#hlycrwn

[knightsdeath]

his pulse thrums frenetically against his neck and while there is often a DISASSOCIATION of the self in order to maintain control within battle there is no battle here, yet. rather : reconnaissance as assigned to them by their professor and, truly, it’s just a show of his great luck that he gets stuck with the person he least wishes to be around at any given moment. ( quite the impressive feat, that. congratulations, your highness !! ) IF THE GODDESS IS REAL, or any higher power truly, then they must be laughing at his misfortune / or simply it’s their professor had seen it fit to force them to work together to some ridiculous and unlikely end.

thus he maintains a frigid silence on his part / unwilling to even look at dimitri let alone carry any modicum of a conversation with him, as it has been for the past two years between them ———— the recollections of how they had been together near always and ran together and laughed together and existed together are so very distant and far in his mind that he’s half convinced they were never real to begin with. yet they were, or so his mind insists, and despite the distance and the chill and the constant blizzard that stretches between them : there is still that connection / that bond.

stupid. so very stupid.

he lifts a branch out of his way as he ducks beneath it / senses hyper alert as they always are for any hint of the enemy / albeit more highly strung than is standard due to his TEMPORARY PARTNER ( ha ) ———— who's far too fucking close to him. ❝ keep your distance, unless you wish me to run you through with my blade, boar, ❞ he speaks quietly for all the fury with which he speaks / though he doesn’t look at him : still.

( never mind that this copse of trees is rather thick and / there’s no excess of room to move any one way or the other. semantics. )

@hlycrwn // hey

[ruinlance-a]

( deep voice ) anyone in this thread suck toes ?

anyone else wanna recruit me into their house. literally fucking anyone.

[guileheart]

im going to eat. your eyes. be ready.

pls no… plea s e

[aegeir]

          ❛ i am not passing judgement. i am just wondering ... how ? ❜

@hlycrwn​ // one - liner call

[timecall]

hi max !! reminder that u are Super Cool and such a wonderfully talented writer and i'm so glad that u have blessed all of us with ur immaculate existence

unprompted // AAAAAAA? 

hey. hey nyx. hey what gave you the idea that this was okay. hey. hey im about to start crying,

PFPFPF HONESTLY THO THIS IS SO SWEET ;;;; I HAVEN’T EVEN GOTTEN TO WRITE AS MUCH LATELY SO I’M BIG 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 RN THANK U !! im rlly glad i get to talk to u a bit more + write with u too bc ur writing is big sexy and im constantly emotional about it 🥺

[knightsdeath]

31

fraldarius ( which is to say : the duchy proper as the far east coast of faerghus ) is approximately five and half days of travel by horse drawn carriage from fhridiad ———— a fact committed to memory in the early days of his youth and tucked within his heart, meant to never be forgotten. never to be forgotten, so well embedded into his mind that try as he may he can never rid himself of that slip of information.

information gleaned and gathered in the carriage with his father with his mother with his brother in varying configurations thereof. on that velvet bench that he had perched himself on the edge of, frenetic and overwhelmed and overwhelming as he peeked out of the windows far too frequently in vain hope of seeing the outskirts of the capital proper. and how he had chipped away at the patience of his beloved brother and his adored mother and his ephemeral father and how he had whined and whinged and pouted with each of their stops !! insisting that they hardly need to rest nor stretch nor allow the horses to eat, after all. ( and at the tender age of eight when he had finally learned how to ride a horse independently he had boldly requested to take a horse from the carriage so that he could rush and run and fly all that distance and all that way on his own, lighter by far without the weight of the carriage and this crowd and their luggage / and his mother had sighed and patted his head and denied him. and denied him. and denied him. )

fraldarius ( which is to say : well, you know this part already, don’t you? ) is approximately two almost three days of travel by horseback with a light pack and the size of his body alone from fhridiad ———— a fact committed to memory mere hours ago when he had ridden from his childhood home and standing over the rotting remains of those he loved / those he loves, an echo of that childhood yearning to fly to his side. to dimitri’s side.

