#moon’s scars on her throat are from the Great Battle

[aeon-arts]

☀️ Sun & Moon 🌙

[the-world-of-ignavus]

Moggi of the Storm (Embers) - Brastilian, Asterdawn

Name: Asterdawn

Other Names: Aster (cub, cadet)

Meaning: Precious (Aster), Great Potential (-dawn)

Notable Lineage: Hurri'Aswe

Age: 6 moonspans and 1 moon | 6 years and 1 month (as of Embers)

Identity: Demiwoman - She/They

Orientation: Bisexual - No Leaning | Ambiamorous

Rank: Brastilian

Former Rank(s): Lieutenant, Guard General

A short-furred and muscular primarily white cool-blue pointed molly with little ‘tears’ of blue in her coat. Asterdawn’s right ear has two tears in it that follow through to faded scars across her muzzle. She is covered in thin, long healed pale scars but the moonlit white of her coat hides them well making her untouched most of the time. Her quills are thinner than most Stormborn quills, lined with additional barbs that mark them as one of the longest lineages in the faction. They are easily one of the largest moggi in their faction, standing eye to eye with even Saberslash and can be deeply imposing on the best of days.

Asterdawn was born to Lilycrash and Torrentstrike who they wouldn’t have the dubious pleasure of meeting until they were 2 moons old. With a horribly loud mind and a desperation to make everyone around her proud, Asterdawn suffered repeated bouts of muteness as a cub as nerves and discomfort caused her voice to become ‘lodged in her throat’ in such a way that she complained of physical pain when others attempted to force them to speak. As they grew older, the instances happened less and less often though high-stress events can trigger it all over again.

Though Asterdawn was close to much of their family - including Batdream and Cliffballad, their uncles - they had an incredibly strained relationship with her father. Right from the start, Torrentclaw had never seemed very interested in his smallest cub, always pushing them to speak before they were ready thus further silencing them. Eventually Torrentclaw would begin to make remarks about their intelligence, even one callously implying they may be better off dead which marked the end of their parents' relationship - something the young cub blamed themself for a long time.

Asterdawn's emotions towards their father would become incredibly bitter as not long after they had broken up - only days before Lilycrash would die in battle against the Fenns - Torrentclaw would begin courting Magnoliafawn with an almost alarming intensity. It was very hard for her to push past her emotions when her former cohort member confessed that she was worried about the way Torrentclaw was already growing distant to her but she managed it, going as far as to divulge how their early cub-hood had gone.

When Torrentclaw became just as absent as before, proceeding to make a muttered comment about one of their fresh cubs - a little golden tom named Shine - being deaf, they went to Goldanthem with the new mother and stood by smugly when Torrentclaw watched with angry frustration as his fatherly rights were revoked.

The death of her mother Lilycrash affected her deeply, triggering one of her longest bouts of muteness - a full 6 moons.

Asterdawn's already strained relationship with their father would become even worse once he takes on Yarrow as his cadet; the older tom's views about his cub's muteness flowing from the young cadet like a river. Though he would claim otherwise, she knows where Yarrow got them from.

Asterdawn is a known workaholic, often channeling their energy into training and work. It could be any kind of work - training a cadet, training their body, hunting in the snow, seeking out herbs in a storm - so long as it would take their mind off of whatever was bothering her, she would do it. It wasn’t uncommon to find her passed out in random parts of Stormborn territory asleep, having overwhelmed their body. 

Traits: Anxious || Regal || Powerful || Motherly

Drillmaster(s): Cliffballad (Deceased), Goldanthem (deceased)

Cadet(s): Powderfang

Parents: Lilycrash (mother|deceased), Torrentclaws (father)

Sweetparent(s): Cliffballad (deceased), Batdream (deceased)

Auncle(s): Batdream (uncle|deceased)

Sibling(s): Irisblossom (sister|deceased), Shine (half-brother|deceased), Raspywinds (half-sister|deceased), Laxwings (half-brother|deceased)

Nephling(s): Callastorm (nephew)

Cousin(s): N/A

Mate(s): Jaspershanty, Grouseheart (platonic)

Crush(es): Veildrift

OoC Friends: Veildrift

Cub(s): Agateswipe (son), Hibiscusstalk (daughter), Obsidiansmoke (daughter|deceased)

Grandcub(s): Astersmoke (grandson)

Other Notes:

Magnoliafawn is technically her step-mother as she took a Torrentclaw as a mate, but given Aster was mostly grown by the time they really bonded, they see each other more as friend

The scar on her ear is from ||Redacted|| which was the final factor is deciding to ||Redacted||

Asterdawn was very popular around the Empire for their looks and their reserved behavior gave them a 'mysterious' vibe that everyone liked

The age different between Asterdawn and Irisblossom is less than 15 seconds but Irisblossom takes it seriously. Asterdawn still calls her 'big sister' when talking to moggi she trusts

[lilacwineandthesinkingsun]

To be in the favor of Gods... PART 4.

AN: I got back into Vikings. AAAABSOLUTELY obsessed w the Ragnarssons ofc... who isn't?

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT: PLEASE SCROLL AWAY! THIS IS NOT FOR YOUR EYES.

Part 3 here.

I know my sister. If they would marry her, and she'd somehow agree, she wouldn't share you with another... she'd rather slit your throats herself..and don't tell me two of the most infamously insaitable sons of Ragnar would be up for celibacy for one scarred woman.. - he said before walking away.

-Don't give up my boys, your mother still has her gifts and how many times did we have sex?!...

3 years later....

Halfdan was away raiding with Bjorn, Halfdan tried to take Kattegat but failed. Alsaug and Ragnar wre now dead. Their sons bloodthirsty, you saw it all. Since you have told Harald that the gods will not let him take Kattegat for now, he was angry. He kicked you out, saying that you must be the whore of Ragnar's sons. So this is how you have found yourself as a servant of Lagertha. Servant, and friend. You were good with kids, your cooking was like it was straight from valhalla, and you were good with healing too. Not to mention your gifts. You had your own hut now. One night, you woke up to Ivar breathing down in your face, holding a knife to your throat.

-You will show me my future or i'll kill you. - he threatened.

You angrily sat up, took the his hand with the knife in it, and cut your palm, holding it up for him to drink, before putting another hand on his temple.

You both saw all the anger, you both saw the past, how he threatened Margrethe, this is also how you found Ubbe was actually married now. You saw him on a carriage in battle, anger and victroy flashing in his eyes. Yet you never saw any woman or any love in his future, nor children. When he opened his eyes again, you let go of him, turning your back to him trying to go back to sleep. In the morning you found a boquet of flowers next to you. It must have been him. He might have a heart after all. You set it aside, getting ready for your day.

In the great hall Lagertha and Torvi looked at eachother after seeing your bandaged hand. You knew they saw it. So you left, saying you'll gather some mushrooms for the soup.

In the forest Ubbe surprises you as you were washing the mushrooms in the stream.

-Why didn't you send the children to gather mushrooms?

-I needed a break from people. - you said with a smile.

-What happened to your hand? - he asked.

-I cut it. - you told him with a straight face, urging away the tears that threatened to escape.

-For whom? - he asked as he sat down behind you gathering you in his arms, gently taking your bandaged hand.

-It doesn't matter Ubbe.

-It matters to me. - he said touching his forehead to the back of your head as he holds you tighter.

-Why are you not with your wife Ubbe? -you asked still close to tears. You believed that now that your brothers disowned you you may had a future with him. Well, not anymore anyways.

He sighed and got up.

-She's fucking Hvitserk in the forest hut.. - he said before walking away.

When you got back Ivar was sitting with Lagherta with his most evil smile, Lagertha's face laced with worry as they both saw you.

-(Y/n)! - he said with fake happiness. - i told Lagherta what you had shown me about OUR future. She had blessed our marriage. We'll marry in 5 days at the full moon. - he smiled as he crawled away. As you stood there looking at Lagherta in disbelief the tears you tried to keep back finally escaping. You thought of running away, or killing yourself. You could not marry him. Surely he wouldn't have sex with you, you both knew that was impossible, but you were terrified of him. He was so full of anger it made him insane, ruthless. You did not love him. That night you visited Torvi and Lagherta, telling them you loved them and wished them the best, before leaving. Ivar got word of it, so he sent a searchparty after you. You were soon found, you tried to stand your ground but you were greatly outnumbered. You were taken back to Lagherta's and Ragnar's old farm, tied to the pillar in the middle. You were bleeding from various cuts, bruises started to form all over you. Then you saw noone for days. On the day of the full moon you saw the faceless bride again. There was no escaping this.

Ivar crawled in, smirking at your abused form. He got up close and held a knife to your face.

-I know you won't ever love me (Y/n), but i need you, you'll help me become even greater than my father.

-Not if it's not the gods's will. - you whispered.

-Well, just to be sure, no one else will ever want to marry you. - he said as he cut a line from your forehead down your cheek, nearly to your neck. He left your eye out. You were bleeding heavily. Slaves came in, crying at the sight, but they dressed you in a white gown, they hid your face with a white cloth, but you bled through it anyways, just as you bled on your dress too. You were the faceless bride in the blood soaked dress...

You don't remember the way to the dock, but you remember the tears and worry in Kattegat's eyes. There stood a man at the end of the dock, with Ivar smiling at you sickly as you tried to stumble towards him. Falling to your knees repeatedly. 20 ships arrived, but noone dared to look away from you. You were trying to walk to the end of the dock, as you wished Thor would strike you with his hammer so you'd die on the way. Ubbe stood behind Margrethe, on the other side stood Lagherta and Torvi. They all angry, yet they couldn't do anything. Ivar won.

As you now crawled halfway through the dock, you heard steps behind you, but dared not to look back. You were gathered in strong arms, before you were handed over to another. Bjorn took a look at your face, gave your nearly lifeless body to Halfdan (he did not know of your brother disowning you yet) before taking his axe and stroming towards Ivar.

-Bring my bride back Bjorn. - he smirked.

-Bride? You think that is how you're supposed to treat someone you want to marry?

-I don't need her pretty, i need her gifts.

Bjorn's nose flared, his jaw clenched in anger before he kicked Ivar's chair into the water, a few of his men already jumping after him.

-Don't you dare even look at her, or the next time, i'll tie you under my ship. - he said before walking away, trying to find you.

Lagherta was treating your cut when he found you, Halfdan was holding your hand to his lips as he prayed you'll make it at least for another day.

-Mother, why is she even here alone?

Lagherta looked at both.

-Harald disowned her, kicked her out in the wilderness after he had lost the battle for Kattegat, which she told him he would lose. I took her in. Ivar said she had shown him that they will marry. But i see now that wasn't true..

Halfdan looked at her in disbelief, then back at you.

-Poor, poor (Y/n).. how could our brother do this to you when you have told him the gods will? - Halfdan asked of nobody.

You were starting to regain consciousness when you hissed as someone grabbed your other hand as well. Panic setting in you started to trash around, until you heard Halfdan's comforting words.

-Shhh it's me sister, it's me, noone will hurt you anymore. shhh, you're safe.

You opened your eyes, looked at him, and then saw Bjorn, with tears in his eyes.

-B..bj...bjorn.. - you whispered.

-Yes, i'm here now. I won't leave you here again. - he said as he kissed your bandaged knuckles.

-You sure won't, i am taking her home. - noted Halfdan.

-N-n-no.. Har-Ha-Harald will kill me. - you said tears streaming down your face.

-I'll go talk to him.. - Halfdan said, before leaving.

-Pl.. please c-c-can you s..stay? - you asked Bjorn after your brother left.

He shutting the doors and windows before gently sitting next to you, holding your hand.

The next morning Lagherta opened the door, to see you sleeping while Bjorn also sleeps in a sitting position holding your hand. She smiled at this antic, wishing it will end well.

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

You woke up to shouts.

Ubbe and Bjorn were shouting over your sleeping form.

-Our brother tried to kill her, and all you can think is leaving your fucking wife, so she'd marry you instead? Do you hear yourself Ubbe? Do you?

-I never loved Margrethe, and i love (Y/n), she is all i've ever loved..

-It is simply not for you to decide brother. Why don't you go and pray she'll make it until tomowwor after what Ivar did to her... - Bjorn said in anger, making you hiss as he gripped your bandaged handa bit too hard, making them look at you.

-I.. i will not marry anyone. Nor do any of you love me. I am still alive only cause of my gifts, and now that i won't even be pretty to look at, i may as well go out and die in the mountains.. - you whispered before trying to get up, but fail.

-(Y/n)... - Ubbe tried to plead.

-Just go.. both of you... - you said turning away from them.

The next time you woke up Lagherta was cleaning your scars gently.

-I'm glad you woke up.. You had a high fever and nigthmares for a week. - she said as she continued. - The boys came here every day to talk to you, hoping you'd hear..

-I.. i heard their stories. I just.. i couldn't tell which was a dream, which was a prophecy or them talking.. - you said.

-For which you wished to be true? - she asked, before the door creaked open to reveal Bjorn with an antler carved fully with runes. He basically ran in falling on his knees next to you as he saw you were awake.

-I'll leave you two to talk. - Laghertha said before gripping your hand and her son's shoulder with a smile.

-I thought you'll never wake up again. - he said bringing your knuckles to his lips and leaving them there.

-Just another prophecy fulfilling itself. We both know i already have seen way past then the bloody bride. - you smiled at him, taking your hand from his, and gently cupping the side of his face. He leaned into your touch with his eyes closed.

-I just wish we could've skipped to the right parts.. - he whispered, his blue eyes shining at you.

-The gods like to test us. To humble us, to make us believe.. and i believe that is just what they did. I am still here, you are still here, you stll visit me every day. No matter that im hideous, or all that im good for is telling what the gods tell me to say..

-(Y/n).. you are so much more than that. You have sacrificed yourself for our people, you took care of our children. You were hurt, battered, bruised yet you still smiled. You are a healer, an amazing cook, one of the greatest shield-maidens, a seer, and the most beautiful woman i have ever seen.

-But.. i .. i am not beautiful anymore.. I saw what... your brother did to me..

-You are still beautiful. A scar won't ever change that... - he said as he leaned closer. Your noses were nearly touching. - I only ever had eyes for you (Y/n).. and i only ever will .. - he said before softly kissing you. Upon the touch your eyes will filled with even more vivid images of the future. Happier times, smiles, loving touches. You could see it all. Growing old together. Yet, most of the pictures had another in them. He was like a ghost, slowly fading, yet he was there.

When he broke the kiss, you knew he saw what you did. Then he saw the tears in your eyes.

-It's okay (Y/n). If that is what the gods want, i'll let him, as long as he treats you as he should..

-But... he's married to Margrethe.. - you said.

-He left her 4 days ago, after you were screaming his name while having a nightmare.

-I.. i don't understand.. why would he.. why would that be enough reason?

-You ever saw how he looked at you? or how he talked about you?

-You know i didn't.. I was a prisoner of my brother, then of Ivar. You were away raiding, stometimes him too, only to come back and marry her, even though he knew she was in love with Hvitserk and Sigurd..

-He was hurt. Now, please tell me what did Ivar exactly do to you..

-He.. he threatened to kill me if i don't show him his future.. - you lifted your bandaged hand. - he then told lies to Lagherta about it before i could even tell her, it was decided, he would marry me. I then decided to leave, to live in the wilderness, but his men outnumbered me. I was beaten, cut, bruised, then tied to a pillar in... in the old farm of Ragnar without food or water for days, then on the day of the wedding, he came in, cut my face " just to be sure noone would ever want to marry me.. then ... he made me.. he made me walk over there like that... laughing... bleeding.. then.. you know the rest..

He was fuming. He threw a cup to the other side of the room, strantling you a bit. Ubbe rushing in as he heard the commotion.

-I'm going to kill Ivar... - Bjorn shouted before leaving, shutting the door behind him making you flinch.

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

It was time to avenge their father. So it was also the time you saw your brothers again. You stood in the middle of the path between Laghertha and Bjorn as your brothers walked towards you.

Halfdan hugged you, before lifting the cloth, taking a look at the scar that adorned your face now. You tried to hide it before Harald sees it, but it was too late. You saw his jaw clenching, but he just walked away, not acknoweledging you. Bjorn hugged you to himself.

-It will be alright. - he said before putting a kiss on your forehead.

Harald saw this, and turned to Halfdan.

-Since when is she his woman?

-As far as i know she is not.

-Does she still have her gifts?

-Yes she does. - Halfdan answered.

At night at the feast Harald stood up and prepared for the toast.

-As you know my beautiful sister is here in Kattegat, i would like to ask for forgiveness for my mistake, and take her to the raid with us.. - he lifted his chalice, looking at you, as all the men were hurraying in the great hall.

Laghertha stood up, smiling at him.

-You have disowned her, humiliated her, she is in this state because of you, and now you think i will let her go with you?

-I am rather sure your son Bjorn will gladly take care of her Queen Lagertha. - he smirked as he walked up to Bjorn, putting a hand around his shoulders. - if we both make it out alive i may even give him her hand in marriage. - he laughed. This was some kind of sick joke. You stood up, lifting the hood from your head, revealing your face to all the men, who went mute at the sight.Scar still showing but now adorned with rune tattoos across the right side of your face.

-I will go, but not for your love, not for your men. I will go to fight beside the Ragnarssons, avengig their father. The gods have shown me great victory, which would be a victory without you as well my dear brother. I have no need for your love, i do not need to forgive you, for all you ever did was use me for my gifts. Which believe me brother had hurt me greater than any of the christian's punishments. My hand in marriage is not for you to give, it is for me to decide. But a month from now we will be feasting for winning the great war, with the greatest viking army this world has ever seen. - you shouted. The men hurraying, drinking again loudly. Ubbe's and Bjorn's eyes sparkling on you, Harald fuming. You left for your room, when Ubbe caught up with you. He pushed you to the wall and kissed you passionately.

The sea was angry, the trip wasn't smooth, but you all made it, you all managed to keep the boats afloat and together. You saw the worry on Ubbe's and Bjorn's face as you nearly fell into the water, but you just smirked at them. When the night came the sea calmed down, and you felt warm bodies crawl on either side of you, both holding you close. You needed not to look, you knew who they were.

In the morning you were gently tracing Ubbe's tattoo on his face, when his bright blue eyes opened, ever so happy to see you so close.

-How are you princess? - he asked in a low voice making you softly giggle before playing with his beard.

-I slept rather well... the weather wasnt so cold last night.. - you smiled at him knowin he knew what you meant. But then with a growl, you were picked up and rolled inberween the ship and the other man. Bjorn held you close to his chest, before motioning Ubbe to go.

-Go take a piss or something, help with the food or row.. - he said before kissing you, as you heard Ubbe laugh.

-Will you not be jealous of eachother? - you whispered to Bjorn.

-We have talked about it a lot when you were sickly. It is fated, our feelings are unmoving and true.. If you'll have us... - he said looking into your eyes.

[on-stained-glass-wings]

❛ can i ask… what happened? ❜ + malenia

Malenia lazily picked her head up from the nearest root and turned her face towards the Tarnished that had unceremoniously seated themselves in front of her. While her regular sight had long been gutted by the scarlet rot, her spectral sight could make out the form of a young, limber girl with rope-corded muscles--much like the pictures of the warrior women she had seen in books about The Age of Gilding. There was a spark in her aura that Malenia liked: intelligent and determined; seeking everything despite asking nothing. She would have been an excellent Cleanrot Knight prior to the the Battle of Aeonia.

" You come bearing the Great Runes of my siblings, yet instead of attempting to claim mine, you ask for a story." The goddess hummed thoughtfully as she forced herself to sit up straight in her chair. The cool of the night had settled around her, and as she shook away the dregs of her dull, monotonous sleep, she could feel leaves mixed in with the hair that tickled her scarred cheeks. She sighed and began the slow process of brushing them out of her hair and off her pauldrons.

