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#i see the light at the end of the (very short) tunnel

sophieinwonderland · 5 months

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"Why aren't we seeing widespread plural acceptance yet?"

Guys... for thousands of years, plurals have kept completely to ourselves out of fear of being tortured for demonic possession or locked away in insane asylums.

The first plural communities and the term "plural" itself in reference to multiple agents in one body didn't start until the 90s.

The communities were largely hidden away, not interacting with most of the mainstream internet until the early 2010s.

The first studies into the plural community didn't start until the back half of the 2010s.

Pluralkit wasn't made until 2018, and many singlet-run servers have already adopted it to make their spaces more accepting of systems.

The Plural Association wasn't founded until 2020, just 4 years ago.

2023, this year, saw the very first time a system's system name, "The Redwoods," was used as the authors of an academic paper. Something that I hope, while remarkable now, can become the norm.

Yes, acceptance is slow. It can be hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel sometimes. It can be hard to recognize history as it's happening. But make no mistake, history IS happening. Progress is being made.

We've hit some major milestones in a relatively short time and this is only the beginning!

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ancientgoddessofegypt · 2 months

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A LOVERS GAME - SOULMATE CONNECTION

PICK A PILE !

SOUL MATE CONNECTION COMING IN THIS SEASON. WHATS THE ENERGY BETWEEN THE TWO OF YOU?

PILE 1 - 'Light at the end of a tunnel.'

This one right here is is showing true romance. This person is going to light up your world in a way you didn't know was possible. They could be someone a bit eccentric, different or just has a less traditional way of being. Strong desire, passionate energy is connected to this vibe you will have going on with each other. Talking on the phone all night, lavish dates away from the city and going slow so that the flame could last forever. Remarkable journey ahead. Just breathe.

PILE 2 - 'Theres truth, and then there's fantasy.'

This flame is connected to feeling real butterflies. Like reaaaal butterflies. You guys will for sure feel that honey moon phase coming within short noticed. But I must tell you that honesty is going to be the wave that keeps on coming. You cannot live a fantasy with this person only because neither you can handle that time of vibe when being together. You guys have to wait for things to truly come full circle. There are things going on in the stars that brought you guys together, but in truth the way things set up in your life and the choices you made brought you guys here.. in one peace. and that's all there is. A practical love that makes infinite realities seem boring. Do NOT let anything break you guys apart because ones personal beliefs isn't the same as the others. Some things that people say on the internet can be true, but it isn't for everyone. You could be living the dream with this person, but only if you open your eyes and recognize who is right in front of you. Because the truth is the person standing right in front of you, and that's all you need.

PILE 3 - 'Being open to water, this time you'll swim'.

Patience, my darlings. Patience. They are already here. The illusion that you guys are so far apart is not true. The universe has a way of placing you guys together through divine timing, the lessons are still being worked upon by you two. So hold it! Make a wish to the sky and allow the answer to drop to you with peace in mind. They are going to mirror back the things you see in yourself, so this person is going to be putting you on a ride and you gotta be prepared to surf. A very strong entanglement (nicely put). You will have to be really sweet to each other, because I'm seeing with one of both of you that past relationships harden your heart and vulnerability is strong with this group. Be patient, with yourself first.. Because it's going to get transformative with this group.

#psychic reading #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a color #channeler #read #reader #healer #chakra #lovers reading #love pick a card

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pawified · 2 months

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Hi I was just wondering if I could request headcannons for father figure bf!Suguru? Thank you so much I love your writing🩷🩷

hi so sorry for responding late . . . i hope you are well ! but ofc i cane give u littl headcannons some of based off of things i think he does ( ovbi ) and some are what i interpreted from da show & manga !

its supa short bc im swleepy bc its 3:30 am exactly nd i haven’t taken a nap at all.

( side note : i miss my puppy girl agenda so dis will b da first thing of my return to be fulfilled of puppy girl )

. father figure!bf suguru who wraps you in his arms when you are feeling uneasy with anxiety.

. father figure!bf suguru who buys you milk bread everyday at your favorite bakery on his way to pick you up from whatever college after activity you have going on for that week.

. father figure!bf suguru is very attentive, the first thing he noticed about you when you two first met is that you walk with a littl bounce

. father figure!bf suguru doesn’t care or particularly mind that you cling to him like a needy puppy begging for attention. he finds it cute how you rely on him for anything.

. father figure!bf suguru who hates the word “goodbye.” he always corrects you when you’re stepping out the car to head into your morning class. “hey. wait, what do we say?” he cocks his head to the side, you try arguing that you’ll be late, but he doesn’t let up. you sigh in defeat and mumble out a quick “ see you later, i love you. “ quickly slamming the door, you rush to your class before you could hear his response “i love you too. you look beautiful”

. father figure!bf suguru who gives you you a baby pink collar engraved with “ if found return to geto suguru “ on one of the sliver tags dangling from the key ring.

. father figure!bf suguru who starts calling you pup more often. he’s well aware that you love the petname he has adopted into his vocabulary. — he likes it also.

. father figure!bf suguru is never mean to you;not intentionally you think? but when he is, it make your brain a bit hazy.

. father figure!bf suguru doesn’t like brats or liars which you happen to be both. of course you never tell major lies at least that’s what you think but your partner would disagree. — you told a small white lie about how you had no clue how a big wine stain got on the couch and suggested that his friends did it. geto knew who had done it, but you don’t know that he is aware of it. he just want you to confess.

. father figure!bf suguru punishments hurt; alot. you aren’t use to the heavier ones, only a few taps on your bottom to bounce you back from being disruptive but they’re never like this. — ass cheeks are warm accompanied by a slight tint of red due to the pressure of his big palms, you can feel the welts starting to form. “restart over. you stop again, i will leave you here with a vibrator tied to your leg, do i make myself clear?” his voice is rough and firm. “y-yes sorry. m-sorry”

. father figure!bf suguru the after care is what makes you fall in love with him all over again. — after his corrective actions, you and him are embraced into each other for awhile, as he draws circles on your back while rocking you back and forth to bring you back down. “my sweet girl, you did so good. always know how to take your punishment well.” he coos, you look at him with big doe eyes, suguru thinks for a moment; you are a real puppy who has reincarnated into a 20 year old girls body.

. father figure!bf suguru regardless of his mistakes in the past before you became his light at the end of a dark tunnel, he make a secret promise to whatever god existed that he would do whatever it takes to heal from his past in order to keep you around for the rest of his life.

#˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆#𝑝𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑠 ‎໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ #! ! 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑏𝑜𝑥 — ꒰ঌ ໒꒱#𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑜 — ♡ ᵎ #father figure ! series #puppy!reader #father figure bf ! suguru #geto x reader #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru headcanons #m’ startin tew fall in love wif him #geto x you

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i4bellingham · 1 year

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LOVESTRUCK : jude bellingham x fem!reader

synopsis: in which you and jude reveal your relationship for the very first time during one of his games. // not proofread + english is not my first language so please bare with me :> WORLD CUP ENDS TONIGHT AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

As the whistle blew for the last time indicating England’s win, the crowd of white and blue erupted in jolly cheers filling the entire stadium with their merriment celebration for their team’s gratifying win.

The guys huddled close in the field, hugging and celebrating with wide smiles some with teary-eyed gaze that glistened amidst the stadium lights before they thanked the fans for their support.

Proudly wearing the England NT jersey with Jude’s number and last name, you couldn't be any more proud to see his growth and success reach new heights as you cheered and clapped at the seating area.

There had always been worries coming from his side, certain insecurities that often clouded him in a glum haze before you're there easing his worries down and making him remember the level of football he's managed to be at in such a young ageㅡ with a successful career at that. He's always got something in mind, nitpicking certain things that he could've done better at every game until he's drowning and overthinking his entire career, as if he's not a starter and a star player of the England National Team in the World Cup, in addition to his success as Dortmund’s most recognizable rising star players.

It was so easy for him to lose himself in his thoughts, but it was just as easy for you to pull him out of his drowning self-doubts so to see him shine, all smiley and happy in the pitch with his teammates after an excellent game and a good win, it brings a proud warmth to your chest. Standing next to you were his parents who stared at their son just as proud.

You watch for a few more moments as the boys celebrated before they're approaching the bleachers where the team’s family are seated.

You catch Jude’s eye before he's even walking in your general direction. He blows you a kiss, mouthing ‘I love you’ before he turns to his parents to do the same.

After that they were ushered to do cool-downs before being escorted back to the locker rooms, some of the NT’s staff being held back for interviews as the boys filed to enter the tunnel with their loud chatter.

　　　　　　　　　　ㅡ ♡ ㅡ

“Ah! There’s our boy!” Jude hugs his father first before he does the same to his Mum. He's already got changed into a fresh England Strike Drill top with shorts and his sock-clad feet in slippers, freely wrapping each of his parents in a hug without needing to worry about his sweat or the grime and dirt that usually clung on his jersey shirt.

His Mum pats his chest, beaming a proud smile before planting a kiss on each of his cheeks, telling him how proud they are of everything he's achieved.

You simply sat by their side, watching with a content smile on your face before his Mum turns around and makes way for Jude to reach you. You see her shoot you a cheeky wink before she's ushering her husband to sit a little bit further than where they were previously seated.

You stand up to meet Jude, expecting just a simple hug as a form of greeting because after all, you haven't really revealed the status of your guys’ relationship. Everyone knew you as ‘Jude’s best friend’ but not yet as ‘Jude Bellingham’s girlfriend’. And with the number of camera snapping photos almost every second in the stands, you couldn't help the gasp that leaves your lips when you're being pulled by your lovely boyfriend as he gives you a kiss on the lips.

With wide eyes, you tap his arm in panic.

“Cameras!” You tell him. He pays them no mind before he's dragging you to sit down and almost having your entire left leg over his lap, an arm thrown over your shoulder before he gives your cheeks a kiss each.

“Jus ignore ’em love, been buggin’ me for so long I forgot they even exist sometimes.” You knew Jude didn't even care for them, much less for probably giving them something to post and write about the exclusivity of your relationship with him. Instead, Jude leans his head on your shoulders, adjusting his arm to loosely hang on your waist. “’m so happy you're here.”

And with that, he's successfully able to deter your attention from having your relationship outed to the public with such a simple statement.

You flick his other hand that was on your lap before he latches onto it, holding it against in between your’s and his thigh.

“Of course I’d be here... you’d given me the tickets haven't ya?”

Jude scoffs at your jab, pinching your side that almost made you squeal.

“Now don’t be a smartass,” he tells you, voice donning a tired edge yet he still entertains your remark. “Who else was I s’posed to give ’em anyways... my brother can't come here with us.”

Hearing the mention of his younger brother, you perk up. “Speaking of Jobe, I got him some things while I was out yesterday... I know he doesn't need the boot but I got him another pair in his favorite colors.”

“You got my brother somethin’ but nothin’ for me?” Jude asks, feigning a shockㅡ an overdramatized one that he uses ever time he’s being a tease and playful. “Are ya playin’ favorites now?”

“If I had to pick a favorite between the two Bellingham brothers then I’d chose Jobe. A right choice isn’t it? He did get me my favorite ice cream flavor right that one time...”

“Babe it was one time!”

You gasp, “Jude Victor William Bellingham we’ve been dating for a year and a half during that time! Was only right for you to know my favorite ice cream flavor, no?”

Jude sighs dramatically, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck. “To be fair you do tend to pick random flavors based on your mood, that’s my only defense for this case.”

“... alright then, fair enough.”

He raises a fist, weakly uttering a ‘yes’ before he's back to leaning against you, head nearly against your chest.

“Tired?” Jude nods his head silently. You guide him to lay over the remaining unoccupied seats, seeing that his parents were nowhere in their spot that they had previous scooted into.

You let your boyfriend lay his head over your lap before you're reaching over for your coat inside your bag. You drape it around his dozing frame, pulling the edge around his ankles where his socks doesn't reach and running your free hand through his curls, the other being cuddled against his chest as he slept.

Jude places a kiss on your knuckles, muttering the same three words against your skin that he mouthed not even an hour long ago, completely disregarding the eyes and cameras that had long fixated their attention and lenses on the both of you.

Unsurprisingly, the both of you reached multiple media outlets the next day. Articles after articles, photos after photos and a ton of both short and long video clips taken by some fans bombarded the internet enough to get the thought across.

Jude Bellingham was off the market and was very much evidently in love with you.

a/n: my tumblr glitched three times i thought i lost this entire piece thank fuck for the restore button 😭

#☆ jude bellingham #☆ i4bellingham writes.#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x fem!reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham fanfiction #jude bellingham headcanon #jude bellingham scenario #jude bellingham fanfic #england nt #dortmund

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eupheme · 2 years

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Sweet Summer Lemonade

Jim Hopper x F!Reader

Rated E - 7.8k

Tags: dub-con (because of sex pollen) (but with very mutual attraction), use of alcohol and cigarettes, age gap, mentions of death, fingering, oral sex (f rec.), size kink, PiV, mult. orgasms, grump + sunshine, mutual pining, loose pov

Summary:

“So… you and the chief, huh?”

“Oh!” You clear your throat, fingers covering your mouth, “No, not really. I don’t think he sees me that way.”

“Uh huh.” Murray answers dryly, his legs crossing neatly at the ankles as he leans next to you, “Are you sure about that?”

(Or - when you go to Murray’s for some help, you end up with a little more than you bargained for)

Your nose crinkles as the truck finally slows to a halt on the packed-dirt path, just outside the industrial-sized garage door. Debris lines the concrete building, a busted office chair, turned on its side - mechanical parts cushioned against the tall, barbed-wire fence by overgrown tufts of knee-high grass.

“You sure this is the right place?” Your words are directed slowly at Hopper, throwing your shoulder into the door as you open it - the old hinges creaking with the effort.

He’s already out of the truck, the piece of paper crumpled in his hand, shoving it into the back pocket of his light jeans, “This is it.”

Here goes, you think, making for the door, but a hand is catching your elbow, dragging you back. Glancing back at the frown on Hopper’s face, as he leans down to your level, letting you go so his hands can brace on his thick thighs.

“You stick close to me,” His voice is low and hushed, a rough edge to it, “And don’t touch anything inside unless I say so. Got that?”

Annoyance prickles at you - you were in the tunnels last year, same as the rest, and you had come out just fine. Whoever this man was had to be a cakewalk in comparison. He didn’t need to pull the macho-cop act, you weren’t a teenager like the others.

“Nancy said he was nice.” You counter, lifting your sunglasses, perching them on top of your head as you fix him with a look.

The crease between his forehead deepens, the edges of his lips turning down, “Just do what I tell you, okay?”

Your head tilts, his eyebrow raises in response. And fuck - the way he’s seeming to loom over you, big and broad, prickles at you in a different kind of way.

“Fine.” You blink, averting your eyes.

“Good.” He straightens, giving you one last weary look before heading to the front door.

Secretly, you had been hoping this trip would be a little more... interesting. For weeks now, the two of you have been exchanging lingering looks, finding half-hearted excuses to move just a little bit closer.

And when this short trip had come up, you had jumped at the opportunity. Because of the reason it was being taken, of course - and selfishly, for the chance to spend a little more time with him.

But so far today... nothing.

Unless you count the brush of an elbow against yours as it sat on the armrest. Not exactly the steamy encounter you had daydreamed about.

His fist raps a pattern on the rusted metal door, once - twice. Finally, a face peeking out as it cracks open, the room behind dim, curtains pulled tight.

The man’s face pulling downward when he sees who it is, eyes narrowing behind glasses, mouth twisting, "Oh, not you.”

Hopper's foot quickly jamming in the space, preventing it from shutting all the way, “We need to talk to you. It’s about what happened.”

There’s a long pause before the man nods - Hopper’s foot pulling back so the door can shut, the chain latch undone before it opens again.

You follow behind into the house, the inside not a far cry from the outside. But it’s fascinating in a way, the wall of televisions, the man himself - an old robe worn open like a cardigan over a tight white tank, grey sweats.

“Thank you, Mr. Bauman.” You step around Hopper, your hand extended, “We’re hoping you might be able to help us, please.”

Murray’s eyebrows lift when he sees you, the downturned edge of his lip kicking up, “And who is this?”

His handshake is firm, and you smile as you give your name, explaining, “One of Hopper’s friends.”

“Hm. Didn’t think the old grump had any friends,” He gives Hopper a sidelong look, Hopper’s hands jamming in his pockets as he scowls back.

“Just in case you were wondering, that is how you ask for help,” Murray tells him, amusing himself, before he turns back to you, “What can I do for you, sunshine?”

Throwing a look at Hopper for confirmation, you start, “Well, we wanted to see if you still had the original copy of the tape Nancy and Jonathan brought you.”

“Something is happening again,” Hopper cuts in, easing himself into the circle of conversation, arms crossed over his chest. “Maybe with the gate, maybe with El. We wanted to see exactly what they said.”

Murray shoots both of you a puzzled look, “Why’d you come out this way? Can’t you just ask them?”

You fidget, the same thing already discussed in the car. Hopper handles this one again, ”We don’t want to cause any… unnecessary panic. If we ask either, it’s going to spread. We want to do our own digging first.”

Murray thinks about that, plucking the glasses from his face, polishing them slowly on the edge of his robe.

“Please Mr. Bauman?” You ask, your hands clasped in front of you, the sound of your words drowning out Hopper’s annoyed grunt.

“God, please - Mr. Bauman was my father. It’s just Murray.” He looks back up after a long pause, slowly nodding, “But, fine. I can make you a copy. Have to find it first, but I will.”

Your answering smile is relieved - how long could that possibly take?

———

The three of you have been searching for hours now, sifting through beat-up boxes of hastily-labeled tapes in one of the side rooms, taking turns checking possibilities.

It’s slow going - you were quickly relieved of checking duty after you found a tape that leaned towards the illicit. Gasping as Hopper moved in front of you to shut off the high-pitched, recorded moans as he growled out a “Jesus Christ Bauman, she doesn’t need to hear that.”

“It was research for a story!” Murray had insisted, rolling his eyes, hands spread wide.

Now, you were on sorting duty, making stacks for Hopper to check, sweat beading on your brow as you dug through the piles. Even with the drapes drawn, hiding the summer sun, it was warm in the stuffy house - the nearest fan just out of reach as it rotates slowly.

Finally giving up, your arms stretching over your head as you rise, winding your way over to where Murray was working on his own stack.

“Murray, is it okay if I grab something to drink?” Your palm fans your face, the slight gust of air barely soothing the heat.

“Sure, sunshine. Help yourself,” He wipes his own brow, glancing up from his place on the floor. “I’m almost done. Grab a glass for me, too.”

The single bulb flickers in the kitchen, an ancient fridge tucked between two countertops. You revel in the blast of cool air as you open the door, stooping to peer inside.

It’s relatively clean, the shelves clear on one side, jars and condiments lining the other. There’s some beer cans half-way back and you reach for one, dragging it out. When you go to grab another, your fingers knock against a rounded glass bottle, the label curled and worn.

It wobbles dangerously, the cap loose on the narrow neck. The liquid inside - a thick, viscous pink - sloshes onto your knuckles as you catch it with the back of your hand. Trapping it between another container before you carefully nudge it upright.

Your hand withdraws, setting the second can on the counter before you bring it to your nose. The bright residue smells like summer, fresh fruit. Sticky sweet and cloying.

Without thinking, you taste it, licking up the drop that tracked across your knuckles. It seems to soak into your tongue, the taste almost familiar. Reminding you vaguely of the prickly pear lemonade you had on vacation a couple years ago.

Bright and sweet as bubblegum, the tart bite tickling your throat as you swallowed. No worries back then - just summer and sunshine ahead.

You blink, a funny tingling on your tongue, the rest rinsed off in the sink - dried on the dingy dishtowel.

The crisp crack of the can opening is music to your ears. The beer is cheap but you’re not complaining, it’s cool going down your throat - the can pressed against your forehead after you swallow.

Murray joins you a minute later, and you offer him the second can, but he shakes his head.

“Should have specified,” He tells you, dragging a bottle from the freezer, filling the bottom third of a glass.

Drinking the vodka like it’s water, nose scrunching as he swallows. You side-eye him, as you against the counter, elbows pressing against the stained laminate.