is this yearning? no. it can’t be. not by far. yearning carries the connotation and ideation of something soft and gentle and lavender-tinted / rose-tinted. of something utterly saccharine, the mere thought thereof like sugar bursting across the tongue. something fragile. something a breath away from mourning.

no. no. nothing quiet so delicate as yearning. there is something far too sharp and far too hard and far too vivid ————

but it’s ( … ) something. he’s not quite so idiotic not to acknowledge as much.

in their mutual glances and in their lingering near each other and in their glancing touches steadily becoming more frequent and HOW STRANGE IT IS TO RELEARN EACH OTHER WHOLLY ANEW / NOT AT ALL AS THEY WERE BEFORE / IN THIS PLACE THAT THEY KNOW SO WELL / sitting in the king’s quarters within these haunted halls that aren’t haunted at all but carry with them the imprints of memory and this room and this place and this man and they are lifetimes removed. lives removed. each buried so very long ago but here they sit, alive still. breathing still. close ———— growing close. the fragmented process of relearning one another, truly.

time has stretched and their conversation ( begun as felix was shaking the vestiges of the dead from his shoulders where they had clung, so wanting, even after he had truly all but flown away from that place and that time and that weeping well of sorrow / but is there any way to leave it, truly, when it lives within you? ) winds itself steadily and unerringly to talk of military and politics and useless drivel for which he had reached into the ashen and dusty recesses of his mind and brought that knowledge to light once more / not nearly so forgotten as he preferred to pretend. HE IS NOT THE DUKE OF FRALDARIUS but that is what the people call him and is that what matters, in the end?

silence reigns and embers remain of the fire that smolders and glows and casts its light still on his face and his body and the fall of his light hair and ———— there is a half empty glass of wine sits at the small table beside and neither are quite softened nor loosened by alcohol nor warmth nor their company / but as close to, perhaps. lingering nearby COMPLACENCY with their knees nearly brushing and is this intimacy?

don’t call it that. don’t call it that.

he watches the embers and / dimitri watches him and / he watches the fucking savior king in his periphery and / the beast king gazes at him so steadily and it’s ( … ) something.

there’s a shift in his periphery and, as if in response, there’s a tightening of his skin and a shuddering of his bones and a shift of something / into place ———— or out of place? somewhere. some—when. something. he knows. he knows. he fucking knows.

there are few who know the king of faerghus even half so well as felix hugo fraldarius, after all. even now. even so far removed. even after the boy was eaten by the beast. even after the monster lived alone in that shell. even after the man and the monster live as one, now. there is the instinctive knowledge of a person : everlasting.

❝ ———— felix, ❞ name spoken like a prayer / but neither of them are holy men / but neither of them are devout men. and his head turns automatically to meet his eye and the scar tissue of what remains of the other ( patch discarded beside the glass that is a twin to his own, half-drunk as well, mirror images ) and it occurs to him, disjointed, that they should restart the fire / lest they wish to give into the coming of winter and the promise of snow on the wind and the chilling of the air and the hardening of the ground.

their knees bump as dimitri draws closer, ❝ what? ❞ irritable and irritated and far more irate than he had been through the whole of their conversation and the conversation before that and the conversation before that and something hovers so perilously on a blade’s edge : rotting. and he, too, finds himself ON EDGE, in return.

a hand brushes against his jaw so gentle and light and testing and testing and testing and he moves from it / a denial / mouth twitching / looking into that eye that gaze that face that he once knew so well. that he knows so well, now. older and scarred and not quite the same : shadowed and changed by time and terror and tragedy after tragedy after tragedy. felix finds himself wary and weary and worn / from this and life and the aches of battle and the weight of grief and the whole of it and the whole of dimitri and the whole of them.

is there a them? ————— well : isn’t that what this something is?