" Of what do you mean when you ask 'what happened'?" Malenia queried after a few seconds of thought and picking. " Do you mean what has happened to my brother's Haligtree...or, perhaps, what has happened to the Lands Between overall? Many of the Tarnished that have stumbled their way to this chamber seemed quite lost--wishing to claim my Great Rune without even truly knowing what it means or what to do with it. I suppose I cannot blame your lot, though; I cannot imagine how disorienting it must be to awaken from death with little to no memory of what you were when alive."

Despite being unable to see the stars, Malenia could sense the cool aura of the starlight shining through the chamber's roof, much stronger now that Radahn has breathed his last. The light of Rennala's moon was the only loving, familial touch she had felt since Miquella's slumber. In Haligtree Town above, the remaining citizens slept under the cover of the rotting yet still strong boughs; and in Elphael, the soldiers and knights went about their shifts, endlessly scanning the horizon for the return of their god. Even Finlay slept soundly in her urn, recharging the energy needed to independently manifest herself. Malenia was truly alone.

Well...not quite. There was still an eager little Tarnished waiting for an answer, and the Goddess of Rot didn't need functioning eyes to know that she was being fixed with the same look Miquella used whenever he wanted a bedtime story. It was that nostalgia more than anything which loosened her lips.

" To know what has become of the Haligtree is to know the story of the Shattering. It is a story with no victors, no heroes, and no happy endings--of a family with too much power and too little sense that used the broken pieces of the Elden Rune to fracture the world around them. Yet...you have clearly fought well and overcome much to make it this far. Of all the Tarnished, you come bearing Great Runes...all but mine and my brother’s, in fact. It is also novel that you have not immediately come at my throat.” She hummed and propped her chin on her hand.

“ Very well.” Malenia announced. “ If you wish to know what happened, you shall know what happened, although before I begin, I would like to at least know your name...and, perhaps, how all of you Tarnished keep finding your way here--or, at least, how you arrived. I am...loathe to leave the roots again, especially when I fear Miquella may return and find me absent; yet dying or not, this is still a sanctuary for the forlorn and abandoned, and their safety must be assured. Perhaps I should nip your entry point in the bud.”

[misselko]

Got this idea from Dimitri’s conversation with Byleth before Fort Merceus battle with the Death Knight. Put some angst, fluff, and a pinch of smut spices into the dish and let it simmer down! At least, that’s what I want! But it turned out... different ;) Sorry not sorry

This one took me some days to write. I hope you enjoy it! Please feel free to give me some advice and ideas for my next fic! Your warm comments will be cherished very much 💕 Thankies!!

 

RECKLESS

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Mention of blood, violence, smut

Words: 3316

 

POST TIMESKIP

Empire will be the only remaining enemy and to move on to the Imperial Capital, Enbarr, capturing Fort Merceus is a must. Praised as the strongest defense with its fortified military installation  in the Empire, seizing it won’t be an easy feat.

Liberating Arianrhod, calming down Holy Kingdom of Faerghus political issues, winning over the Leicester Alliance and gained their support. Getting a lead on Lady Rhea’s location. Although things were a rough go, but thinking back on it now, Blue Lions sure has really come a long way. Things have been wonderful in these past moons that it almost feels like dream too good to be true.

You don’t know why but you can’t shake your uneasy feelings and dread. War is raging and everyone knows there is a big battle on the horizon.

“We must not falter in our assault. The Death Knight is the enemy commander in Fort Merceus. He’s an unpredictable opponent. A dangerous one. Please proceed with caution, (Y/N).”

“I will, Dimitri. No need to worry.”

“I have not come this far just to lose you here. I’m serious. Do not be reckless out there.”

“Will you save me if I’m in trouble?”

“Of course, (Y/N). You were the heart of the Blue Lions, and the same holds true for the Kingdom Army.”

You smiled at his concern and hold his hands gently.

“I will do my best as well to support you, my Dimitri.” His cheeks turned into rosy blush at your words.

 

“Whoaa!! You’re getting pretty chummy, aren’t you, Your Highness? Go get a room!” Sylvain winks and got punched HARD, dragged away by Ingrid. You make mental notes on giving her a delicious roasted meat from that famous new shop in the town later as your gratitude. Serves him right!! ...But you wouldn’t trade them for anything in this world. Everything will be alright with them. Blue Lions are your precious family. It will be fine. Everything will be fine.

---

Capturing Fort Merceus is a daunting task. Endless enemies are approaching and relentless. Felix and Sylvain are working together cut through the snipers and mages. Ingrid and Ashe are doing their best to handle the pegasi knights. Dedue, Annette, Mercedes, and Flayn makes great combo on cutting through enemy reinforcements while providing healing to everyone. Slowly but sure, you and Dimitri managed to push Death Knight on the corner. But it doesn’t make things less difficult for both of you.

 

“You dare stand between me and my pleasure?”

The beginning of it was barely a bellow that grew steadily to a deafening roar, piercing the air and shaking the ground. Areadbhar crack in deafening clash against Death Knight’s Scythe of Sariel. They raised their weapons, waving them overhead.

 

“Yes. I dare stand against you, Death Knight!!”

 

Dimitri decides to face Death Knight head on as you tried your best to keep his back safe from the Imperial soldiers assaults. Keeping a close eye on him... just in case, following from a few meters back, cover his blind spots that way, look out for any potential danger. You could see them coming around, carefully and quietly trying to find their way to Dimitri.

 

Landing sharp blows, you bring the blade down on the head of another mage. Slashing your way through numerous enemies, you start to feel fatigued. Countless enemies lying dead behind. You looked around, among the sea of red and black, a swordmaster is sneaking his way behind Dimitri, ready to ambush him.

 

But you wouldn’t let it happen!

 

You were fully offensive, rapidly swinging your sword down on the swordmaster. You were able to deflect, parry, and block most of his attacks until his foot swept across your ankles, knocking you hard to the floor. The swordmaster stood above you, ready to press his sword into your chest to end your life. Fatigue made it harder for you to evade his deadly stab completely. Sound of a weapon piercing through flesh filled your ears, followed by an intense pain in your side. He pulled it back out with a triumphant smirk on his face. Despite the searing pain, you made it in time to grab your own weapon and thrust it up to his neck, your arms shaking as you tried to counter the weight of his attack. Grimace crossing your face as he fell, blood painting the earth a sick shade of red.

 

You sat up, wincing at the searing, burning hot pain on your side. The stab wound was way too deep. Your hands trembled, desperately attempting to put pressure on the wound as heavy flow of your blood is trickling through your fingers, colors your skin and clothes. The world had turned blurry, and your body felt weak. Ignoring the excruciating pain, you rush forward to help Dimitri. He has won against the Death Knight. But in his brief reverie, the Tempest King failed to notice two opposing snipers are approaching him, expression intent to kill, aiming their arrows at his back.

 

You acted on instinct, rushing forward, sprinting to intervene. To protect him.

‘We have been through so much together and he’d been through hell and back... I want to ease his pain. Knowing he’s safe... I can be at peace.’

You thought to yourself, launching forward. You barely has energy to stand up, but you tried to muster your last remaining strength to dove in before Dimitri. The arrows managed to easily make it’s way through your armor, landing in your chest and abdomen. ‘I have no regret when it came to protecting Dimitri.’

 

Your body slammed hard on the ground, careening across the battlefield. A sharp cry pained noise escaped you; that was all it took. Dimitri stiffened at the sound. It pulled him from the high of the battlefield down to reality in an instant.

 

“(Y/N)!!!”

 

He turned; filled with horror and rage. The fires blazing around him didn’t give off any heat. The battlefield around him turned black and white. His ears were ringing as if he’d been caught in an explosion. Dimitri went after the snipers and thrust them both at their hearts. After a quick glance to make sure no more surprise attacks happen, he kneels and pulling you into his chest. You looked so small, felt so limp that it sickened him. Broken and battered with littered scars and large wound on your side. Arrows jutting out of your chest, much too close to the heart, and another one lodged deep in your abdomen.

 

Dimitri watched as the blood pooled around you. Blood... there is so much blood. Your blood.

“Goddess... what were you- MERCEDES! FLAYN!! SOMEONE...HELP!!”

 

He pulled himself up, beside you, staring at your face. You were so pale. Oh, Goddess, you were dying. Were you already dead?

“I’m sorry.” There isn’t a reason to apologize, you aren’t sorry, but it still came out like the blood that is on Dimitri’s hands now.

 

“Don’t you dare apologize to me right now,” his voice choked off in his throat feels raw with emotions, barely able to hold back the sob which demands to escape, “not when you are like this. What were you thinking, (Y/N)? You have promised me to not be reckless.” He phrased it in a question, but both know why.

 

“Y-You... haven’t seen the... swordmaster... and those snipers. Y-You...were going to die...if they attack you. I want to protect you.... and I don’t regret my decision.“

 

You opened your mouth to speak but immediately coughed, feeling globs of blood on the corners of your lips. Dimitri gripped your hand, his hold so tight that it hurt, but you wouldn’t waste your breath on telling him. You could barely see Mercedes scurried over to your side as quickly as she could, Flayn follows behind her, leaving the Death Knight behind with tears running down her cheeks.

 

“Please stay awake for me a little longer, please.”

He choked out, pulling you closer if possible as it would keep you from leaving.

 

The chaos around you went mute as your eyes grow heavy. Maybe a quick nap would suffice.

 

“No...no, no, (Y/N)!! You can’t do this to me, you can’t-! Please, (Y/N), I can’t lose you too.....”

 

You felt like you were fading, and the sounds around you faded along with your hazy consciousness. You fell asleep.

---

Every second was filled with anxiety; you’d lost so much blood. The wounds were too deep to heal completely. There was little to no possibility of survival. Not after what you’d been through.

The days turned to one week, then two...then three. The physical wounds had healed, mostly repaired and faded to scars. There was potential for things to return to normal, and you may wake up sooner rather than later.

When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself in a dimly lit room, your upper body covered in bandages. The first thing you’re aware of is a dull throb radiating throughout your entire body. You were confused, and moved your head, unintentionally shifting your body and sending a wave of pain through your chest and stomach as you tried to get up. You closed your eyes tightly in response to the return of extreme pain, much worse than you had ever felt before. With much struggle, you sat on the edge of the bed shakily trying to stand up. The door creaked open and you looked up to find Dimitri peering inside.

 

”You’re awake,” he said, a look of surprise on his face. You tried to stand up and walk to him but failed, Dimitri ran in and caught you before you fell over. “I thought I was going to lose you, (Y/N),” he said, lifting you up effortlessly, settling you gently onto the bed and pulled up a chair. 

 

As cautiously as you could, you managed to sit yourself up. You kept a careful eye on the young king, noting how dark the circles under his eyes have become and how hollow his cheeks have turned. The fact that rest had eluded him for however long you were unconscious was as plain as day.

 

“You nearly died because of me. I have no right to be... you of all people shouldn’t-!” He managed to say, his voice shaking as his fingers trembled.

His head shot up to look at you, cerulean blue eyes dampened by tears that pooled in them. Your eyes were open, though weakly, looking at him and his disturbed state. You sensed his worry, but also his relief as he hovers next to your bed, engulfing you in his embrace and squeezing you against his chest for all he was worth. He was mindful of your wound, but that wasn’t enough to keep him away. No, he needed you. He needed to be beside you, to feel you, to know you were there.

 

“I’m okay, Dimitri...” You whispered, resting a hand on his chest where his heart thundered. You closed your eyes against him, relishing the feel of his tender warmth.

 

You felt how hard and rapid his heart was beating, almost deafening. Your arms wrapped around his heaving back weakly, rubbing it soothingly. He pulled you closer in response—closer, closer, closer, until every inch of you was smothered by him. Hesitant, trembling fingers graced your tightly wound bandages and you felt something warm and wet splatter onto your exposed shoulder.

 

"I could not stand to lose you,” he spoke slowly, holding your hands so tight that it hurts.

“But I fear that I may if I tell you what is on my mind.”

 

His voice was as quiet as it could be and it made you frown your eyebrows in worry. You were happy to see him alive, that was your goal when you decided to protect him from the approaching enemies. However, seeing him so distraught and afraid twisted your insides uncomfortably. The way he held your hand so desperately, afraid to let go.

 

“Dimitri.” You call him quietly, which makes him look at you with those gorgeous eyes of him.

 

You move your hand to his cheeks, caressing his soft skin, trying to bring him even the tiniest amount of comfort. Leaning to give him a soft chaste kiss on his lips. He reciprocated by open-mouthed kiss you with such fervor. There’s an undercurrent of desperation in the way Dimitri kisses you, as if this is the last moment he’ll ever feel it. It’s almost as if it pains him to be this close to you. You were alive, yet he couldn’t help but doubt it. Perhaps it was once again due to the vicious noises he still heard, though faintly. However, he was glad that they allowed him this moment of happiness.

 

“I won’t leave you, Dimitri.” You promised between ragged breath, your chest heaving.

 

“We are so close to ending this. Please, promise me you’ll stay safe. Rest, for now, my beloved.” Leaning down, he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, holding your hand to his chest. “I promise, I will never let you be hurt for my sake again.” Covering you with a  blanket  and tucking you into bed to retire for the evening.

---

After your awakening, the Blue Lions and Professor began incorporating regular infirmary visits into their schedule. They showered you with kind, encouraging words and occasionally bore small gifts (flowers and snacks), always encourage you to get better soon. But your most frequent visitor of all was your beloved gentle king.

It was two weeks since you have gotten better. Mercedes promised to take care after your bandages this evening.

“Are you ready, (Y/N)?”

You met Mercedes’ warm gaze with your own. With a firm nod, you replied, “Ready as I’ll ever be, Mercedes.”

 

The healer moved closer to you, her skilled hands undoing the set of bandages for the last time. Dimitri averted his frantic eyes to the wall when the dressing loosened just enough for your breasts to peak through. A cold, unforgiving breeze whipped the newly exposed skin, jolting a shiver down your spine. Mercedes sighed, slowly traced the scars your chest and stomach.

“I’m sorry but we will never be able to remove the scars. The wounds all healed, but... the scars will never go away completely. I’m sorry (Y/N).”

 

Your eyes immediately flashed over to Dimitri’s stiffening frame.

“It’s okay. I will never regret such a thing.” You smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Do you need anything else, (Y/N)?”

“No, I’m all good, Mercedes! Thank you for your help.”

“All right, then. Annette said that she needs my help with her baking this evening. We have to finish it before midnight! Should you need anything, please feel free to call me.” Mercedes gave you last smile before excusing herself politely from your quarter.

 

“Dimitri.”

His jaw clenched tautly; his eyes crunched into a pain-stricken wince. Refusing to look at your scar, a harsh reminder of his failure.

“Look at me.”

He stilled and won’t budge to look at you.

 

“I will never regret nor blame you for this. It was my decision and if it means saving you, I’ll gladly do it again in a heartbeat. Or... perhaps.... I can understand if you find that my... scars are disgusting, appalling, even....” you whisper softly, almost inaudible. Your surroundings whizzed right past you before you were unceremoniously slammed into your bed.

“DON’T SAY SUCH THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF!!” He growled “I will not allow you to throw your life away for me. If.. If something ever happen to you.. I’ll live a life worse than death itself, (Y/N).”

 

Not a moment later did you feel something warm and soft press against your lips. His mouth moved awkwardly yet full of affection. Hands planted  on either side of your body, ridding any hope of escape from his ravishing kisses. Dimitri pressed his lips further into yours, swallowing your moans. His lips left yours to trail down around your neck, breasts, and stomach lovingly. “This wounds... I cannot lose you again, my beloved.” His body quivered.  The King kissing the scars on your cleavage and abdomen, worshiping them reverently with tender touches, almost like touching a porcelain doll. Afraid to break you with his almost inhuman power. Biting and sucking wherever his heart desired until you were covered in nothing but love bites, leaving you a panting mess.

 

Dimitri held you in his arms, stroking your hair and mumbling whispers of ‘I’m sorry’. Bittersweet smile formed on his lips. He gazed at you, eyes lidded with desires and need, mixed with guilt and love. “(Y/N)... My beloved...” You pulled away slightly to look up at him and smiled.

“Dimitri...” You cupped his cheek in your hand, in which he immediately melted into.

“I love you, Dimitri.”

 

He blushed at your words, then it dawned on his realization. Suddenly becoming very aware of the... intimate position you were in. “Um, w-well...” As he came to his full senses he released his hands from you, as though from fire and stuttered, quickly pulling away from your panting form. He wasn’t making eye contact anymore, and you followed his gaze downwards on your body. Oh. Without the dreamlike stupor a d hazy feeling to distract you, you realized just how naked you are. Nightgown pooled beneath your waist. Feeling an onset of bashfulness, you also brought an arm up to cover as much of your chest as you could; despite what you had just done with him, the reality of the situation was catching up to you.

 

He flinched, breaking eye contact and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Ah—Urghh!!! I’m sorry, (Y/N)!! I don’t know what came over me but.. but... P-Perhaps we should... stop... before it escalates any further...” The King unclasped his furred cloak hurriedly and put it over your naked body unceremoniously, hiding his flushed crimson face in his hands again, absolutely brutalized with shame. 

 

“Er.. Be certain to rest for now. We may have undone some of your healing.” Then he said hurriedly, almost inaudibly. “When your strength returns to its fullest, we can pick up where we left off. I promise.”

 

“Fine...” You giggled, finding his attempt at being serious too adorable. The heat and passion was still very visible in his eyes, and it was obvious that anymore teasing on your end would send him over the edge.

“Thank you for this lovely evening, Dimitri.”

You pulled his hand to your lips and give each of his fingers soft kisses, gazing at him lovingly. Dimitri’s jaw and pants tightened, the poor king desperately clinging onto the last thread of sanity and reason which threatened to snap at any moment.

 

“Good night, my beloved (Y/N).” Casting one last glance at you and bashfully looking down when he caught your eye, the Blue Lions Leader left with a haste that was probably unbecoming of a gentleman, his long legs taking the steps to the second floor dormitory two at a time. He somehow,  somehow  managed to reach his room without incident or interruption, locking his door behind him, leaning back against it and covering his burning red face with his hands. His body felt like it was on fire; nerve endings alight with sensations he had long believed were dead.

 

The pit of his stomach tangled in knots when he thought of (Y/N). All he could think about was your pure unadultered love, beautiful (E/C) that is gazing at him affectionately. Goddess, he was such a sinner. It made him want to put his hands on you. All over you. Repeatedly. Savoring the taste of your lips as you moan into his mouth. Feeling your warmth and love. Unclothed. His mind is running wild. This frantic sensation in his blood, while half-forgotten, was not new. It will be another sleepless night for the poor king. And it’s all because of you.

[lightrivals]

Urianger has been scheming with the loporitts for a few days now and Thancred is genuinely fine with it—he understands how his lover truly does find great joy the company of smaller beings such as the fae and now the loporitts, but after a week, it feels more and more like avoidance. When confronted, Urianger just smiles and kisses the top of his head with a long winded statement about patience being needed and concerns being unnecessary.

The next day, Urianger takes them to Garlemald, and they spend some time with the twins, Alphinaud with a suspicious smirk on his lips and Alisaie snapping at him to fix his face lest he spoil the surprise. With raised eyebrows, Thancred asks about this said surprise but Urianger merely shrugs. There’s definitely something going on, and in another life maybe Thancred would be upset left in the dark, trailing behind a man of deception as Urianger once was, worried he’s not prepared for the battle soon to come. But in this life, he trusts his lover with everything—his life, his blade, his heart—and the suspicion he carries will linger but only with the hints he needs for safety, never distrust.

