on your feet. It’s been so long since he’s seen you. You look good. Physically, you haven’t changed. However, something’s different.

He slowly walks to you with his hands in his pockets. His mask is lowered and blends in with his trusty binding cloth. Every step he takes is more confident than the last. His feet hit the pavement smoothly without a stumble. It is a small victory and one that shows his growth as a person and his feelings. He’s not the sweaty pale kid who was nervous at the sound of your name. He’s not the man who you got into a yelling match with, either.

“Hey.”

You look up at him with a mouthful of rice. He fights the urge to rub the back of his neck or bite his fingers. “Long time no see.”

You’re still chewing.

“Can I sit?”

You take another bite.

He holds onto the new confidence that’s slowly being stripped and replaced with embarrassment. Hitoshi sits next to you on the bench. He watches a few birds fly around and peck at the few bits of grass. “How’ve you been?”

You swallow. “Good. You?”

You answered his question. Doe must’ve been telling the truth then. “Good, good.” He nods. You ball up the wrapper and stick it into your burgundy purse you kept on your lap. Hitoshi sits up. “There’s gotta be a trash can around here…”

“No,” you take a drink of water from a small bottle. “Trash cans are a little rare in this area.”

“Ah.”

After screwing on the lid, you ask, “Where’ve you been?”

“Around. You?” It’s a lame response. He’s not sure if he wants to tell you about his therapy. There’s nothing to be ashamed about but it is something personal and private. Especially if you were the catalyst.

You chuckle. “Same. I’m into real estate now.”

He perks up. “Really? I thought you were taking over Doe’s?”

“I am in the future. Maybe. Probably not, knowing Doe. She says she wants to retire and drink mimosas’, but she likes to work. For right now, I’m into real estate and still working at the diner.” you face him. “I’m renting out some homes. So far so good.”

He’s proud. “You were always smart.”

“You’re smarter.”

“Nah, no, don’t do that to yourself. I helped you with some homework but you did the work.” You smile broadly.

“You gotta point,” you say smugly. Hitoshi laughs and leans back. He relaxes when he feels the awkwardness dissipate. The two of you shoot the breeze filling in on each other’s lives. As it turns out, Ashido’s been eying one of your condos.

“Please keep stringing her along. Her whining is annoying but now I just need to see her suffer.”

“You got it, boss.” You click your tongue and wink. “Mm, y’know, I was wondering what happened to you.” You take a sip of your drink. You point to the paper cup in his hand. “Because you’re talking to me with the enemy’s cup in your hand.”

Hitoshi looks down at it. The contents are lukewarm now. “I wanted to get back at you.”

You huff, “What a rude way to do so!”

“What?”

“I’m serious! Getting back at me by giving your money to someone that’ll bankrupt us-”

“It won’t.” He cuts. His face is set with conviction. You stare into his purple eyes. For some reason, the wind stops for the two of you.

“Okay…” you fiddle with your fingers. “So, what have you been up to?”

“My usual.” He bounces his leg. Should he say it? “I’m going to therapy.”

You smile. “Me too.”

His leg touches yours. “Is that why you’re talking to me?” Your voice is so sweet to him. You nod your pretty head.

“Yeah. I’ve been working on myself and trying to pick up the pieces. Hitoshi, there are so many things…so many. I’ve come to terms with it, though.” His heart flutters at your words and ignites on fire when you grab his finger. “I forgive you.”

He feels the pressure behind his eyes increase, begging for him to let his tears go. He’s waited so long for your grace and freedom from his guilt. With therapy, he’s been working on accepting that and now here it is. “Back then, you hurt me, too. (Y/n),” he clears his throat. His palms sweat.

“I-um, I’m not a villain. I’m a hero, even more than that. (Y/n),” his eyes flicker up to yours and away from your linked hands. He remembers everything. The isolation, the harsh words, and the venom. “I forgive you, too. I’m not hurt anymore.”

“Neither am I, Hitoshi.” You place your other hand on his, cupping it. He clears his throat. His cheeks feel warm. There's nothing left to say with that. Forgiveness has already been given from the quiet apologies.