( here’s a hint : yes. )

dimitri looks at him and therein lies something intent and intense and practically exasperated, the lift of his brows and the slight tilt of his head and the faint downturn of his lips. ❝ felix, ❞ spoken so tenderly / tender like a bruise / and oh, how it smarts. ❝ i wouldn’t normally dare to presume, but you must know. surely you must know ——— you know me better than any other. as i know you. ❞ that touch, again. along his jaw. gentle but not quite so light and. and.

that’s the crux of it, after all. there is no one who knows dimitri so well as he. there is no one who knows felix so well as dimitri. they know. they know. they know ( … ) of this something that lingers between them / a creeping rot.

but it’s not rot at all, is it?

and he draws nearer and felix thinks of that time he had tried to count all of dimitri’s eyelashes and had laughed helplessly partway through and never truly got his answer and their noses nearly touch. ❝ it’s selfish of me, but i tire of this dance we do around one another, ❞ dimitri speaks once more and it’s ————

❝ shut up, ❞ a mere whisper of words / not quite fragmented and not quite whole and dimitri’s hands are warm. they’re warm. they’re warm against the frostbitten expanse of his skin and the frigid expanse of his chest and there’s his heart and there’s the damn king on high and there’s something. their noses brush.

when they kiss there’s the curve of where neck meets shoulder along his calloused palm and a hand at the back of his neck and it’s ———— a revelation. and his bones : unraveling beneath dimitri’s touch / as dimitri begins to come apart beneath his own.

@hlycrwn // don’t make me say it , don’t make me say it , don’t make me say that i lo [ don’t make me say it ] you. —— touch ( after a small rejection )

[empyrd]

♛   //   @hlycrwn   ,   unprompted   . ❛ ... el , ❜

    SHE WILL REMEMBER THE FIRE . the way it danced around the room &&. grew in size -- like a beast growing hungrier by the minute . she will also remember the blood . scattered splotches dotting here &&. there around them -- such a high number that it almost seemed natural to be there . like there was nothing wrong about what had just happened .

     SHE STARTED THIS WAR &&. she would never see the end of it . war demanded blood . blood &&. a high body count ; the crown of the empress -- the horns of the devil -- would soon be lost to war as well . so it would seem she had caused her own destruction .

    HE’S THERE , TOO . of course he is . no end of hers would be met without him there , be it by her side or against her . of course , she always knew deep down it would be the latter . his morals too high for the bloodshed , his sight not good enough to see the end she saw . &&. what a tragic end it turned out to be , for edelgard at least , as dimitri would be hailed as a hero .

    HER OWN BLOOD joins the floor , layers upon layers of blood already beneath her own . she cannot see it but she can feel it . the countless lives of the people who had died fighting for her &&. of those that had fought against her . wherever they were now , she would be joining them soon .

    ❛ ... el , ❜

    DOESN’T HE KNOW IT’S POINTLESS ? doesn’t he know that she would never have backed down ? maybe he didn’t know her so well , after all .

    SHE HAD ALREADY LOST . she was already gone . she wasn’t going to ask for his forgiveness , she could never truly accept it , anyway . but she wanted to . she wanted to go back in time , find a way to fix things , prevent all the suffering . but that was impossible . if she could do that , this war wouldn’t be happening in the first place .

    MAYBE SHE COULD HAVE SAVED HERSELF . maybe she could have kept her life , her happiness , &&. her brother . she misses the times when she would see him as a child . he always made her smile . the person in front of her now was hard to recognize . true , she knew it was him . she knew that , deep down , dimitri had truly never changed from the boy she remembered . maybe the reason why she couldn’t find that boy is because of how she had changed . or maybe , because of the way that she had changed him .

    IT’S ALL HER FAULT , in the end . it’s always her fault . how could she blame anyone else but herself ? her morals , her ideals , they were just &&. she didn’t regret them -- didn’t regret any of this &&. yet she felt sorry . sorry for the boy who’s family she killed , sorry for the blood beneath her , sorry for the classmates who had stood beside her instead of saving themselves . but there was no other way , was there ?