They meet Livingway outside Camp Broken Glass, and she’s so excited to be in familiar company again, Thancred can’t help his smile. Urianger kneels to her as they chat, her excitement barely containable though she tries her best not to jump so much. She passes along a basket, whispers something to Urianger that makes his ears redden with more than the cold, and waves them off with a promise of getting all the details of their venture once they return to Etheirys. At that, Thancred’s eyebrows rise with shock—he wasn’t expecting their travels to reach so far already. Yet, with the help of the teleporter in the excavated Tower of Babil, they find themselves stepping on the gray sands of the moon, Mare Lamentorum in all it’s essence still as gorgeous as their first arrival when they came to stop Fandaniel.

Urianger clears his throat and holds out his hand, uncharacteristically mumbling for Thancred to complete the hold and walk with him. Noting his embarrassment, Thancred can’t help but grin and grab the other’s hand, snuggling close to his side in glee. They walk in comfortable silence, avoiding the creatures about the land as they make way across the surface. Etheirys glows in all her beauty above them, forever a sight Thancred will never not be grateful to still see.

Urianger eventually finds a topic to settle his words on, beginning some sort of lecture on the Watcher and it’s memories. Thancred listens but only in the way of a man so in love he cares not about the intricacies of crystalline memory collection but the way Urianger’s eyes light up when he speaks of them. This here, this peace and comfort where they are open to each other’s arms and thoughts, where kisses are dolled out with the ease of a breath and the meaning of a promise of commitment reestablished—this is never something Thancred imagined for himself. He feels giddy with it on this day, vacating the trials and tribulations of existence on the star and finding peace in the eddies of this spaceship called the moon.

Eventually, Urianger slows to a stop, near the remnants of Allagan relics buried in the land. Forever will this world bare scars from the arrogance of the Allagans. Thancred only hopes one day Eorzea might find peace beyond the pains of that long fallen empire. Urianger pulls a blanket from the basket Livingway imparted on him and settles down with a gentle hum. Thancred takes a second longer, his gaze lingering on the moonlight filtering through Urianger’s silver locks, the softness in his golden eyes as they peruse the contents of the basket. He is so deeply in love and he hopes that between them, he passes from this realm first so he never has to live another day without Urianger.

When he voices the latter thought, admittedly random and without context, Urianger’s frown almost makes him laugh. He quickly sobers up when the man replies that he then wishes to return to the star the very next minute after Thancred’s last breath as even a second longer without him wouldn’t be much of a second worth living, not when he already experienced Thancred’s unmaking once before.

They don’t talk much about it, the journey of Ultima Thule. Thancred doesn’t remember much of anything after he charged at Meteion and Urianger always looks so stricken and melancholy remembering Thancred’s unmaking, he hates to ask him about the venture. What he knows comes from the Warrior of Light and even they get antsy and sorrowful when recounting the tale. It makes him that much grateful to be alive now, to have confessed his love and be kissed under the bright stars lighting the night of Old Sharlayan—so apropos given his very first meeting with Urianger as young students was in that city all those decades ago. For now, he leans in for a kiss to wash away the sadness he accidentally poured into their laps. Urianger smiles and nuzzles his nose against Thancred’s before retrieving a few more things from the basket.

It ends up being a picnic, what Urianger schemed up with his bunny friends. Romantic and quaint, Thancred feels like a young man again feeding grapes to Urianger’s lips, stealing bits of bread from his plate, and laughing into stolen kisses as Urianger playfully admonishes him. When his belly and heart are both warm and full with food and love respectively, Thancred lays his head in Urianger’s lap and watches the aether of Zodiark’s cage swirl through the air. Long fingers pet his hair and he sighs happily in this blessed comfort. He doesn’t know how long he lies there watching his surroundings without fear of an attack, but when Urianger calls his name, he’s admittedly more than halfway to a nap. He sits up with a muffled yawn, prepared to ask if they’ll be returning to Etheirys now, when the small box playing between Urianger’s nimble fingers has his breath blocking the words in his throat.

Thancred is sure Urianger has a speech all prepared, perfectly worded and worded to perfection, and he probably spent hours pouring over phrasing and tone and whatever else goes into a proposal speech. He probably consulted the twins for help now that Thancred thinks about it—Urianger is quite close to them and sees them as the younger siblings he never had. Thancred feels sick with anticipation because oh how he longs for this, to say yes and tie himself to the love of his life in the way the contents of that box allow, but at the thought of family, he feels himself faltering at the reminder of no Ryne here to witness their union.

Urianger opens the box and the ring is simple, not too flashy and not too ornate but perfectly designed for Thancred’s hand, absolutely divine in concept and reality. Thancred sweats with the desire to see it glitter under the moonlight on his finger. He tries to find words that aren’t a rebuttal—in no world would he ever say no to Urianger’s proposal, but he has spent years in a reflection void of its stars training and shaping the resilience of a young girl he’s come to adore as his own, and he needs her present for such a milestone she helped push them toward with her presence in their lives.

Luckily for him, Urianger agrees. As he presses the box into Thancred’s shaking hand, he promises this being only a simple engagement. Until the day they may see their sweet Ryne again and hold her in their arms after the vows are shared and their first kisses as husbands have come to pass. And Thancred feels his eyes prickle with tears when Urianger closes his fingers around the box, kisses his forehead with a gentle whisper of forever loving his future husband—so sure in the possibility of seeing Ryne again as he was so sure in Thancred���s existence despite his unmaking by Meteion. Urianger’s resolve is powerful and never swaying and Thancred believes in it wholeheartedly.

So he reopens the box and motions for Urianger to slide it where it belongs. Urianger’s fingers are shaking as he goes, the silver of the band a stark contrast to the gold chains and bands adorning his fingers, wrists, and arms. He’s not dressed in his astrologian robes, simple shades of white and gray cloth adorn his form today, but the jewelry settles nice on his skin so he often wears it and an ear cuff on his off battle days. Thancred can’t help but watch in awe when the ring settles at the base of his finger and their fingers twine, the gaps sealed tight and the warmth of metal pressing against skin in a promise for later.

Overcome with emotion, Thancred surges up into a kiss, practically manhandling Urianger against their blanket. Making love on the moon under the sights of no one but each other and the stars, wiping the tears from Urianger’s eyes as he presses into him, sealing their bodies as one until the day they can seal their lives as partners in more than in the sense of the battlefield. When they are spent and Thancred lies on Urianger’s chest tracing hearts into the sweat layering his chest, Urianger pulls his head up for a kiss and a soft murmur of those three words that mean everything in this moment.

Thancred replies between soft kisses, inwardly thanking the loporitts and the twins, and can’t wait to return to Etheryis and see who is the first to notice the newest addition to his wears.

[yostresswritinggirl]

Antinomy

Part 1; establishing grounds. VIBE

"Do you know the spiritual meaning of 11? What about in numerology? You'll find it quite intriguing, funny even... until it starts making sense." You've witnessed and harnessed the way and days he had grown to be; this fic enumerates the trials of the 11th before he became a Harbinger under your care. From strangers to mentor to friends to love- Childe made a grave mistake, now you’re once again strangers.

Pairing -> Childe x Harbinger!Fem!Reader

Word Count -> 3277

Themes -> Friends to admirers, slow burn, mentor, fluffy, suddenly ANGST

Series -> #Sojourner Specials (600 Followers Event) Part 2

Warning -> Blood and injury, decent? amount

The biblical meaning of number 11 comes from one's understanding that it is associated with things that would be considered imperfect, a disorganization of systems, and the disorder or chaos of things. The 11 carries a vibrational frequency of balance. It represents male and female equality. It contains both sun energy and moon energy simultaneously yet holding them both in perspective separate-ness. Perfect balance.

act i. first sighting

The first you've heard and the first you've seen the likes of him was long before you were anyone important in the organizational structure of the Fatui. You were a simple agent making rounds around Snezhnaya's city borders, nothing more, nothing less.

During these parts by the winter forest of Morepesok where time seems slowed down as the snowflakes flutter without urgency, it reminds you of what home feels like, and you felt more free to delve into a sense of relaxation away from other chatters from your co-workers.

You were ready to lean on a tree and just dissociate from the world of stress you had put yourself into— and then you heard a distant cry, accompanied by the pants and howls of wolves. Your body immediately lunged forward, finding your ankles sinking deep into snow as you trudged through the terrain as fast as you can. A child, a literal child somewhere in the forest getting chased by wolves.

When you've arrived by the scene, you registered a tuff of orange hair almost topple you over as they smack into your body, a startled cry eliciting from them as you throw him behind you in quick succession, your polearm manifesting to throw off the wolves that had locked in on the sight of him, "Go! Get out of here!" You urged at the sound of his silence as you carefully swung the first hit on the lunging wolf, being a tad too late to hit it with the edge's blade only for it to be knocked to the side by the shaft. At the sight of the battle you finally relieved a sigh when you heard him and hope that he knows his way back. But your work was not cut yet, you thought as you realized how the pack of four now encircles you with hungry gazes and drooling jaws.

The moments after that was filled with song and dance as you fought hard to overcome the might of four ferocious beasts, the polearm swiftly twirling in your arms to counter attacks from all sides. You twist your arm behind, lodging the tip of your spear in the throat of the wolf before delivering a kick to the head of another one lunging from the front. You made quick work to disengage your spear from the dead wolf, but the two idle wolves had noticed this as they lunged in coordination.

Now bloodied and bruised, exhausted from fatigue and frostbite, your final wolf to slaughter was inches away from your face. Its jaw had locked around your weapon in muffled growls and you can only keep him there with your arms losing its strength. Your blood sprayed around the battlefield of once white snow as the third wolf's sharp canines had lodged itself around your leg before you killed it through a stab.

You humored yourself with a wry laugh at the thought that it would leave a pretty nasty scar. The amount of blood you lost is already taking its toll at your consciousness and the last thing you saw before you finally succumbed to oncoming death was the wolf's awaiting maw, and a prickle of ice.

You only wish then that the kid you saved, only a few years younger than you, had left the forest in safety.

act ii. second assignment

Zapolyarny Palace was a magnificent architecture that towered all other manmade structures in the nation of the Cryo Archon. Now you, the most recent addition to the Harbingers roams these hallways regularly with agents following your trail. Lady Columbina, the 10th Fatui Harbinger, wields a peculiar job within the ranks of the organization.

It was years after the incident in Morepesok on which you came out with a nasty scar on your leg, but a proud Cryo Vision stuck to the side of your torso. When you donned it after the Tsaritsa had called for your presence (she must have sensed the bestowal of the elements) and reported your rounds during that mission, the Cryo Archon's piercing gaze had softened in intensities that washed over your whole soul with the warmth you would not expect of her element. Ever since then she had regarded you with attention to spare, your potential and line of work exposed, and had you easily rising up the ranks at the guidance of the 9th. Despite the gruesome and painful trials you had to go through before you can proudly walk on your own.

The informant by your side had handed you a thick folder earlier and you had been pacing around the hallways the whole time you had been investigating the contents. Said agent feebly and awkwardly following you as if expecting you'd walk away or disregard him for his absence. It was stupid from a bystander's perspective, but you were too focused on work to worry about it.

Well, focused, because you were interrupted by the sounds of clashing and sparring by the quadrangle within the Palace. You stopped your pacing and look up to see a batch of agents training with a few skirmishers in routine. A majority of them easily getting body slammed to the dirt floor in martial combat, and some are working on weaponry. But at the very middle is where your eyes linger with a flash of familiarity—

A tussle of orange hair unhidden by the Fatui hood clashes with a giant of a man, weapons and Vision drawn at the sparring. The agent moves with quick succession, and you can see Pulcinella getting overpowered pretty quickly. As expected of his form, of course, but he still bit back with his delusion now equipped. Cheater, you scoffed to yourself, as the orange-head agent still managed his footing to strike consecutively at the bigger man.

You watched on for a little while longer as the orchestration of the match continued. Your observant eyes clearly noticing how the Harbinger could barely leave the area he had been standing on as he was barraged by blades from every direction, fully defensive. The match ended indefinitely when the Harbinger had noticed you, and quickly ended the match as an escape to his obvious downfall. "Halt," his voice reverberated from the sheer authority it brought and the agent stopped only a few centimeters from slicing the gloved hand in front of him, "We have a guest."

"Hardly," you scoffed at the end of your temporary entertainment as you sauntered over to the edge of the veranda, waving your hand dismissively at the training agents that had kneeled to greet you. With this they all went back to their training away from your side to give the privacy of a talk, except for one person. You can feel his intense stare even if it was hidden behind the standard protocol Fatui mask. You wondered if he had recognized you, "Pulcinella." You nodded.

"Columbina, it has been a while," he made a move to swipe the sweat at his forehead and you murmured an affirmation at his statement. It HAS been a while since you had lingered in the Palace, much less the country. As the head of the information brokers department of the Fatui, you're frequently found in missions beyond the headquarters where you soldier your subordinates in field missions. At this thought, you felt conscious at the fact that you still had your dancer outfit on.

To avert your embarrassment you shifted your attention to the agent with a tilt of your head. You swore you saw him gulp as subtly as he can. "This is Ajax," at the mention of his name, he had bowed his head, hand across his chest in greeting. "He has the potential."

Your mouth formed into an 'o' at the mention of the special word, eyes slightly widening at the intonation as you continued to look at Ajax. When he raised his head to meet yours once again, you found yourself averting in newfound fluster. "You mean to tell me..."

"Yes," the way you gingerly placed a hand to quietly hide the redness of your cheek had Ajax amused, the edge of his mask hiding the slight quirk of his lips. "The Assembly ceremony would be called upon soon."

act iii. 3 pm assembly

The 3 PM Assembly comes before the Dusk Convention which is not the current point of the information. You've only been in it once and it was in a different circumstance, yet your nerves still stayed the same, if not more perfectly hidden than the first occasion.

Ajax, now dubbed Tartaglia alias Childe, stood kneeling by the steps of Your Majesty's throne at the information of his ascension to the ranks of the Harbingers. He was the final piece to the puzzle, and his addition to the ranks meant multiple things. The start of the war against the divine, the Tsaritsa worded after Childe has received his Delusion from Pedrelino.

He almost seemed starstrucked- dazed after the chance meeting of finally seeing the great Tsaritsa face to face. You gulped as the words of the first continues upon mention of his new arc of training in honing his skills and exposure to the ways of the Harbingers. Next to you, in silent and slight comfort, Innamorata simply touched elbows with yours without sparing a glance as she stared straight on. You smiled at the gesture.

"During the phase of your training, you shall be commandered by the Harbinger that had come before you. And she will be your last test to show that you had earned your ascension," Childe followed the trail of Pedrelino's sight as he spun to watch the end of the line up of the Harbingers.

A figure layered with multiple chiffon and flowy cloths and yet seemingly underdressed in the winter nation steps on the red carpet of the throne room, a spear polearm manifesting as she twirls her hand to catch it mid-integration, the action suddenly producing a blast of icy wind enough to reach him and make him stumble.

Childe felt the tingle of excitement twitch his fingers at the apparent power difference. When they both finally made eye contact, masks off and irises laid bare, a petrifying glint of amusement lies within them both. The female offers a toothy grin as she lodges the spear's point into the ground, the metal clanging through the room in piercing reverbs.

"Meet Columbina, the 11th Harbinger, your last mentor."

act iv. counting crows

It had been a while, a very long while, since you had gone stationary in a nation. Much less Snezhnaya. While it is home the removal of your olden routine to put yourself in the shoes of a mentor had really been maddening you, more so with the inclusion of your line of work still in operation and a certain someone as your trainee until who knows how long.

Your brows furrowed as you watch the annoying caws of the crows overhead, four of the black birds making symphony as if to rejoice over your repeated victory. Underneath your thin shoe laid a gasping Childe who was just as irked at the piercing interaction.

You had just finished a 'spar' or what you could call an opportunity of ascension. When you explained to the newest addition as to how his true ascension works (which involves beating your mentor in a fair fight) he had been nothing but a thorn on your side with his repeated requests to spar. He was really, really adamant for a fight, something you had come to realize a day after he ascended to your care.

"Shoot them down," you ordered as the man finally got his grips enough to stand once again, his outfit filled with marks of dirt and obvious footprints from your numerous kicks to make him stay back. At the order he shoots you an amused grin, as if to say 'really?' but succumbed when you continued eye contact.

"Master Columbina," Childe started as his bow and arrow materialized. You knew full well just how inefficient he is when it comes to bows compared to other weapons, and you tasked him such challenge to use it more under your supervision, topping his oath to master it already. "Do you know what four crows mean? I'm not really adept with crowology but I'm pretty sure they have significance in numbers."

The first shot fires and kills one. The action had startled the other birds and they scrambled to flap away, but Childe was already materializing three new arrows to fire at once, this quirked your eyebrows in amusement. Something he noticed and smirked at, eyes still focused as he fires his shots- one missed. "Four crows may mean many things," you watched as he desperately chased the crow with a barrage of arrows and you had to stop yourself from laughing at his failed attempts, "It could mean birth of a male newborn, highly unlikely. Aaand, wealth and prosperity, and finally..."

His arrow finally pierced the poor vertebrate, an emphasized sigh of relief escaping his lips as he whips his head to look at you for affirmation that you had seen his victory. You gave an amused yet soft smile, his eyes twinkled in double-layered delight, "New beginnings."

act v. his siblings

Childe had a mentor once, who fuelled the flame of his reckless spirit through countless beatings and repeated dangerous encounters. When he was given an opportunity of once again being under an official mentor, with his newfound lust for battle, he was extremely ecstatic over the idea. But unfortunately, as he walks around with you through the familiar streets of Snezhnaya, it was not all fun and games as he'd expected it to be.

"You look so disappointed for someone who just received one million mora under their name." Appropriate to the occasion, you don now a traditional Snezhnayan winter attire yet with details that alerts everyone of the price of the genuine fur that's stitched on the edges of the lining. It was over the top since you had developed an immunity.

"I didn't expect being mentored to be a killing machine requires knowing about taxation and interest rates," was his childish grumble. Which received a frosty laugh from you. You had reiterated again and again just how powerful money is to a nation just as information, which Pedrelino and you operate in order. Thankfully Childe was ever so smart to pick things up easily (if it was viewed as a challenge) despite his early recruitment into the Fatui that surely would have hindered his education.

You opened your mouth to reiterate over the fact that perhaps his main concern would be in the issue of debt collection when a scream had resounded through the crowd, one of which belongs to someone Childe would recognize, you thought as you observed how he had perked up and looked around. When his eyes settled on a direction, you suddenly realized a crowd of five coming your way, you immediately took a step away as three younger figures latched onto him and started chatting him up like there's no tomorrow.

You hummed to yourself as you watched with hands intertwined behind your back. From what you can hear and gather, they were his siblings, all five crowds with one probably missing. One seemingly older to the 11th yet not donning the same striking orange hair spots you and offers a sorry smile at the inconvenience, observant, you thought as you flashed a polite smile too. He's probably Andrei, the one who's the same age as you, if you remembered his oversharing correctly.

"Big brother, please join us! We haven't seen you for so long, we're preparing a huge feast for mother and father's anniversary, it would be really good if you can attend!" Wow, these children are really good at bargaining. You can already see Childe's resolve crumbling the more they fluttered their eyelashes with such doe eyes.

Whether a plea for help or look for approval, his ocean orbs had found his way to you, begging that you be at least a considerate Harbinger to offer him this once in a lifetime break. You were about to open your mouth (to let him be, of course, you're not the heartless Harbinger everyone had generalized the ranks to be) when suddenly all six pair of eyes had fallen on you. It wasn't the same tantalizing or spine-wracking gaze the Tsaritsa holds, but the attention made you gulp either way.

"Hi," your voice reached a sudden meekness neither you nor Childe expected nor heard before.