The silence isn’t quite as awkward as it could be. There is a peace in it, a settlement between you that ingrains itself inside. He wants to stay with you rather than take his leave and battle the possibility of this is it. He squeezes your hand, relishing the feel of you. Hitoshi should push the thought of kissing your hand away. Yet, he indulges it, wondering what could’ve been.

To his surprise, you take your turn and press your lips to his calloused hands. “Why are you acting like this is goodbye?”

“Is it?”

You shake your head no. “Absolutely not. Not only are you going to stop fraternizing with the enemy, but we’re gonna catch a movie!” Hitoshi wants to compare you to how you used to be when you were younger. He saw you as an average kid with a smile on your face. Times are different now and he’ll see you as you are. Bright and sunny, with a clean slate.

“Oh really?” He raises a brow. “Just us? What’ll your parents say?”

“Ah, Doe’ll understand. Eraser will keep her busy, I’m sure.”

You stand and pull him up. He frowns. “What do you mean?”

You chuckle. “I walked in on them. I didn’t make a sound, but I definitely saw.” Your chuckle is a full-on laugh. “That’s why she didn’t come to my graduation!”

Hitoshi pauses in shock. All this time his mentor said nothing. Now he knows how Doe knew about his therapy. He has a big mouth mentor. Hitoshi rubs his face with his free hand. “Perverted old people.”

You hum and drag him along. This is a new beginning.

For several weeks, you have been dating. As in, going on dates. There’s no title yet. However, the first time you kissed, during the day after he took you to lunch on your lunch break, he knew. By the look in your eyes, so did you. Neither of you have said it, like the confused losers you are. Now, here you are in his home that he knows will be yours if not already. The second he opened the door and let you in, he made it so that day or night, you’re free to roam here. Hitoshi knew that you don’t have to say the word because it’s yours.

The two of you danced to theme songs from different shows on the tv and laid on his chest without sleeping. He burned the popcorn and made bitter coffee. Without a single complaint, you dragged him back to his living room that’s lit from a shabby lamp and the glow of the television. Once again, you danced to shows that premiered over a hundred years ago and laughed at one from almost two centuries ago. In one night, he understood what was happening. This isn’t some get together that’ll happen only once. It’s you.

He places his hand on your cheek and kisses you. A tear falls from his eye. It’s you. Perhaps he’s always known.

On his bed, he ravages you as soon as your clothes are thrown on the floor. Kissing you from your lips down to your chest, and finally at the place he craves. Even in the night with the stars and moon to guide him, he sees perfection. Your grip on his hair is tight as he is relentless with his tongue and two fingers that search for treasure. You cry out with your back arched and toes curled.

He can stay here forever if you didn’t pull him up to flip over. His clothes follow yours on the floor

You’re addicting. A drug he wants to take forever and go happily to the place of ecstasy that you lead him. You kiss him feverishly with longing and desire. His hand is in your hair, squeezing it as you go along. Hitoshi can’t believe how this is going. You glow in the moonlight, claiming your throne. Before his eyes close from the pleasurable rocking, he calls you by your name in his heart, “My goddess divine,” he moans, “thank you, you merciful god.”

Hitoshi kisses you again and again as he places you on your back. The bed springs follow his rhythm that aims for release. Your moans are music to his ears, and your blissful face is a painting.

He lays on his back with your head on his chest. Both of you are out of breath and happy. You squeeze him. “I’m proud of you.” His heart thumps.

“For this?”

You chuckle and correct him. “No, I mean because you’re a hero. I don’t think I ever told you that. I’m proud of you. You worked hard for it.”

He hugs you back and kisses your head. "You, too. You did a damn good job."

Hitoshi isn’t a little boy that abuses his power nor is he someone that hides. He’s a hero now and he’ll be yours, too.

#shinsou hitoshi x reader #hitoshi shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinsou #shinsou hitoshi #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia fanfic #boku no hero academia #mha fanfic #bnha fanfic #hitoshi shinso #barely edited sorry

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