    IT DIDN’T MATTER . focusing on what had already happened would only distract her from the future . of course , now , she knew that she wouldn’t take part in that future . but dimitri would be there . dimitri the king , dimitri the hero , dimitri , who called her el , who had trusted her , who she betrayed , who still looked at her like there was good in her despite everything she had done . he had tried to give her one last chance but she failed , failed , failed .

    &&. NOW SHE SEES HIM AGAIN . sees the boy prince who would rule for years , be good &&. kind to his people . fódlan would know peace . it seemed that the solution to war was dimitri himself . or maybe , he was the alternative that she spent years trying to find . or maybe , this story wouldn’t end happily for him , either . for all she knew , he could die in just a few moments . she hopes though , truly , that this won’t be the case .

    EITHER WAY , she hopes that -- when he does pass on , wherever he &&. she may end up -- they see each other again . &&. when that happens , 

    she wants him to call her ❛ el ❜ again .

[ruinlance-a]

it’s rare that he can sleep, let alone in the company of others — try as he may, some trust lay permanently buried with the boy he was at 13 — but sylvain ... is an exception, permitting his body to give in to fatigue as eyes close, shifts to lean against friend’s own. the bags under his eyes suggest it’s been days, at least, since he last rested & the last conscious thought he has before nodding off is that he hopes sylvain doesn’t mind too much.

                                           𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝  /  always accepting.

Today held its fair share of escapades and stories kept dear to his heart ———— stories meant to be kept in a book with a lock-heart chest guarding it , Sylvain’s mouth the teetering key meant to spill the treasure’s he’s kept for nostalgia value. It’s then , he wonders , why Dimitri never bothered (or trusted) him enough to join him on these outings. A day out to town , Sylvain swooping women up left and right with a wink and honey-coated poison. Dimitri , on the other hand , held a charm of his own that Sylvain could never measure up to. It was the charm of ignorance. Something about seeing a man choking on his own words , flustered at the thought of letting his heart beat through his tongue appealed to some ———— many , he’s figured out. And as funny as it were to unfold , it’s led to some… coat tailing. Just successfully wooing one person was enough to overwhelm his highness. But several?

Needless to say , Sylvain had to be the noble knight in shining armor to rescue the prince.

Not many dare trudge into the room that is Sylvain’s. So perhaps it was the safest place to be to hide from any more lovebirds that Dimitri spoke his songs for. He doesn’t understand ; he doesn’t understand how someone could easily charm their way through anyone yet leaps for help the moment he’s given the chance. Should he have just left him for the dogs? Bite back the hesitation , succeed in having at least one date ———— just to leave Sylvain to run off on his own outing? Nah , he surely couldn’t , as tempting as the thought were for a moment. Dimitri’s eyes pleaded for help , rang bells in his ears he couldn’t ignore. There was a softness in his heart for him. Certainly. Dimitri was at Sylvain’s mercy.

So they sat , side by side , Sylvain yammering his ear off for what seemed to be eons. About this and that , what this couple did , what he saw that day , how funny the events that took place were ———— and he almost didn’t mind the silence that fell after some while. Though he did question it , and as the inquiry sprung to his mind , the heaviest thud pressed against his side.  `  What the . . Pftheh , you really went and checked out on me , huh . . ’   Eyes scanned over his face , noting the exhaustion , how the weight of his muscles fell in his slumber. He seemed. . peaceful. A certain tranquility fell on his face at the sight. To have tamed the beast with incessant rambles and hiccups in his laughter was a fact that dare thrummed a lone heart string in his wicked chest. The warmth was enough to provoke his head to cant on top of theirs , nestling capitulated and snug.

Sylvain sighs.