And suddenly you found yourself around a table with plentiful dishes scattered all over it, your crowd of five (seven if you count you two) had turned to a staggering, solid 10 as the whole family had forced invited you into their abode to share the meal. Thanks to the nature of your work and training, your social skills commandered any suspicions or questions off easily, and you behaved just like a girlfriend meeting her boyfriend's family for the first time.

Childe watched as you clenched your jaw and offered a hooded, tilted glare when you met eyes. He gulped. That look looked very much like Scaramouche.

act vi. sixth nation

Childe barely knew the world beyond the frosted wasteland, past the outskirts of Snezhnaya. Yet from the stories his father had adopted to him ever since he was able to remember, he views the world outside with a sense of familiarity, longing and relieving satisfaction. It was such a pure look you felt like barfing from the intensity of the innocent aura it held in comparison to your line of work.

His eyes would then land on you where you once again don your master dancer outfit, yet unlike your homeland, this setting matched it better. The sun at Fontaine hits the golden sequins at a certain angle to make it glitter, and the thin white veil that hovers over the back of your hair flutters gently in the soft breeze that comes by. You'd look angelic if you wore more white, he bites back the words when you met his eyes.

His first look at your line of work and his first visitation outside of the nation. And into the land of entertainment. This was your main land of operation and the way you dwelled with the citizens brings about a sense of replicated home at the nostalgia. Many recognized you as a simple entertainer and many of the citizens look upon Childe with intrigue and wonder.

"Based on my network, this would be his last stop," you adjusted the bangles that holds on to the thin cloth that runs over your arm, "Again, we are here to observe and get information, not look for a fight."

"Yes, master." He grumbled flatly but his eyes were wide and wandering the marble walls and statues that littered the nation. He's distracted, just like a true child. "What's the name of that rogue vigilante again? The one that keeps busting down the doors of the Fatui headquarters everywhere."

You hum, hand wrapped around his wrist as you guide his distracted self through the crowd.

"Diluc Ragnvindr, and try to remember it this time please."

To be continued.

Accidentally posted so now it's a freakin two parter.

@zelos-simp @legionqueensav @moaa @dandelion-dreams @snackgod @rxsalinee

[author-morgan]

more Ivarr, pleassseeeeee. i love him and i love how you characterize him. maybe something angsty and fluffy next? like taking care of him after he comes back with that nasty scar from rhodri?

oh yes, more Ivarr is always welcome. have some fluff tinged with angst starring a cantankerous Ivarr. hope you enjoy! ♥ gods I love this bastard so much. Ivarr the Boneless x fem!Reader

SLOW, METHODICAL STROKES of the damp whetstone sharpen and hones the blade of your axe —recently dulled in battle cutting down Saxons who took to spurring trouble in the countryside where the Sons of Ragnar settled in since the Great Heathen Army disbanded. A soft sigh escapes your lips when you look up through the branches of a mighty elm tree and to the overcast sky beyond.

One thing you hate about England is the lack of sun. Between the clouds and the rain, a week has passed since you last felt the warm rays of the sun and saw the silver light of the moon and stars. It’s been longer still since you experienced either with your beloved. Wiping the blade of your axe with a cloth, you test the edge with the pad of your thumb —feeling the sharp iron bite into your skin, bringing a small well of blood to the surface.

Eyes flitting up from the axe, you find Ubba and Halfdan speaking to each other, both wearing concerned expressions. When the brothers part, Ubba turns toward you. His face is grim —more so than usual— when he approaches you under the elm. He does not give you the chance to greet him nor ask why he seeks you out before he speaks. “Come with me,” Ubba says, turning away as quick as he came, motioning for you to follow after him.

“Is it the Saxons?” You ask, grip tightening around the throat of your axe. Ubba shakes his head, pushing the door to one of the cottages near the longhouse open. Then you see him and know the reason for Ubba’s distress. Ivarr rests upon a cot, the right side of his face mangled and swollen, bloodied, and bruised from jaw to hairline —his eye swelled shut. Panic seizes your chest, making it hard to breathe. “Ivarr,” you gasp, moving to his side. There’s a strange peace about him while at rest. His return from the Western Isle was meant to be that of joyous celebration, not this.

Reaching down, you take his hand and kneel, holding it close to your heart as you think of what to do to call him back from the Valkyrie’s sweet songs. “Rags and water!” You call, glancing over your shoulder at the three drengrs who brought him back. “Now!”

Ubba and Halfdan come after midday; by then, you and the village healer have cleaned and bound his wounds with strips of linen and cataplasms of moss and herbs. There is hope yet —even if he has not woken— so long as the cut does not turn rancid, though neither of you can say how long he’s gone without proper treatment or whether Ivarr will be able to keep his right eye. The brothers offer their good wishes, not wanting to see you sink into despair or lose their brother. Time passes, a slow crawl as the sky shifts to darkness.

In the early hours of the night, one of your fellow shieldmaidens brings a bundle of dried herbs and petals —a combination she had burnt by her sister’s bedside after falling in battle. Burning the offering of rose, sweetgrass, and thyme, you kneel bedside, praying to Frigg and Freya, hoping the goddesses will hear your pleads and take mercy on you. Too long have you stood by Ivarr Ragnarsson to have him ripped away from you like this. You don’t hear his low groan or notice the shift in his weight, but his voice is unmistakable. “Shut up, woman,” Ivarr rasps, lifting his hand to the bandages wound about his forehead and across his cheek.

“Ivarr!” You exclaim, clambering over to his bedside. Your first impulse is to kiss him, but you think better of it, looking down at the white linens wrapped around his head. “I’m half-dead already,” he laments, shifting around on the cot —unable to keep still, “think I’m entitled to some peace and quiet.”

You shake your head, hiding a smile as you roll your eyes. “Perhaps I should have prayed for them to cart you off instead,” you muse —it’s not too late to ask the gods to be rid of him.

Though it pains him, he laughs, feeling the scabs on his cheek tear. Would that he could, he’d have you beneath him already —his favorite kind of homecoming. But no, he’s not a fool, and his body aches, reminding him he is not young as he once was. “Did you miss me, wife?” Ivarr asks, turning to look upon you with his left eye, the back of his fingers brushing along your jawline.

“Only at night, husband,” you tell him with a teasing smile, leaning forward to kiss the corner of his lips and then the bruise on his right cheek.

Ivarr sees the dampness in your eyes then, and his brow furrows —or at least tries to, given the wound and the dressings. “What are you weeping over?” He doesn’t like seeing you weep, and something twists in his chest at him being the cause for these tears.

“You, fool," you tell him, resting your hand on the center of his chest. After months parted, it feels good to touch him, to have the warmth and strength of his muscles underhand. “I was not ready to see you off to Valhalla.” One day, you will both be reunited there —to sing, feast, fight, and fuck— but a seer once told you that day would not come for many years.

Ivarr leans back, situating his head on the pillow again with a grimace and groan, covering the hand lying on his chest with his own. “Too good for me,” he remarks. He thought the gods playing a trick when they led him to you —then you picked up sword and axe and left him in the dirt with a kind smile playing on your lips. Silence falls in the small cottage. Ivarr mindlessly rubs his thumb over your knuckles. “Bet I’m a pretty sight,” he says.

“Better looking than you were.” You smile, stifling a laugh as you brush back the ashen brown hair falling in front of the left side of his face.

He grips onto your wrist, left eye narrowing. “Don’t mock me.” Then the corner of his lip quirks upward, and his hand slides up your arm, cupping your cheek —his thumb running over your lips. “Did you miss me, wife?” He repeats. You can tell in his tone just how much he had missed you while off to conquer the Western Isle by his lonesome. For once, he should not have been a good husband, concerned with keeping his Viking wife away from the edge of a blade. Perhaps you could have kept him away from the coast of Cymru and the bite of some Briton’s axe.

“Only during the days,” you answer. With a sigh, you, turn into his touch and kiss the center of his palm before moving his hand away from your cheek and holding it close to your heart. “I am glad you are back with me” —Ivarr watches you intently— “where you belong.” Then you smile, nigh laughing. “And mostly in one piece.” He laughs again too.

“Come,” Ivarr breathes, “lay next to me.” He shifts, making room at his side. You settle next to him, resting your head on his shoulder, enjoying the weight of his tattooed arm wrapped around you, holding you close. He turns his head, pressing his unmarred cheek against the crown of your head, breathing in the scent of your hair as it tickles his nose. The silence that settles between you is comfortable, nothing else need be said, now that you were both back in each other’s arms. You follow the dark outlines of Yggdrasil, Sleipnir, and Muninn on his chest with your fingertips. “I’ve missed your warmth,” Ivarr admits, running his rough hand up and down your arm. You hum, having missed his warmth too. Valhalla can wait a while longer, Ivarr the Boneless decides, for now, he is home.

[taglist: @elizabethroestone @kitkitvm @elluvians @fullmoonwolfer1 @ghostieisalone @boodaga @southsideslutt @dynamite-with-a-lazerbeam @lizlovecraft @heathensith @alexisp787 @nobodyydobon @certifiedtaronsimp @angstygunslinger @sonnefuchs ] if your name is italicized, tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you. if you want to be added to my taglist for Ivarr, just let me know in the replies or a DM!

[weirdoldmanhoho]

do u have any fic recs?

Sorry it took me years to answer this! The truth was I really hadn't read many FMA fics (at least not since the FF days) and was waiting until I actually had some recs to give.

And now I have some! My list will surprise no one, I'm sure.

Soul Friends by KyberHearts

“They were not always, and simply, two minds in one body. Towards the latter part of their alliance, especially in the heat of battle and warmongering, their souls could not distinguish where the prince began and the sin ended.”

Ling Yao returns to Xing to seal his fate as the next Emperor and sets his plans for reunification and peace in motion.

Elsewhere, Alphonse Elric reconciles with the very Truth that stole his body.

I absolutely love the way this fic writes post-canon Alphonse and his relationship with Truth.

--

Damaged by xmypandabear

'"He's still in the hospital too, with the Lieutenant," Alphonse said dully. "Blood loss - someone slit her throat..." Ed stared up at the ceiling, remembered the scientist with the gold tooth, and shuddered at the image his brain conjured of the Lieutenant lying on the floor. "But Mei helped her! So, they're sharing a room - the Colonel and Hawkeye, I mean, not Mei, 'cause the Colonel can't use his hands yet, so she's helping him..."

"His hands?" Ed tried to remember.

"It's how they forced him to do it," Al whispered. "They pinned him down so he couldn't move."

Ed fought back nausea. The sense of wrong, wrong, wrong pervaded every sense of his being. How the fuck was any of that equivalent exchange?'

Love me a good post-promised day healing and processing fic. This one focuses a lot on how Al, Ed, Winry, and Roy are all doing immediately post-promised day and the relationships between all those characters.

--

Joining of Hands by ehmazing

If you're not breaking a couple of laws, is it really an Elric wedding?

Truly, the best thing about an AlMei wedding is all the hijinks and complications the come from foreign customs and marrying into royalty.

--

Legends by Elfpen

Alphonse Elric has been living and studying in Xing for a little more than a year and a half. Now, Ling has asked him - ordered him - to take on a new responsibility and fill the shoes vacated by Van Hohenheim four centuries ago. But what use are legends, really, when they're all frauds? The Son of Heaven and the Son of the Western Sage see it differently.

You ever find a fic that just feels completely catered to you and your interests? I love everything about this fic. Alphonse in Xing and the weird politics he has to maneuver as not only an incredibly skilled foreign alchemist but a close friend of the emperor's - all at a young age. His relationship with Hohenheim and the grief and confusion that comes from never really getting to KNOW Hohenheim and now having to come face to face with the lasting impact his father left on a foreign country. Ling scheming. It's all very, very good.

--

The Principle of Mentalism by The-Immortal-Moon (LunaKat)

There’s a woman with a wrench and a penchant for alcoholism, and what he doesn’t know is that she’s going to change everything.

Another fic that feels like it was written specifically for my interests. This one explores Pinako and Hohenheim's first meeting and how a rowdy mechanic from Resembool and a reserved guilt-written immortal from Xerxes ever became friends in the first place. Features Hohenheim and his one million soul friends and a young awkward Pinako who I want to give SUCH a big hug to. I love it so much.

--

We'll be Holding on Forever by zipadeea

"Hohenheim left them to save the world. But Dad loved them more than everything in the world."

AU where Alphonse gets his body back a little earlier on the Promised Day.

It changes nothing.

It changes everything.

Read this if you want to cry. It focuses on Ed and Hohenheim's relationship and it is full of pain but also healing and understanding. Great quick read.

--

ticket stubs and your diaries by nerdywriiterchild

Alphonse Elric is almost fifteen. He will never know Xerxes.

This one is short but packs a powerful emotional punch and a really interesting character study into only a few paragraphs. Explores the really interesting question: what is it like to mourn a culture you're a part of but will never really know?

--

Briding Her Time in Wait

The wedding date was set. Winry and Ling had screamed at one another for months during the preparation out of a mutual need for their childhood friend and half-sister to have the most incredible wedding in the history of either Amestris or Xing, and as a result the wedding canopy suffered from a unique blend of western and eastern traditions that left guests from both sides of the desert confused and requesting refills on drinks that didn’t exist. Still, the two wedding planners manipulated the day into running smoothly, Ling pulling his Emperor card when necessary, Winry pulling her, well, Winry card when necessary, while Ed and Lan Fan stood awkwardly around the food table making small talk that mostly consisted of complaints about automail. By the time the golden groom was ushered through a beautification process that left him requiring an escort to avoid the various women—and men—attempting to seduce him at the last minute, the guests were settled and the wedding was ready to roll.

Except no one knew where the hell the bride had gone.

I'm always a sucker for Scar and Mei's relationship.

--

One More Time, With Feeling

In the end the Elric brothers laughed over the irony: The traveller had settled to write books on alchemy while juggling two boisterous children blessed with Rockbell rockheadedness and Elric recklessness, and the settler had taken to travelling between Amestris and Xing for the remainder of his life. It came, really, with having two homes.

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

A bird could love a fish, but where would they live?

This one explores Alphonse's relationship with Mei post-series and is VERY in line with how I picture it. Being in love with a foreign princess in line for the throne with a duty to her people and country would make for a very complicated and often strained relationship.

--

Magic and Mind by Preelikeswriting

Of all things Edward was prepared for as the day of reckoning grew near, being transported from one world on the edge of war to another was not one of them.

AKA: Edward gets accidentally summoned by Death Eaters, and neither party is happy.

(Pre-Promise Day, HP book 5)

Ok so preface: I rarely like crossover fics and I very rarely like HP crossover fics, but this one just works for me. I think what I like so much about it is that Edward doesn't just get thrown into the world of HP and join the golden trio / order and start fighting Voldemort. Oh no. He does not care about their fight at all. He just wants to get back home and will do anything he needs to to achieve that, even if it makes him look like he's working with Death Eaters or going against Harry and friends.

I think the fun of this fic is that it kind of plays around with the fact that the READER knows who the good guys are of each series and would expect them to join forces. Sure, Ed is the Good Guy of FMA and Harry and friends are the Good Guys of HP, but Ed's goals don't really align with Harry's goals and so they're not really working together, and Ed kind of comes off looking shady af to the HP characters despite the fact that the reader knows why he's doing what he's doing. It's a far more interesting take on Ed goes to HP world than "Ed immediately joins the fight against Voldemort."

The series has three works so far and I haven't finished it, but I really loved the first and what I've read of the second. It also eventually heads into Ed/Draco territory which is not a ship I would have initially read but.....kind of works for me here.

[r3volutionary-queen]

Chapter 31 Sneak Peek

In his arms, Darcy was laughing.

She lay back against his chest, her head slotting perfectly under his chin, and she laughed. It was sunlight to his soul, bright and pure and warm and kind and it softened every jagged edge inside of him. Steve pressed a lingering kiss into her hair and tightened his arms around her middle, making her giggle even more—a happy sound that he could have listened to for the rest of his life.

Below, Bucky sprawled across both of their laps, using their thighs as his personal pillows. Darcy’s fingers were carding through his long hair, nails scraping gently across his scalp until the man was all but putty in her hands. His dark head swiveled up, love-drunk eyes openly watching her before crinkling around the edges, squinting like two happy half-moons. That gray gaze then slid upwards and met Steve’s soft look.

It was like staring into a marbled sky moments before the sun broke through.

“Love you,” Bucky mouthed to him and Steve’s heart swelled and swelled and swelled until it threatened to burst.

In this place there were no shadows, no war, no death. In this place Darcy’s skin was not littered in scars and Bucky’s arm was warm and whole.

In this place Steve did not burn.

He would have been content to spend eternity here, if it weren’t for the tug on his shoulder, soft but insistent.

Steve jolted and inhaled on instinct, lungs gasping for air as he surged back into consciousness. It was not a peaceful float to the surface; it was sudden and jarring, like the leg of a once trusted chair snapping beneath him. Pain was the first thing to register, a raw kind of agony, as if someone or something had pried him open and scrambled all of his insides. Blood trickled down his shredded throat and he swallowed with a grimace.

Another tug and a voice, quietly murmuring—urging.

“Wake up.”

Blue eyes fluttered open; everything was a blur. Icy rain stung his skin like a thousand needles, cold mud seeped into his suit, and thunder cracked through the air, so loud and so deep it rolled over his skin and shook the ground beneath him. A second later, the sky splintered in a dazzling flash of light as white-hot electricity threaded the earth to the clouds.

And hovering over him, silhouetted against that bright flash of light, was a strange face. Strange because they were familiar; strange because they were dead.

Or at least they were supposed to be.

And then it struck him—

The stone.

Steve’s heart lurched in his chest. The world spun and tipped itself out before righting once more. He blinked and blinked again in disbelief, in fear, in hope, in a painful, terrified mixture of all three.

“T…” he started with a sandpaper rasp. “T’Challa?”

The Wakandan king’s mouth curved and brown eyes softened in relief. His dark brows rose and he dipped his chin, nodding once. “On your feet, Captain.”

Stunned, Steve could not move.

“Am I dreaming?”

“This is no dream,” T’Challa assured him softly. He lifted his head and spun on his haunches, looking at something Steve could not see. A light filled the king’s eyes, both kind and fierce. He glanced down at Steve where he lay, beaten and broken, and T’Challa’s words pierced right through his weary heart. “Hope has not deceived you.”

The words sank beneath his skin, cutting into the meat of his heart, and Steve’s eyes misted. There were things he wanted to say, to ask, but the words couldn’t make it through his tightened throat. For a long moment, he could not even breathe. It felt surreal, liminal.

Hope has not deceived you.

It was strange, almost, how hope felt more dangerous, more treacherous, than the very war surrounding him. A fight could destroy his body, but hope? Hope, or rather hope lost, could ruin his soul. It had been a long time since he allowed himself to truly hope and so when it bloomed in the center of his chest now, like a warm pool of sunlight cascading down his limbs and filling him to the brim, he shook under its raw power.

“Are there,” Steve swallowed heavily, his voice thick, “Are there others? How many?”

T’Challa watched him closely and the corners of his eyes fanned out in a warm smile. The Wakandan king shifted on the balls of his feet and held out his hand. “Rise and see for yourself.”

Steve opened his mouth to respond when an animalistic roar ripped through the air like a serrated knife. The blond stiffened, recognizing the Hulk’s bellow of rage instantly. His heart pounded painfully in his chest and before he could stop it, that dangerous, treacherous hope inside of him grew wings and took flight.

It rose up the length of his throat and surged out of his mouth in a single, wet, hysterical sob of a laugh. He clapped his hand over his mouth and his eyes screwed shut.

All around him, the rain continued to fall.