Taking your own sip much more slowly, his head turning to look at you.

“Helps me think.” Murray offers, though you weren’t about to ask. There’s a long pause, before his head tilts, “So… you and the chief, huh?”

You choke on the mouthful, coughing as you swallow. Hopper had warned you that he was blunt - a good guy, but not one to mince words.

But it’s almost refreshing, after the passive aggressive tip-toeing around you so often get at work. Right to the point, nice and neat.

“Oh!” You clear your throat, fingers covering your mouth, “No, not really. I don’t think he sees me that way.”

Facing him, you miss the way Hopper’s head tilts in your direction as he listens to a new tape, eyes dragging slow over the cocked curve of your hips - but Murray does not.

“Uh huh.” He answers dryly, his legs crossing neatly at the ankles as he leans next to you, “Are you sure about that?”

You wonder if he’s teasing you, or if he knows something you don’t.

The prospect makes your heart thud, a wishful anticipation in your chest as you answer, “Well, I don’t really know. Sometimes I think there’s something, and then other times he doesn’t notice me at all.”

Not telling him that a part of you thinks he’s hung up on someone else. And the worst part is you get it, it makes sense - they have all that history. And you’re just tripping after him like a lost little puppy.

“Jim’s a pretty direct guy.” Murray interrupts your thoughts, and your answering nod is slow, a little unsure of his meaning.

A pause - before he pats your shoulder, draining the rest of his glass, “Just something to think about.”

Okay, I guess, you think - finishing the remnants of your own drink, finding what looked like a recycling bin for the empty can. After a moment, taking the extra beer you had grabbed over to Hopper. Offering it to him wordlessly as you lean over the back of the couch, next to his shoulder.

He takes it, a thankful curve to his lips, fingers overlapping yours as his hand wraps around the can. For a second, you almost forget to let go - too focused on the way your skin seems to buzz under the brush of his fingertips.

“Thought you forgot about me.” He nods towards the kitchen, cracking it open with a hiss.

You watch the bob of his throat as he swallows, a curl of heat creeping up your neck, your cheeks. Trying to keep your voice from sounding too much like a sigh when you reply, “Never.”

Clearing your throat, trying to keep on track, “Any luck?”

“Not sure. Think we’re getting close though, these are from the same time.” He sighs, leaning back against the cushion, arm trailing along the back - swapping the tape out for another.

The voice that plays from this one is familiar - the recoding caught mid-sentence.

“-you mean without shutting us up?-”

You’re grabbing at his arm, swinging around the edge of the couch to take the seat next to him. Leaning into him to listen, “Wait, wait, that’s it!”

His eyes flash to yours, the recording playing just long enough to confirm it. A relieved smile flashing across his face, before his arm drops to curl around you - a squeezing half-hug of victory.

The tape is handed off to Murray to make a copy, and you stay selfishly seated on the couch. Nothing to do but wait until the copy is made, the edge of his arm still brushing your shoulders.

But the more you sit - the denser the air feels, humid and sticky hot. Your pulse seems to thud in your ears, a steady, dull pattern.

“Is it warm in here?” You ask idly, fingers plucking at the neck of your sundress, peeling it back to get some air against your skin, “Like, more than before?”

He frowns, his eyes averting when you glance his way, his legs shifting, “It’s warm. But it’s cooler than outside, that’s for sure.”

It doesn’t seem that way to you - you’re not sure how he’s able to wear jeans in this heat, even with the beachy, button-up shirt. The sleeves stretch tight across his biceps as his arms cross, your eyes slow to pull away as he adds, “Maybe you just need some fresh air.”

You nod - that makes sense, and you silently wish for Murray to hurry up, as much as you’re enjoying the current seating arrangements.

Now that the tape has been found, copying it goes quickly, the audio conversation as short as it was. Hopper tucking the tape into his shirt pocket, patting his chest as you push yourself to your feet.

It takes an effort, your limbs feeling not quiet coordinated. Your mind a little fuzzy, skin buzzing and tilting towards oversensitive. Maybe the beer wasn’t as cheap as you thought - maybe it was your empty stomach.

Hopper’s eyes narrow when he notices the slight sway in your posture, as Murray not-so-subtly herds you towards the front door. You still manage a thank you, and even a hug that you’re surprised that he accepts, “Thank you for helping us, it means a lot.”

“You’re both welcome back anytime.” Murray tells you cheerfully, the words almost cut off as the door shuts, the latch chain sliding into place immediately.

Leaving the two of you alone, blinking into the sunlight - the slight breeze welcome on your face. You’re still looking dazedly at the door when Hopper’s hand brushes your back, a gentle nudge towards the truck.

His words slow, eyeing you as you start to move, “Let’s get you in the truck”.

You’re compliant, unprotesting as he opens the door, climbing in. Slumping against the seats rolling the window down as he gets in on the other side.

The truck roars to life, reversing out of the lot, dirt kicking up from the driveway as he pulls back onto the main road.

Time seems to lose its meaning as the miles tick down, you’re not sure if it’s been minutes or an hour - the heat in your face and neck starting to feel like it’s moving downwards.

It should be a moment to remember, just the two of you, a beautiful summers day. A warm breeze on your face as the radio rolls through favorites - Springsteen, Rolling Stones, Tom Petty. Songs you know by heart sounding faded as thoughts you kept buried deep inside push to the surface.

Sideways glances that linger a hair too long, eyes drifting over his light, patterned shirt. The extra couple buttons popped at the neck, the coarse hair beneath.

The thick muscle of his arms, large hands that you think would span the space between your shoulder and jaw. The perfect size to cup your face. Fingers drumming absentmindedly on the steering wheel.

You like looking at his hands, thinking about what they could do. How they would feel. On you. Maybe even in you.

The path of your gaze slowly shifts downwards-

You blink - catching yourself, eyes facing forward again. Going rigid as you recognize the curl of arousal in your guts, where the heat has settled. Stronger than you’ve felt before - the aching need for pleasure so sharp it almost hurts.

“You okay, kid?” He breaks the silence, “You’re usually talking my ear off.”

The nickname is unintentional - it’s one he’s picked up from his time looking after El. You know this but it still bristles at you, a dull ache in your stomach causing your words to come out snappish, “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh,” he draws the word out with a scoff, “What, would you prefer ‘sunshine’?”

He’s being petty, defensive - glancing your way with brows pulled low, expression changing when he sees the way you’re sitting, tense and uncomfortable.

You flinch when his hand reaches across, the back of his palm brushing your forehead. Something blooms in your stomach, and you have to fight back a moan at his touch, the feeling between your legs almost like a pulse.

“Jesus, sweetheart.” He’s frowning, eyes darting your way, “You’re burning up. We need to get you home.”

All you can do is nod, your face pressing against the glass again - trying to ignore the instinct to press your thighs together.

———

It’s become almost unbearable by the time you find yourself among familiar roads - the long winding dirt path through the woods to the cabin. Somewhere along the drive, Hopper had offered to take you home, but his was a good 15 minutes closer.

You just needed some water, to sit down for a moment. You were sure it was nothing.

He shifts into park, legs taking him around to your door before you can fumble with the handle. Almost knocking the old wooden door off the hinges as he ushers you inside - the water still lukewarm from the tap as you gulp it down from a glass.

It soothes some of the heat that warms your face, but not the one that roils in your guts. You can’t hold back the groan that wracks your chest, hand splaying across your lower belly.

His hands almost feel cool on your cheeks as he cups them, worry clouding his blue eyes as he angles your face up to look at him.

“How are you feeling? Talk to me, baby.” He coaxes.

“Hurts.” You manage, blinking as you try to concentrate.

“Where?”

Silently, your hand slips lower, until it’s all but cupping your mound. The slightest brush of fingers making your eyes flutter shut, a soft needy groan falling from your lips.

Hopper goes still, unable to breath. Not even knowing what to say for a moment - trying to come up with something, anything, to help figure it out.

“Uh- did you take anything today? Try anything funny this morning?” He stammers, and your eyes flicker open.

A small shake to your head. And then, you pause, remembering.

“At Murray’s. I-It was pink. I didn’t mean to.” You tell him, and he’s nodding - it’s not much, but it’s something.

Leading you to the couch, your body slumping onto it as he heads for the phone. Digging through his pockets for the scrap of paper, silently hoping that Murray will actually pick up.

Your hands wander on their own, brushing across your thighs, up, and then up. A pad of your finger pressing against the thin cloth covering your clit, and fuck - it feels good. Maybe the best you’ve ever felt.

But somewhere in the fog, you know the couch is not the place to do this. With an effort you push yourself up, his eyes flicking worriedly to your wobbling gait as the phone rings.

The bathroom door creaking shut behind you - the wood muffling your moans as your fingers press against yourself again. Easing the ache, just for a moment.

His fingers wrap around the phone cord until it hurts - eyes trained on the closed door, foot tapping as he waits for answer.

“Hello?” Finally there’s a voice on the other end, and Hopper feels like he could strangle him.

“Murray? Jim.” He barks out, not waiting for a reply. “Something is wrong, she’s not doing well. Said she had something pink at your house.”

There’s a beat, before he’s cursing - his questions not quite making sense, “Jesus Christ. She didn’t, right? When did-?”

“What was it?” Hopper interrupts, his voice firm and low, one that he always seems to pull out during his interrogations.

“Let me think. I need to make sure.” There’s a crackle on the other end, the words chosen carefully. “How is she? What are her symptoms?”

Hopper blinks, “Uh, hot. Forehead is really warm. She seems distracted.”

“She um, said it hurts.” Not knowing how to word the next part, heat creeping across his own face, “Down there.”

He makes a face as he waits, scrubbing a palm across his forehead, and there’s an agonized groan on the other end.

“Okay. Can you ask her how much she had?”

His patience is running thin, worry and anger making his chest feel tight, “What the hell was it?”

Another beat of silence.

“It’s an… aphrodisiac. I was doing a story on it.”

He had the phone pressed so close to his ear that it creaks in his grip, “A what?”

“You know…” Murray hedges, and then sighs. “The tape you heard? The one that pissed you off so much? That was part of my research.”

Hoppers mouth feels dry, remembering the lewd, rhythmic moans. The word clicking into place in his mind, things starting to make a little more sense.

“Does it go away?”

“That’s why you need to ask her.” His tone turns serious, “You need to, right now.”

With a frustrated sigh, he sets the phone on the side table, crossing the room to the bathroom. Knocking, then calling out for you.

Listening, not meaning to hear your panting breaths, the stifled moans sliding out from between your teeth. He doesn’t mean to picture what you’re doing either - but the images pop into his mind, his fist tightening around the door handle.

Inappropriate. Get it together.

“Sweetheart?” He calls out, and he hears your sounds stutter. He hopes your listening, “The pink stuff. How much did you have?”

A moment as you think, the words slow from your lips, “Just a bit. It spilled on my hand.”

He’s back on the phone a second later, “She said just a little bit.”

“Thank god.” There’s a sigh on the other end, but Hopper doesn’t know what there is to sigh about, “I didn’t want to tell you, but the reason I was doing the story was a couple guys took too much. It uh, turns out it can cause cardiac arrest.”

The implication hangs in the air - he wants to ask more, but fears the answer. Murray presses on, “But if she just took a little, she should be okay. She needs to…”

There’s a pause as he sucks in a breath, “She needs to work through it to make it go away.”

“Work through it?” He echoes, brows furrowing.

“Yes. If she doesn’t, it hurts like hell. I tried it myself, just once.” Murray confesses, his voice low, “Drank some like a shot. It took twelve hours to go away. I was chafed red, Jim. Red.”

Hopper makes a face at the overshare, lips pulling down over clenched teeth, “That’s disgusting.”

“That’s what happens.” Murray answers firmly, “I’m just telling you, you might have to help her. Or find her help - don’t let her go through that pain.”

He doesn’t know what to think about that either. Doesn’t even want to think about it, helping you. Not like this, not when you’re not in your right mind.

The next call is quick, just to cover his bases - a call to the school. A message for El, asking is she can spend time with Max tonight. Hopefully you didn’t need the twelve hours, but he had no idea what to expect, or if he could move you.

Then the back of his knuckles are rapping on the door again, three short, sharp knocks. He calls your name, listening - his mind going a mile a minute. Opening the door when he hears you say his name, the two syllables drawn out in a soft whine.

Even with what he knows now, he’s unprepared. The bathroom in his cabin had always been small - barely enough room to squeeze in a tub, a toilet, the chipped sink with a mirror.

Small enough that he’s hit with the scent of your shampoo, perfume. Then, the sweet musk of your arousal, completely unmistakable. Combining into something that made his pants feel tight, his breath catching in his throat.

Pheromones, maybe - something he saw once on a nature documentary. Murray didn’t warn him about that part. His back sags against the door as he closes it.

Fuck, he can’t do this.

He’s already thinking things he shouldn’t be - because he knows you don’t see him the way he sees you. That your sugar-sweet smiles and nudges are the same you give everyone else.

Trying on occasion to put some distance. An act of self-preservation - he’s always been shit at love. Always on the wrong side. But then you drag him back in. Bright and stunning and blinding.

Sunshine in human form, after all.

You’re sitting, back against the wall - tucked in the far corner, opposite the tub. Elbows resting on spread knees, your dress dipping down between the soft curves of your thighs. The navy blue flash of panties as you shift, the light glinting off the wet gleam of your fingers has his eyes darting away - flushing as he clears his throat.

Your eyes glassy as you look up at him, the way he fills the doorway - even bigger and broader than usual from your spot on the floor. Another sharp throb shoots through you, and you moan out loud.

His brow furrows, and then he’s moving, crouching down to your level. Fingers reaching out to brush your forehead again, your skin burning hot against his fingers.

“Talked to Murray. You drank some experiment he’s been working on. Says you need to, uh-” His hand rubs the back of his neck - lacking the eloquence of his new friend, completely out of his depth. “Finish. To get rid of the uh, symptoms.”

This close, the throbbing increases, twisting in your guts into you ache. The smell of leather, tobacco, aftershave sending another pulse down your spine, your thighs pressing together in an attempt for release.

Your nod is sluggish, the fingers twitching again, “I tried, Hop. I can’t-”

“Is there… someone I can call for you?” His voice is gruff, trying as hard as he can to think with his brain and not with his cock, “A…boyfriend, an ex?”

There’s a thud as your head tilts back against the wall, as you fix him with a long look.

“Is my flirting really that terrible?” You ask, with a huff of a laugh that borders on delirious.

There’s a long pause as Hoppers mind trips to catch up, to interpret your words.

“Nevermind.” The smile that stretches your lips is resigned, your chest heaving in a panting breath as your hand waves dismissively, “That wasn’t fair of me to say. Just forget it, I’ll be okay, Hop. Really.”

“Wait, back up.” Hopper’s hands raise, his voice taking on an edge, “What the hell does that mean?”

Each word feels like an effort now, your tongue feeling heavy, your heart thudding between your thighs, “It means-, it means the person I’d want to call is… you.”

There’s silence for a long, agonizing moment.

“You don’t want me,” He rasps out, eyes flickering between your half-lidded ones, the glossy sheen of your parted lips where your tongue had flicked over them. “It’s the drug. You’re not thinking straight.”

“Jim.” The name punches out from your chest, your eyes locking onto his, the pretty splash of blue, “It’s not. I’ve always wanted you.”

Realization making him sway - the wooden floor crashes into his knees as he rocks forward. His head ducking down as you push yourself up to meet him.

A whimpering moan that shoots straight to his cock when your mouth meets his, one of his thick arms curling around, a palm pressing flat against your back. Your tongue already swiping at his lower lip, pressing closer until your breasts are crushed against the wide barrel of his chest.

His hands dropping, as he groans in response - cupping the globes of your ass, your thighs opening further for him as he yanks you up and onto his lap.

Fingers fly to the meat of his broad shoulders for balance, the fabric of your dress bunching under roaming hands. A clashing of teeth and tongues as you devour each other, your panting gasps as your core bumps into contact with the thick curve of his jeans.

Electricity flickering down your spine, a seam catching on your clit. The burning in your core turning into something closer to relief. Your hips jerk again to chase the sensation, just as a hand comes up to palm at your breast, the tight peak of your nipple.

“Hopper,” You’re moaning into his mouth, your fingers fisted in his shirt, trying to tug him even closer. Hips rolling, grinding down against the thick curve of his jeans, “Please.”

His last ounce of self-control leeching from him as he accepts what you’re asking. What you’re needing from him.

Begging, even - something he’s only ever dreamed about.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He promises, shifting - your thighs wrapping around his waist, a low whine from your throat as he tries to move.

Hopper gives up on untangling your limbs, instead pushes himself unsteadily to his feet; your arms encircling his shoulders. Lips dropping to his neck, pressing against skin.

Walking you through the door, until he can drop you onto his bed. You scoot backwards to make room for him as he lowers himself down next to you, crowding you closer to the cabin wall.

Fingers trailing up your shin, your thighs falling open, just as your eyes shut with another cramp of discomfort. Halting at your thigh, at the curving hem of your dress.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” He asks, leaning over you, letting you call the shots the best he can.

“Touch me.” You beg, hand reaches for his, dragging it up between your thighs. Hips rocking into his fingers when they press down against your core.

“Fuck, baby.” He groans, feeling the damp cotton, your own hand going limp at your side as his flatten, rubbing at the fabric.

His other hand pushing your skirt up to your hips. Letting himself look now, the dark, wet stain of your panties under his fingers. Realizing they were never navy in color - the soft fabric cutting across your hips a light, sky blue. So similar to the shade of his eyes.

Your hips buck again, and his fingers slide beneath the fabric, slipping against soaked skin and soft curls. Another fresh wave of relief, pleasure curling over the pain, your fingers twisting around the pillow behind your head.

“Jesus. You’re soaked, sweetheart.” He grits out, fingers sliding up until they bump against the swollen bud of your clit, your response no more than a whimper.

Stroking against you, again and again - his fingers slick with your arousal. Sliding easily over your skin, making small, messy circles that have your breath catching in your throat.

A litany of pleas and moans falling from your lips, soft “oh, god-” mixing with his name. The sweet build of pleasure barreling down as his fingers touch you.

He’s impatient, the tight fabric limiting his movements, blocking the pretty sight of your pussy from his vision. The thumb of his other hand hooks on your waistband, tugging it down your thighs - your hips grinding into his hand as they rise to help.

A rough exhale of breath, the word “fuck” ground out through gritted teeth. Torn between wanting to keep going just like this - and knowing if you wanted more, that he’d have to use his fingers somewhere else.

His hand shifts, thumb rubbing over your clit, the middle sliding down, pressing against your entrance. Glancing at you for your nod before it sinks in, his fingers so much thicker and longer than your own.

Pressing down to the knuckle before withdrawing, starting a slow thrust that stretches you out. He’s so fucking hard, cock straining in his pants as he watches his finger disappear into you, your pussy so warm and tight around him. Thinking about how you’d feel wrapped around his fat cock, how good you’d feel coming on it.

Biting back a groan as he adds another, your own low whine as they press deep, finally itching at the ache of needing to be filled. Your words are slurred with drunk pleasure, your brain a messy fog.

“Make me come, Hop. Please-“

Fingers curling, each thrust of his wrist a loud, wet squelch in the small cabin. He shines with you, coating his fingers, leaking onto your inner thighs.

“I will baby, I promise.” He coaxes, trying to remember how it goes, fingers dragging against your inner walls until he feels you clench down around him, a ragged gasp in your throat.

His eyes flickering up again to yours, doing it again, again - watching the way your breaths grow shorter, tension coiling in your thighs.

The small rocking of your hips as you chase the movements of his thrusts, fucking yourself on his fingers, the soft pants of breath as you moan out “please” again and again.

Hopper shifts, pushing himself up - though you’re too close, too far gone to notice. Your eyes shut are shut, concentrating, when there’s the swirl of something hot and wet and soft against your skin.

Better than his thumb, eyes cracking open to see the way he bends over you, the pink flick of tongue as it presses against you, a low groan as he tastes you.

The scratch of his mustache, sending goosebumps across your skin. When his lips kiss against your clit and then suck, it becomes your undoing.