` Ah , well… ‘s gettin’ late anyways… ’  There’s plenty of fun to be had tomorrow. Sylvain does what little he could to make this whole ordeal more comfortable , leaning further back against the wall (knowing full well how his back is going to hurt in the morning) and accepts his fate as a royal pillow.  ` Goodnight, Your Highness. See ya’ tomorrow. ’

[guileheart]

“ only the savage regard the endurance of pain as the measure of worth ”

& OH, does she know all about the endurance of pain. days & nights molded together like the healing of flesh ripped open in efforts to correct their perfect heir. darkness turned from days to weeks in some delusion of lifelessness, the distant screams of the only welcoming familiars who might have brought comfort in the chaos of the madness echoing still through her mind each night that she lays desperately yearning for a moment’s rest. the SAVAGE, he says, & oh, savage, they were. he stands before her & she can feel the tenseness in his presence, smell the day’s long work exuding from his clothing & unwashed hair. 

it’s like he’s accusing her : the savage. some unrelenting force who knows nothing but barbaric brutality. she stands, arms crossed against her ribs, some empty caress with an unfulfilled desire for comfort. her nails sink into the crimson cloth of her dress. even the comparison of the savages who slaughtered their own flesh & blood, who played with the minds of children until they disintegrated entirely into madness, who harped so harshly on who shall bear the crest that they were willing to sacrifice life, limb, sanity, feeling, humanity, for the sake of being something more : something greater. she shudders at the thought. the grim memories replaying like the nightmares that wake her screaming in the darkness. a candle is best left lit most nights. 

her stomach turns. nobody understands. nobody wants to fathom the truth of lifelong deceit painted as a beautiful mural of religion, guidance, & understanding. but she knows. she’s known deceit for far too many moons. a motive for peace, a motive for love, for a genuine, true joy : that is what she strives for. sacrifices made that stain her hands & fill her boots with bloodied death, all for a greater wish. a greater desire. is she so different from those who wrought hellfire on her mind & memory ? bloodshed for a dream, tears, pain, grief, WAR, for a lifelong tranquility. different ? perhaps not. but the motives are not comparable. this is no selfish greed for power, it is a wish for a future filled with laughs, nondiscrimination, & a desire for love. they have it wrong. but she cannot prove them wrong. so, she fights. she continues fighting until every threat has been eliminated & she can restore some semblance of balance in the nations in which she has conquered with such weighted conscience. 

her words are short & strong   while her fingertips still tug at her clothes for reassurance. 

                                           ` Do you think me a savage, Dimitri ? `

[aegeir]

@hlycrwn // thank you so much ! i’m so honored to hear that i’ve contributed to your adoration for ferdie & that means that i’ve achieved my mission ! in my opinion, that’s one of the greatest compliments that i could receive because if i can provide you with an experience that makes you want to see more of this beautiful man, then, perhaps, i’ve done him proper justice ^-^ --- ah, but now, i’m afraid i’m going to have to use an uno reverse card on you ! it’s really no surprise that i adore dimitri --- he’s actually a bit more in line why my type than ferdie in a few ways ? --- but dude --- dude ---- you really deliver & it makes me so happy because ? i feel like dimitri is one of those characters that really needs to be explored ! there is no black & white in his case, just so many shades of gray that we cannot fully understand without observing all sides of him.

@svartastr // omg violet hushhhhhh you’re leaps & bounds more talented & i live & breathe for the ship we have oh my god ? you write hubert in such way that leaves me speechless ? you fully understand him & i never get enough of reading through our threads & even the ones that i am not involved with ! i would want for no one else to suffer in ferdibert hell w / me & be apart of our crimson flower main trio <3

@sleepcrest // oh my god, thank you !  at the risk of sounding redundant --- I TOTALLY ADORE LIN ? and it’s so nice to know someone who can capture his character so well from what i’ve seen ! your headcanons are so on point, i cry ? ALSO I SEE THAT CLAUDE & LIN SHIP ON MY DASH & I STAN IT !