Finally, Steve sniffed and wiped his face. With a grunt, he slapped his hand into the king’s waiting palm and it was the strength of the Black Panther, not his own, that pulled him to his feet. Instantly, his back erupted in a blinding pain and he staggered, groaning, shoulders hunching as his muscles trembled and stretched. Steve shook and panted through chapped lips, trying to push past the all-consuming agony. His vision blurred, static around the edges, and then finally, he lifted his gaze to the battlefield—

And froze.

Over the last few months, Steve had grown accustomed to the feeling of shock. He knew what it tasted like, how it jolted through his veins, paralyzing him, but this shock was not one born out of terror or dread.

The shock that rolled through him now was one of awe.

The battle still raged; the rain had sunk the fires back into the earth and a white-gray smoke clouded the blood-soaked ground. Explosions flung mud in the air, coating the chaos of fighting armies in filth until it was near impossible to tell who was who. But beyond all of that, beyond the looming warships and the waves of Chitauri and the wolf-like monsters of Thanos, was something else entirely.

Amid the debris and the bombed-out craters and the piles of bodies littering the ground vast beyond number and recognition was an army—and not just any army.

It was the Avengers.

His team, his friends, his family; the world’s last hope. All of them, every last one he had watched dissolve into ash just months ago.

They were scattered but they fought like creatures that exhaustion, despair, and even death itself could not subdue. And even beyond that, a great host of Wakandan warriors were charging into the fray with what was left of the Asgardians and the Skrulls.

And for the first time since any of this began, they were pushing Thanos’ army back to the tree line; theywere overwhelming their enemy.

Wonder overtook him, and indescribable joy; it was beautiful—stunning, robbing him of all thought and word, and for a moment, Steve wished he could paint this.

The only thing that was missing—

Steve’s stomach dropped.

His mind splintered into a million pieces upon the realization and fear prickled along his skin like the legs of a thousand spiders. Panicked, Steve spun around wildly, searching the chaos for two familiar shapes.

“What is it? What is wrong?”

Snapping his head up, a wild kind of insanity tugged at the edges of his mind as he held T’Challa’s worried gaze. Because if the stone had knocked himout cold, he could only imagine what it had done to Bucky, let alone Darcy. In fact, he knew all too well what that stone did to her every time she touched it and the memories that flooded his mind had him in a blind terror.

“There’s a woman,” Steve gasped out, choking on the words, his eyes still roving over the vast, simmering field. Raindrops slid down his face, dripped from his nose, his jaw, his chin. “Darcy. I need to find her. I have to find her—she was hurt pretty bad and… She’s—and Bucky—”

A blood-curling scream.

Steve whipped around, heart in his throat. Somewhere to his right there was a high-pitched female scream—a wail, really—and Steve had never heard Darcy make a noise like that before, but he knew instantly that it was her.

His heart told him so.

Steve couldn’t see her, couldn’t see much of anything beyond the flurry of war and the blasts from the enemy’s weapons. He paled and his vision spun as a new and torrential kind of fear seared through every vein in his body.

“Go,” T’Challa urged at his side and Steve snapped his head around, panting and trembling all over. The king clasped his shoulder, tilting his head toward him. “Do what you must. We will meet when this is over, my friend.”

Unable to do anything but nod, Steve mustered up the very last of his strength (all he had left) and turned and ran into the heart of the battle. Even as the abyss of terror threatened to pull him under, Steve felt something inside of him shift, something endless and ancient, and suddenly his spine was carved out of steel. He was going to find her, both her and Bucky, and he was going to get them out of this place—even if it broke his back and heart and left nothing but his bones behind.

He was going to find them both and he was going to bring them home.

(GUYS IT IS HAPPENING. WE ARE LIKE 6K IN ON THIS CHAPTER SO PLEASE EXCUSE IF YOU'VE MESSAGED ME TODAY, I'LL ANSWER LATER BECAUSE THE FLOW CANNOT BE INTERRUPTED KAY THANKS)

[tallstars-rewrite]

Chapter 47

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Heatherstar had given him permission to speak at the meeting, and told him what to be discreet about. Talltail wasn’t confident whether Cedarstar would accept his word, but maybe if Ratfang had managed to convince him of her own suspicions, there was a better chance. The large patrol cautiously approached the shadowy treeline before the Thunderpath. Talltail smelled them before he saw anything under the now thickly dark cover of night. They were indeed a patrol large enough to be a threat, lined up in front of the Thunderpath tunnel, and who knew how many more were hidden.

Cedarstar stepped forward, only his pale white belly fur and glinting yellow eyes visible in the shadows.

“I hope this will be brief,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Our situation seems simple from my end. The cleanest solution is ShadowClan will forgive and forget everything in exchange for extra territory rights as compensation.“

Heathertstar growled deep in her throat. Talltail’s flinched, feeling his confidence already slipping away. That’s not a great start to fair negotiations at all.

“Do not propose such an insulting thing as reasonable when you know very well it’s not. And I can tell you once more, my clan has done nothing to warrant your behavior this past season.” her neck fur flattened ever so slightly “If you proposed this meeting to actually give reason a chance, then I will tell you that I suspect I know why this has happened.”

“I’m always ready to listen to reason.” Cedarstar said coolly.

Talltail took a small step forward to explain what he had discovered, as Heatherstar allowed him. The deputy Stonetooth sat beside his leader, and Talltail felt his narrowed glare through his scarred and squinted eye.

“I have found evidence cats purposely disguised scents to make WindClan and ShadowClan suspect each other of trespassing and insult. There were...cats working outside the warrior code trying to pit our clans against each other for their own gain.”

Heatherstar told him it was for the best for him not to directly accuse ShadowClan cats of pushing the rogue’s actions, and remain vague about the culprits at first. Their loyalty and desire to save face may be too strong. She would bring it up herself if necessary.

“It wouldn’t be completely unheard of for other cats to want us to weaken each other before the harsh season starts.” A ShadowClan warrior muttered after several silent heart-beats.

 Talltail bit his tongue, wishing he could accuse Darkpaw by name.

 Cedarstar paused as if considering his thoughts, but he looked, strangely, not fully surprised. Talltail wondered if he already knew his young warriors were working behind his back or not. Would he deny it? Talltail really was risking a lot on Ratfang’s assurance that Cedarstar didn’t truly want this fight. Either way, he certainly wouldn't want to look like he was backing off too easily after coming this far.

Stonetooth growled. “Why would we take the word of a deserter? Are you not a rogue yourself?” 

“If this was a rogue, I would not have brought him, nor would I have let him speak.” Heatherstar said firmly. Talltail knew she was saving face in front of ShadowClan, but the defense warmed him all the same. 

“‘I left my clan to pursue the rogues that I thought had wronged us. That’s how I found out.” Talltail said. That was at least true enough 

“Even so, this doesn’t change the fact that WindClan broke clan law in the first place by hiring rogue mercenaries,” Stonetooth shot back.

Heatherstar glared back steadily. “We did no such thing. We had a peaceful private arrangement with a small band of loners whom we only offered medicine to, until you provoked them unjustly. Between us, I have been given information that suggests it seems you were the only one that sought their help for means of war. We know ShadowClan tried to explore our tunneling system, it is too late to deny that. One of my warriors was killed because of it.”

 “And one of ours is permanently injured from it.” Cedarstar spat. “We sought information from a rogue we reasonably assumed had ill intent. There’s no cause within clan law to have outsiders living on clan territory after all. But we did not make him attack.”

 “Perhaps not directly. And yet, the rogue could only have gone so far to set us at each other's throats with help from inside. Seeking to provoke an attack could easily be seen as ‘usage in times of war,’ could it not?”

Talltail held his breath while Cedarstar glared for a long tense moment, his lip curling slightly. “I have not confirmed any clan cats from my end acting on their own in this way, but I do know for certain that one of yours did! If he is WindClan again as you claim, then you are responsible for his past actions when some time ago, your runaway was caught trespassing and nearly half-blinded my deputy, and could have done much worse! That alone could be grounds for us to retaliate.” 

Stonetooth had not lost his eye after all, but it was perhaps not as good as it had once been. Talltail felt hot with shame and Heatherstar bristled furiously. Unfortunately, it was true. He’d almost forgotten about his furious desperate attack on the deputy when he accidentally crossed him and Raggedpelt. Talltail was going to pay for his rashness. Of course ShadowClan would use that to deflect the accusation.

Stonetooth was bristling beside his leader. “Yes, you have no business insulting our honor when we have only ever responded to threats. Any blood spilled will be justified, and we are within our rights to defend ourselves here and now when a warrior violently invades. What's more, you clearly were making plans to invade further through unprecedented means. These tunnels you have been hiding were meant for that, will you deny that claim?” Stonetooth looked like he would have gone on, but Cedarstar raised a tail to silence him.

Heatherstar did not step back. “ShadowClan began this by trying to push boundary lines without need or cause. That particular tunneling project never reached your territory and it never will. As your unwarranted trespassing discovered.” 

“I still think we are taking a lot on the word of a deserter.” Stonetooth glared daggers at Talltail. “How do we really know that all the stolen prey with WindClan scent markings on our land was because of this rogue you speak of? We had reports from several cats who say they saw WindClan with their own eyes.”

To Talltail’s surprise, a small ShadowClan apprentice made a barely audible squeaking sound. She looked afraid when eyes turned to her. She surely wasn’t supposed to be in this meeting. “Sorry...I-I was one of the ones who reported those signs, But...but it's possible we...misunderstood them. It could have been a rogue and not WindClan after all now that I think of it. We...We never saw them up close, it was a skinny cat after all.”

 Talltail recognized Tanglepaw, the apprentice he’d help save from the fox. He willed her to tell the truth about Darkpaw so he could back it up, but she didn’t continue. In ShadowClan’s warrior patrol present for the talk, he caught sight of Ashheart, who stiffened and glared daggers at the back of the apprentice.

Cedarstar shifted uncomfortably, his tail lashing at the interruption. His eyes flicked to Ashheart. “Do you think that as well?”

One apprentice's word was only so good. Ashheart looked at Talltail, then down at her paws and only said, “I’m...not sure, now that I think of it. We didn’t get a good enough look.”

What, is she afraid of telling the full truth!? Talltail thought furiously. He wondered if Tanglepaw was going to take the fall all by herself to prevent the scheme Darkpaw had set up. Darkpaw can get away with a lot, Ratfang had said. It wasn’t fair, but it was better than saying nothing at all. Talltail couldn’t be the one to convince them of treachery within their clan.

“The bottom line is, we can’t give that cat what they want,” Talltail said loudly. All eyes turned to him, and he hoped Heatherstar would forgive his boldness. “I know I acted wrongly, I accidentally crossed your territory alone and had no grounds to attack, and I intend to atone for it however I can. Likewise, whoever has tried to set us up, they shouldn’t be rewarded for seeking bloodshed. Isn’t that reasonable to agree on? Do we let cats who don’t obey the warrior code guide our claws?” 

Talltail met the ShadowClan leader's eyes steadily. He could deny everything, Talltail didn’t have physical proof for his claims after all. But he saw in the old leader's gaze that Cedarstar did know he was telling the truth. And Talltail hoped his narrowed gaze suggested that he knew exactly what had happened with ShadowClan’s rebellious young cats, even if Cedarstar didn’t want to admit it here.  The leader glared at him, but he seemed uncomfortable. Talltail had been through too much these past moons to flinch away. You must see now your medicine cat's suspicions have merit. You know you aren’t in the right to push this invasion any further. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Cedarstar was still a clan leader, and for all the dreadful tales of ShadowClan there must be some hope that a sense of honor would shine through. If only he would allow that. Talltail looked to Heatherstar, desperate for her to be willing to give him an out to back off with his pride intact. Cedarstar was hesitant, his ears back. Perhaps all the two leaders needed was an opportunity to back away on equal terms. He didn’t think it was fair that his lashing out at Stonetooth was treated as an equal wrong to purposely trying to spiral their clans in a bloody war, but he was willing to take that hit if it would lead to a better outcome. Every cat present was rigid waiting for the leaders to speak, and Talltail swore he could feel the tension wafting off of the larger patrols of battle-ready warriors hiding somewhere out of sight on either side of the woodland strip.

 But right when he thought maybe, just maybe, things could be ok after all, he heard a caterwaul from further down ranks. Everyone bristled. Someone attacked, and he had no idea who it was. The tension in the air was so thick, anything could have set a cat off.

Heatherstar hissed “You gave the signal, didn’t you? I knew this talk was a pointless distraction!”

“I did no such thing!” Cedarstar spat.

Talltail’s stomach dropped, he didn’t hear the rest of their argument as a loud yowl split the air. He’d been too hopeful. The insults were real even if their cause was false. In the dark, he saw several cats chasing each other through the trees, Stonetooth was on his paws running down the line after them, snarling that he’d sort it out himself. From the hidden lines, Talltail saw a sleek brown shape start after the deputy, as Shrewclaw needed no further motive to take off. 

Talltail had no choice but to take off after the sprinting shape of Shrewclaw before he ruined everything, calling for him to wait while Heatherstar and Cedarstar snarled behind him. In the dark of night, Talltail saw feline shapes bristling in the undergrowth. He couldn’t see who they were, split off members of the battle patrols waiting and watching. Had some cats gotten too close to each other and lashed out? He heard confused snarling, saw flashing teeth, half-crouched warriors fox-lengths apart with eyes darting around in confusion. No one had been called to attack officially, and they were unsure of what to do. It was impossible to tell which side the yowling came from, or if a real fight had started or not.

A dark cat was tusseling over Hareflight, who was snapping at the little shape on his back. Hareflight would never have broken rank, this cat was just attacking on their own. Stonetooth barreled into the battle and they broke apart, but Stonetooth, still bristling and snarling, swiped at Hareflight’s whiskers as the senior warrior tried to back away. Talltail realized he’d lost sight of Shrewclaw until the furious tom was barreling past him. That swipe from Stonetooth was all the signal he needed. 

“Stop!” Talltail gasped, but Shrewclaw wasn’t listening, and had piled into the wiry gray warrior before the word had left his mouth.

Stonetooth kicked away from Shrewclaw. “I knew you lot couldn’t be trusted!” he snarled, spitting blood from a cut on his lip. Talltail tried to explain, but Stonetooth was lunging at him before he could open his jaws. Shrewclaw was ready before Talltail was. He was latched onto Stonetooth’s chest and knocking him backwards in a heartbeat. 

ShadowClan’s deputy being attacked was sure to catch attention. Talltail barely dodged a lunging ShadowClan warrior, who wheeled about on him again as soon as they landed. I’ve failed, this is all falling apart!

“You have to stop Shrewclaw, Heatherstar didn’t call for this!” he cried out.

If Shrewclaw heard him, he showed no sign of it. He wouldn’t stop until Stonetooth slipped in the dirt, writhing under Shrewclaw’s bite as jaws tore into his neck. Before Talltail could get closer to break them apart, the dark cat that had attacked first knocked him to the ground. It didn’t take long to realize who it was. 

“You're going to pay for ruining this for me!” the cat hissed. 

Darkpaw was going to start a fight whether their leaders wanted to or not, and he wasn’t going to wait around for Tanglepaw or any other cat to risk blaming him by name. He was wild and furious, and clearly had no better plan at all. Now he was just angry. Talltail kicked him back and sent him flying. Talltail was plenty angry too. Stonetooth and Shrewclaw tumbled down a gravely slope out of view, temporarily distracting Darkpaw long enough for Talltail to whack the apprentice and sending him reeling.

Talltail prepared to defend again, but it seemed that some cat else was blocking Darkpaw’s way, one of his lackeys that Talltail didn’t know by name. “Stonetooth looks bad, this isn’t going well, let's just get out of here while we can!” 

Talltail looked around wildly for Shrewclaw and Stonetooth, panic rising with every breath. Chaos had kicked up. Seeing their deputy in battle sent several ShadowClan warriors out of the undergrowth and the ruckus brought WindClan down to meet them. Sliding clumsily down the gravely slope, Talltail saw Stonetooth was up again and tearing at Shrewclaw as he came down. It was vicious and frenzied and there were bloody wounds around their necks. They're going to kill each other, Talltail realized. Shrewclaw was battered, almost swaying and painfully holding up a leg that he seemed to have landed on wrong, and blood ran down his chest. Any warrior should retreat in that state,  but he was seeing too much red to stay down. As Shrewclaw leaped, Stonetooth twisted around to meet him, red stained teeth barred. Talltail let out a furious yowl and caught Shrewclaw midair before he could come down on Stonetooth’s outstretched claws. Shrewclaw thudded to the ground and Talltail had to pin his foreleg to the ground as Shrewclaw, despite his injuries, tried to wrench himself free. They were outnumbered. If Stonetooth fell, he saw the warriors waiting to tear them apart in retaliation.

“Get--off!” Shrewclaw screeched

“You're going to get yourself killed! There was no call!”

 “I don’t care, I won’t let you take this from me now!” 

Shrewclaw kicked at him and wormed his way around Talltail as Stonetooth took a wobbly step forward. They’d barely met for a moment before Talltail thrust himself between them, wincing at the sting from two pairs of claws at once, but he wouldn’t let Stonetooth get at Shrewclaw again.

Talltail snarled, refusing to flinch away as he knocked Shrewclaw back again. Shrewclaw tried to shove him off but fell short, wheezing, spitting out blood. He was bleeding badly. So was his opponent. Stonetooth tried to scramble away but fell sideways and lay panting on the ground. Talltail stiffened, wondering if he really had been too late. Cedarstar and Heatherstar were finally there, rushing to the source of the clamor, both looking ready to leap into a fight if necessary. But the state of Stonetooth made Cedarstar stumble.

“Enough!” he yowled, his voice echoed around the trees as Cedarstar skidded to a stop over his deputy, who managed to sit upright but still couldn’t quite get to his paws, The leader turned snarling at the WindClan cats. His warriors had frozen, and WindClan hesitated, looking to their own leader, waiting for real instruction. 

In the dark, an angry pair of orange eyes stared wide at the heavily bleeding deputy and ducked away. Darkpaw was of course still watching. Talltail couldn’t help wondering if he was more upset about how much trouble he could get in if their deputy died then he was about the injury itself. Talltail felt his lip curl and he shook with fury, but held his tongue.

Cedarstar’s attention was dragged from his deputy to meet a white molly and a familiar grizzled gray shape. Ratfang and her mentor Sagewhisker were there among ShadowClans ranks.

“You shouldn’t be this far,” Cedarstar hissed quietly.

Their voices were hushed among the continuing warning snarls from warriors of both clans, Talltail could only just barely hear them.

“I came at blood scent. Look at him!” The pale medicine cat gestured to the limp deputy. “Is this sign enough for you? My apprentice was right. This night has been chaotic, cats lashing out without orders. This will never end here. It will burn us out. The signs were already clear to us, and are even more so now. We warned you against this.” Cedarstar gave his medicine cat a long look. He bristled, but the ShadowClan leader did not call for further attack. Please listen to your medicine cat! Talltail willed.

Ratfang stepped closer to place a paw at Stonetooth’s wounds. “Stonetooth was more strongly in favor of this fight then most. Now he may very well die for it.” She glanced at Shrewclaw with a hopeless look that made Talltail’s heart clench up. “This is enough blood, let there be no more. The stars are not shining favorably on this night.”

He gritted his teeth and stood, whipping around to where Heatherstar stood and the rest of ShadowClan was bristling and growling. 

“Do we want to end up no better than ThunderClan and RiverClan? Nearly every gathering, more reports of cats slain over the pile of rocks on their border! We’ve seen the damage it does to them!”

Cedarstar didn’t move, just stood staring at Stonetooth while Ratfang tried to help him.

Heatherstar spoke stiffly “My warrior speaks sense. I don’t want that kind of blood and rivalry to be my legacy as leader. Do you?”

“Damn the woods, then.” He heard the ShadowClan leader rasp. “I’m taking my deputy home.”