Unable to form words as the blinding pleasure peaks, instant relief flooding your system as you find your release. Soaking his fingers and tongue with a hoarse cry, limbs trembling with the effort.

The sounds you make when you come are prettier than he’s ever imagined - loud, panting moans, the heave of your breasts, head thrown back, eyes screwed shut in concentration.

Tight as hell around his fingers, he swears he can feel each pulse, the thud of your heartbeat in your clit as his tongue presses against it.

Devouring you until you finally go limp, before sliding his fingers from you. Bringing them to his mouth, unable to resist tasting the release that coats his fingers.

The sweet tang of your cunt as he sucks them clean, a low groan as his hips shift, pressing against the mattress.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, the fog starting to wane with each throb, though the desire still remained. The immediate pain quelled, but the deep ache of want and need was still burning in your veins.

Pushing yourself up, grasping at his shoulders until he’s hovering over you - your mouth tilting to meet his. His mouth tasting like you when your tongue darts against his, the rumbling groan as your hips shift up to rub against him.

“Thank you,” you moan into his mouth, and he almost wants to laugh, if the situation hadn’t been so disconcerting.

The thought about being thanked for something he’d dreamed about doing, never thinking he’d get the chance to bury his face between your legs.

He kisses you until you feel dizzy, until your hips are moving again, the damp spot darkening on the front of his jeans.

“More,” you break the kiss to beg, plucking at the buttons of his shirt, revealing inches of skin, greedily soaking him in.

“You need more or you want more?” He asks, hand curving to cup your jaw - a perfect fit, just like you imagined.

Lips feeling kiss-swollen as they scrape against the stubble of his jaw, down to his neck. Feeling the thud of his own pulse, “Both.”

He groans, loud and low, letting you tug at his belt, fingers working open the button. Hips shifting into your hand as you cup the hard bulge, your other hand tugging at the zipper.

A noise of disappointment as he rolls off you, the smallest hint of a smirk as he rids himself of his pants, boxers, “I’m right here. It’s okay.”

And he is, your fingers skating over his thick shaft, barely able to circle around it. It’s big, the fat head glistening with a bead of precum, and it smears across your thighs as he settles between them.

You wiggle against him, lining your hips up, but his hands are gripping onto your waist to hold you still.

“Easy, baby. Gonna hurt yourself.”

Taking a moment, his fist wrapping around the base. Sliding himself against you, you body flexing against the hand still holding you as he lines himself up.

Making sure he’s soaked with you before he starts to press in. Eyes bouncing between your face, trying to see if it’s too much, and unable to resist seeing the tip disappear into you, stretching you wide.

Your moan breaks his concentration, the feeling of him splitting you open almost too much. He feels even bigger than you imagined - making room for himself as he nudges into you. Stealing your breath with every small flex of his hips.

So much of him still left as he carefully thrusts his hips forward, the delicious slide of his cock against your walls before he withdraws. Breath heavy as he does it again, each time sinking a little deeper into you.

Almost flush now, his hands on your hips again. Keeping you pressed to the bed so you don’t try to take too much. Perhaps also to keep himself in check as well.

It’s overwhelming, how warm and tight you are around him. Squeezing him already, even with your come coating his cock, slicking him up. He’s afraid to move, thinking that if he starts thrusting, starts fucking you - that this will be over before it’s started.

His lips part as you wiggle against him again, trying to ignore your pretty pleas. The rough gravel of his voice drowning your sighs out, “Hold on, baby. I just need a minute.”

Fingers flexing against your skin, where the flesh pillows between them. But you need more, and you take matters into your own hands.

Your hand slides down, one lingering at your breast, cupping and squeezing the soft skin, pinching at a nipple. Sending a jolt racing down your spine as your other hand follows, drifting until you’re brushing between your thighs again.

Some of your wits now back, maybe enough that you can get yourself off - just like this.

Eyes on his, watching him watch how the tip of one circles your clit. The small rock of your hips that just barely causes him to move, buried in you. But it’s enough.

Your head tilting back as you set a pace, rolling your hips, again - again. Touching yourself, his name peppered in with the panting of your breath.

“Hopper, oh my god-“

And finally he finds his voice, fingers so tight you think they’ll leave bruises. The words skittering across your skin, as his head tilts up to yours, words coaxing, “That’s right sweetheart. Take what you need.”

Eyes fluttering open as the pleasure builds again as pressing your fingers harder, circling faster.

He’d been worrying about you dying earlier - just for a moment. Now he’s worrying about himself, heart pounding in his chest, listening to each little mewling gasp from your lips as you use him.

Fucking yourself with shallow thrusts on his cock, your pretty face screwed up in concentration. Each breath growing shorter and shorter - he can feel you starting to tense underneath him, the clench of your pussy around him as you squeeze in anticipation.

Keeping himself still, letting you get off on him - thinking that he’ll throw you off your rhythm if he moves, desperately wanting to see how it feels when you come on his cock.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Your eyes all but roll shut as your release hits you. The heavy shudder of your body, surprising him with the sharp jerk of your hips. Taking him even deeper - almost all the way as you flutter around him.

Even better than how you felt on his tongue, better than he’s imagined. The sounds you make louder and rougher when you’re stuffed full of him - as he lowers himself down, hands easing off you.

Letting you wrap your arms around his shoulders, face buried in his neck as you drift back down. Holding you until your hips stop moving - waiting until you relax before he slips from you.

You frown, not understanding until he rising up, nudging at your hips. Giving you room to flip over, his palm warm as it slides down your back.

“Hands and knees, baby.”

Wobbling only a little as you push yourself to your knees, back curving as your torso slips back down, pressing against the mattress.

Shifting until your ass rests flush against his front, letting you feel the thick curve of him pressing against your swollen lips.

“You want more sweetheart?” He asks, a thrust of his hips nudging his cock against you. “Or are you all worn out?”

Again putting the choice in your hands, though he wants nothing more to bury himself in your tight cunt again and fuck you proper.

“More.” You sigh, pressing back against him. Feeling and sounding more lucid - the desire more firmly situated in your thoughts, feelings, rather than chemical stimulation, “Want you to fuck me, Hopper.”

“Yeah?” He growls out, thumbs digging into the curve where your ass meets your thighs, spreading you wide.

“Yeah.” You confirm, the word turning into a moan when you feel the tip press against you again, and then he’s slowly sliding back in.

It’s still a stretch, even though you’ve already taken him, the angle so much different. He can see so much more like this, the tension strung tight in your back and shoulders, your fingers fisting in the sheet.

“Relax, sweetheart.” His hand smooths across your hip, thumb rubbing across your skin, easing forward until his thick thighs are pressing against yours, the curve of his stomach flush with your ass.

His first thrust is experimental - shallow, fingers gripping onto your waist. Rocking you with his movements as you groan, so sensitive that you think you can feel every vein, each ridge.

Again, and then again - until your cheek presses against the mattress so you can look at him, your eyes heavy lidded.

The peek of pink tongue between teeth as he concentrates, a hitch in his chest when you clench down around him. Shoulders flexing as your lips part, the words moaned out - a plea, “Harder. I won’t break.”

Fingers digging into your skin, as you add a soft, “Please.”

It tips him over, hands jerking your hips back - all but impaling you on his cock. Sinking himself deep, filling you completely.

Your gasp is low and loud, head tilting back. Urging him to do it again, and so he does. Gripping your hips as he starts thrusting, your panting moans mingling with the wet squelch of your pussy as he pounds into you.

Shifting, his thighs bumping into yours, lifting your hips, pressing you further into the mattress.

Changing the angle, his cock dragging along your walls. His forward thrust nudging against a spot that makes you cry out, muscles clenching, pleasure flooding your senses.

“Yeah?” He asks through clenched teeth, voice like gravel.

Finding it again, and then again. Your fingers gripping the sheets, lips parted as the moans are pushes out of you. Hurtling towards the edge, your hips rocking back to meet him the best you can.

And when his hand moves, fingers pressing against your slick, sensitive clit, it only takes a few flicks of his wrist until you’re trembling, your words a jumble of begging pleas.

“Oh god yes, Jim, please, please-”

Soaking his cock as you start to flutter, tight and hot and almost overwhelming him. His name sounding so goddamn good on your lips as you chant it, the little jerks your hips make as his fingers keep moving.

Your eyes shut as you ride out the waves, your body relaxing into his grip. Realizing he’s still thrusting, drawing your pleasure out, still pressing against your clit.

“Come on honey, one more.” You just catch the rough rasp of his voice, raising goosebumps across your skin, “Let’s get it out of your system. I want to be the only one helping you.”

Quickly working you up again, until his own thrust starting to stutter. Your tight heat too much, he’s not going to last much longer. Trying to hold himself back a little longer, but it’s he thinks he already too far gone.

“Fuck baby, I’m close,” Hopper pants, and thinking about him coming makes you moan. “Where do you want me?”

“In me.” You beg, already close again - from his touch, his words.

“Fuck.” He repeats, “Goddamn-”

His groan low, hips snapping forward, the slap of his balls against your pussy before he grinds himself deep. The sharp thrusts sending you over with him, your own orgasm washing over you as you feel the hot pulse of his ropes painting your walls.

Basking in the sweet feeling release as he ruts against you - until you’re filled - until his hips finally start to slow.

Chest heaving as he catches his breath, fingers carding through his hair, brushing it back. Your thighs burning in a nice, used way - your head pressing against the mattress so you can peek up at him.

Taking a long minute, and then another. Until your breathing finally slows, until the tension melts from both of you. A hand rubs your lower back, above where you are still joined.

“More?” He asks, his gaze heavy as he meets yours.

You clench down around him, squeezing him as his release gets pushed out, dripping down your thighs. He twitches inside you.

“More.”

———

Evening has fully settling in when the two of you finally collapse - his head hitting the pillow with a heavy, satisfied sigh. Your body going limp against his, pressing yourself flush against him.

Your cheek scrubs against the hair sprinkled across his chest, your movements slow and sated. The fire - finally, completely - quenched, the only warmth now coming from your sweaty, sticky skin.

The humor returning, now that the danger has passed. A rumble of laugher beneath your ear, the click of a lighter, his voice a low rasp before he takes a drag of his cigarette.

“If you wanted me that badly, sweetheart, you could have just asked. No need to go through all that trouble.”

Unbelievable.

Your head tilts upwards as you fix him with a glare, “You’re lucky I’m too tired to move.”

His hand lifts to cup your chin, thumb scrubbing tenderly across your cheek. Another breath that takes you with it, rising and falling as you sag against him.

“‘Lucky’ is goddamn right.” He tells you, his teeth flashing with his smile.

And with that, you find yourself smiling, too.

#please mind the tags!#been working on this for a bit - hope you like it! 💕#jim hopper x reader #jim hopper x you #jim hopper imagine #hopper x reader #hopper x you #jim hopper smut #jim hopper

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hoshinoyozora · 1 year

Text

The Queen

🖤 Pairing: Yandere! Riddle Rosehearts x Female! Reader

💛 Word Count: 0,7k+

❤ Warnings: -

[Edited]

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission. Also, don’t ask for a sequel unless I like the story enough to write one. Please reblog so other people can see my stories!***

Idk much about Alice in Wonderland and I forgot about this part sorry so I decided to make it up instead lmao.

The queen was a strong figure, both in chess and in real life.

She ruled the kingdom with an iron fist, oversaw the society with hawk eyes, and ordered the subjects with clear-cut words. People parted ways for her, and sometimes, some of them just had to topple over. Subtly or forcefully.

Just like your pawns right now, as Riddle secured yet another victory. Regardless of how small it was, it still brought him closer to your king.

And closer to your defeat.

“It seems that you’re not very adept in chess game, [Name].” he remarked, smirking. “Why don’t you save your energy and declare your loss instead? Trey is currently baking your favorite cake, and we can have a tea party to celebrate your obedience.”

You scowled, willing yourself to stay silent. You hated how he treated you like a child at best, and a prisoner at worst. Then again, Riddle was the Queen of Hearts; the leader of Wonderland. And you, an alien from The World Above. It was expected that you wouldn’t know about the rules of this world, just as you wouldn’t know about the Queen’s longing for affection. You would’ve thought of it as pathetic, if not for your own predicament.

Because it wasn’t enough that you fell into the rabbit hole, you had to fall into his arms too.

Despite what many people thought, including his closest aides, your ‘love’ story wasn’t romantic. Far from it, actually, and the ‘perks’ that came as his ‘King’ only served to tighten the collar on your neck.

The black queen stood two squares away from your white king, exactly on the black square. Yours was on the white one, cornered like your situation right now. Riddle had promised that he’d let you go if you won a match, but the skeptical part of you wondered if his subordinates would allow you to. During your short time here, you’d saved not only him from his own loneliness, but also the poor victims from his, sometimes unjustified, wrath. It wouldn’t be a surprise if they decided to use you as a shield even further by entrapping you here. This was a mad, mad world you lived in, and absolutely anything could happen.

You pushed the king to the side, trying to widen the gap between him and the queen. She moved one square forward, and you wondered why she wasn’t in your row already. Was he toying with you? Giving you an illusion of hope and security? This might just be the cruelest Riddle you’d ever seen, and you’d yet to witness his worst side if you tried to escape literally.

The king sidled to another square, and Riddle did the unexpected yet logical thing; he pushed one of his rooks to your rank.

You lost.

And an hour hadn’t even passed since you started the match. No matter what kind of plan you had, no matter what kind of move you’d take, the end result would still be the same anyway.

Your king would die on the battlefield.

“Go ahead. It’s your turn now.”

Always the stickler for rules, Riddle had yet to declare his victory. Regardless, it’d always been assured since the beginning. You were just prolonging the inevitable, grasping at the light at the end of the tunnel. Or hole.

Swallowing, you reluctantly pushed your last piece forward and watched as the queen brought him to his knees. Riddle’s calm yet smug ‘checkmate’ remained unheard in your shocked disbelief, and you wished for nothing more than to repeat the game over and over again. Was it possible to reverse the clock, when you could change your height to any size? There had to be a potion or a magic book somewhere.

But there was a limit to the Queen’s kindness, it seemed. Or, rather, his amusement. Just like the Chess King, the King of Hearts was fated to accompany his wife until the end of time.

And as Riddle claimed his prize by cradling your frozen self, it occurred to you how long the Queen of Hearts could live or if she was even capable of dying.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #yandere twst #female reader #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle x reader #twst riddle #riddle rosehearts #riddle x y/n #riddler x you #latolover

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b1ackgh0st · 3 months

Text

Writing as many HCs for Trolls characters as humanly possible!

Starting off strong with the Snack Pack + Poppy & Branch!

♡Poppy♡

She was a later bloomer. Most (pop) trolls have a little bit of tit, but she was flat as Branch's voice at the beginning of the first movie.

Had a toxic best friend at one point. Nobody liked Poppy when she was young, but as soon as she became an adult, she was mote liked than anyone else.

Prefers black coffee over any other kind

Her favorite flavour is strawberry!

Even though she likes almost any flavour, any candy she has that's lemon or watermelon she gives to Branch because he is very addicted.

Speaking of which, she can't stomach spicy food at all and tends to projectile vomit.

Gets sick pretty easily, but won't admit it.

No one knows how she does it, but she can appear almost instantly. Whether it's in Branch's room at midnight or behind anyone in a crowded area, it's alarming.

Not physically violent.

However...

Poppy is deranged AF!

She will verbally and mentally threaten people... and lord it's probably scary.

Too much of a morning person

By that, I mean she wakes up at around 3 am everyday after falling asleep at around 7 pm and starts her daily routine.

Refuses to wear make-up

Has never had acne or anything similar

Most Pop Trolls, Poppy included, have extream hair growth. She has to shave her legs daily.

Has literally no skincare routine

Unfortunately, she has to make her own shampoo because anything she can find in shops doesn't work and just causes dead ends and very greasy hair.

Very fidgety ADHD-er

□Branch□

Branch has the most excessive skincare routine ever

Wears A LOT of makeup to hide scars and stuff

Breaks out really easily

Autistic! Not Yay!

Or maybe it is Yay

Anyways, he had problems with bright lights, loud sounds, being close to other people, some kinds fo texture, and some scents

Has around seventy homemade candles around the bunker, all scented slightly different.

Most of them smell like citrus

Sucks at making coffee at home, therefore his coffee orders are pretty specific.

Despite going back onto society, he's still a feral troll.

Which means that, while pop trolls are omnivores who need lots of plants and sweets in their diet, Branch's diet is almost exclusively meat, sweets, and breads.

Has bitten Poppy before. (It was an accident, I promise. No trolls were harmed.)

While he may not overreact on safty stuff or the Bergens anymore, he' started overreacting to everything else.

Oh, Guy tripped and scraped his knee? GET HIM TO THE DOCTOR HE'S DYING!

Mr. Dinkles is lost again? HE COULD BE ANYWHERE WE'LL NEVER MIND HIM!

Yeah.

Insomniac, unfortunately.

Biggie!!

Eats bugs. (Small stuff like ants)

Also kind of deranged.

Or he had some undiagnosed mental stuff

Prefers tea

Also has ADHD

I ddont really have much since he's pretty perfect when it comes to the movies and his character-

SMIDGE

Oldest in the gang, actually

She's thirty-eight, and witness Poppy hatching UP CLOSE

Poppy kind of sees her as a mother figure, mostly because Poppy never had a mother.

Smidge tried to have a kid once (yes, it was Milton's.), but it was a miscarriage

Her short stature and abnormal strength is actually a very rare genetic phenomenon

She used to have a really smooth, "feminine" voice,but after years of working out and screaming at the top of her lungs, her voice is scratchy now

Wants to do speech therapy to try and get her old voice back, but... well, Pop Village doesn't have stuff like that.

Has low self-esteem

Has been married to Milton for about a year (By the end of TBT)

Only drinks energy drinks, always Cherry flavour. (Or something similar)

Just a little crazy, but aren't we all?

The reason she's so close to Poppy is because right before the tunnel thing to get away from the Bergens, she worked with Peppy.

Won't continue with that.

Enjoys playfully bullying Suki because she's the only one who doesn't take it seriously.

Guy Diamond ◇

Oh man

Did NOT get enough attention as a kid

His parents were either too busy, and were both taken while running through the tunnels

Sky Toronto (From TBGO and Trollstopia) is his uncle, but neither of them know that

The only clothes he'd ever wear would be a scarf and leg warmers, maybe gloves.

Either he just dislikes it or he's genuinely afraid of it, he won't drink alcohol.

Secretly likes to eat things that aren't really edible

Also, scroll past this if you wanna because imma explain how it's not awkward that the glitter trolls are almost all naked.

So, since Glitter trolls are a subspecies, one which probably derived from a tribe long ago, their anatomy is a little different

They have protective slits that hide their genitals until needed

Essentially, the glitter trolls that have dicks.. their disks are hidden kn that slit, and will start to come out when said glitter troll is aroused.

For the one that don't, the slit will just start to open on it's own

Having a cock or not doesn't decide the gender of a Pop Troll, BTW!!

Cooper & Darnell

Darnell yassified him.

He ended up with silver tattoos on one arm, multiple silver bracelets, necklaces, and earrings, and silver dread cuffs

C & D spend a lot of time together

C had a hard time deciding, but ultimately chose to stay woth the Funk Tribe and his family rather than with the Pop Trolls

He stolll visits them <3

I'll make more later, dw.

#dreamworks trolls #trolls #autistic things #broppy #guy diamond #trolls branch #poppy trolls #trolls world tour #trolls band together #biggie #smidge #trolls smidge #adhd things

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yellowocaballero · 1 month

Text

Ashen Wolf Byleth & Teen Dad Yuri

The blade fell, and the beautiful ghost stepped away. “We don’t like surface people here. If you two are plotting anything, I’ll kill you.”

She said it so simply and easily, as if Dimitri’s death would be the work of nature or the Goddess and not her own two hands. Dimitri turned around, heart jumping into the throat, and met the eyes of his beautiful ghost for the first time.

The girl was solid, real, and around his age. She was wearing a strange, bastardized version of the Academy uniform, silver and embroidered with a strange symbol over the heart. Her hair gleamed navy blue and her lace stockings barely hid her defined thigh muscles. Her grip on her sword was excellent and her stance spoke of barely restrained power. The woman could kill him in a flash, and the stroke that cut his throat would shine like moonlight.