[beastofedmund-blog]

honey and lemon or milk and sugar // musicals or plays // lemonade or iced tea // strawberries or raspberries // winter or summer // beaches or forests // diners or cafés // unicorns or dragons // gemstones or crystals // hummingbirds or owls // fireworks or sparklers // brunch or happy hour // sweet or sour // rome or amsterdam? // classic or modern art // sushi or ramen // sun or moon // polka dots or stripes // macaroons or croissants // glitter or matte // degas or seurat  // aquariums or planetariums // road trip or camping trip // colouring books or water colour // fairy lights or candles

tagged: stolen from @hlycrwn tagging:  you

[timecall]

gently tucks a pink lily behind her ear

unprompted // always accepting. // @hlycrwn

Frankly, the fact that this tea set was still in her room—dusty and a little off color and clearly not having seen the light of day, but there and not totally broken—is a little surreal given everything that’s happened. Byleth has already cleaned up and put the little porcelain set back into use by now, but she won’t ever quite get over the oddity of it when put into the context of her life; still, it’s a small blessing she won’t bother questioning. Sure, there’s likely plenty of other sets available should she need to replace it, but … Well. Call her nostalgic for a time that seems incredibly distant, despite ( or maybe because of? ) the fact she feels as though it was only earlier in the year.                       Byleth sits in silence, letting the quiet whistle of the teapot and distant birds chirping distract her in her waiting. It doesn’t seem like a lot of time passes before she hears footsteps nearby, though she doesn’t bother to turn around in favor of checking on and actually pouring out some of the tea, and it’s a good thing that she’s so … calm? Byleth—because there isn’t a drop out of place even when she feels something touch the side of her head. She doesn’t have the chance to say hello or mention how glad she that he accepted her invite, her hand reaching up curiously to feel … A flower?                                                                   Surprise after surprise, it seems.                       “Thank you,” she says, even though she doesn’t even fully know what it is because the gesture ( apology? maybe ) is more than enough to prompt the smile to appear on her face. If it’s any larger, or brighter, or like it comes easier, maybe that’s a little bit imagined ( or, well, maybe it’s because she’s genuinely … overjoyed? certainly happier than a normal level, seeing him like this again ); or maybe that’s just a testament to her own growth too. Either way, her smile—small for how smiles often go, but beaming for her—doesn’t appear as though it’ll leave any time soon. “For this. And for coming.”

                    Oh. “I found the chamomile, so …” Chamomile. Potentially a little old chamomile.

[knightsdeath]

buries his face in the crook of felix’s neck & breathes out in a tired sigh : ‘ i love you , ‘

the heart settles warily / beats questioningly / and what a wonder it is : to be alive. but that, too, is a lie ———— something strange and half—formed and furthermore a testament to the sycophantic cries of THE MANY, oh the joy to be alive !! to survive this war !! to survive these days which follow so steadily and stiltedly and nightmarish—ly !! and something and something and et cetera.

in the end the unwilling and unwitting truth of it all is that he had expected to live as much as he hadn’t and the contradiction that lies therein is fully and truly the result of LIVING WITH THE UNDERSTANDING THAT HE WAS MADE TO DIE and furthermore being faced with the blatant truth of the fragility of mortlity ———— which is neither here nor there, isn’t it?

thoughts rage and the mind twists and sleep ( velvety—soft / blade—seething ) eludes him on this night and most nights but not every night and he considers the grounds without seeing and with seeing and the moon / waning and crescent formed / weeps silently in the sky. memories cling as they’re wont to do and as they must do and as he so wishes they wouldn’t and he finds himself mired in this suggestion of agony. not quite full yet overflowing all the same and exhaustion pulls ————

time passes, inexorable and unavoidable. if he were to be pressed he couldn’t say how long he’s stood there watching, swathed in pale moonlight and the passive watching of the stars and chilled by the cool night air, shoulders bare and scar disgusting as ever ———— he couldn’t say how long he’s stood there before the door opens and his spine begins to straighten but there’s nothing to fear, is there? yet foreboding unravels in the pit of him and winds itself so very prettily along his spine and that fear from lifetimes ago / does not truly live, any longer. but for the spaces between breaths and moments and seconds where THE GHOST OF IT HAUNTS HIM STILL.

but he knows him. has known him, always. from birth. from before birth, impossibly and improbably. the suggestion of him and the concept of him and the presence that he carries and he would know him anywhere and everywhere and IN ALL FORMS AND IN ANY AND ALL WAYS / to the ends of this earth and this existence and beyond. the way which the doors to his rooms ( the king’s quarters / which may well be theirs at this rate and they’re theirs in all ways that count but to THINK OF THEM in such a manner feels disjointed and strange and the concept twists in his mind and hates it hates it hates itself ) sigh beneath his touch and the pause of him and his footsteps, alone.