 He caught Ratfang’s eye briefly as she followed her clan, trailing Stonetooth’s body between the warriors that carried him. He might make it, but only if they hurried. Her gaze was somber and she only gave him the briefest of nods. It was the best I could do, he thought. 

Talltail didn’t have it in him to look back down at Shrewclaw, hearing his ragged gasps, his claws still tensed and fastened into Talltail’s legs. 

“You shouldn’t have stopped me--” he managed to spit. 

“Too bad.” Talltail spat back through gritted teeth.

 Hareflight had already bounded to his former apprentice's side. “Stars-” the old tom hissed as he pushed his muzzle under Shrewclaw, trying to get him up. Talltail stiffened as he saw Shrewclaw couldn’t stand on his own. Too much blood, was all he could think

The bloody warrior rasped to Hareflight “Sorry for ignoring you. But I’m not sorry enough to regret it.”

“Don’t try to talk right now,” Hareflight said sternly. His stoic voice was weak.

“Of course you're not sorry, you mouse-brain.” Talltail whispered. Of course Shrewclaw would have that resolve. Talltail rushed to help Hareflight, but despair was fighting it’s way up his throat. He’d seen for the first time in moons a glimmer of hope that the two of them could come to better terms after everything. There was a possibility for so many things. Talltail couldn’t have another reconciliation stolen from him. Stonetooth was not more important than that. He had promised Briarface, and he had promised Fallowspring. He couldn’t accept this loss. He wouldn’t. Shrewclaw could spit fury for the rest of their days at Talltail for taking this fight from him, but Talltail hadn’t come back to start breaking promises now.

Shrewclaw, you can’t die like this. I’m not letting you. He willed it, and focused on that will, as if it alone could stop his bleeding. But mere will had never worked for him before. As they limped back carrying Shrewclaw between them, Talltail was preparing himself for that old familiar jolt of pain, of hollowness, that came with loss. He focused all his senses on listening to Shrewclaw’s breathing, tensing with worry that each one would be his last. He didn’t hear Heatherstar’s words to the rest of the patrol, about marking borders, sending scouts to ensure they all left. None of it mattered. Only getting his clanmate home alive mattered. 

A worse battle had been avoided for now, but he knew in his heart it couldn’t last. He would face that pain. He would face hardship. That possibility was always waiting for him here. Briarface was already at their side before his brother was laid down in the medicine den. Talltail remained close by. Whatever pain would come from this, or from future battles, the only thing more painful than that reality of clan life was the thought of being too far away to help.

 After a long, agonizing night of waiting, Hawkehart and Briarface rushing for their supplies, Talltail released a breath as Shrewclaw, bloody and haggard, slowly, opened his eyes and glared deep into Talltail. 

“You know how important this was to me,” he hissed weakly, when no one else was close enough to hear.

 Talltail stared back, impassive. “I do,” he said quietly. “And I will not apologize for not letting you die today. No matter how angry you are for it.” He angrily gestured to Briarface, anxiously sorting cobweb, Fallowspring pushing her way through the crowd with her brother, waiting to see him. “They are more important than Stonetooth. You useless mouse-brain. And you’re going to have to deal with it.”

Shrewclaw said nothing more, but as Briarface leaned over him and Talltail was forced to back out of the den, he saw Shrewclaw let out a weak sigh as his brother paused his clumsy cobweb application long enough to press his forehead against Shrewclaw’s, exasperated and heavy with relief.

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[bread-elf]

DWC 2021 - Day 1

This story revolves around a side character deeply involved in Jiroki's backstory. For more context on this character, you're more than welcome to read from the beginning, somewhere in the middle, or his end.

Afterlife Shadowlands, pre Chains of Dominion “I love you. I’m sorry.” The last words spoken by Rydras Feathergrazer, his strength waning as he looks up at his most cherished beloved, who he had purposely distanced himself from for so many years. Now laying in her arms he watches the weeping face of the Kaldorei woman, sea green hair spilling out from the bun she had made before the battle. The wounds on him blistered with fel corruption and seared his skin, and he could barely breath as is. But that no longer was a problem once she had honored his last wish. Their hands intertwined together around the hilt of his own dagger, and he only feels a pinch before he lets himself slip away with ease. And yet, he opened his eyes again. Blinded by the luscious blue forests of Ardenweald, he finds himself amongst protectors of the forest, both present and past, for he gave his life for the Wilds. And that was worthy enough to become one with the great forest beyond.

A new purpose given, and no longer in the mortal realm, he reformed himself. No longer Night Elf, no longer Rydras, he chose to glide through the forest as an Owl, once a favorite form in life. But now he embodied it, another soul amongst hundreds of thousands to serve the forest. He knew of other souls who lived here, such as Arileath and Sheradal, a couple who once treated him like a son, parents of once a dearly beloved of his. Both now at peace, guardians as well for their duties. Years pass for the living as the dead remain secluded. Though the Owl had anticipated eternal peace, a drought begins in his precious forest, and the Drust soon follows. Strange times indeed, apparently even the dead can still live in vain. And what’s more, mortals from the living world begin to slowly spill in, doing everything in their power to keep the delicate balance of the Shadowlands intact before all is ruined. Some souls steered clear of the living, as did the Owl. Having no need to interact with them, nor did he want to be reminded of the flawed emotions of the living. And each time he found himself watching any of the living, inklings of curiosities and old faces beginning to surface, he reprimends himself and widened the distance of his past self. Even now, up high in his chosen roost, he finds himself shooing away the past as another soul scurries up the tree in haste. “Spriggans! Spriggans!” The soul in the shape of a squirrel, though the Owl is familiar with this one. “Spriggans attack the mortals!” “And?” The Owl rarely spoke, but he chose to do so to regard the squirrel. “Why are you here? Go and tell the Wild Hunt. There is nothing I can do.” “You were asked by name!” The squirrel lingers near the edges of the Owl’s nest, trying to be respectful, but still urgent. The Owl’s head swivels hearing that, but the soul continues to speak. “And for Arileath and Sheradal! A mortal you all know!” “What-?” The Owl feels something inside of his stomach and chest. A sudden clutching of anxiety, and fear. “But-” The squirrel seems to have no other information to offer, suddenly scurrying back down the tree and leaving the Owl alone. Large wings spread, and the Owl now finds himself sweeping through the forest once more to find this mortal. Only a few faces come to mind who would know of all three of these souls. Faces that the Owl had worked hard on dismissing. If their time comes and they come to Ardenweald, then he would welcome them. But who knows if they were alive or elsewhere in the Shadowlands, and he had already accepted he would never see them again. And now the wall he had worked so hard on began to crumple, memories of his former life beginning to trickle in. Of his dear friend Brethilon, of his time as a druid, with his Shan’do Arileath, the way he had denied himself of her for so long. Much of Ardenweald had decayed away due to the drought, so his scope to look around is much smaller, for better or for worse. Though he spots the familiar souls of Sheradel and Arileath, both bears, regarding a being made of living flesh and bone. An elf like he once was, tall and proud but shaking with emotions, sea green hair spilling down to conceal her face as she wept. Something lurches inside of the Owl, his flight faltering as he quickly makes a landing. Though he had no heart, it was like he was still in his mortal flesh and something squeezed it, and for the first time in ages he felt the desire to run. For a moment he scrambles, clumsy as an owl on the floor and feeling out of breath, and in his desperation he takes on his spiritual elven form and uses those legs to run. A ghost from the past, Rydras Feathergrazer stops at a hard halt once Jiroki is just yards away from him. The last image of her burns inside his mind’s eye, her moonlit eyes weeping and filled with sorrow as she puts him down like a dog. Though as the woman turns, she is different than he remembers. Scars line her cheek and ears, her tangled hair decorated in a way he’s never seen before, those moonlit eyes now the dark side of the moon. But the way

they widen, how she reels back in shock, the sudden tension of her body; the way that only she can move that he remembers. Jiroki clasps her hands over her mouth, already beginning to shed tears as she once again see’s the face of her first love. Even Rydras feels something stinging at his own eyes, though he had no means to cry. But he feels a surge of emotions inside of him; so much love, so much regret, so much grief. No longer thinking straight as a jumble of words come into his mind, his chest and head feeling like they’re about to explode, and so he lets it all out like a flood.

“I’m in love with you!” He blurts out words he could never make himself say until the bitter end, and that causes Jiroki to create a shocked and confused expression. But he will never have another chance. “You heard me!” Jiroki blinked back tears, trying to process this sudden occurrence between the two of them. He is the first to turn her into a woman, and also to break her heart, yet also the longest love she has ever had, will ever have. And after killing him, after living with her biggest regrets all these years, he stands before her now speaking this. In his desperation, he continues. “I’m in love with you!” Hands come up to grip the sides of his head, as if trying to prevent it from splitting open. “And I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable! And that we’re all doomed...” His hands throw out to the surrounding forest of the Afterlife, slowly withering away. “And that one day, all of our labors will be returned to dust! And I know that the sun will swallow the only earth we will ever have!” And then he looks at her. “... And I’m in love with you!” Suddenly the energy is sapped out of him, his confession finally spoken after all this time, and weakly his arms fall. “... Sorry...” A strangled cry escapes Jiroki’s throat, no longer able to bury it. She feels like throwing up, but she endures, just so she can run to him. The reaction is unexpected to Rydras, but he himself runs to her as well, and they embrace as best they can as soul and mortal. Her body trembles and she cannot stand, so he slumps to the ground with her, both on their knees as they weep together. Though no longer living, Rydras feels his insides tearing up as he mourns with her, at the loss they both share, yet there’s something else mixed in. He can finally be at proper peace, for he told the woman he loved his feelings. @daily-writing-challenge

[kienava]

Randivor has me by the throat and won’t let go. Romance-heavy smut under the cut. 

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Everything Else

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Eivor couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t a sound she often heard coming from herself outside of mead-soaked feasts or on the heels of a successful raid. Even then, in halls filled with drunken friends and by riverbeds lined with fallen enemies, there was always an air of performance, a twinge of bold, fanged cruelty that came from victory.

Not tonight, though. Not with Randvi.

Their bedchamber was not a raised stage or a proving ground. There was no performance to be put on here.

Randvi’s touch was sharp, precise as a whetted blade splitting flesh. Where no blood spilled, a more delicate sensation lingered on Eivor’s scars. With muscles spent and nerves singed by a rush not unlike the storm of battle, Eivor could only gaze up at the ceiling. And laugh.

“What is it, my love?”

Eivor would never tire of this. Odin’s halls of glory were nothing to the glow of Randvi’s skin.

“Look up,” Eivor said. She pointed lazily. “There’s a face in the wood.”

Randvi settled the hand that had been tracing a tattoo on Eivor’s bare hip. Her palm burned against it as an ember.

“A face?” Randvi said, skeptical.

“Look,” Eivor repeated.

Careful to keep her head where it was on Eivor’s chest, Randvi glanced up. “Where?”

“Right above us. See the eyes and the mouth?”

“Is it meant to be frowning?”

“Hm. It does look displeased. I’m afraid I cannot empathize.”

Randvi pushed herself up on one elbow, taking her warmth with her. She stared down at Eivor, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. It was a familiar expression, one she could not resist making whenever Eivor arbitrated a ridiculous quarrel with a perfectly straight face. “Have you not noticed this face before?”

The dregs of a laugh caught in Eivor’s chest, rumbling deep and pleasant. “Sleeping in my own bed used to be more a privilege than an expectation.”

“Hm...” Randvi’s fingers trailed up to Eivor’s ribs. “Maybe you’re just spending more time on your back nowadays.”

Eivor’s breaking grin was interrupted swiftly. Randvi kissed her, long and full, the heat of her skin enough to melt tension that was already hours since dissolved.

“I am hardly opposed,” Eivor muttered.

Randvi’s hands betrayed no hurry - Ravensthorpe was well-stocked, thanks to recent river raids, and the Ostara Festival was coming to a close. Everyone was happy and drunk, off dancing until the sun came up and telling stories.

“Have you not had your fill for one night?” Eivor teased.

“We have many nights to make up for, darling.” Randvi’s mouth landed on the scarred line of Eivor’s throat. It was as a feather, tickling and tantalizing. “And I would expect Ravensthorpe's prized drengr to have more stamina.”

“Sweetness and salt, all at once,” Eivor prodded, head lolling back on a rumpled pillow. “You are a difficult woman to argue with.”

“Good.”

The woman with the wildling soul was pleased to reclaim her own freedoms. Time for exploration was something she treasured, she was already well-versed in traveling south.

Her gaze burned from between Eivor’s legs, twin blue flames as if the sky itself were alight. Eivor could let it consume her, she thought, and die breathless and content.

Randvi could hold her own in any fight, but she needed no blade to take a warrior apart.

When a shiver struck and made Eivor’s legs quake, Randvi did not miss it. “Who would have guessed the great Eivor Wolf-Kissed would fall to such a lightness?”

It was unusual, compared to how it had been with others. Strength was Eivor’s native language, something to strive for and admire. She’d always met opponents and lovers with the same shows of force.

But never Randvi. Hers was not an arena where power was proven with dominance.

Where drengrs roared and raised their fists, Randvi’s voice and hands were soft. Battles chewed steel and shattered bone, but this was a quiet and sure balm to the most harrowing of wounds unseen.

How amusing that Eivor knew she had wanted this for so long, yet she never minded when Randvi took her time.

Between gasps, Eivor asked, “Tell me - Randvi - when did you know?”

Randvi shifted as water, fingers flowing to where her mouth had barely left. “I know many things. You'll have to be more specific.” Her lips pressed together, shining into a smirk.

Eivor managed to think her question into form. “When did you know you wanted this?”

As the moon commanding a ruthlessly gentle tide, Randvi’s assured smile waned into softness. “I’ve always known, Eivor. Since the first moment I saw you. So hardened, so fierce. I wished to know what was underneath it all.”

“Oh? And so you - ah.” Bold to try and taunt from such a compromised and vulnerable position, but Eivor did not relent. “So you always wished to be as a dagger... to my sheath?”

Randvi paused - a warning. She sat upright, but her fingers remained still.

The way she regarded Eivor, as a wolf might a sheep - it sent sparks up the taut column of the sheep’s spine.

“A wise woman can make use of any tool, I think,” Randvi said finally. She knew she’d won the point even before her fingers dipped and curled, a flourish as graceful as a spinning silver sword.

Eivor’s back arched, and she was as a sheath, seeking. She conceded, “And wise you are.”

Fortunately, Randvi loved hearing such things, especially from Eivor, and it was a sure way to bring out a sly grin that thinly shielded a deceptively fragile part of her heart. If there was one thing Randvi deserved, it was praise. She’d gone unappreciated for too long - even a moment was a sin - and yet she never shied from her post at the heart of their town. It would never have become more than a pile of bricks and stray ships without her guidance.

“The oldest trees must envy you,” Eivor went on.

“Must they?”

Eivor would not have the chance to say more if Randvi was allowed to continue, the waves building. So Eivor sat up to see her face-to-face, pulling her into a narrow straddle and kissing her, first on the forehead.

“For all their years, you are sager,” Eivor said.

She took Randvi’s hand to her lips and kissed her palm.

“For all their strength, you hold firmer. And for all their roots,” one last lingering kiss over her heart, beating wild, sealed by the same steady, guided palm, “yours run deeper.”

Randvi said nothing for a moment, her expression one of pure, quiet awe. Then, she shook her head slowly, keeping her eyes on Eivor’s. “Your poet’s soul is a dangerous thing.”

Eivor took her by the waist, revering the way she could look up at this woman who put the staunchest, most resilient trees to shame. “Even so, when the possessor is in truth the one possessed?”

“Especially then, you minx.” Randvi bumped their noses together, a novel gesture that Eivor was suddenly very fond of.

“I am afraid I cannot offer an apology.”

Randvi was the one to initiate their next kiss, though it was as fleeting as a bird over a river. “It is a beautiful thing, my love. I would accept no apology for it.” Her voice grew stern as she continued. “But nor do I possess the possessor in question.”

Eivor needed only gesture to their position. “Ah, but you do have me, do you not?”

“Cheeky,” Randvi chastised. She poked the side of Eivor’s face for good measure, and her touch trailed down to the jaw. “If that is the frame, then you are mine only insofar as you are your own.”

“Then I am yours - and my own, and the Raven’s - entirely.”

Randvi hummed, considering this, playfully cryptic.

“Do you find these terms of alliance agreeable?” Eivor joked.

“Ah, is this how you made us so many friends?”

“Well, these Saxons are less stubborn with their bellies full of mead and their mouths full of--”

With a kiss, Randvi cut her off and confirmed their jest of a treaty.

“I have made but one pledge in this way,” Eivor said for the sake of clarity. “And it is to the woman I call my wife.”

Randvi would have embraced her again and sent them both toppling onto the bed furs, but Eivor held her rooted in place.

Eivor’s hand snuck between them, finding its purchase as Randvi settled and relaxed against honed callouses. She had no qualms with the roughness - quite the opposite, actually. They built a pace together, painstaking, but with all of agony’s antonyms. Randvi’s breaths came faster, shallower, as she clung to the unwound remnants of Eivor’s dark braids and a shaky imitation of control.

“I must ask you,” Randvi exhaled all at once.

“Anything,” Eivor interrupted.

“Tell me when you knew.”

“That is not a question.”

Randvi nipped at Eivor's neck - not wolf-kissed, this time, but something close. “Petulant.”

“When did I know, or when did the gods know?” Eivor asked. Rarely did she have such a perfect set of conditions to toy with the greatest strategist the snows had ever produced.

“Either. Both,” Randvi managed.

“I cannot speak for the gods.”

Randvi grasped at the smooth muscle of Eivor’s back, blunt nails scraping across the flat planes of her shoulder blades. Her breath came hot against Eivor’s ear, along with her next words: “When did you know you loved me?”

The drengr’s iron resolve to taunt and pester shattered, armor falling away to reveal the poet’s vulnerable heart.

“I must be honest, you were the faster study between us, Randvi,” Eivor began. “I could not name the thing that pulled me to you, even when it was like a vine around my marrow, so ingrained that I could not walk without feeling its tug.”

“More,” Randvi said. “Tell me more.”

“Everywhere I went, I heard the flowers sing of your beauty. The trees whispered about your wisdom. Great dark clouds and lightning proclaimed your unwavering strength and loyalty to all those you care for.”

Randvi said no words, but she was not quiet.

“And these were pieces, pieces - only fractured shards of a reflection.”

“Eivor...”

“I did not realize they were my own heart-thoughts the world had given voice...”

A barely stifled moan.

“Until the wind itself called me back to you.”

With that, a broken groan slipped from Randvi’s throat and her rigid fingers dug in, bruising, driven by the sheer desperation for release. Her purgatory lasted, fueled by a merciless hand, until - “Eivor!” - less a name than a surrender to catharsis.

Eivor was braced for the collapse, easily keeping Randvi from falling limp into their bed. Somewhere in Eivor’s mind, there was a witty crack brewing about stamina and poetry and how’s that for wisdom, but the peaceful flow of Randvi’s breathing as it steadied and deepened was too lovely to cut short.

Eventually, Randvi righted herself, every inch of her covered in a fresh, fine dew.

“And you thought I was fierce,” Eivor said. She started to brush a piece of sweat-stuck hair from Randvi’s forehead, but the distance between them vanished quickly.

Randvi was not capable of sloppiness in anything she did, but this - crashing their mouths together while still working to catch her own inhales - was the closest she ever came. “I stand by it,” Randvi sighed as she rested her forehead against Eivor’s.

“I’ve thought of another question for you,” said Eivor.

“Hm?”

“Are you trying to wake the whole town?”

Randvi’s laugh was a delicate wisp, but not lacking bite. “And just how many times have you cried my name tonight?”

“You assume I can count that high?”