Like Dimitri loved a long fall and short impact, like he loved the light at the end of the tunnel, like he loved betting all in on the longest chances, Dimitri fell in love instantly.

I need to update Weekenders but there's about twenty reasons why I haven't done it yet. But while I've been posting it I've been writing a shitton of other stuff, only some of which is decent, so I thought I'd post the beginnings of this story while I finish up the New Game+ Claude POV fic. This is most of what exists so far, and I probably won't finish it. Writing Dimitri's POV actively made me feel more insane as a person.

TW for references and flashbacks to Yuri's canon past. Around 15k of an absolutely demented Dimitri, a deeply smarmy Claude, a disturbingly feral Byleth, and a Yuri who is just doing his best under the cut.

Dimitri was rapidly growing obsessed with the beautiful ghost.

He tried to confess to his colleagues in the Blue Lions, but they just gave him sympathetic eyes and confiscated his training sword. A typical lack of faith in their leader, but Dimitri had to accept that it was well deserved. He was perfectly aware that Felix, Sylvain, Dedue, and Ingrid didn’t believe in ghosts, much less beautiful ones. Mercedes, Ashe, and Annette believed whole-heartedly in ghosts, but they thought he was being weird about it. So Dimitri was silenced, ostensibly for his own good. It was for his own good - future kings couldn’t exactly run around talking about beautiful ghosts - but it still felt like an odd form of betrayal.

And he still couldn’t get her out of his mind. If only he had proof, Sylvain would make fun of him just a little bit less. All he had to do was be patient and wait for his time to come. Sylvain would see. They’d all see.

The time came sooner than expected, with unexpected company. Dimitri and Claude were walking back from an important (Edelgard’s words) and mind-numbingly boring (Claude’s words) administrative meeting when he saw her again. They were walking a side path along the very edge of the monastery, using it as a shortcut between the main building and their own dormitory, and in the thick night their solitude was complete. Complete save for a shadow in the distance, darting from the forest and across the path like a minnow in a stream.

Dimitri dropped his books in shock. Claude stopped short, raising an eyebrow at him.

“What’s -”

“It’s her!” Dimitri cried. “That’s her! Hey - miss, please wait!”

The books and company were no longer important. Dimitri set off after her at a run, only barely aware that Claude was hot on his tail. As always, the ghost disappeared almost instantly - she crossed the path and dove into the tall shrubbery against the stone walls of the monastery, where she disappeared. Dimitri had seen her appear from the ground and disappear into walls before, only barely visible from the corner of his eyes, and every time she slipped like water from his fingers.

This time was no different. Dimitri skidded to a halt at her disappearing point, pushing aside thick branches in a desperate search for terrestrial beauty. There was nobody and nothing - the girl had walked straight into the monastery walls. Foiled again.

“Dammit!” Dimitri yelled. Claude’s eyebrows jumped up. “I was so close that time!”

“You know curse words? I owe Hilda a hundred gold.” Claude poked his head over Dimitri’s shoulder, watching his desperate search without helping whatsoever. “What was all of that about? Did you see someone?”

“Didn’t you?” But Dimitri already knew the answer, even as he said it - nobody ever saw her but him. “I’ve been seeing this girl since I arrived at Garreg Mach. She appears from thin air and disappears into nothing. I suspect she may be a ghost. I’ve searched high and low for her, but I haven’t been able to find her. And she slips through my fingers again!”

Claude hummed, scratching his chin. “Now that you mention it, maybe I did see a figure…”

Dimitri rocketed upwards, snapping several branches. He whirled on Claude, who took a large step back. “You did? Was she short, wearing silver clothing, unmistakably beautiful?”

Claude held up both hands in a plea for innocence. “...it looked kind of humanoid?” Figures. Dimitri turned back around, scanning the area again. If he could just follow her trail - maybe there would be a scent of death? Of ozone? Of the unknown? “Hey, if it matters that much to you then I’ll help you look. Can’t afford to rule anything out - even ghosts.”

“You’re a true friend, Your Grace,” Dimitri said seriously. Claude nodded back, equally seriously. “And even if she isn’t a ghost, an unknown person at Garreg Mach is highly suspect. She doesn’t seem to wear a habit, armor, or a uniform. It’s our responsibility as leaders to investigate mysteries like this.”

“Uh huh.” Claude slipped into the thicket with him, easily fitting into the barren spots where Dimitri already accidentally snapped off all the branches. Dimitri was already seriously knocking on the castle walls, searching for secret passages or weaknesses. “But not to tell a staff member?”

“I decided a while ago that I could handle this on my own,” Dimitri said stiffly. Wasn’t like anybody was willing to help him, anyway. “Some endeavors are personal.”

“I know that feeling.” Claude hummed, and Dimitri heard the distinct screech of metal scraping on metal. “So are you this invested because of the ghost thing or the beautiful thing?”

“With the potential non-invited guest at Garreg Mach thing, Your Grace.”

A terrible grinding sound split the night, and Dimitri winced. He was a bit sensitive to unexpected loud noises. Felix knew, and liked to sneak up on him and yell in his ear. “I’m a future duke and you’re a future king, Your Highness, I think you’re meant to speak less formally to me.”

“We’re both future leaders of our respective countries,” Dimitri said seriously. “Isn’t that more important than a discrepancy in titles? I’d like to show respect to you as it befits your station, not your title.”

More awful screeching filled the air, accompanied by a final grinding scream and a muffled thump. “Is that why you’re the only person who calls Petra ‘Your Highness’? I think that’s why you’re the only guy in this school she approves of.”

“Really?” Dimitri asked, pleased. Politeness always paid off! “I simply think it’s disrespectful to treat her as anything less than royalty simply because she is here as a political hostage - an outdated practice that I believe - I’m sorry, what’s that sound?”

“Oh, just opening a secret passage.”

“I see. I just think it’s an outdated practice that ought to be illegalized, and just between you and me I actually highly disapprove of - I’m sorry, a what?”

Dimitri turned around from his fruitless inspection of the wall for the first time and saw Claude squatting nearby. He had cut away the brambles surrounding the area with the tip of an arrow he pulled from somewhere, and a large manhole was resting on the grass next to him. He was currently sticking his head down a dark hole of indeterminable depth. Dimitri hadn’t even noticed a manhole!

Well. If the beautiful woman was a beautiful ghost, then she had undoubtedly gone through the wall. But if the beautiful woman was an everyday extremely attractive girl, then the manhole might be how she had escaped so quickly.

Finally, a lead! A path towards her! Dimitri did not know why he was a little disappointed. Was he secretly hoping she’d be a ghost? That would be a little impractical. Maybe he was just upset Claude had found it?

Claude popped his head back up, upside-down braid swinging back against his cheek. “Now isn’t this interesting?” For the first time, Claude seemed invested. “The sewer system doesn’t run underneath this path. So what’s an access point to the sewers doing right here?”

“...why do you know the sewer layout of Garreg Mach?”

“I’m a fan of a good mystery,” Claude said, completely ignoring the question. Perhaps. “How do you feel about a little exploration on this fine moonlit night?”

Oh no. Dimtiri abruptly felt a little anxious. “Your Grace, I don’t believe students are allowed in the Garreg Mach sewer systems.”

“What if it’s not the Garreg Mach sewer system?”

“That may be less allowed.” A little awkwardly, Dimitri added, “And I really wouldn’t want to accidentally break a rule and get in trouble.”

Claude gave him a look of blatant disgust. Dimitri hung his head in shame.

Finally, Claude took pity on him. He sighed and clapped Dimitri’s shoulder - once in camaraderie, twice in sympathy. “Your Highness. Are you really going to let some little rules get in the way of you and your soulmate?”

Dimitri perked up. Putting it like that…and he really didn’t want to look uncool in front of Claude, who was probably the coolest person at the school… “I suppose Lady Rhea would understand if it’s for the sake of love…”

“Attaboy.” Claude shoved roughly at Dimitri’s shoulder, pushing him into the hole. “Now let’s dive into the sewers. Lords first!”

Thankfully, Dimitri wasn’t obligated to fall down a hole face first. There was a wooden ladder descending downwards, warped and fragile from the damp air, and although Dimitri descended into the dark with no hesitation he had to force himself to move slowly and grip the fragile rungs with utmost care.

The darkness was absolute, and Dimitri and Claude navigated by feel. They climbed for what felt like ages, and Dimitri’s absolute concentration made the period of time span even longer. Claude prattled on above his head with some random thoughts and observations, but Dimitri was focusing too hard on the ladder to register what he was saying.

A boot knocked him on the head. Dimitri’s hands spasmed, crushing the rung into splinters, and his grip was completely lost. Dimitri bent backwards a terrifying foot before he righted himself and regained his balance, grabbing the side of the ladder and swinging himself heavily downwards. Of course, that broke the side of the ladder, and suddenly Claude was yelling a great deal of expletives as one side of his ladder began to slide downwards.

“Let’s readjust our approach,” Dimitri said mildly. He changed his grip to grab the two sides of the ladder, his metal gauntlets digging into the wood. “Get ready to slide, Your Grace.”

“Are you nuts -”

Dimitri kicked off, taking his feet off the rungs and loosening his grip on the sides. His slide downwards was alarmingly fast, and he could feel the musty air rise up to meet him. Claude was still yelling, his voice echoing up the empty tunnel, and a familiar wave of adrenaline rose to wash Dimitri’s mind clean.

He couldn’t help but grin. The wind tousling his hair, the swooping sensation in his stomach, the possibility of death and the high probability of injury - a recipe for excitement. Dimitri’s favorite sort of excitement - the sort that cleared out all of the nasty little thoughts that clouded his mind day to day, that made him forget all of his problems and memories and wounds and that focused him onto the present moment. It was a thrill that conquered all ills, and it was more or less the only time that Dimitri was ever happy.

His professor didn’t like that about him. Before Garreg Mach, Felix was the only person who was aware of Dimitri’s little addiction, but the Blue Lions professor had sniffed Dimitri out fast and never stopped giving him a hard time about it. Dimitri honestly didn’t think it was the professor’s business, but he knew they did not agree regarding that fact. It didn’t matter - Dimitri wasn’t about to change.

A light sprung from the darkness, and Dimitri immediately kicked his heels against the ladder and slowed his descent. The light brightened as Dimitri fell, and he was able to make out a hard-packed dirt floor just in time to bend his knees and soften his landing. The impact still rattled his legs down to the bone, but he hadn’t sprained anything.

Dimitri immediately jumped backwards, watching Claude come to the same conclusion and slow his descent. Unlike Dimitri, he didn’t stick the landing - he fell in an ungainly heap on the floor, gasping for breath and groaning. His hair was wildly mussed, and he looked a little green. His cape had ripped off his shoulders, and was currently hanging like a defeated flag several feet above their heads.

“What is wrong with you.”

Goddess, they’d be here all day. “You’re the one who kicked my head.” Dimitri wiped the splinters off his gauntleted hand, extending it down to Claude. Claude squinted at him in increasingly ill-hidden hatred. “Come on, have a little adventurous spirit. I thought you were here to explore the unknown?”

Claude pushed himself upwards, and Dimitri silently curled his hand and returned it to his side. Figured that Claude wouldn’t want to touch him. An expected reaction, honestly. “Sure I am. Now our way out of here is unknown too. Guess we have no choice but to press onwards.”

“I’ll lead the way,” Dimitri said - perhaps betraying the fact that he had no intention of going backwards. “I believe we’re already out of the woods. Look yonder - see the exit?”

There was, indeed, an exit. They had landed in a narrow rectangular room, and there was clearly a door at the far corner where the right wall intersected the back wall. Light shone from within, and Dimitri eagerly led them forwards towards the light.

He could even hear sounds, signs of life - the distant coursing of a river, and a familiar quiet symphony of sounds. They were the sounds of life - a soundscape of an ordinary day at the marketplace at the base of Garreg Mach, marked by shuffling feet and quiet voices.

“Is that people?” Dimitri whispered, excited. “What are people doing this far underground?”

“Is that people?” Claude whispered, incredulous. “Does Rhea know about this?”

“Perhaps they’re ghosts!”

But Claude just shook his head, and for the first time he seemed a little grim. He sped up, walking briskly until he overtook Dimitri. Dimitri fell back, letting him take the lead, and listened curiously as Claude muttered under his breath. Dimitri couldn’t make out the words at all - too quiet, perhaps.

“Ghosts!” Claude hissed. “Perhaps they’re ghosts, that’s fun, not dangerous -”

“Maybe they’re an army of ghosts,” Dimitri volunteered. Claude hissed something that sounded suspiciously similar to the Almyran term for the Fodlan ethnic group. He probably mishead. “Honestly, Claude, what happened to your thirst for adventure -”

“I thought I would get to see Dimitri Blaiddyd stomp through some sewers for an hour! I didn’t expect to stumble into real life people!” Claude stopped at the entryway, peering forward into the cavernous expanse beyond them. Dimitri stopped too. Quite involuntarily. “Holy - that’s a settlement! What is a settlement doing underneath - that’s a village! There’s no way Rhea doesn’t know about that. What else is that woman hiding?”

Dimitri coughed, frozen perfectly still. Cold steel kissed his neck. “Ah. Er. Some help?”

Claude ignored him, steadily working himself up. Dimitri had never seen Claude actually unbalanced before. It was unsettling. “Just when I thought I had five percent of that woman figured out, she pulls the rug on me again. I’ll never get anything good out of her this way. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I might have to fall back on the B&E plan -”

“Some help, Claude!”

Instantly, Claude said, “What B&E plan?”

“Don’t move,” the beautiful ghost said.

Claude turned around.

Dimitri had to assume it was the beautiful ghost. The sword was raised against his neck upwards, showing that the wielder had to significantly lift her arm to hold it. The voice was unmistakably a woman’s, light and delicate and young. It wasn’t ethereal - rather, it was solid, as solid as the steel against his skin - but there was still something otherworldly about it.

Claude stared at Dimitri, wide-eyed. His eyes traveled downwards - yes, the ghost had to be short - and he froze just as solid as Dimitri for a flat second before he relaxed. Over Claude’s shoulder, Dimitri could see the settlement stretching out before him - at the lean-tos and tents and shacks, at the people in rags milling about who were already beginning to stop and stare. The underground people were dirty, and the underground village was filthier. Dimitri immediately saw some elderly hugging the walls, and more foreigners.

Undoubtedly, Claude had seen what Dimitri saw. Claude was currently ahead of him - he was staring at the beautiful ghost with mouth agape, eyes wide. A hot flash of jealousy burst in Dimitri’s chest. Claude got to see the ghost’s face before he did! How incredibly unfair!

“Hello, there. Sorry for…uh, dropping in.” Claude slowly raised his hands, showing himself unarmed. Dimitri wondered where he had stashed his extra arrows. “We…come in peace?”

The sword at his neck flashed. It was well-kept, but clearly old and cheap. “Who are you with.”

“We’re not with anybody!” Claude said hurriedly. Bizarrely, he had immediately adopted an accent - a thick, regional Almyran accent, coarse and rough. “Please, ma’am, stay your sword. Don’t you have any idea who you’re holding hostage? He’s a very important person. If he goes missing your entire house will be endangered. It’s safest for everybody if you just let him go.”

The blade stilled. “...is he rich?”

“Oh, very! I know people who would pay thousands for his safe return!”

“What did I expect,” Dimitri muttered.

“And who are you?” the beautiful ghost asked. “Are you rich too?”

“I am but this man’s humble aide!” Claude said instantly. He bowed flamboyantly, with a distinctive Almyran flair. “A loyal and devoted servant am I, to His Royal Highness! My ten brothers and sisters wouldn’t have two coppers to scavenge together to pay a ransom, honest! Tell you what, tell you what - let me help!” Claude straightened, pulling out his most roguish and charismatic smile. “Let’s be friends, Fodlan beauty. Give me your demands, and I’ll deliver them straight upwards all the way to the top. I’ll be back with thousands! You can give the pale boy back later. If you want. How about it?”

The sword wavered. The ghost spoke again, her voice laced with doubt. “You’re both wearing the Academy uniform. Brother did say that the prince was attending school this year.”

“Beautiful and good intel sources! Surely you’ve heard of me, the Almyran vassal that follows around the prince and attends school with him?”

Dubiously, the ghost said, “Brother says that the vassal’s Duscuran…”

“I am disappointed that your brother cannot tell the difference between the Duscur and Almyran people!”

“It’s not like that…”

Claude promptly said something in - Almyran? When did Claude learn Almyran? The ghost said something back in Almyran, undoubtedly dubious. Claude pointed at Dimitri’s shoulder, showcasing Dimitri’s fine cape, and then at his own - and the distinct lack of yellow cape, which was probably still pinned to the ladder. The beautiful ghost murmured in assent - obviously Claude was a poor vassal, not a rich king, see his complete lack of cape.

The beautiful ghost said something, and Claude’s eyes sharpened. He grinned and bowed even lower - a vassal to a princess.

In the Fodlan language, Claude said, “Then His Highness and his loyal vassal would be honored to hold an audience with the lady’s esteemed brother.”

“You talk stupid.”

“You would really get along with my best friend, my lady.”

“I’m not your anything.” The blade fell, and the beautiful ghost stepped away. “We don’t like surface people here. If you two are plotting anything, I’ll kill you.”

Like Dimitri loved a long fall and short impact, like he loved the light at the end of the tunnel, like he loved betting all in on the longest chances, Dimitri fell in love instantly.

“Night night,” the love of Dimitri’s life said, before hitting him on the back of his head with the pommel of her sword, drawing black curtains over Dimitri’s eyes.

__________

Dimitri sat in an office. A rather inauspicious turn in this kidnapping saga.

He was sitting down because his head still hurt. He wished he was standing and showing his future brother-in-law the respect he deserved, but his future brother-in-law insisted that he tend to his probable concussion and sit. Dimitri wanted to protest - the man had already personally healed him, and his head didn’t hurt any more than usual - but the man seemed stressed enough, so Dimitri sat obediently in front of his desk. In an office. In an underground slum funded by the church. Which existed. Was that what taxpayer money was going towards?

Yuri explained the entire situation to him and Claude as he healed the bump and gash on Dimitri’s skull. For a given value of ‘entire’ - so far, Dimitri mostly just understood that the church organized a homeless encampment underground that accepted any members unconditionally and functioned roughly like its own little nation. The main encampment of Abyss was Garreg Mach itself - a basement floor of the monastery that had sunken into the ground after some unfortunate geographical events around seven hundred years ago. Dimitri wanted to ask if it was a possible problem that Garreg Mach was located in a sinkhole, but Yuri didn’t leave much time for questions.

The name of the slum was Abyss, and its inhabitants had little contact with the outside world. There were children in Abyss who had never stood in the sun, and infirm who hadn’t felt the sun’s warmth since they were well. Apparently the few inhabitants who regularly left Abyss used one of a series of secret passages in Garreg Mach, with entrances and exits that spanned the width of the monastery. These secret passages were very well-hidden, and an Abyssan well-versed in their usage could disappear and reappear throughout the monastery like…a ghost.

They didn’t have visitors very often. Not many people knew about Abyss, and strangely enough the people in the loop didn’t care to visit a damp, filthy underground slum. They had even fewer Academy students fall down manholes and stumble into this inverted land of wonder. Hence why the sight of Dimitri and Claude caused certain Abyssans to panic. With their swords.

These Abyssans were named Byleth, which was a lovely name. Potentially alliterative, too.

“Your Highness.” Yuri was gritting his teeth together. “I am…so sorry.”

“No harm done,” Dimitri said instantly. He wanted to express to Yuri that it was actually a great honor to be harmed by his sister, but he didn’t know how to say that in a normal way. “We were the intruders, after all. Byleth was just defending her home.” He turned to Byleth, who was standing stiffly behind her brother in a perfect match to Claude’s stiff stance behind Dimitri. Dimitri had barely taken his eyes off her, and yet she had failed to make a single facial expression. Fascinating. “Your swordplay was incredible, by the way. The way you held that sword to my throat was impeccable. I assume you’ve been professionally trained.”

“Here and there.” Byleth looked pleased, making Dimitri feel like a star. She pointed awkwardly at the silver sword at Dimitri’s hip. It was the same old sword Dimitri always had - some antique of the royal family, passed down from generation to generation. “I like your sword.”