( care for an interlude? here is a truth in the form of a corpse, a ghost : felix hugo fraldarius has known every last inch of dimitri alexandre blaiddyd for as long as either of them could remember. since well before he understood what that meant.

is that love? )

and his touch. arms slipping beneath his and wrapping around him so solidly / hands against the bare expanse of his skin / the drop of his head against his shoulder and the press of his nose against his neck, hair brushing and hair touching and the press of chest against back and the solidity of armor, the softness of fine fabric. something so love—laced he could wretch. something so adoring he could shatter. something so gentle he could scream.

he tired and he’s worn and aren’t they both? felix doesn’t need to see dimitri to know that his eyes are weary / that exhaustion has worked tirelessly to leave its permanent mark / that between them their sleepless nights threaten to suffocate them both. what a pair they make !! what a pair they are !!

i love you, he says. as if it’s so simple. as if it’s so easy. but isn’t it? cant it be so easy? lethargy pulls at him, at his muscle and his bones and dimitri’s embrace is something that dares to be FAMILIAR and his breaths against felix’s neck are a reassurance as much as they are an irritant ( tickling and ticklish but he’s far too tired to do much about it at all and each brush of that sun—touched hair carries that sensation further and further ) and THE FUCKING SAVIOR KING says he loves him. doubtlessly. lovingly, in spite of his tiredness.

it resonates, though he’s heard these words and though he knows these words and though he is familiar with the cadence of dimitri’s voice and the whole of him and the touch of him and. and.

( here’s another truth : sleeping is far easier with dimitri alongside him, something half—remembered from their dawning days when they had been together so frequently that felix had wept whenever they were parted and it’s a ghost of something and the suggestion of something, that sleeping in the same bed as him or intertwined with him or in the vicinity of him brings sleep, that elusive thing. ever closer.

here’s another truth : sleeping is far more difficult with dimitri alongside him.

how, you may ask? think about it. just think about it. )

felix combs through dimitri’s hair half—blind for all that his palm curve along his skull and his hair is smooth against his hand as his fingers curl and / tangle. an intimate touch. a touch that remains a hair too hard to be truly soft but remains devoid of aggression nor anything but THE THROB OF HIS HEART / this concept of love. this conceptual reality of love.

his head turns and dimitri’s lifts and their mouths brush and how soft. how fleeting. how unbearably gentle, these arms around him and this touch on him and this love / their love ———— the weight of their exhaustion and the watchful eyes of the night and the perishing of the moon and how felix leans back into his chest. found and found and found again. always. always?

something like that.

the kiss is lingering and soft and slow and when he pulls back he gazes at him / that that eye he knows so well / pulling at the tie to his eyepatch it falls between them, caught between their bodies. dimitri is so close ———— the amount to which he has to stoop down to make this work is frankly humorous in just about any other situation but in the here and now felix turns, properly, and dimitri just begins to straighten, arms still wrapped solidly around him. warm. alive.

he stretches up as dimitri lowers again and the press of his mouth against that knot of scar tissue once hidden is brief : there and gone again and there’s something damning here. there’s something impossible here. but hasn’t that been them, all along?

❝ you need sleep. ❞ i love you he doesn’t say, because he knows. he must. how couldn’t he?

❝ as do you, my beloved. ❞ a smile, wan. a brush of his nose against his forehead.

❝ hmph. ❞

baron settles beside the dwindling fire as they make their way towards the bed. their bed. pressed close and adoring ———— loving. loving.

@hlycrwn // i’ve loved you always , and forever , even when i didn’t.

[guileheart]

stinky

haha… poopyyyy….