“If either of us wakes the town tonight, it will be you, my love.” Her thumb stroked the sharp corner of Eivor’s jaw before another promising kiss. “And that is as much a threat as it is a vow.”

“So be it,” Eivor said, lying back, arms splayed freely by her head. “Let them know for whom their jarlskona bends the knee.”

***

[cross-posted on AO3]

[misselko]

Got this idea from Dimitri’s conversation with Byleth before Fort Merceus battle with the Death Knight. Put some angst, fluff, and a pinch of smut spices into the dish and let it simmer down! At least, that’s what I want! But it turned out... different ;) Sorry not sorry

Please kindly leave some of your comments or ideas for my next fic! Your warm and loving words gives me energy to write more!!

RECKLESS

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Mention of blood, violence, a little smut

Words: 3316

 

POST TIMESKIP

Empire will be the only remaining enemy and to move on to the Imperial Capital, Enbarr, capturing Fort Merceus is a must. Praised as the strongest defense with its fortified military installation  in the Empire, seizing it won’t be an easy feat.

Liberating Arianrhod, calming down Holy Kingdom of Faerghus political issues, winning over the Leicester Alliance and gained their support. Getting a lead on Lady Rhea’s location. Although things were a rough go, but thinking back on it now, Blue Lions sure has really come a long way. Things have been wonderful in these past moons that it almost feels like dream too good to be true.

You don’t know why but you can’t shake your uneasy feelings and dread. War is raging and everyone knows there is a big battle on the horizon.

“We must not falter in our assault. The Death Knight is the enemy commander in Fort Merceus. He’s an unpredictable opponent. A dangerous one. Please proceed with caution, (Y/N).”

“I will, Dimitri. No need to worry.”

“I have not come this far just to lose you here. I’m serious. Do not be reckless out there.”

“Will you save me if I’m in trouble?”

“Of course, (Y/N). You were the heart of the Blue Lions, and the same holds true for the Kingdom Army.”

You smiled at his concern and hold his hands gently.

“I will do my best as well to support you, my Dimitri.” His cheeks turned into rosy blush at your words.

 

“Whoaa!! You’re getting pretty chummy, aren’t you, Your Highness? Go get a room!” Sylvain winks and got punched HARD, dragged away by Ingrid. You make mental notes on giving her a delicious roasted meat from that famous new shop in the town later as your gratitude. Serves him right!! ...But you wouldn’t trade them for anything in this world. Everything will be alright with them. Blue Lions are your precious family. It will be fine. Everything will be fine.

---

Capturing Fort Merceus is a daunting task. Endless enemies are approaching and relentless. Felix and Sylvain are working together cut through the snipers and mages. Ingrid and Ashe are doing their best to handle the pegasi knights. Dedue, Annette, Mercedes, and Flayn makes great combo on cutting through enemy reinforcements while providing healing to everyone. Slowly but sure, you and Dimitri managed to push Death Knight on the corner. But it doesn’t make things less difficult for both of you.

 

“You dare stand between me and my pleasure?”

The beginning of it was barely a bellow that grew steadily to a deafening roar, piercing the air and shaking the ground. Areadbhar crack in deafening clash against Death Knight’s Scythe of Sariel. They raised their weapons, waving them overhead.

 

“Yes. I dare stand against you, Death Knight!!”

 

Dimitri decides to face Death Knight head on as you tried your best to keep his back safe from the Imperial soldiers assaults. Keeping a close eye on him... just in case, following from a few meters back, cover his blind spots that way, look out for any potential danger. You could see them coming around, carefully and quietly trying to find their way to Dimitri.

 

Landing sharp blows, you bring the blade down on the head of another mage. Slashing your way through numerous enemies, you start to feel fatigued. Countless enemies lying dead behind. You looked around, among the sea of red and black, a swordmaster is sneaking his way behind Dimitri, ready to ambush him.

 

But you wouldn’t let it happen!

 

You were fully offensive, rapidly swinging your sword down on the swordmaster. You were able to deflect, parry, and block most of his attacks until his foot swept across your ankles, knocking you hard to the floor. The swordmaster stood above you, ready to press his sword into your chest to end your life. Fatigue made it harder for you to evade his deadly stab completely. Sound of a weapon piercing through flesh filled your ears, followed by an intense pain in your side. He pulled it back out with a triumphant smirk on his face. Despite the searing pain, you made it in time to grab your own weapon and thrust it up to his neck, your arms shaking as you tried to counter the weight of his attack. Grimace crossing your face as he fell, blood painting the earth a sick shade of red.

 

You sat up, wincing at the searing, burning hot pain on your side. The stab wound was way too deep. Your hands trembled, desperately attempting to put pressure on the wound as heavy flow of your blood is trickling through your fingers, colors your skin and clothes. The world had turned blurry, and your body felt weak. Ignoring the excruciating pain, you rush forward to help Dimitri. He has won against the Death Knight. But in his brief reverie, the Tempest King failed to notice two opposing snipers are approaching him, expression intent to kill, aiming their arrows at his back.

 

You acted on instinct, rushing forward, sprinting to intervene. To protect him.

‘We have been through so much together and he’d been through hell and back... I want to ease his pain. Knowing he’s safe... I can be at peace.’

You thought to yourself, launching forward. You barely has energy to stand up, but you tried to muster your last remaining strength to dove in before Dimitri. The arrows managed to easily make it’s way through your armor, landing in your chest and abdomen. ‘I have no regret when it came to protecting Dimitri.’

 

Your body slammed hard on the ground, careening across the battlefield. A sharp cry pained noise escaped you; that was all it took. Dimitri stiffened at the sound. It pulled him from the high of the battlefield down to reality in an instant.

 

“(Y/N)!!!”

 

He turned; filled with horror and rage. The fires blazing around him didn’t give off any heat. The battlefield around him turned black and white. His ears were ringing as if he’d been caught in an explosion. Dimitri went after the snipers and thrust them both at their hearts. After a quick glance to make sure no more surprise attacks happen, he kneels and pulling you into his chest. You looked so small, felt so limp that it sickened him. Broken and battered with littered scars and large wound on your side. Arrows jutting out of your chest, much too close to the heart, and another one lodged deep in your abdomen.

 

Dimitri watched as the blood pooled around you. Blood... there is so much blood. Your blood.

“Goddess... what were you- MERCEDES! FLAYN!! SOMEONE...HELP!!”

 

He pulled himself up, beside you, staring at your face. You were so pale. Oh, Goddess, you were dying. Were you already dead?

 

“I’m sorry.” There isn’t a reason to apologize, you aren’t sorry, but it still came out like the blood that is on Dimitri’s hands now.

 

“Don’t you dare apologize to me right now,” his voice choked off in his throat feels raw with emotions, barely able to hold back the sob which demands to escape, “not when you are like this. What were you thinking, (Y/N)? You have promised me to not be reckless.” He phrased it in a question, but both know why.

 

“Y-You... haven’t seen the... swordmaster... and those snipers. Y-You...were going to die...if they attack you. I want to protect you.... and I don’t regret my decision.“

 

You opened your mouth to speak but immediately coughed, feeling globs of blood on the corners of your lips. Dimitri gripped your hand, his hold so tight that it hurt, but you wouldn’t waste your breath on telling him. You could barely see Mercedes scurried over to your side as quickly as she could, Flayn follows behind her, leaving the Death Knight behind with tears running down her cheeks.

 

“Please stay awake for me a little longer, please.”

He choked out, pulling you closer if possible as it would keep you from leaving.

 

The chaos around you went mute as your eyes grow heavy. Maybe a quick nap would suffice.

 

“No...no, no, (Y/N)!! You can’t do this to me, you can’t-! Please, (Y/N), I can’t lose you too.....”

 

You felt like you were fading, and the sounds around you faded along with your hazy consciousness. You fell asleep.

---

Every second was filled with anxiety; you’d lost so much blood. The wounds were too deep to heal completely. There was little to no possibility of survival. Not after what you’d been through.

The days turned to one week, then two...then three. The physical wounds had healed, mostly repaired and faded to scars. There was potential for things to return to normal, and you may wake up sooner rather than later.

When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself in a dimly lit room, your upper body covered in bandages. The first thing you’re aware of is a dull throb radiating throughout your entire body. You were confused, and moved your head, unintentionally shifting your body and sending a wave of pain through your chest and stomach as you tried to get up. You closed your eyes tightly in response to the return of extreme pain, much worse than you had ever felt before. With much struggle, you sat on the edge of the bed shakily trying to stand up. The door creaked open and you looked up to find Dimitri peering inside.

 

”You’re awake,” he said, a look of surprise on his face. You tried to stand up and walk to him but failed, Dimitri ran in and caught you before you fell over. “I thought I was going to lose you, (Y/N),” he said, lifting you up effortlessly, settling you gently onto the bed and pulled up a chair. 

 

As cautiously as you could, you managed to sit yourself up. You kept a careful eye on the young king, noting how dark the circles under his eyes have become and how hollow his cheeks have turned. The fact that rest had eluded him for however long you were unconscious was as plain as day.

 

“You nearly died because of me. I have no right to be... you of all people shouldn’t-!” He managed to say, his voice shaking as his fingers trembled.

His head shot up to look at you, cerulean blue eyes dampened by tears that pooled in them. Your eyes were open, though weakly, looking at him and his disturbed state. You sensed his worry, but also his relief as he hovers next to your bed, engulfing you in his embrace and squeezing you against his chest for all he was worth. He was mindful of your wound, but that wasn’t enough to keep him away. No, he needed you. He needed to be beside you, to feel you, to know you were there.

 

“I’m okay, Dimitri...” You whispered, resting a hand on his chest where his heart thundered. You closed your eyes against him, relishing the feel of his tender warmth.

 

You felt how hard and rapid his heart was beating, almost deafening. Your arms wrapped around his heaving back weakly, rubbing it soothingly. He pulled you closer in response—closer, closer, closer, until every inch of you was smothered by him. Hesitant, trembling fingers graced your tightly wound bandages and you felt something warm and wet splatter onto your exposed shoulder.

 

"I could not stand to lose you,” he spoke slowly, holding your hands so tight that it hurts.

“But I fear that I may if I tell you what is on my mind.”

 

His voice was as quiet as it could be and it made you frown your eyebrows in worry. You were happy to see him alive, that was your goal when you decided to protect him from the approaching enemies. However, seeing him so distraught and afraid twisted your insides uncomfortably. The way he held your hand so desperately, afraid to let go.

 

“Dimitri.” You call him quietly, which makes him look at you with those gorgeous eyes of him.

 

You move your hand to his cheeks, caressing his soft skin, trying to bring him even the tiniest amount of comfort. Leaning to give him a soft chaste kiss on his lips. He reciprocated by open-mouthed kiss you with such fervor. There’s an undercurrent of desperation in the way Dimitri kisses you, as if this is the last moment he’ll ever feel it. It’s almost as if it pains him to be this close to you. You were alive, yet he couldn’t help but doubt it. Perhaps it was once again due to the vicious noises he still heard, though faintly. However, he was glad that they allowed him this moment of happiness.

 

“I won’t leave you, Dimitri.” You promised between ragged breath, your chest heaving.

 

“We are so close to ending this. Please, promise me you’ll stay safe. Rest, for now, my beloved.” Leaning down, he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, holding your hand to his chest. “I promise, I will never let you be hurt for my sake again.” Covering you with a  blanket  and tucking you into bed to retire for the evening.

 ---

After your awakening, the Blue Lions and Professor began incorporating regular infirmary visits into their schedule. They showered you with kind, encouraging words and occasionally bore small gifts (flowers and snacks), always encourage you to get better soon. But your most frequent visitor of all was your beloved gentle king.

It was two weeks since you have gotten better. Mercedes promised to take care after your bandages this evening.

“Are you ready, (Y/N)?”

You met Mercedes’ warm gaze with your own. With a firm nod, you replied, “Ready as I’ll ever be, Mercedes.”

 

The healer moved closer to you, her skilled hands undoing the set of bandages for the last time. Dimitri averted his frantic eyes to the wall when the dressing loosened just enough for your breasts to peak through. A cold, unforgiving breeze whipped the newly exposed skin, jolting a shiver down your spine. Mercedes sighed, slowly traced the scars your chest and stomach.

“I’m sorry but we will never be able to remove the scars. The wounds all healed, but... the scars will never go away completely. I’m sorry (Y/N).”

 

Your eyes immediately flashed over to Dimitri’s stiffening frame.

“It’s okay. I will never regret such a thing.” You smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Do you need anything else, (Y/N)?”

“No, I’m all good, Mercedes! Thank you for your help.”

“All right, then. Annette said that she needs my help with her baking this evening. We have to finish it before midnight! Should you need anything, please feel free to call me.” Mercedes gave you last smile before excusing herself politely from your quarter.

 

“Dimitri.”

His jaw clenched tautly; his eyes crunched into a pain-stricken wince. Refusing to look at your scar, a harsh reminder of his failure.

“Look at me.”

He stilled and won’t budge to look at you.

 

“I will never regret nor blame you for this. It was my decision and if it means saving you, I’ll gladly do it again in a heartbeat. Or... perhaps.... I can understand if you find that my... scars are disgusting, appalling, even....” you whisper softly, almost inaudible. Your surroundings whizzed right past you before you were unceremoniously slammed into your bed.

“DON’T SAY SUCH THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF!!” He growled “I will not allow you to throw your life away for me. If.. If something ever happen to you.. I’ll live a life worse than death itself, (Y/N).”

 

Not a moment later did you feel something warm and soft press against your lips. His mouth moved awkwardly yet full of affection. Hands planted  on either side of your body, ridding any hope of escape from his ravishing kisses. Dimitri pressed his lips further into yours, swallowing your moans. His lips left yours to trail down around your neck, breasts, and stomach lovingly. “This wounds... I cannot lose you again, my beloved.” His body quivered.  The King kissing the scars on your cleavage and abdomen, worshiping them reverently with tender touches, almost like touching a porcelain doll. Afraid to break you with his almost inhuman power. Biting and sucking wherever his heart desired until you were covered in nothing but love bites, leaving you a panting mess.

 

Dimitri held you in his arms, stroking your hair and mumbling whispers of ‘I’m sorry’. Bittersweet smile formed on his lips. He gazed at you, eyes lidded with desires and need, mixed with guilt and love. “(Y/N)... My beloved...” You pulled away slightly to look up at him and smiled.

“Dimitri...” You cupped his cheek in your hand, in which he immediately melted into.

“I love you, Dimitri.”

 

He blushed at your words, then it dawned on his realization. Suddenly becoming very aware of the... intimate position you were in. “Um, w-well...” As he came to his full senses he released his hands from you, as though from fire and stuttered, quickly pulling away from your panting form. He wasn’t making eye contact anymore, and you followed his gaze downwards on your body. Oh. Without the dreamlike stupor a d hazy feeling to distract you, you realized just how naked you are. Nightgown pooled beneath your waist. Feeling an onset of bashfulness, you also brought an arm up to cover as much of your chest as you could; despite what you had just done with him, the reality of the situation was catching up to you.

 

He flinched, breaking eye contact and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Ah—Urghh!!! I’m sorry, (Y/N)!! I don’t know what came over me but.. but... P-Perhaps we should... stop... before it escalates any further...” The King unclasped his furred cloak hurriedly and put it over your naked body unceremoniously, hiding his flushed crimson face in his hands again, absolutely brutalized with shame. 

 

“Er.. Be certain to rest for now. We may have undone some of your healing.” Then he said hurriedly, almost inaudibly. “When your strength returns to its fullest, we can pick up where we left off. I promise.”

 

“Fine...” You giggled, finding his attempt at being serious too adorable. The heat and passion was still very visible in his eyes, and it was obvious that anymore teasing on your end would send him over the edge.

“Thank you for this lovely evening, Dimitri.”

You pulled his hand to your lips and give each of his fingers soft kisses, gazing at him lovingly. Dimitri’s jaw and pants tightened, the poor King desperately clinging onto the last thread of sanity and reason which threatened to snap at any moment.

 

“Good night, my beloved (Y/N).” Casting one last glance at you and bashfully looking down when he caught your eye, the Blue Lions Leader left with a haste that was probably unbecoming of a gentleman, his long legs taking the steps to the second floor dormitory two at a time. He somehow,  somehow  managed to reach his room without incident or interruption, locking his door behind him, leaning back against it and covering his burning red face with his hands. His body felt like it was on fire; nerve endings alight with sensations he had long believed were dead.

 

The pit of his stomach tangled in knots when he thought of (Y/N). All he could think about was your pure unadultered love, beautiful (E/C) that is gazing at him affectionately. Goddess, he was such a sinner. It made him want to put his hands on you. All over you. Repeatedly. Savoring the taste of your lips as  you moan into his mouth. Feeling your warmth and love. Unclothed. His mind is running wild. This frantic sensation in his blood, while half-forgotten, was not new. It will be another sleepless night for the poor king. And it’s all because of you.