Instantly, Dimitri said, “Thank you! Do you want it?”’

Byleth hummed. Yuri’s eyes widened a fraction, and Claude stifled a groan. “My sword is pretty old…”

“Here, take it.” Dimtiri immediately undid his belt and handed the sword over to her, belt and sheath and all. She held it up and admired it, testing its weight. Yuri’s jaw clenched. “Consider it my apology for following you uninvited into your home.”

Byleth nodded, twirling the sword easily in her hands. It was tremendously attractive. “Apology accepted. We’re even.” Her mouth twitched infinitesimally into something that may be loosely deemed a smile. Yuri’s eyes widened severely. “Thank you.”

Dimitri looked away, coughing. His face felt like it was going to melt off. “You’re welcome. It - ah, it suits you.”

“Do you think so?” Byleth asked, pleased. Perhaps. It was very hard to tell. Her voice was in a very strict monotone, but their deep spiritual connection meant that Dimitri could vibe these things out. “It does match my outfit.”

Dimitri would never be able to think of silver again without thinking of her. “I’m hono -”

“Your Highness.” Yuri’s voice hadn’t changed; nor had his words. His expression didn’t seem any different and his body language hadn’t shifted. But something about him was far now far less welcoming - something was different, all the same. “We’re very grateful for your gift, and for the forgiveness you’ve extended towards us regarding what happened. But it would be highly irresponsible of me to keep you here any longer. Abyss isn’t safe for somebody like you and your…vassal.”

“Khalid, sir.” Claude winked loudly at Dimitri, making absolutely certain that Dimitri understood that Claude was giving a fake foreign name. Yes, Dimitri picked up on that. “Really, wonderful place you have here. Very chic. Couldn’t possibly be that unsafe - if we had a good tour guide.”

Frostily, Yuri said, “I’ll have some scouts escort you back topside immediately. I’m certain Lady Rhea is looking for you.”

“It took her three days to notice that I tossed Lindhardt into a well, so I’m certain we have at least that long.” Claude leaned forward eagerly. “Who founded this place? Whose idea was it? Why is it underground?”

“Somebody who is no longer with us,” Yuri said, curt and even. “I’m the leader of Abyss now. And as the leader, it’s my responsibility to get future leaders of Fodlan back to their cozy beds.”

Claude flapped an easy hand. “Sure, let’s get the future leader of Fodlan back to bed. But this humble vassal’s awfully interested in this operation you’re running. Don’t suppose you could allow me to run around a bit? Check some things out? See your tax records?”

“I think even vassals have someplace to be, Khalid.”

“Why are you saying his name like that?” Byleth asked Yuri. She paused a beat. “Never mind. I don’t care.”

“There’s a great deal of places this vassal should be,” Claude said cheerfully, “but I think there’s only one place where I have to be.” He easily slid into the unoccupied chair next to Dimitri, leaning forward and folding his hands on Yuri’s desk. He had to nudge apart several scrolls of parchment and pieces of paper to do it - the man’s desk was stacked with forms, work, and quills. “Let’s put our cards on the table, huh? There’s a lot the church doesn’t tell us peons, Yuri. I’m willing to bet you know a lot of it. So in exchange for you telling me what you know, I don’t tell Lady Rhea what I know about a certain somebody trying to lop off the head of the future king of Faerghus. Sound good to you?”

Yuri crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, one thin purple eyebrow arching. “You have a lot to learn about the art of the deal, kid. What will Rhea say when she learns that Prince Dimitri and Duke Claude were out past curfew skulking around slums?”

“Duke Claude’s happily asleep in his warm bed, and every member of his House is sufficiently paid to corroborate that story.” Claude smiled winningly. “Khalid is a humble vassal interested in touring your fine slum. Khalid might also have some other gossip that you might be interested in.”

“Like what, kid?”

Claude’s grin widened. “I might tell you tomorrow morning. After my visit.”

Yuri was silent. His eyes flickered to Dimtiri, then to Claude. He glanced at his sister. “By, wait outside?”

Byleth nodded and exited the room. Dimtiri yearned for her achingly. But Yuri just straightened, face as blank and unreadable as his sister’s, and said something to Claude in Almyran.

For the first time, Claude was struck off balance. He looked at Dimitri, eyes wide, then back at Yuri. He said something empathetically, shaking his head, but Yuri just responded curtly.

In the Fodlan language, Claude said, “On the honor of my father and mother, no. I’m not trying to -”

“Really?” Yuri said. “You’re a novice at this con artist thing, kid. You’re too rich to do it well. Word of advice - don’t smile like you’re hiding something, smile like you’re keeping a secret.”

Claude pulled back a little, and Dimitri saw that he was almost pouting. “You don’t know me.”

“I know things about you that you don’t know about yourself.” Yuri looked at Dimitri, expression gentle and soft and bland. Like sheep’s wool, or dandelion fluff on the breeze. “Do you want to hang around Abyss a little longer too, Your Highness?”

Images of Byleth wielding his silver sword, flicking the blade in a deadly dance, spun through Dimitri’s mind. If he left Abyss now and never saw her again he would lose what little scrap of will to live he had left. Dimitri couldn’t keep losing good things. He was running out.

“Yes!” Dimitri said - a bit too quickly, a bit too empathetically. He coughed, forcing himself to settle down. “I mean - yes. As a future ruler, I should see how the other half lives. It’s important for a ruler to understand the needs of all of his people.”

It was perfectly true. It wasn’t what he was thinking, but it was perfectly true. Dimitri had the faint notion that perhaps he and Claude were missing the point of something important, something much bigger than them - than Claude’s secrets or Dimitri’s love story - but the allure of secrets and love was fairly overpowering at the moment.

Easily, as easily as he said everything else, Yuri said, “My sister’s not on the market to entertain you. I can steer plenty of other lovely ladies or gentlemen your way, but she’s a little busy with her own work.” Yuri tilted his head, looking at Dimitri through half-lidded eyes. Dimitri flushed a little. “If you insist, I’d be happy to spare some time for you. But I’m afraid my sister is just too busy.”

Claude stood up, chair skidding against the hard stone. “I just put my family’s name on this! As -” Claude said something quickly in Almyran, which completely flew over Dimitri’s head. “ - I am vouching for Prince Dimitri. I wouldn’t even say that for me, but I can sure as hell say it for him. You can trust us.”

Yuri’s face was unchanged. “I’ve heard that one before.”

And although Dimitri didn’t understand half the conversation - although he knew that there was subtext he wasn’t getting, that there were things about the world he just couldn’t see - he understood the right thing to do well enough for now. Standing in the midst of Abyss, it was clear.

Dimitri stood up, bowing low at Yuri. “I apologize for our intrusion. I see that my classmate and I have overstayed our welcome. I have no desire to add to the heavy burdens you and your village already bear. Please, if you can help escort us back to the surface, we’d be very grateful.”

When Dimtiri straightened, he saw a peculiar look on Yuri’s face. It was a little thoughtful, and a lot of another foreign emotion. “What will you do now that you know we’re here?”

“Ask Rhea how we can help,” Dimitri said immediately. Left implied: and confess to our wrongdoings, like good children. “Or you, if you’re amenable. Abyss is not located within my lands, but I am aware that many places like Abyss reside in the darkness of Faerghus. If I can do anything for you now - learn what you can teach me - then I consider it education on how to provide for my subjects in the future.”

“He’s sincere,” Claude said firmly. He stood up too, thumping his heart with a closed fist. “I haven’t been sincere since the poisoned fig incident, but I can swear too. We just want to help. So let us help - it can’t be every day you have two future leaders of Fodlan asking you what we can do for you.”

Yuri stared at them for a long few seconds, expression glazed smooth and unreadable, before he finally sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “And I suppose you want my sister as a tour guide.”

“You just said she’s busy,” Dimitri asked, tilting his head in confusion. “I assumed she wouldn’t be available to show us around.”

Yuri narrowed his eyes - damn, the man was impeccable. Dimitri had attempted one subtle fib and he was caught out immediately. But the lie served its purpose, and something subtle in Yuri’s shoulders untensed. Dimitri hadn’t realized that they were tense at all.

Yuri opened his mouth and said -

“Boss! Did we really kidnap the prince of Faerghus?”

The door thumped open with such immense force that it smacked against the far wall. A truly giant man strode inside, followed closely on his heels by a blonde woman wearing an unsettling smile and a short dark-skinned woman picking at a cuticle. On the tail end of the party was Byleth. She nodded at Dimitri, who nodded back in a daze.

“I told them you were busy,” Byleth said serenely.

“Yeah, busy with His Royal Highness!” The large man stopped in front of Dimitri and carefully scrutinized him from head to toe. Dimitri allowed himself to be scrutinized. “Damn! What are they feeding you Academy kids these days? You’re solid muscle. Not as much as me, but not bad either!”

Dimitri fought the urge to sweat. The women flanked the big guy, blinking at him curiously. “I train frequently.”

“Really? Guess Bye-Bye’s found another freak.” The dark-skinned woman yawned, nodding at Byleth as she stood at her brother’s side. “You should hang out. Hit each other with swords or whatever.”

“Greetings to His Royal Highness and friend!” the blonde woman yelled, almost at the top of her voice. She put her hands on her hips, lifting her chin in the air. “Welcome to the home of Constance von Nuvelle! Our decor may be lacking, but our hospitality is second to none!”

“Really?” the other woman drawled. “I think the rats add some pizazz.”

“Silly Hapi! The rats are disgusting!”

“Bye-Bye eats garbage too, but we don’t give her a hard time about it.”

“Hospitality, huh?” Yuri smiled, and for the first time it seemed a little real. “Balthus, obviously you don’t have anything more important going on. Can you host our two noble young visitors? Who we didn’t kidnap?”

“We were a little kidnapped,” Claude said.

Balthus grinned, propping a hand on a hip. “I dunno, are you paying me?”

Quickly, Dimitri added, “We’ll compensate you for your efforts, of course.”

“Wait,” the dark-skinned woman asked the room, “are we holding you hostage? Because it sounds like we’re holding you hostage.”

“Sold, kid!” Balthus thumped a friendly hand on Dimtiri’s back. He didn’t stumble, which seemed to shock Balthus before he withdrew his hand and quickly covered up the motion. “You look like a good hand with a weapon. Not you, Almyran guy, you look like a wimp.” Claude narrowed his eyes, but Balthus just looked backwards at Byleth. “You should spar with our new friend, Byleth. I’ll finally get to see you knock a different musclehead on the ground!”

Constance squealed, clapping her hands. “Byleth and the new children can play together! Oh, how heartwarming! Socialization is a rare opportunity for Bylie indeed!” She looked at Yuri and stage whispered, “We cannot afford to lose this chance, Yuri!”

“Byleth doesn’t know a lot of kids her own age,” the dark-skinned woman told Dimitri and Claude. “She’s…a little awkward.”

Byleth blinked at them.

“Wow,” Claude muttered, “you don’t say.”

“I forgive you for holding a sword to my neck,” Dimitri said earnestly. “You were doing the right thing.”

“Seriously, are we holding you hostage or not?”

Yuri’s eye twitched. But his posture had fully loosened, and the presence of the strangers seemed to make him breathe a little easier. “We aren’t. And Byleth isn't a puppy we need to socialize, Hapi. You know how noble boys are.”

“Noble boy and his loyal vassal,” Claude added quickly, sticking stubbornly to the bit. Dimitri had no idea why, but Claude rarely vocalized his reasons for doing anything. “What do you think, Byleth? Want to hang out with us, or want to stay with your brother?”

Byleth stared at both of them unblinkingly. Finally, after a long few seconds of thought, Byleth said, “I want to train with Dimitri.”

Hapi shot a canny look at Yuri. “Balthus’ll supervise. Connie and I too, if you want.”

For a long second Dimitri thought Yuri was going to say no anyway. Dimitri would have accepted it. It would have robbed Dimitri of the only good thing left in his life, but he would have accepted it. Good things came and left all of the time, and part of life was learning how to deal with that. Dimitri liked to fancy himself an expert in it. He could lose one more thing - one flash of hope.

But Yuri only sighed. “Alright. Supervised. Now get out of my office, all of you, I’m far too busy to juggle nobility on top of everything else.” Claude perked up. “All of you. You want to talk about Rhea - we’ll do it after dinner.”

“Understood!” Claude bowed at Yuri again, and Dimitri hastily copied him. “You won’t regret opening your doors to us, sir!”

“Uh-huh.” Left unsaid - he definitely already was. “Out of my office, then. I’ve been away for too long and I have a lot of work to catch up on.”

Byleth tilted her head, a frown tugging at her lips. “You should leave less often. Your work piles up. It stresses you out.”

Yuri gave her a big smile, as if he was keeping a secret. “But if I don’t leave, I’ll never experience the joy of seeing you again.”

“You’re corny, Yuri.”

“Love turns even the best of us into cornballs.” Yuri and Byleth shared a look, empty and opaque, but in that blankness Dimitri saw something far deeper than he had ever experienced. “Just look at Constance. Every time she looks at herself in the mirror she gets sillier.”

“Excuse me, my sweet Yuri -”

“You’re excused, my darling Constance.”

“Must we fight,” Hapi panned, monotone and disinterested. “We’re a family. Look. You’ll make the baby cry.”

Byleth blinked at Hapi. “But I can’t cry.”

“Look. You’ll give the baby psychological issues.”

Balthus laughed again, cracking his knuckles with a pop that echoed throughout the cramped office. “This’ll be fun! It’s been a while since we’ve had a good adventure, eh Yuri?”

“Yes,” Yuri said, “that’s altogether what I’m afraid of.”

Truthfully, at that point Dimitri was no longer listening. He was just looking at Byleth, the girl who could not cry. And Byleth looked back at him, the boy whose heart was always crying. They saw each other, the heart-burdened and the heartless, and something in one reached out to balance the other.

And although the weight of the world above them crushed Dimitri’s shoulders, although they stood within damp and filthy slums tucked into the bowels of the planet, for those precious few seconds Dimitri and Byleth existed in the world with no obligation to anybody but each other.

_____________

ii.

Yuri was sitting in this bathroom fruitlessly scrubbing blood out of his one good outfit when he received word that Lady Rhea was requesting an audience. Because it was Rhea, he also received word that she was already waiting for him in the destroyed classroom.

Damn it! He had just returned! And he didn’t have anything to wear!

In the end, he was forced to keep Lady Rhea waiting another fifteen minutes because he had to dig out an older, rattier outfit and re-do his makeup. Approach: ‘I’m in my twenties, my stare is cold and piercing, and damn it I belong in this conference room’. Then he had to waste another five minutes because his hair was a wreck and his hands still smelled like blood. By the time he finally speed-walked down the halls and skidded to a stop in front of the classroom doors Yuri was twenty minutes late and already fighting the urge to freak.

As always, he halted at the doors. He took a deep breath in, then out. His outfit was dingy, which made him feel like crap, but the power makeup helped pick up the slack. He inhaled, exhaled, shook out his limbs, and entered the classroom.

Rhea was standing in front of a blackboard, her back turned to the door. She was dressed in an old brown cloak, but with the hood down and her beautiful green hair left to flow over her shoulders the figure was unmistakable as Rhea. She was writing in beautiful and flowing script on the blackboard with a piece of stubby chalk, and speaking in a low voice to the child standing next to her. The child was staring up at her, eyes wide, chewing on a knuckle. Th child’s dark blue hair was pulled into a stubby ponytail, and she was wearing only a tattered black dress and swimming in a brown jacket sized for a large adult man.

“ - your name. See, this is the B…like ‘bye’. Can you say ‘bye’?” The child blinked owlishly up at Rhea. “That’s alright. You’ll get it. You’re doing a great job already.”

Yuri coughed, and Rhea quickly turned around. With a strange start Yuri noticed that she was dressed down even more than usual, her face plain and wearing only a simple white dress underneath the cloak. Without her own makeup, she seemed tired. She smiled wanly at Yuri, who bowed back. The child turned around too, gnawing fastidiously at her knuckle.

“Yuri. I’m sorry to call upon you again so quickly after your return. Did all go well?”

“The job was done.” Deepen your voice, sound older - sound disaffected, yet sincere. Yuri wondered if he would ever live long enough that he could stop pretending to be older. “The deceased is no longer a threat to the church.”

“He was a threat to the safety of Fodlan,” Rhea said firmly. Yuri wasn’t sure about that one, but he did appreciate Rhea’s conscientious efforts to only toss absolute bastards into his pen. “I’m afraid I must ask something of you yet again, Yuri. This is important. I cannot fully disclose to you why this mission is so important, but please trust me when I say that this is a matter extremely close to my heart.”

Yuri straightened, folding his hands behind his back. He wanted to die a bit. Another important mission? As if managing Abyss, captaining his rogues, and assassinating bastards weren’t enough missions?

How long would she keep punishing him?

But Yuri just bowed. It was no effort at all to keep his expression placid. “I can accomplish any mission you give me, my lady.”

“I know. That’s why I’m trusting you with this.” Rhea put both hands on the girl’s shoulder and squeezed. The girl squirmed uncomfortably. You and me both, kid. “Yuri, this is Byleth. Byleth, this is Yuri. Why don’t you say hi?”

Byleth stared at Yuri, gnawing on her finger. Somebody probably ought to slap those knuckles with a ruler. She wasn’t a young child - twelve or thirteen, perhaps - but the habit and the wide eyes made her seem younger.

Yuri gave her his special ‘talking to vulnerable kids’ smile. “How do you do, my lady?”

Byleth stared at Yuri. A theme.

Rhea frowned, squeezing Byleth’s shoulder one last time before dropping her hands. “She hasn’t talked much since it happened. She…doesn’t seem to remember anything.”

“Anything about what happened?”

“Anything at all. She can’t seem to recall anything about her family or her life. Darling, you ought to get your knuckle out of your mouth.” Rhea ducked her head, staring steadfastly at Byleth. The girl slowly dropped her knuckle from her mouth, looking a little spooked, before Rhea lifted her head again. “Byleth here was kidnapped. There are…some forces in Fodlan that place great value in Byleth. I don’t know how they learned about her, but they haven’t left her in peace since they found out. They’ve tried to kidnap her several times, but their latest attempt was successful. The Church knights were only able to rescue her two days ago. The knight who rescued her brought her to me immediately, and now I must bring her to you.”

“Have you spoken with Aelfric about this?”

“Of course. He’s already given his consent.” Rhea’s eyes glimmered strangely in the light. Sometimes the only emotion from that woman Yuri could truly understand was the dark depths of her sadness. “Discretion is of the utmost importance. The people after her will not give up.”

Ah. Yuri understood. “Does she have a valuable crest?”

Rhea put a hand on Byleth’s head, slowly stroking her hair. Byleth went cross-eyed looking upwards and gawking at the hand. “Byleth is a very special girl.”

Alright, so don’t tell him. “You want to hide her and her family in Abyss?”

But Rhea just shook her head, expression mournful. “Byleth is an orphan. She will be alone in Abyss. That’s why I must ask for your help, Yuri.”

In the girl’s big dark eyes Yuri saw only trouble. Abyss sheltered plenty of people in hiding, but the people after Byleth seemed to be on a different level. If hiding the girl here brought danger into Abyss, then…

Then she was still a girl who needed help. Yuri would deal with any danger as it came.

“Madame Birch will be happy to take her in.” Yuri smiled at Byleth again, taking care to crinkle his eyes and gave it positive energy. “My friend Madame Birch takes care of kids just like you, Byleth. She’ll be so excited to meet you. I know some girls her age in your house who’ve been begging me for another friend.”

But Rhea just shook her head, expression somber and firm. “The forces after Byleth are powerful. I need to place her with the strongest person in Abyss - the person most able to protect her. That’s you, Yuri. Please take her yourself.”

Ah. What?

For the first time, Yuri had to fight to keep his expression and tone still. “My lady, my workload frequently takes me out of Abyss.”

“Then I can reduce your workload.”

That perked Yuri’s ears. He was a fool for not recognizing it immediately. Rhea was desperate. Her emotional involvement in this was far greater than keeping a tool out of the hands of the enemy. Byleth had to be family somehow - maybe even a secret daughter. Having a secret daughter of Lady Rhea in Yuri’s back pocket…under his exclusive supervision…

It was a death knell if anything happened to the kid. But the leverage was too good to pass up.

Fuck, he could even negotiate right here and now. He ought to send Byleth out of the room for this, but it was important that she understood what was happening and why. As much as she seemingly could - the girl may be a little touched. It didn’t matter, obviously, but it would necessitate a change in approach.

“Well,” Yuri said slowly, “the greatest distraction from Abyss would be my jobs. I would like to stay in Abyss full-time. Give her a more consistent upbringing.”

Rhea’s eyebrow quirked upwards, but Yuri was unrepentant. She knew what she was doing by looping him in. “I’ll reduce the quantity of jobs I assign you.”

“To once every four months, perhaps.”

“Once every two.”

“That would be highly detrimental for Byleth’s childhood development.”

Evenly, Rhea said, “Going forth, I will give you a job every three months at maximum. Is that a deal?”

That was fucking fantastic. Yuri was almost lightheaded, but he pressed on. “Sounds like a deal. But raising a child is no simple matter, my lady. Child-proofing the environment, educating her, feeding her…Abyss is run on a razor-thin budget. The expenses concern me.”

Rhea sighed. “I will funnel more money into your personal budget to compensate for the expense.” Yuri waited patiently. “And into the Abyss orphanages. Anything else, Yuri?”

She could be such a sucker sometimes. Sometimes Yuri wondered if she let him do it. Definitely not. Probably not.

“I’m satisfied. You’re as generous as always, Lady Rhea.”

“This is in exchange for Byleth’s safety.” Rhea’s expression sobered, the soft silk solidifying into stone. “In exchange for what I’m giving you, I need her safety absolutely guaranteed. Nothing can happen to this girl.”

“No need to fret, my lady. Abyss is the safest place in Fodlan. Nobody even knows we exist.” Yuri bent down a little, smiling at Byleth. She had regained access to her knuckle, and was chewing it fastidiously again. “What do you say, Byleth? Want to go home with me?”

If the girl wasn’t touched, she must have understood. She must understand that the woman who would not admit to a relationship with her had just bartered for her residency with a teenage assassin, den mother, and prostitute. All things considered, the price had been insultingly low.

Byleth just stared at him. Alright, maybe she didn’t understand. That would make this harder. Yuri really should have asked for more money. Teach the girl the first and most important lesson of her new life: that you should never sell yourself for less than what you were worth. Or market value, if you couldn’t get any buyers otherwise. Maybe this was just market value.

Smile, Yuri. Smile. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together, Byleth.”

Byleth blinked. At least she was a quiet child. This would be easy.

______________

This was impossible.

This was shit. Absolute and complete shit. Why wasn’t she like Bernadetta? Yuri had thought she would be like Bernadetta. All Bernadetta did was nap, read, exhaustively detail the plot of her book, and cry. Byleth couldn’t even read. Apparently, when children couldn’t read, they decided to follow you around instead.

Everywhere. She followed him everywhere. When Yuri sat in the small storage room he co-opted as an office she crawled underneath his desk and swiped at his ankles. When Yuri visited the rogue’s encampments and gave the leadership its newly tightened security measures, she ran around the training field and started waving wooden training swords around. It took three rogues to wrest a sword from her. When Yuri made the rounds of Abyss and talked to its citizens, hearing every problem and offering every condolence he could, she hovered at his heels and gawked at every conversation with wide eyes.

It was like having another googly-eyed shadow. Yuri didn’t have five seconds to himself anymore. He couldn’t even visit the tavern and unwind by flirting with one of his regular hook-ups - something about having a thirteen year old (twelve? Fourteen?) hovering at your elbow really killed your game. This must be what the older girls used to refer to as cockblocking.

Byleth still hadn’t said a word. She observed, but never really listened. Still couldn’t read or write. She could catch the rats scuttling around the gutters with her bare hands. The girl may be touched. Which, again, didn’t matter - but it made it extraordinarily difficult to convey to her the importance of ‘me time’. Or ‘don’t eat that’. Or ‘put down that sword’.

It was official. Byleth was a demon. Figured that the wolf in sheep’s clothing would spawn a feral little wolf cub. Yuri should have charged more.

At least Aelfric had his back. The cardinal had little time to sneak down into Abyss, but he had begun sparing whatever time he could towards playing with Byleth. Aelfric practically begged Yuri to allow him to spend time entertaining Byleth, saving Yuri from the effort of begging Aelfric to take her. Last time Yuri checked, Aelfric spent their time together teaching Byleth her letters in the destroyed classroom. And thank the goddess for that.

“I don’t understand why she didn’t ask me,” Aelfric said, for roughly the hundredth time. They were sitting at a stone desk in the classroom, eating a coarse but filling breakfast. Byleth was cramming a hunk of bread the size of her face into her mouth. “I have my duties, but I would have gladly forfeited them for the sake of this child. You’re barely more than a child yourself, Yuri -”

Yuri couldn’t help but bark a sharp laugh. “You do realize that you and my mother are the only people who have said that in a decade.”

“That doesn’t make it untrue,” Aelfric said gently. Yuri ducked his head, focusing on pressing a napkin into Byleth’s hands and directing her to wipe her own face. There was no way this girl even knew how to do her makeup. Ridiculous. “Rhea shouldn’t have put this responsibility on you. I don’t know what she was thinking, honestly.”

That made Yuri feel a little defensive. Byleth pushed away her plate, gnawing on her final hunk of bread, and Yuri pulled over her writing tablet. Aelfric had even sprung for a few pieces of paper and pencils dyed bright colors. Yuri hurriedly placed the paper and pencils in front of her. Last he remembered, drawing was an activity favored by younger children, but Byleth couldn’t exactly partake in the age-appropriate activities of gossiping, bullying other girls, sewing, or reading. Goddess, did she even know how to sew or embroider? Yuri would have to teach her.

“I could beat anybody in Abyss in a straight fight,” Yuri said. He hoped his defensiveness didn’t show. It was a little harder to hide with Aelfric. “Even you. More importantly, I know how to be stealthy and hide myself and others. I know the Abyss system like the back of my hand. As far as Abyssans go, I understand why Lady Rhea thought I was the best choice.”

“I’m not doubting your talent, Yuri,” Aelfric soothed, “I just don’t understand why Rhea couldn’t have put Byleth in the care of an adult. You have enough responsibilities of your own without adding another one on the heap.”

Yuri bristled. “I’m almost eighteen.”

“Eighteen with the burdens of a thirty year old.” Aelfric sighed, and Yuri guiltily subsided too. It wasn’t right to get defensive at Aelfric. After everything the man did to help him, he at least deserved the benefit of the doubt. “I just want you to enjoy what remains of your youth. There’s a sweet nun volunteering at the orphanage -” Yuri groaned. “Yuri, why can’t you hear me out on this?”

“You’re always going on about finding a nice girl, Aelfric -”

“Because you’re re-traumatizing yourself with all of these men,” Aelfric said patiently. Yuri looked down at his hands, restraining himself from picking at a manicured cuticle. “Look at you, Yuri. You haven’t changed any of your habits. You’re still trying to appeal to men. You have to begin to heal.”

There was something heavy and old in Yuri’s chest. It was a burden that never grew lighter - a pain that never retreated. The best he could do was ignore it. But Yuri kept picking at it all the same. “It’s not my fault that men continue to approach me.”

“But it’s your responsibility to turn them down. And men wouldn’t approach you so often if you didn’t wear all that makeup.”

When Yuri spoke, his voice was quieter than he expected. He had wanted it to be louder, stronger. But something had cut it down. “It’s not for them…”

A small, bony finger poked Yuri’s side.

He looked over at Byleth, who was staring at him with her usual wide, serious eyes. She picked up her picture and presented it to Yuri, who took it and inspected the image carefully.

It was of them. The girl was a far better artist than he expected, and although the proportions were a little wonky Yuri could clearly recognize all three of them. They were sitting on crates outside of a tent - a tent that resembled the ones in Abyss, but was more reminiscent of a standard issue mercenary’s tent. Yuri was drawn with great care, sitting straight backed on the crate and staring straight at the viewer. His makeup was exaggerated and poorly applied. Aelfric sat on Yuri’s left, wrinkles clearly outlined and his blood-red habit engulfing his figure. The red lines on the habit seemed closer to bloodstains.

In comparison to the rest of the drawing, Byleth’s figure was remarkably undetailed. She only drew the faint outlines of herself, with a few expressive lines demarcating an abstract face. The greatest level of detail was in the giant brown jacket she never took off - the careful impressions of its stitches and metal buttons were a strange contrast to the ghost wearing it.

“This is excellent,” Yuri said, genuinely impressed. Sometimes it was easy to think of her as younger than thirteen-or-so, but at other times her true age was perfectly obvious. Even the ghostly Byleth felt more like an artistic choice. “I like your usage of color. It’s very powerful.” He pointed at a spot in the upper left of the page, tucked in the corner closest to Byleth and furthest than everybody else. It was just a tight swirl of green pencil - the gradient of density between the thick middle and loose outsides giving the green a strange halo-like impression. “Is this the sun?”

Byleth gave him a disgusted look. Yuri could guess: ‘the sun isn’t green, moron’. Potentially: ‘what sun? What’s a sun? I know only the Depths’.

“Then what is it?”

Byleth tugged the drawing away from him, replacing it on the table and attacking the page with a pencil. Chewing the edge of the pencil, mind working furiously, she carefully wrote out a word. She stared at the word, scratched it out, and then tried again. She put down her pencil, nodded in satisfaction, and showed it to Yuri again.

He squinted at the page. In messy, juvenile script underneath the halo - with an arrow carefully drawn towards the halo, in case he missed the reference - she had written ‘SOHTHESE’.

“Sohthese?” Yuri asked, hiding confusion. “Is that a friend of yours?” Byleth shook her head. Then she nodded. “Is…that a yes or no?”

“She’s making great progress, but her spelling needs work. Let me see.” Aelfric held out a hand, and Yuri silently passed him the page. Aelfric took one look at the page and his eyebrows jumped. “I think she means ‘Sothis’. Is that correct, Byleth?” Byleth nodded vigorously. “Where did you hear that name, Byleth? I don’t think I ever told you that.”

Wait. That name was a little familiar. “Is that the name of a saint?” Yuri asked. “I didn’t know you were giving her catechism classes.”

“I’m not. And it’s the name of the Goddess herself. It’s not very well used - typically only scriptural scholars use it with any regularity.” Aelfric frowned down at Byleth, and for the first time his expression seemed troubled. “Where could you have heard that word…?”

“Wow,” Yuri panned, “I wonder where the secret daughter of Lady Rhea heard the name of the goddess. The world may never know.”

“Please, Yuri, be serious.” Aelfric was still frowning, staring at the paper intently. Byleth gestured for him to give the paper back, but he didn’t seem to notice. He just stared and stared at the paper, walking mental paths far beyond the provincial little world of Yuri and Byleth.

“Aelfric, I think she wants the paper back.”

“What? Oh, yes.” Aelfric looked up, still somewhat dazed. “Could I potentially keep this, Byleth?” Byleth shook her head no. “I see. That’s alright, then.” He passed it back, and Byleth tugged it firmly out of his hands. She replaced it on the table, smoothing it over carefully.

“I didn’t figure you for the religious type,” Yuri told Byleth. Byleth shrugged. “Are you going to become a nice nun too?”

“There’s nothing wrong with marrying a good woman and settling down,” Aelfric scolded lightly. “A home and a family is the greatest joy a young man can have. If you don’t change your behavior, you’ll never find happiness. I’m only worried about you.”

An extensive, agonizing rip split the air.

Byleth was holding up the carefully constructed drawing in clear view of both men. Making direct and unblinking eye contact, she looked at Aelfric and ripped the paper straight down between Yuri and Aelfric. Yuri and Aelfric stared at her in shocked silence as she finished cruelly ripping Aelfric from the paper, balling up his figure in one clenched fist and carefully replacing the cropped page on the table. Yuri, Byleth, and Sothis looked very happy together. Aelfric’s face was split in half.

Silence burdened the room. Aefric and Yuri gaped at Byleth in pure shock. Byleth happily took a blue pencil and began threading in streaks of blue in the green halo.

A bark of laughter escaped Yuri’s chest. His chest was light and full, and the thick iron bars that held his broken pieces together loosened and allowed him to breathe. Another burst of laughter escaped the abandoned prison, then another, and then the inmates began running the asylum. Yuri began wheezing, clutching his own stomach as he laughed uncontrollably.

Then Byleth laughed too, a light and ugly snort. It was the only sound he had ever heard from her. After weeks, the first and only sound Yuri had ever heard from Byleth was laughter. No tears, no screams of pain, no words begging for help, no moans for food - just laughter. A small smile painting the face of the girl as silent as death.

Yuri and Byleth, two prisoners unrestrained for the first time that they could remember, laughed together in defiance.

In the end, Byleth had given the picture to Yuri. She had forgotten about the whole incident after a few months - a few years later, when prompted about that picture and the Goddess, Byleth would just stare blankly in confusion. She didn’t remember those days well.

Yuri remembered them. He remembered the picture too. He had placed the picture between two pages of a book and hidden it inside a desk. It remained in that desk for a very long time, and nobody but him ever knew it existed.

_____________

And then he lost her.

He lost her. Aelfric asked if he could babysit her for the day, and because Yuri was tired and wanted some time to himself and to actually go on a freaking date for once he said yes, and when Byleth’s curfew at 2100 passed she and Aelfric still were not home. Aelfric knew to get her home by curfew. He knew that Byleth had to stay in Abyss for her own safety. He knew.

Yuri combed all of Abyss, top to bottom. Images of Aelfric and Byleth floating face down in the canal flashed throughout his mind. But a rogue stationed at one of the entrances from the monastery into Abyss said that he let Aelfric and Byleth through the entrance only a few hours ago. Apparently Yuri had asked Aelfric to take Byleth to the chapel to pray. The guard hadn’t thought twice about it. Yuri was Byleth’s guardian, but it was Aelfric. Some people were above suspicion. Some people could take children wherever they wanted.

Yuri sprinted back to his room and threw on his spare pilfered Academy uniform, stolen from the closet of a noble boy who should have known better. He pulled on the jacket as he ran, feet thumping in time with the omnipresent dripping of water and the squeak of rats, and his mind was nothing but blaring static as he unscrewed the entrance to one of the least-known entrances into the monastery.

He climbed the ladder at top speed, stopping only to grab the stone handle at the very top of the chute. He pushed full force against the handle, and after a second he heard the hard grind of stone on stone as the mechanism was activated and shifted the statue of Saint Cethlenn to the side. It was one of the finicky trapdoors that was almost impossible to access from above ground, but relatively easy from below. Yuri often had morbid daydreams about Garreg Mach falling under attack and how he would evacuate the entire population of the school out through the tunnels.

Yuri clambered out of the tunnel, hoisting himself into Seteth’s office. He looked around - empty, but the sound of voices echoed from the adjacent room - and quickly stood up so he could push the statue back into place. The voices were Rhea’s familiar cadence and another unfamiliar deep male voice. In any other circumstance, Yuri would have cared about revealing himself in front of a stranger. Today, he barely thought about it. Yuri burst out of Seteth’s office and skidded into the main chambers, ignoring Seteth’s cry of alarm and the rustling sounds of the guard’s armor. Yuri only halted when he was directly in front of Rhea, looking up into her alarmed green eyes.

Yuri bent double, leaning on his knees and gasping for breath. Rhea leaned over him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. The other man in the room was absolutely huge, with big hair and bigger muscles. If it wasn’t for the Academy student’s uniform he would have assumed the man was in his thirties.

“Whoah,” the big guy said. “Where the hell did you come from?”

“Where,” Yuri gasped, hard and heavy, “is Aelfric?”

Rhea paled, eyes widening. Fear. Why fear? “He told me he was visiting you today. What’s wrong?”

“Sounds great! So it’s official that nobody knows where Father Aelfric was, then?” The big guy waved around a thick folder of paper, one hand propped on his hip. “Because I hung out in his office for an hour waiting for him to show up to our appointment. He said it was important, too! All this stuff about helping save me from expulsion. And the guy can’t even show up? We’re talking about my future here!”

“Our guard saw him taking Byleth to the surface!” Yuri cried frantically. The big guy’s brows furrowed, but Yuri couldn’t be assed about him right now. “I can’t find Aelfric or Byleth anywhere in Abyss! Lady Rhea, you have -”

But Rhea was already straightening and turning to the guards. In a tone he had never heard before, she said, “Find Cardinal Aelfric and bring him to me immediately. Shut down the monastery until he and Byleth are found. Nobody in or out.”

“I know where he might have gone.” The big guy flipped the folder open, flashing messy stacks of paper and ripped pages from books. “I got bored waiting around for him, so I went through his desk.” No wonder this guy was about to get expelled. “Never knew one guy could get so into his ancient mausoleum hobby. Would you happen to know anything about this, Lady Rhea?”

Lady Rhea was silent. Yuri was still shaking. He should have been shocked, he should have been horrified. But he wasn’t. Yuri knew. Yuri had always known, he just hadn’t wanted to see it.

“This is all my fault,” Yuri whispered. He wanted to throw up. He knew this sort of nausea - the kind invoked by visceral disgust at something you found within yourself. “I let him take her. I let him run off with her. This is all my…”

The way Aelfric looked at her. The way he was constantly volunteering to babysit or entertain her for the day or homeschool her. Yuri had given him everything he wanted - every unsupervised visit, constant knowledge of her location, everything. Because Yuri had trusted Aelfric.

Trusted. He could be doing anything to her right now, because Yuri had trusted.

Hands, unimaginably large and hairy. Sagging flesh pressing against his own. Was this how Byleth felt right now? Were big hands on her chest? Awful pain, burning like fire. What did Byleth look like when she was in that pain? Did she make the same sounds he had? The squeals and moans. Did they like hearing them from her too?

“Yuri. Yuri, you have to breathe.” Lithe, strong hands enveloped Yuri’s hands and squeezed tightly. The melodic sound of Lady Rhea’s voice barely permeated the haze. “You’re at Garreg Mach, Yuri. You’re in the home of the Goddess. You’re seventeen. I’m here. Nothing may harm you so long as I’m here.”

“This is my fault,” Yuri gasped. “This is all my fault.”

“No, Yuri. Look at me.” Yuri shuddered a final breath before looking up at Rhea. Her expression was intent, but she was still so calm and composed. Yuri couldn’t say the same at all. “This is my fault. I didn’t share my suspicions with you. I’m the one who encouraged you to trust him. This was - this was all me.”

It was?

Rhea had known? Rhea had known that Aelfric wasn’t honest? She had known that Aelfric would take Byleth and she hadn’t said anything -

“I know.” Rhea’s expression creased, and a deep pain surfaced in her features. “I just thought…he loved her mother as I once did. Surely he would feel the same as I do…but I suppose not. People still disappoint.”

Yuri tugged his hands out of Rhea’s, and she let them go. He scrubbed at his face, constantly fighting to keep hold of his breaths and sanity. He was not about to have another stupid flashback. He wasn’t. Not in Garreg Mach and not in front of the stupid Archbishop. He wasn’t going to catastrophize. Byleth was fine. He had fucked up and failed her and it’s all his fault that terrible things are definitely happening to her right now, but it was fine.

“I hate men so damned much,” Yuri muttered miserably. Some part of him was appalled that he had cursed in front of the archbishop, but every other part of him was far more concerned with far more important things. “I’m never trusting a man again. All men do is make children suffer.”

The big guy laughed awkwardly, passing the file folder to the somber Rhea before scrubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “On behalf of men, I guess I have to apologize. I like to think we’re not all that bad…not that I can blame a - um, you, for how you feel. Tell you what, alright?” The big guy flexed an arm, as if he was at a bar trying to impress Yuri, and clapped his hand on his admittedly impressive bicep. “I’ll save this little girl myself! I’ll chase down Father Aelfric, kick his ass, get that little girl safely home, and redeem men in the eyes of women and - ah, you, everywhere! Or my name ain’t Balthus von Adalbrecht!”