[themockingpoint]

308 A.C., Winterfell

Excerpt from a story I wrote that will probably never get published. All that really needs to be know is that Jon became king at the end.

~~~

308 AC- House Winterfell

 “Sansa…” A feminine voice sounded, and the Princess of the North looked up to see. Not many people referred to her by her first name very often, so she was able to narrow down the source.

 “Yes, Jeyne?” She said and saw that her best friend from childhood had stuck her head into the room.

 Jeyne and she had been inseparable during their childhood in Winterfell. The girl with chestnut brown hair and Sansa were as close as sisters to the point where she followed them to King’s Landing when her father became Hand of the King. When Tyrion took over the position, she had been lucky enough for Robb to have paid for her ransom. The only semi decent idea her brother had outside military tactics.

 Her family were only stewards so had no political power. That meant young Jeyne had no value as a hostage, but it also meant that she had no ability to help with the Battle of the Bastards. Only her mother being a Mazin convinced them to help and then only barely. But still, House Mazin took over Last Hearth and Jeyne, now the head of House Poole, is receiving training from Sansa to take over the Dreadfort.

 “Um… Arya is here.” She said, awkwardly. The two never had a good relationship growing up and Sansa’s sister had not been heard from in near three years. For her to show up out of the blue like this was very unexpected.

 “Help me up.” She said, taking Jeyne’s hand while holding her belly.

 Her Little Jon was getting mighty tight in her belly and still had near a month to go. Her mother always told her the joy of a woman carrying her first born but Sansa just felt incredibly guilty that she did not feel that joy and just wanted this pregnancy over with.

 “Are you sure it is her?” She asked as they walked from her solar.

 “Aye, I’d recognize Arya Underfoot anywhere. It’s not as though she does not look enough like Jon Snow.” she said, and Sansa laughed. It was only last year that Sansa realized that her friend had a massive crush on Jon growing up, with the rest of Winterfell assuming that the “brother” she spoke of wanting to marry was Robb.

 “I am guessing she was happy to see you?” Sansa asked rhetorically.

 “She was perfectly civil. I almost did not recognize her.” Jeyne said, bitingly.

 Jeyne and Arya were never able to get along as children. Sansa should not be surprised that they did not get along as adults. “Play nice…” The Northern queen admonished.

 “Yes, Your Grace.”

 As the two made their way down to the great hall, Sansa could not help but worry about her sister. No one had heard from her in years, and no one had ever come back from West of Westeros. She wondered what kind of effect that would have on a person.

 “About time. You had me sitting here like a ninny.” Arya said. She had a scowl on her face, but Sansa had known her for so long she could see the smile in her eyes and tease in her voice. Sansa noticed that she had a new scar going up the left side of her jaw and then onto the side of her neck and her brown hair was lighter and longer than she had ever seen it.

 “I’m a lot slower now.” Sansa said, rubbing her tummy.

 “What happened to not marrying?” Arya asked rhetorically.

 “We need more Starks.” Sansa shrugged.

 “And the Father?” Arya asked, with their mothers cocked eyebrow.

 “An old friend of yours. From the Battle of Winterfell actually…” She said, and Arya stiffened. Sansa tried not to snicker at sister’s expense before saying, “Ned Dayne, from Starfall. I believe you too met when you spend time with the Brotherhood without Banners? He is down in Dorne helping Princess Arianne win back control of Dorne with Jon.”

 Arya let a puff out of her nose, “You’re an arse.”

 “Me?” Sansa said, innocently. Arya rolled her eyes knowing exactly what Sansa was doing. Grey eyes flicked downwards and then she hovered her hand over Sansa’s midsection. Sansa nodded and her sister started rubbing her tummy and nephew.

 “How far along are you?” She asked.

 “About eight moons.” Sansa said, gaining a more genuine scowl from her sister.

 “Of course you still look like a maiden from a song while pregnant…” Arya scowled for real this time and Sansa sighed.

 Growing up the two sisters were always at each other’s throats; Sansa was jealous that their father obviously favored Arya while Arya was always jealous how good at things Sansa was. She had hoped their time in Winterfell waiting for Jon could have gotten them passed that.

 “… meanwhile when I was….” She started before quickly cutting herself off.

 Sansa’s eyebrows shot to her hairline in surprise, as Jeyne started coughing herself. “When you…” She demanded.

 Her sister walked to the door and spoke to a serving girl before bringing two little children. The first was a boy with Black hair and blue eyes, the second was a girl who looked like Sansa herself.

 “These are my children, Jon and Lynarra Snow.” Arya said, introducing her children, if Sansa didn’t know better, nervously.

“Snow? Or Storm?”

“Does it matter?”

 “Well our Jon is going to be pissed if he finds out that you mothered a bastard!” Sansa hissed.

 “… I know.” Arya said and for the first time Sansa heard her sister sound dejected.

 “Lyarra?” Sansa said, to confirm her suspicions.

 “LEE-NAR-AH. A mix of Lyarra and Lynah.” Arya explained, and Sansa sighed and pinched her nose at the mention of Gendry’s mother.

 Sansa and Gendry had grown somewhat close in the last few years due to the former Blacksmiths nervousness of ruling. Well as close as they could get nearly half a continent away from each other. Many ravens had been exchanged between the two in his first year of ruling and Sansa was pleased to say that the two had become friends.

 There was a pregnant pause before saying, “He is still unmarried.”

 “So?”

 “Don’t you think thing he’d want to know about his children.” Sansa said, “You need to tell him!”

 “No I don’t.” Arya said, stubbornly.

 “Yes, you do!” Sansa snapped and that back and forth continued on for a moment or two before Jeyne snapped.

 “You are a queen and you a savior of the World! You are arguing like three-year-olds!” Jeyne near shouted indicating the now shoving match between Jon and Lynarra.

 “It must be bad if Jeyne is the voice of reason.” Arya said, while quickly grabbed the two by the backs of their shirts and separating them, plopping Jon on her hip and Lynarra into Jeyne’s waiting arms before Sansa’s old friend started cooing at the babe. “Stay out of this Sansa. It is none of your business.”

 “I don’t care if you don’t decide to marry him, but Gendry is my friend, and he deserves to know about his children! You tell him, or I tell Jon!” Sansa bluffed. Her little sister had been there for a grand total of five minutes and they were fighting already.

 Arya hesitated before saying, “Jon would not…”

 “Would not care that you are forcing your children to grow up as bastards? Jon?” Sansa asked rhetorically.

 Arya didn’t look at her before finally saying, “I will write him once we are settled in.”

 “Good, and while we are at it…” Sansa said, and Arya gave a sharp glare before Sansa offered the olive branch, “You can tell me of your adventures to the west.”

 The two sisters grinned as they walked off to get the new quiet wolf settled in Winterfell once again.

[thepencilnerd]

Pasta and Dinner Parties

"Edamame," Theo says.

"The fuck did you just call me?" Blaise’s face contorted quicker than a shifting boggart.

Another eye roll. “The pasta, it’s made from edamame.” Theo pronounces it with a certain twinge of pomposity that would have Percy Weasley reeling. Too many syllables. Vowels too lengthy. “Type of soybean, I reckon.” 

"IT'S NOT PASTA!" Blaise’s roar shook the walls of the foyer.

Pansy snorts into her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I think this dinner will go swimmingly.”

Draco and Hermione have reached a domestic milestone. They've finally decided to move in together. Draco invites her over for dinner, but what would a little Slytherin hospitality be without some sugar and spice?

Rated M for language and discussions of heavy topics in future chapters

Full fic + updates on AO3

"Luna sent a box of these over, wonderful isn't she?" If lovesick eyes had a picture to accompany the definition, Theodore Nott’s face would be front and center. In his left hand, he held an empty cardboard carton with a sticky note adhered to the front flap. 

Simmer for 10 minutes with a sprig of rosemary and a teaspoon of salt. Keeps away the balfspracks. 

Blaise rubs his eyes. It’s half-past five and he’s already had it with Theo. Had it. Patience wore down to the bone. Basta. Finite incantatem. In all honesty, he’d gladly throw himself in front of a flying—

A shorter figure crept up from behind. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she gives her boyfriend a peck on the cheek, which seems to loosen the wrinkles settling over his forehead. 

"Ladies," Pansy jests, mediating the arguments between the two as always. "I'm sure there's more than enough pasta to go around." 

"Not pasta," Blaise muttered. He tried to concentrate on the lingering warmth Pansy’s lips left on his face. The poor bloke sounded like he was about to hurl.  

At this, Theo rolled his eyes and waved dismissively. “Yes, yes, yes, you can flaunt your Italian heritage some other time, now let me work my culinary magic!” 

Blaise takes a deep breath. High blood pressure, he remembered Pansy saying. Need to stay calm. "Mate, I love you, I really do, but if you don't tell me what those green things swimming about in my favorite crockpot are, you have another thing coming."

"You used a crockpot to boil pasta?" Pansy’s head popped up from behind Blaise’s shoulder. Her nose wrinkled like she’d caught a whiff of something foul. 

“Not pasta.” Blaise was a broken record.

Draco groaned from the living room. The headache from earlier evolved into a full-blown migraine by the time lunch was over. His eyeballs were absolutely throbbing. He jammed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets as if it would relieve any of the aching. To no avail. 

"Granger's coming over in half an hour and we’ve yet to transfigure a dining table." He verbalized his misery in as simple terms as he could. Sitting on the living room couch, he calculated the farthest distance from the kitchen and found himself just a few feet away. Problem with having a small flat. He couldn't find it in himself to raise his voice. Not with the demon baby currently going stir-crazy with a gavel in his skull. 

He questioned his level of sobriety when he agreed to this.

Meeting Hermione Granger’s parents had been less stressful than this. 

Introducing her to his mother was a Christmas tree full of Christmas presents compared to this. 

Sitting in a train compartment with 2nd-year Hufflepuffs sounded more bearable than this. 

Why, oh why, did he have to open his big mouth that night? 

“Seems proper that I’d at least get to share dinner with them before we move in together,” Hermione shrugged. Her hair was still damp from her—their—shower. Stray curls escaped, framing the curves of her face. Draco loved how her sheets always smelled like her soap. The scent of her shampoo was reserved for the pillowcases. 

“Come over for dinner,” he suggested. Quite impulsively, really. “Allow me to treat you to an evening of... Slytherin hospitality.” Draco’s trademark grin served him well. Resting on his side, Draco was propped up on one elbow with no shirt and sheet draped over his bottom half. She wanted to believe he was wearing briefs underneath. He looked absolutely wicked. 

Hermione scowled tentatively but surrendered with a smile. Her chest rose before she let out a sigh. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I’d experienced an inkling of that before.” Mirth graced her tone. 

The embers from the fireplace bounced off of her bare skin like rays of summer sun; warm and welcoming. Draco’s fingers fondled the strap of her bra, the only thing she was wearing, and earned a breathy giggle from her. Tugging the lace down, he sat up and started pressing a trail of kisses along her skin. Goosebumps erupted where his lips traced her flesh. The bath had stained her skin; she tasted of rosewater and honey. 

Hermione let out a hmph and tried to focus on the book she was holding. She developed a knack for knowing when he craved attention. Whenever Draco came over, he turned into a literal child. Always nagging and begging for her every time he got the chance. If she wasn’t superglued to his side, Hermione would bet a million galleons he’d throw a fit. 

“Turn around and face me instead. I don’t fancy being smothered by your hair while we sleep.” 

“How do you turn on the stove?”

“Granger, help me fix the antenna!” 

“Could you take a look at this spot on the back of my head? I might be balding.” 

“Granger, I think I nicked myself on the aluminium.” 

“If you weren’t wearing so many clothes, we’d probably warm up faster. Becoming a pair of popsicles isn’t exactly on my bucket list.” 

This time around, his demands were very clear. 

“Pay attention to me.” 

Hermione’s eyes shot up from her book. Shock painted her features like a splash of cold water. 

She blinks once. Twice. Three times for good measure. And then, her lips break into a blinding smile, pearly whites and all. The corners of her eyes curl into half-moons and her whole body shakes with glee. 

Sweet Merlin, he was fucked. 

Setting her book down on the nightstand, Hermione sits up straight and looks at Draco expectantly. He sits unmoved beside her. Staring. Admiring. Waiting. The cheeky grin that etches into her face is one Draco would give the world to see every day. 

Draco leans back against the headboard and stretches his legs out towards the foot of the bed. Scooting closer to her, she flips her leg over his awaiting lap. She’s straddling him in the span of two seconds. The feel of her bare flesh against his is utter bliss. 

Her arms wrap around his neck like a koala bear and her head nestles into the crook of his neck. Despite lathering him in her soap, he still smelled like Draco. All these years of dating and she still couldn’t put her finger on the bevy of aromas. 

Draco mirrors her actions like a reflection, one and the same. His arms make her feel so incredibly small when encased in them. Like a bear cub. Or a kangaroo in a pouch. Maybe mammals would be an appropriate term to generalize how warm and safe she felt in his embrace, but it wasn’t the most attractive or poetic—

“I thought we finished showering earlier,” he sighs into her hair. “Why is there steam coming off your head?”

She blows a puff of air into his neck and he jolts at the sensation. Ticklish. Draco knew that secret would die with Hermione and she was honored to keep it. Unless it served her in times of duress. 

“I was just thinking about how safe I am when I’m with you.” The tip of her nose brushes against the junction above his throat and feels his heartbeat, delicate but strong. 

Da-dum.

Da-dum.

Da-dum.

Pulling back, he slides his left hand along her cheek and she leans into it like second nature. Hermione raises her right hand and cradles it over his. The way it pales in proportion almost makes him break into laughter. When she presses open-mouthed kisses down his bare wrist, Draco resists the urge to take her right then and there. It’s too perfect of a moment to ruin. Not tonight. 

She’s even more tender when her lips reach his scar. The marred flesh that takes him back to his inescapable past. A reminder of everything wrong he’s been taught since childhood; everything bad in this world; everything wrong he’s done throughout his entire life. 

But more importantly, it’s a symbol of how much good was left in this dismal world. 

It’s a battle scar that reminds him that he lived.

Something that motivates him to keep trying. 

A reminder of how despite being swallowed by the darkness that plagued the world, he chose to hold onto light. 

A reminder of how above everything, he chose Hermione and Hermione chose him. 

He takes a moment to look at her, really look at her, and melts. 

Hermione is a vision actualized. He sees the dreams and aspirations swirl about her irises in flickers. Roaming freely and always there when you needed them. He wants to bask in them. Relish in them. In her. For as long as she’ll keep him, no matter how infinitely small or finitely large. He’d burn through galaxies if it meant seeing her happy and safe. Anything and everything he could provide for her was his to offer. She need only ask. 

Draco Malfoy was wholly and irrevocably head over heels for Hermione Granger.

Magic and might, save him. 

No really, save him.

What the bloody hell was that infernal yapping? 

"I, for one, thought it would be better to go to an Italian restaurant, but Blaise here," Theo quipped. “—wanted to dish out his non-existent cooking skills,” He paused to stir the pot. “At least Luna was kind enough to—”

Blaise stomped his foot on the kitchen tiles. Miracle they hadn’t cracked yet. There was no point in trying to hide his tantrum. “Just because my ancestors were Italian doesn’t mean I’m a master chef!” He narrows his eyes. “Honestly Theo—” The words die in his throat when Theo fishes out a noodle from the pot. Maybe it’s just his eyes playing tricks on him but he swears it flipping wiggles. “What in Merlin’s great magical kingdom is that abomination and why the ever-loving fuck is it green?” 

Pansy gave his cheek a pat. “Colorful, Blaise. Truly” 

"Edamame," Theo says. 

"The fuck did you just call me?" Blaise’s face contorted quicker than a shifting boggart.

Another eye roll. “The pasta, it’s made from edamame.” Theo pronounces it with a certain twinge of pomposity that would have Percy Weasley reeling. Too many syllables. Vowels too lengthy. “Type of soybean, I reckon.” 

"IT'S NOT PASTA!" Blaise’s roar shook the walls of the foyer. 

Pansy snorts into her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I think this dinner will go swimmingly.” 

A crash echoes from the kitchen and Theo lets out a screech that rivals grindylows. 

Pansy takes a long, calm sip. Likely pumpkin juice. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if it were laced with some pre-appetizer spirits. How she managed to deal with Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum was beyond him. Hell, he needed some right about now. At least to dial down the nerves. Not to mention the spike in blood pressure provoked by his flatmates. 

The remaining minutes pass like clockwork and before he knows it, the front door dings. Never has a bell sounded more menacing than now. Why is he so nervous? She’s met them a few times before and they’ve definitely shared rounds of drinks. No doubt, gone to Diagon Alley with Parkinson, Lovegood, and Weasley. The tolerable one. 

Did he clean his room? 

Theo promised to dust right after tea but the bloke was delusional about everything except Lovegood. A bit poetic, not that Draco ever cared to admit it. 

Pansy and Blaise stopped by the market yesterday and restocked the pantries and fridge. 

And then Luna dropped off her bag of goodies this morning. 

“She’s early.” Theo stuck his head out from the kitchen. Why was he covered in flour? 

So many questions. Draco didn’t even care to know the answers to half of them. 

“She’s always early when she’s excited.” 

The three stooges stand shell shocked and stare at Pansy. They just stare. 

She blinks like an owl and shakes her head. “Honestly, are you three just going to stand there or is someone’s boyfriend going to get the door?” 

Draco’s brain registers the words too late for his liking. He’s dead sober but his brain is all fuzzy. Just as she’s about to knock for a second round, Draco’s feet propel him to the door so fast a whip of apparition cracks. 

The door clicks open to reveal a dazzling frame. Hermione Granger is, to say the least, an unreal figment of everything good in the world. War heroine, member of the Order of the Phoenix, magical, academic, and practical genius, pure in mind and soul, and his girlfriend. His girlfriend. His. Donning a pair of black leggings and a flowing cream blouse, she’s bundled in a beige trench coat and blush pink scarf. Dark mahogany brown ankle boots boost her height by a few centimeters. Draco still overshadows her by a good head or two. Nevertheless, it’s a thoughtful effort. She’s holding a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. 

“Hello—woah!’ 

Draco’s arms are around her instantly and she’s brought into the house. His broad shoulders envelop her into a cloaked embrace that lets his scent wash over her. He never wants to let go. 

Initially surprised at the abrupt shift in balance, Hermione relaxes into his hold within seconds. He still smells like her soap and Draco and… smoking?

“Blaise!” a female voice shrieks. “Don’t just stand there Theo, do something!” 

A cloud of smoke—contained by a bubble charm, thanks to Pansy—swirls above the stovetop, large and foreboding. The source? A deep green crockpot placed on one of the burners.

Wait. Why is a crockpot on the burner? Hermione wonders.

“I told you we needed to salt the water and add the rosemary! Now you’ve got balfspracks all over the bloody place!” Theo’s voice changed from panic to mockery. He turned his nose upright and growled in a nasal tone. “‘Oh, salt is acceptable, but rosemary? Unacceptable. A disgrace to all cuisine Italian. May as well—’”

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose. By the end of the day, he’d probably have to ask Hermione to heal his bruises. “Bloody hell…” 

“Oh, it’s my fault now, is it?” Hermione realizes Blaise’s name suits him very well. Almost too well. In any other life, he might have been sorted into Gryffindor with that fiery temperament. “Next time we have a guest over, we’re ordering take-out. From Hogsmeade!” 

“Someone help me get rid of this burnt pot of—whatever the hell pasta Theo was making,” Pansy gags while trying to contain the swelling bubble. The scent is overwhelming. Something between seaweed and polyjuice. Perhaps a vile mixture of the two. 

“EDAMAME!” 

“NOT PASTA!” 

Draco can’t tell whether he wants to burst into laughter or cry. Maybe he’ll do both. Hermione was there to wipe away the snot or tears, regardless of whichever it would end up being. 

Giving him a chase kiss, Hermione placed the gifts in his hands and made her way to the lounge. Draco was going to kill them. He was going to kill them dead.

She pulled out her want and raised it towards the giant orb of smoke, confidence igniting her eyes. Her wand moved as if it were on its own, guided purely by magic and intent with an undeniable essence of Granger. She draws a broad circle that covers the entire room and summons the wisps of smoke like a magnet. The ashy tendrils of burnt food claw their way out of the floorboards and ceiling cracks, latching on for as long as they can before they’re drawn out Aiming towards the ajar door, the coils of smoke and singe are thrown out the entrance with a deafening gust. 

A single strand of hair falls out of her ponytail. 

She blows it out of her eyes with a single, deliberate puff. 

The corner of her lip quirks upwards the slightest. 

It’s so fast you’d miss it if you blinked. 

If Draco wasn’t so overcome with the urge to skin his friends, he’d dive in there right now and kiss her numb. 

The flat has returned to an atmosphere of calm. 

“Fucking finally,” Draco mutters out loud. Not intentionally but he doesn’t regret it one bit. 

Pansy, Theo, and Blaise resemble owls; wide eyes, unmoving bodies, twitching necks that swivel side to side. 

Theo breaks the silence with something along the lines of a chortle. “Welcome to our humble abode, Granger.” 

“Pleasure to have you here,” Blaise adds. His hands are still clenched around Theo’s shirt collar. 

Pansy is still trying to catch her breath having inhaled a hefty amount of the fumes. Blaise and Theo had probably tumbled around the living room enough to avoid the thick of it. Still, she refuses to let it impede on her hostess abilities. 

“Hermione!” Pansy coughs. “Why don’t you and Draco check out upstairs while—” she pauses to glare daggers at the two boys covered in God knows what, “—we deal with the mess down here.” 

Hermione draws out the excess smoke from Pansy’s clothes and hair with a swish of her wand. The next thing she does makes the three boys’ jaws unhinge. They bring each other into a warm hug and laughter rings in the air.

“It’s good to see you too, Pans,” Hermione breathes. Draco was definitely going to have a fit over this later.

Hermione gives Theo and Blaise a shy wave. Hopefully, they’d understand. In any other instance, she’d be more than happy to rid their clothes of the stench. They wouldn’t even have to ask. But this was Pansy Parkinson and if Hermione knew Pansy Parkinson, she knew that the Slytherin would want to drag on punishment as long as possible before even thinking of succumbing to forgiveness. 

Hermione Granger’s stubbornness coupled with her Gryffindor loyalty? 

She’ll be damned if she lets either waver when surrounded by friends. 

Draco clears his throat forcefully and offers his arm. “Upstairs then, shall we?” 

Hermione loops her arm through his and grins. It’s contagious and Draco already feels his anger ebb into affection. 

She speaks almost as lightheartedly as the wand movement for a levitation charm. "We shall."