A von Adalbrecht. Great. Yuri couldn’t repress the sneer. “Your uncle yells the name of his wife’s brother in bed.”

Balthus stared at Yuri blankly. “How do you know that?”

“How do you think?”

“Oh. Oh! Oh, gross! Why’d you have to say that, man!”

“Blame him,” Yuri snapped. “I don’t need the help of some meathead nobleman. I’ll rescue her myself.”

But Balthus just shrugged - as if this really was such a simple thing. “Why can’t we both rescue her?”

“Because I don’t know you!”

“I just introduced myself. Balthazar von Adalbrecht, call me Balthus.” Balthus stuck out his hand, waiting expectantly for a handshake. “And who’re you supposed to be, kid from nowhere?”

“I’m nobody. You ought to forget you ever saw me.” Rhea was already going to give him an earful over allowing himself to be seen. But Balthus was standing so expectantly, and despite that awful little trivia Yuri just shared he was still looking him in the eyes. “What do you even want from me?”

“What, you think that just because I want to help it means I want something from you?” Yes, that was exactly what Yuri thought. He wasn’t stupid. “Listen, pal. Even nobodies need some help here and there. I’m not exactly a saint, but any half-decent person would want to help you out. Since I’m the strongest, coolest guy in Garreg Mach, that means I have to help. It’s not exactly complicated.”

“There’s no such thing as decent people,” Yuri said sourly.

Balthus whistled. “You’re a regular beam of sunshine, aren’tcha?”

“I haven’t seen the sun in weeks.”

“You haven’t what now?”

“Take Balthus with you, Yuri.” Lady Rhea’s tone brooked no argument, and Yuri had to give up. It was always a waste of time arguing with a noble. They would just take what they wanted anyway. “You two will take our elite church knights and rescue Byleth. I can lead the way - I think I know where Aelfric and Byleth are.” Rhea’s expression darkened, sending something crawling up Yuri’s spine. Seeing a dangerous expression on her felt…well, it felt more dangerous than usual. “I suspect he is desecrating a corpse right now.”

“Wow,” Balthus said, impressed. “What the hell did I just walk into?”

“Captain Jeralt will arrive with the forces soon. We’ll leave then.” Rhea turned around, and Yuri and Balthus exchanged troubled looks. Her voice was poisonous. If she sounded like this, what expression was she hiding so carefully? “Aelfric will learn what Byleth’s true family is capable of.”

“Hell yeah!” Balthus cried, pumping a fist. “Go, fam!”

“We aren’t fam!” Yuri snapped. “What does that even mean?”

“But Lady Rhea just said that the bad guy’s gonna learn what -”

“That doesn’t make you fam.”

“But I’m on the team, and the team’s fam, so -”

“What is fam!”

At the time, Yuri’s only consolation had been the fact that he wouldn’t have to deal with Balthus for very long. He was a strong fighter with a compassionate heart, but if Yuri never saw another wealthy and spoiled nobleman again it would be too soon. Yuri hadn’t noticed when Byleth entered his heart, but that final and disastrous kidnapping session had proven it - whether they wielded the weapon or were the weapon, the people closest to you always hurt the most. Better to close your heart.

There were a lot of things Yuri hated about himself. The list was too long to count. But there was always one thing about himself that Yuri hated the most. One thing he just couldn’t stand.

Yuri just couldn’t close his heart. He just couldn’t do it. Every time he failed, and every time he had regretted it. There was no benefit to letting people in. He just couldn’t stop.

But Balthus had saved Byleth’s life that day. So maybe there was a benefit or two. Every once in a great while.

If you were lucky.

_________

Three days after Yuri and a moron saved a little girl from a bastard, Abyss received a visitor.

Yuri received him outside the ruined classroom. It would probably be more professional to bring him to Yuri’s office or something, but Yuri frankly intended to get rid of him as quickly as possible. Team up with the church knights once and suddenly they think that they have the right to go stomping all around Abyss. But you couldn’t exactly tell the captain of the church knights to get off your lawn, so Yuri told Byleth that he would be back in a few minutes and stood outside the classroom in increasingly frustrated wait.

Byleth had made big eyes at him. She obviously hadn’t wanted him to go. Ugh. He really hoped that this wouldn’t turn into a surprise administrative meeting that took five hours and never accepted Yuri’s input into anything. Yuri was re-teaching Byleth poker - she had undoubtedly already learned before she lost her memory, which was another strike against the ‘secret lovechild of Lady Rhea’ theory that had been admittedly punctured by the corpse of her mother - and she was unsurprisingly excellent at it. Girl was a genius in math.

But Jeralt didn’t show up wearing armor. He was wearing casual, battered furs, leather, and a familiar canvas jacket. Surface people were always tense and anxious in Abyss, expecting to get mugged by rats with daggers at any moment, but there was a different quality about Jeralt’s anxiety. He seemed as if he was steeling himself for something.

“Yuri.” Jeralt’s voice was always attractively husky, but it was closer to hoarse now. “Doing well?”

Yuri bowed, noting the bandage on Jeralt’s temple. “Yes, sir. All healed up. And you? That hit you took looked nasty.”

Jeralt huffed a laugh, rubbing the bandage. “I’ve taken hits from bigger monsters. Don’t worry about it. I would have come to visit earlier, but they only let me out of bed this morning.” Jeralt cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. “Ah…is Byleth doing alright?”

“She’s been having nightmares, but she’s fine.”

“She is?” Jeralt looked unreasonably alarmed. “Is she waking up at night? What are you doing to help? Tea -”

“She’s been sleeping in my bed the past few nights, so I’m keeping an eye on her.” Yuri eyed Jeralt, suspicions only growing. There was something off about this conversation. “Can I help you, captain?”

“Right. Ah, right.” Jeralt shifted again and coughed. Mysteriously, he took off his cap and held it tightly. “I was hoping to drop in and say hello. See how she is.”

Like hell he would.

“Byleth is busy doing her schoolwork.” Yuri’s voice could have frozen a flame. “You’ll have to come back later.”

“We don’t have to talk.” There was something old and weary in Jeralt. His husky voice was more of a rasp. “I just want to see her.”

Before he could restrain himself, Yuri snapped, “And why do you want to see her so badly?”

Snapping at the captain of the church knights. Fantastic. This was how you protected people - by alienating everybody else who wanted to help. That would do it.

Jeralt did want to help. The man had been withdrawn and quiet during their rescue mission, but he had been the first to rescue Byleth’s mother’s corpse and prevent it from melting into the monster. He probably would have been the first to rescue Byleth if Yuri hadn’t gotten there first - if Yuri hadn’t used a careful vein of magic to swap positions with her. Byleth had landed safely near the entrance and Aelfric had found a nasty surprise when he turned to look down upon a girl laid out on an altar and came eye-to-eye with Yuri’s dagger.

But that didn’t mean anything. Aelfric had helped Yuri and Byleth too, and look where that got them. Yuri didn’t know anything about Jeralt. He could have ulterior motives. He worked closely with Rhea, who was nothing but ulterior motives. The only person Yuri was certain didn’t have ulterior motives was Balthus, who was just clearly too stupid.

Jeralt didn’t grow angry or defensive. He just looked a little sad. Yuri crossed his arms, fighting the urge to bristle. “How are you holding up, kid?”

“I wasn’t the one who was kidnapped.”

Jeralt huffed a small laugh. “It ain’t exactly easy on the onlookers, either. It’s alright if you’re not alright.”

“I’ll persevere somehow.” Yuri was quickly losing track of this conversation. Why was Jeralt asking about this? “Did Rhea tell you to check up on us?

“Rhea doesn’t know I’m here. She’s…strongly encouraged me to stay away from Abyss.” Jeralt’s mouth twisted unhappily. “She’s right. I really shouldn’t be here. I just…wanted to see her.”

“And why is that?”

For a long, long moment, Jeralt didn’t answer. Great. He couldn’t even think of a good lie. He couldn’t even say that he wanted to make sure she wasn’t injured, or assure himself that he had gotten her out of there intact - Yuri would have even believed those bland excuses. But he had nothing to say for himself at all. How suspect.

The door creaked open, and Yuri spun around just in time to see Byleth poking her head out of the classroom. Yuri opened his mouth, ready to reprimand her and shuffle her quickly back inside where no suspicious men resided, but he was too slow. The second Byleth saw Jeralt her eyes widened, and Yuri saw her eyes light up for the first time.

“Jeralt!” Byleth cried.

She dived forwards, and Jeralt automatically crouched down to accept the hug. They squeezed each other tightly - Byleth hanging on for dear life, Jeralt fighting shuddering breaths. His hand pressed on the back of her lead, warm and protective.

So she could speak. Yuri had been wondering. Her first word of her new life was…Jeralt. That was fine. Good for her. And Jeralt.

“Hey, kid,” Jeralt rasped, throat thick. “How’ve you been?”

Byleth patted the top of his head.

Alright, that was enough. Yuri took the white collar of Byleth’s neat little navy blue dress, pulling gently until he reeled her back away from Jeralt. The effect was somewhat like a scruffed kitten, but whatever worked. Yuri’s carefully tied puffy twin pigtails didn’t help the kitten impression.

“Don’t run towards strange people,” Yuri scolded. “This is why you keep getting kidnapped.”

Byleth wriggled around until Yuri finally sighed and released her. Jeralt slowly rose, but Byleth ran back towards him and tugged hard at his jacket. Jeralt raised a patient eyebrow, watching Byleth carefully.

Yuri had distantly noticed it before, but now that Byleth drew attention to the jacket it was obvious. It was a very familiar jacket. Not identical to Byleth’s old one - the giant canvas jacket that she never took off - but it was similar in fit and cut.

“What do you need?” Jeralt asked. Byleth tugged harder at the jacket, as if she was trying to pull it off him. “Use your words, kid. You can do it.” Byleth heroically attempted to rip the jacket from Jeralt’s body. Yuri made a strangled noise, but Jeralt didn’t blink. “You have to start speaking up sometime. I bet Yuri over there wants to hear your voice too.”

Byleth’s eyebrows ticked together, but she finally released the jacket. She stared fixedly at Jeralt, who amicably allowed himself to be stared at. Finally, she said, “Aelfric lost jacket.”

Automatically, Yuri corrected, “Aelfric lost my jacket.”

“Aelfric lost my jacket,” Byleth parroted. She poked at Jeralt’s canvas jacket again. “I want the jacket again.”

Turned out that there was one way Byleth could be even more trouble - opening her mouth. Yuri sighed, already regretting his life. “Byleth, you’re being incredibly rude. You can’t just ask adults to -”

But Jeralt was already shucking his jacket, with no hesitation or thought, and passing it to Byleth. She brightened, clutching the thick material tightly and burying her face in it. She smelled it deeply, making Jeralt’s expression crease into something absolutely unfamiliar to Yuri, before swinging the jacket on and allowing it to swallow her up yet again. This edition went to her knees, looking far more like a baggy coat than anything else, but she beamed up at Jeralt in absolute joy anyway. She turned to Yuri, spreading her arms out and silently bragging about how great her new jacket was.

Something that should have been obvious weeks ago suddenly became extremely obvious. “You’re the one who gave her that first jacket. The one she never took off.”

“She never took it off?” Jeralt smiled a little, but the weight on his shoulders only seemed to grow. “I gave it to her after I rescued her from her kidnappers last time. She was - ah, she just seemed cold. I assumed she had thrown it away or something.”

“You’re the one who rescued her?” Hadn’t Lady Rhea mentioned something about this? “Wait - are you the one who brought Byleth to Garreg Mach?”

“Yup. It’s why I wanted to see her again.” Jeralt patted the top of Byleth’s head, who swelled her chest in pride. “She’s picked up a habit of getting into trouble.”

That did explain it. No wonder he was invested. After so much work invested in keeping her alive, Yuri would want to check up on her too. Why couldn’t he just say that?

Byleth looked seriously up at Jeralt. “Thank you for the jacket.”

“I knew you had manners in there somewhere.” Jeralt crouched down again, looking just above Byleth’s head. Yuri had noted weeks ago that she didn’t like eye contact, but it seemed that Jeralt knew that too. “Try not to lose that one. But if you do, come right back to me and I’ll give you another one. Alright?”

Byleth nodded.

Jeralt sighed. He put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. Byleth leaned into the touch a little. “Be more careful from now on. Your world will only grow more dangerous as you get older. You have to be ready, so train hard.” Impulsively, he took the cap off his head and placed it on her own. It fell over her eyes immediately, far too large for her, but she hurriedly pushed it upwards. “Listen to that brother of yours. His life looks hard enough already, so don’t make it any harder.”

Byleth’s eyes widened. “Brother?”

“Brother?” Yuri squawked. “Please, Captain, Rhea hired me to supervise her. This is just an arrangement.”

Jeralt shifted to look at him, and Yuri saw flint in his eyes for the first time. “We need to separate Byleth from her past life even further. We don’t know if Aelfric told anybody about the identity of Byleth’s mother. Connecting her to you is safest for both of you. Guess I should have asked first, but it’s a matter of her safety.”

“This is an arrangement.”

“Then arrange a fake relationship. You need some excuse for why you’re joined at the hip. Pretend she’s some orphan you took in under your wing - it’s not even a lie.” Jeralt straightened, turning to look at Yuri for the first time. His expression was somber and serious, but he looked smaller without his jacket. “Look, kid. I admit I wasn’t happy when Rhea passed her off to you. Rhea has her own reasons for everything she does, and you’re…”

He trailed off, clearly struggling for political correctness, before Yuri took pity on him. “An ex-whore who moonlights as Rhea’s lackey?”

“Saints, kid, that’s not what I was about to say -”

“What’s a whore?” Byleth asked loudly.

Yuri looked down at her. “Somebody who’s so good at something that they never do it for free.” Byleth nodded sagely, and Yuri looked back up at Jeralt. Jeralt didn’t seem happy, but Yuri wasn’t paid enough to entertain him. “And even if you weren’t crass enough to say it, it’s the truth. You don’t trust Rhea and I do whatever she says. Trust me, Captain, I wouldn’t be happy either. You don’t have to cozy up to me.”

“I wasn’t happy because you’re seventeen years old,” Jeralt said firmly. Yuri rolled his eyes. Not this shit again. What was with adult men always reminding him that he was in his teens? Did they get off on it or something? “I knew Rhea would put her with somebody she trusted absolutely. I just didn’t want that person to be you.”

Of course he didn’t! Who the hell would? Yuri was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion about Jeralt’s relationship to Byleth - nobody else would have thought to rescue a corpse before an imminent battle - and no self-respecting father would want their daughter around somebody like Yuri. Byleth was pure and innocent. As innocent as a thirteen year old could ever be - wiped clean of her old life, completely noncognizant of the world around her. How often had she seen the sun since she met Yuri? She hadn’t even spoken before now. The girl had a damned imaginary friend, for heaven’s sake. Byleth was innocent in every way, and Yuri was filthy.

“Saints, kid, don’t give me that face. It’s not because of your background. It’s just obvious that you have more than enough on your plate. Don’t you have a city to govern? Evil errands to run for Rhea? I just don’t know how the hell you have time.”

“Do you think I can’t do it?” Yuri snapped. “I have more than one skillset, you know.”

Jeralt exhaled heavily, scrubbing his face. “You are the least charitable - never mind.” He was uncharitable? Maybe he just didn’t buy stupid lies. “None of this is coming out right. What I’m trying to say is that you need whatever help you can get. Calling yourself siblings would make your life easier. But I’m hardly going to force you into it. Do whatever you want, kid. I’m not in charge of you.” Slightly quieter, he said, “I’m not in charge of either of you.”

Yuri wanted to call Jeralt a bad father. He knew already that Jeralt was probably the best father he’d ever met. Taking up a job with somebody he clearly hated for the sake of staying near a daughter he was barely allowed to see. Who he couldn’t even claim, because some mysteriously evil people were after her and she was safest in complete anonymity. Some fathers would cheer at the opportunity to ditch their daughters, but the pain in Jeralt’s voice was real. And yet he wanted to tie her to Yuri.

It would only contaminate her. He was already ruining her. Yuri had to stay away, he had to keep her out - if only for her own sake. To protect her from Yuri, and to protect Yuri from the world. Yuri couldn’t let anybody else inside. Too dangerous for everybody.

But refusing Jeralt’s proposal wouldn’t protect her from the world. And maybe a father was thinking about a factor that Yuri had missed completely.

The fact that her mother was a shockingly well-preserved corpse and her father had to disown her. Rhea was somehow related to her, which was bad enough, but she couldn’t claim her either. Even Yuri had a mother. To the world, Byleth was alone. That was…

“Fine.” Yuri had lost this battle. He had probably also lost the war. Whatever. He fought for his own side anyway. “But I won’t force her to call me that. She’s not terribly attached to me.”

It was the rational thought. Yuri had repeatedly left her alone with a freak and allowed her to get kidnapped again. It was a miracle her real family hadn’t fired Yuri the second she got kidnapped.

But Byleth’s brow furrowed in outrage. Yuri fought the urge to startle - he had almost forgotten she was there. “I like you.”

The words stopped Yuri short. He wasn’t sure why. They weren’t strange words, were they?

His hesitation must have been obvious, even to Byleth, because she promptly grabbed him in a giant hug. It was small, comforting, and warm. Her small body fit nicely next to his, and when he folded his arms over her he could almost envelop her.

Jeralt just gave him a wry grin. “I guess you were too far away to hear. Remember how I was right next to you when you swapped positions with her?” Yuri nodded. “When she appeared in your place, I scooped her up and put her on my horse immediately. I think she knew what had happened. She called out your name. Damn near tried to jump from my horse and run towards you too.”

That didn’t seem right. But she had hugged him after the fight, hadn’t she? Balthus had called it adorable. Come to think of it, Balthus had asked if Byleth was his sister too…Yuri hadn’t known what to say. He didn’t know what to say now.

Jeralt propped a hand on a hip, smiling. “You see that, Byleth? Yuri didn’t know you liked him. From now on you’ll have to speak up and tell him you like him a lot.” Byleth nodded fastidiously. “Attagirl. Hey, can you take that book from the inside pocket and pass it to your brother? It has something he might want to see.”

Byleth eagerly separated from Yuri and completed the errand, pulling out a small book from a jacket pocket and passing it to Yuri. Yuri opened it and began flipping through it, just barely catching scraps of documents and notes that came slipping out.

“Check the last few pages,” Jeralt said. “We found it in Aelfric’s things. Actually, that klepto student found it. Is that guy a friend of yours or something?”

“Or something,” Yuri muttered.

Byleth stared up at Jeralt. “Is Balthus my brother too?”

“No,” Yuri said.

Jeralt shrugged. “If you want. He’s rich, so maybe you can fleece him.”

“I already tried,” Yuri said distantly, flipping through the book. Something about four crests…notes on a very familiar crest. Balthus’ pilfered paperwork had already revealed that Aelfric had targeted him for his crest. That had burned. Yuri was trying not to think about it. “He’s broke and only attracted to older women.”

Pity, too - Yuri could have had an excellent sucker on that reel. He made his move during the ‘post-rescue a little girl drinking party!’, but Balthus just pointedly pretended he didn’t pick up on what Yuri was doing and started talking loudly about how Yuri reminded him of a hypothetical younger brother. It was frustrating. Yuri still didn’t know why Balthus had helped him. There was probably a secret motive that Yuri just hadn’t picked up on yet. Or maybe Balthus actually -

Yuri stopped short. This page was about Balthus. About the von Adalbrechts, and some sort of mysterious crest in their family legend. Right alongside a personality profile on Balthus…notes on his attendance and conduct issues…character notes…records of meetings and conversations with Balthus…lists of broken school rules…apparently psychologically unstable…

Yuri flipped a page backwards. It was on him. He caught a few paragraphs on his history before he quickly flipped forward. He didn’t want to know what Aelfric thought of his personality. Probably just called him a slut for two straight pages. Definitely marked him down as psychologically unstable.

But there were people besides Yuri and Balthus in the notebook. Right after Balthus’ incomplete profile, there was another name and short descriptor. Constance von Nuvelle. Another rich bitch noblewoman. Current student of the Fhirdiad School of Sorcery…extremely high grades for her first few years at the school before they plummeted half a year ago. Now at risk of dropping out. Extensive record of conduct issues, same as Balthus. Aelfric made note of…severe psychological instability, whatever that meant. And a certain crest…

Yuri flipped through Constance’s profile until he found another. Hapi, no last name - a commoner. Extensive hypothesizing on the power of her crest and little information about her. Current resident of a church in the middle of nowhere. Psychologically unstable.

“This explains why Aelfric was having those private meetings with Balthus,” Yuri muttered. “I guess we both have powerful crests. These two women must also have powerful crests…but why keep tabs on them specifically? Why keep tabs on all of us?”

“Aelfric talked about blood a lot,” Byleth said seriously. Yuri really shouldn’t have left him alone with her.

“I should contact Lady Rhea about this,” Yuri said. He continued flipping through the book - going through Yuri Leclarc, Balthus von Adalbrecht, Constance von Nuvelle, and Hapi’s profiles again and again. Four strangers placed right next to each other, thrown together by fate. “She’ll definitely be interested in learning about Constance and Hapi.”

Byleth peered over his arm, trying to take a glance at the book. Yuri let her. She could barely read. Maybe secrets would incentivize her to keep learning. “Are they important?”

“Probably not,” Yuri said.

But even then, he had lied. Even then, he had already known.

Call it intuition.

#my writing #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #dimileth #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #claude von riegan #yuri leclerc #byleth eisner #fun fact. writing claude in his story was so incredibly fun #that i stopped writing this and turned around and wrote a #60k claude POV fic #instead of finishing this.#the claude pov fic is exclusively for me nobody will read it that is fine but it is fucking insane.

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saturnianprincess · 2 years

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[pick a card] love messages

A short pick-a-card where I channel messages from your current lover/future lover/soulmate or just anyone with who you are or will be romantically involved.

Choose any group group from 1-4 or whichever bear you feel drawn to the most. As always take what resonates and let the rest fly! Hope you enjoy this reading :)

[Group 1] blue bear

Hey sunshine,

I know you are manifesting me and guess what even I am manifesting you! Life has just been about surviving for you lately and trust me I can feel that you have gone through a lot. I am proud of you for being a survivor but please don't feel hopeless, the skies get sunny and clear after the storm. I promise to be the light at the end of your tunnel. You don't have to do this alone, I am always there supporting you (even if I may not be there physically). Please don't dwell on what happened, I know I can't erase that but I promise you wouldn't have to deal with such a thing ever again. I will protect you!

Yours truly

[Some of you who chose this pile have been dwelling a lot about the past. Your future lover/person is saying that you need to heal yourself and let go of the past so that there is space for them to be a part of your life. Keep manifesting the qualities you want your future person to have and try to embody those qualities yourself as well. I am also sensing that some of you have detached yourself from your emotions due to some trauma you may have experienced (i am sorry you had to go through that) but, it's now time to heal it. Also, be open to change don't resist it! Trust the universe, it has some beautiful things planned for you.]

a song from them:

[Group 2] pink bear

hey lover,

How are you? Have you been getting those messages I keep sending you? Yes, it's me trying to connect with you. I am currently working on myself, I might have come across as too arrogant but I swear it's just a facade to protect myself. I have learned a lot of lessons that life has taught me and I am practicing to become the best version of myself for you. I want to build a home with you. A cute family where there's so much love flowing amongst us. I really just want to hold you so tight and give you all my love. I want to be able to give you everything you desire and even more.

Always and forever yours

[Omg, so much lovey-dovey energy in this reading it's so cute! For some of your future lover's higher self is trying to connect with you they are referring to signs or symbols you may see repetitively. Some of you may have met this person recently or you do not know them that well. They have this provider energy, and they really want to fill your cup with love!! Connect to your subconscious to connect with their energy. They are sending you loads and loads of love!]

a song from them:

[Group 3] purple bear

Hey soulmate,

Yeah, I just can't believe that you are real. Damn, I never thought an angel like you could even exist. you are truly my wish come true and I'm so grateful to have you in my life. We really are meant to be. I feel like if I wasn't there at that place that day I might not have ever met you and ngl this does scare me a bit. But I also know your soul has been intertwined with mine for eons and eons. I'm sorry that I have been so impulsive lately but I swear I want to experience life to the fullest with you so I just cannot stay still with you around! My heart gets all fuzzy when I am with you. I can't wait to see the world with you!!!

your fav boy/girl/person,

[Your future lover/spouse is giving me a golden retriever type of energy they are just buzzing with excitement when you are with them. Very wholesome energy! You both meet in a divinely orchestrated manner, it is a fated union of two souls. You might meet them soon or have seen them in your dreams or heard of them through other people. They are mesmerized by your presence.]

a song from them:

[Group 4] yellow bear

Hi y/n,

Life has been shitty to me. This turmoil that I am going through has made me feel like I am incapable of love. I don't know why but I don't have the courage to open my heart again. I have spent sleepless nights thinking about why did I go through that, I did my best but I guess I didn't deserve that. I know you are out there and I know you would never do such a thing but it's hard to keep hope when I see it being taken away from me day by day. But I am thankful for you, I really am. You have taught me that I can heal my heart and trust you to keep it safe. I love you!

Love,

[Your future spouse has been going through a tower moment. They are stressed and anxious about their future. Some of them have been betrayed by a person they trusted dearly while for others they are dealing with their own shadow. All in all a bit of heavy energy for this pile. You are the universe's gift to them and they feel blessed for you.]

a song from them:

#tarotcommunity #tarot cards #pick a card #future spouse #future lovers #romantic #messages from future spouse #Spotify #pariposts

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vanwritesfan-fiction · 9 months

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Request: I saw this writing prompt and I wondered if you could do it for Travis? "What if someone sees us"; Like for a secret relationship thing?

originally requested by @kelcemenow

Thanks for sharing this with me!! I needed to feed the Travis fans tonight!

“Travis, what if someone sees us?” He looked back at you, a huge grin on his face as he drug you through the hallways of Arrowhead.

You and Travis had only been dating for a couple of months, and you both decided it would be best to keep your relationship a secret from peering eyes. Travis’ last relationship was very public, making the breakup extremely hard, and he cared too much about you to put you through the same thing. You would support him at his games, but usually would meet him in the player’s parking area after the game ended, and drive home together.

Tonight, after the game was over, you found him waiting for you as you exited the stands.

Your short legs struggled to keep up with the 6'5" tight end. He had just won the AFC championship, and the first person he looked for when he was celebrating on the field was you. He didn’t care who knew about your relationship anymore, especially if it meant he couldn’t share his greatest moments with the person he loved.

You shielded your eyes as you took in the bright lights of the field on the other side of the tunnel. The field was still full of celebrating players, hugging their family members as red and white confetti fell from the sky.

Once you had reached the 50 yard line, Travis turned to you, pulling you into his body. There were at least five cameras from different networks focused on the two of you, waiting to see what would transpire. When you realized what Travis was doing, your heart started racing. “Travis, you don’t have to do this”, you whispered as he grazed his hand along your cheek. “I don’t want to hide anymore, Y/N. I love you and I want everyone to know it.” He tipped your chin up, giving you a smile before he pulled you in for a kiss, both passionate and lingering.

Your hands were shaking when he pulled away. You had waited for this moment for so long, but you never imagined it would pan out this way. “I love you too, Travis.” You kissed him again, blushing when you saw yourself on the giant screen across the field.

#travis kelce fluff #travis kelce fic #travis kelce imagine #travis kelce x reader #travis kelce #nfl fan fic #nfl fic #nfl fluff #nfl imagine

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lady-charinette · 9 months

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Convince me to watch Buddy Daddies, if you please?

*sips tea*

I will make a powerpoint presentation if this very biased, very comprehensive list still doesnt convince you.

Reasons to watch Buddy Daddies:

the songs are catchy (listen to SHOCK by Ayase, you'll be dancing in your living room or crawling on the walls)

its a hitmen trying to parent action rom(?)-com with very relatable fresh parent moments, yakuza domestic violence scenes and a short if on the nose critique on Japan's bogus complicated paperwork process while Kazuki and Rei try to enroll Miri into daycare and forging getting all the neccessary documents and forms together

features a motherly, overzealous best friend with past trauma-coded hitman Kazuki, who's more the 'brains' aka strategist of a hitmen duo together with deadpan, possessed-by-a-cat-spiritiually hikikomori who knows his way better around a gun or 100 than he does in a grocery store Rei.

the best assassin ever doesn't know how to cook for shit, his signature dish is french toast

the mothers of the other kids Miri plays with at daycare oggle Rei and Kazuki (understandable since they're two hot single dads ahem)

there's a mom group chat where the chat explodes with messages like "OIL BARON?! I KNEW THEY SMELLED OF OLD MONEY!", "they r hot :D" & rumors about the family situation in general

the jokes/compliments the mom's give to Rei "he's very cool! he has that hitman aura!"

Miri's biological dad gets killed during a deadly altercation with Kazuki and Rei in a shootout, her only other biological relative is her mom, who abandoned Miri in order to pursue a singing career with an abusive boyfriend but is trying to get around & wants Miri back

Kazuki is a deadly housewife

central themes: family relations, blood doesn't mean shit, the horrendous struggles of raising a kid with 0 knowledge of how to raise kids, sacrifice, implied stigma of two men raising a child alone + stigma against single mothers, generational trauma & overcoming trauma as adults, sometimes the only light at the end of the tunnel is your completely platonic co-worker who offers to cut your hair, a warm bath and gets your life together so you don't die alone

Rei has an undercut

Miri is the cutest ball of energy and sass that only a small child possesses

some boy has a crush on Miri but gets the Death StareTM by her two overprotective Papas

the tough, cutthroat life of a kindergartener

the overlapping themes of how important family is & how biological family can have the types of people in your life you absolutely want and have to cut off in order to be healthy, adjusted adult

love being the driving force to overcome obstacles, grief being the love with nowhere to go and the suffocating emptiness being replaced by a mismatched found family of two assassins and an orphan toddler who cook together and win races together

the food looks good

how grief and generational/familial trauma can cripple people in different ways and how traumatized people can heal together and become each-other's strength

alcohol is not the answer kids (oh and killing too)

the concept of motherhood: Ep 3. feat. Kazuki's sexist comment about mothers that are incapable of hating their own children. Misaki (Miri's mom) resents her daughter for destroying her dreams, Kazuki says that raising a kid is supposed to come naturally to a mother. He changes his tune later when he sees how difficult it is raising Miri & how Misaki genuinely tried until she was disappointed and traumatized by her own life & the arrival of an unwanted child.

the concept of fatherhood as introduced by Miri: "A papa is someone who will save you from trouble!". Whereas the fathers through the rest of the cast can be either described as "tormenters", "absent" or "sir"s.

good character building for almost all the characters

Bad Guy Ogino gets killed in a very poetic way, *mwah*

speaking of: creepy assassin Ogino keeps a notebook of people he's killed & what their last words were. Basically the teenage girl journaling experience but for deranged assassins

all in all you'll fall in love with the characters and laugh and cry until you dehydrate yourself

Send me another ask if you end up watching it & tell me what you think! :D

#buddy daddies #bd #miri unasaka #kazuki kurusu #rei suwa #anime rec #ask #anon ask #anon

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blindmagdalena · 1 year

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This headcanon/fic hybrid has been updated and partially rewritten to have a proper beginning, more fleshed out middle, a new ending, and better perspective. You can find it here! Anonymous asked:

Lionlander?! Idea!

What if I'm some way somehow S/o ran into Homelander and a whole scenario played out like the Lion with the thorn stuck in his paw and Homelander being the lion of course and little s/I bring the mouse lol. I can imagine it now! Homelander being in some situation where he can't believe he actually needs help (not sure what kind of situation that would be lol) uhhh how could the great Homelander get himself stuck in this mess?! Then little short adorable s/o comes along just ordinary and minding her own business and notices poor Homelander in his situation she doesn't laugh or get scared despite his grumpiness towards her instead she just smiles sweetly and comes over and helps him... Being completely warm and friendly wanting to make a new friend rather than run away...

OOHHH you know, I've been pondering the repercussions of a possible "kryptonite" for Homelander being discovered. An Anti-V, if you will. Imagine he's soaring through the sky and hears something whistling through the air behind him. Some kind of projectile? a small missile, maybe? It's nothing he hasn't handled before. It could blow up in his hand and he would be fine.

In that split second he has to react, he decides to forego dodging it, and see where it's coming from, honing in his vision, except as it gets nearer, his vision begins to tunnel. What the fuck? His reflexes slow, and before he knows it, the projectile strikes him in the chest, fumes filling his lungs and coating his skin. He feels like he's been turned inside out. Suddenly he's plummeting towards the ground, and crashes directly into your backyard, an eruption of snow and yard furniture.

He's out like a light, and when you muster up the courage to approach him, he's not moving. Oh god, he's not breathing. In your panic, your brain shuts off, and you act without thinking.

When Homelander comes to, he's being shaken. No, compressed, hands over his chest, pulsing again and again in a rhythm. Warm lips press against his, and a rush of air fills his lungs. His eyes snap open, and out of pure reflex, he shoves you away from him, sitting up with a frenzied look in his eyes.

You should have flown back thirty feet with a shove like that. Instead, you only fell back onto your ass. Homelander's hands are shaking as he looks at them, and he can feel blood dripping from his ears, taste it in his mouth. He's disoriented, his whole body feels heavy. He's having trouble breathing, and his heart is pounding.

"Someone tried to kill me," he rasps in disbelief. Not surprised that someone tried, but that someone very nearly succeeded. "Someone... Someone tried to fucking kill me," he says again, growing more hysteric the more the pain sets in.

He's wild-eyed, breathing erratic, and you're afraid he's about to put himself into cardiac arrest. He may not have his usual strength, but the brutal way he punched his palm into your chest was still no joke.

"Homelander!" You address sharply, trying to rein in your own bubbling panic. What if whoever tried to kill him is coming for him? "I can help you, okay? Let me help you."

Maybe it's something in the tone of your voice, equal parts authoritative and compassionate, or maybe it's the degree of his vulnerability sinking in, but after a second of dumbfounded staring, Homelander nods.

It's pure adrenaline that gives you the strength to help him into your house. He's practically dead weight in your arms, barely keeping himself on his feet as you both stumble into your living room. The height difference does neither of you any favors.

You get him down onto the couch before fetching a wet rag and a first aid kit. As you lean over him, he sees a mottled mark blossoming darkly across the center of your chest, just under your collarbone, approximately the size of his palm.

Without thinking, he reaches up to touch it. You startle, looking down where he touches. You now notice the beginnings of the bruise, too. "Don't worry about me," you tell him, as comforting as you can muster. It stings where he presses his fingers in, the skin tender. You grasp his wrist and gently lay it back down at his side.

I'm not worried about you, he thinks numbly. "That should have caved in your chest."

"Guess it's my lucky day, then," you say absently, more focused on using a wet cloth to wipe away the blood from his temple, up into his hairline, seeking the injury. You're meticulous but gentle in the way you handle him, cupping the side of his face to turn him one way, then another. "I think these need stitches," you say, brows furrowed. Homelander's gaze lingers on your lips as you speak.

What kind of person sees someone fall out of the fucking sky, and then thinks to give them CPR?

"I'm calling an ambulance," you say, moving to stand. Homelander catches you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

"No, no, not... Don't do that," he says, screwing his eyes shut briefly. No one else can know that this happened. Besides, if those psychopaths are still out there, it will draw them right to him. "Too much attention, I just... give me a fucking minute," he says, flexing his hands. They still feel weak, tingling like they've fallen asleep, but the pain is beginning to abate.

Whatever was done to him, it doesn't seem to be permanent.

Thank fucking Christ.

"Okay," you say tentatively. Instead, you continue wiping the blood from his face, gently rubbing it from his temples, down his jaw. Homelander watches you like a hawk, rolling his fingers in and out of fists, gradually feeling his strength return to him.

He's unaccustomed to the way you're handling him. One hand cupping his jaw, ginger in the way you move his head, though only when you absolutely need to. The concern wrinkled between your brows is so palpable, so sincere, he almost forgets you're strangers.

"What're you doing?" He asks, voice low, nearly a growl.

You pause, looking down to meet his eye. "Oh, I just... There's still blood, and I didn't want to leave you alone."

Your response tightens something in his chest, like a steel coil wrung too tight. It's uncomfortable. He feels small, vulnerable, and the tenderness of your touch is doing nothing for the feel of it.

"I don't need you," he snaps defensively. "I'm fine."

"Okay," you respond, aggravatingly calm. Still soothing. "What do you need?"

Homelander opens his mouth, but hesitates. Your earnestness is infuriating, waiting on baited breath for what you can do for him. He closes his mouth, jaw tight. His gaze flickers back down to the bruise on your chest. It's darker now, varying shades of purple and yellow fading into one another.

Looking back up at you, Homelander evens his expression. "Close the blinds," he says, gesturing with his head to the window, where you have twinkling white Christmas lights strung up. "I need to lay low awhile." Though he can feel his powers steadily returning, it would be foolish to fly before nightfall. Whoever shot at him could have another round loaded and waiting. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll find out who it was, and rip out their fucking spine.

You've already gotten up to do as he asked, drawing the blinds down, and then closing the curtains over them. Afterwards, you turn to leave.

"Hey," Homelander calls, frowning. You stop in the doorway. "Where are you going?"

"The kitchen," you answer, hand on the doorframe. "You can call if you need something."

"Stay here," Homelander says, ignoring the bit of petulance he can hear in his own voice. He doesn't care if you're confused. He doesn't care that he doesn't entirely understand himself. He just wants you to stay.

Homelander watches you take a seat at the end of the couch, near his feet. He exhales, closing his eyes. It isn't as though you could do anything if proficient killers did appear, but for whatever reason, no matter how useless you would ultimately be, he feels better for having you near.

After half an hour, his senses begin to sharpen again. It begins as a dull, irritating buzz at first, but grows gradually more clear. Of all the commotion he's becoming aware of, he fixates on your breathing to drown out the rest.

After an hour, he learns your name, that you work from home, you like decorating for Christmas, even when you spend it alone, and that you've lived a thoroughly dull, ordinary little life until this very moment.

From his observations , he's learned the rhythm of your heartbeat, that you touch your face when you're nervous, and that you would rather laugh than take any of his disparaging remarks about your mundane life to heart.

"I think it's very lucky for you that I am so boring. I might not have been here otherwise," you counter. Your smile is so utterly charming, Homelander forgets to refute your point. Instead, much to your alarm, he sits up.

"Oh, steady. Are you sure you're okay?" You ask, standing as he does. Homelander stretches his hands out in front of him, and then curls his arms back in. Exhaling, his eyes flare crimson. He likes the way it makes your heart jump when he looks at you through the red glow.

Homelander's lips quirk, lasers fading out. "Good as new," he says confidently, though the aches of his fall still linger in his joints. He takes a few long strides across your living room, pausing in the doorway to your kitchen, where he can see through to your yard, and the absolute crater he left in it.

"Vought will... take care of that," he says, gesturing vaguely to the destruction.

You can't help but laugh, crossing your arms. "I appreciate it, but really, I'm just glad you're alright," you say honestly, staring out into the wreckage of your yard.

Homelander purses his lips slightly, glancing at you from his peripheral. Above him, he feels something brush the top of his head. When he glances up, what he sees hung in the doorway makes him smile deviously.

Without warning, Homelander puts his hands on your waist, and pulls you to him, lips landing warm and firm on yours. He absolutely devours the surprised little noise you make against him, halfway tempted to see what other sounds he can wring from you. He hears your heart begin to race, and much to his delight, you kiss him back. You even surprise him by grabbing the back of his neck, sinking deeper into the kiss.

When Homelander pulls back, you're flushed prettily from the tip of your nose to the tips of your ears.

"What... was that?" You ask, dazed.

"Mistletoe," he purrs. You look up when he points, and huff a gentle little laugh, nodding at the aforementioned ornament dangling above you.

"Is this your way of saying thank you?" You ask playfully, your shoulders relaxing. "I hope you're still going to pay for my yard."

It's Homelander's turn to chuckle. "Oh, no. I haven't said thank you yet," he says, hands lingering on your hips. He'd only meant it to be a quick thing, but now you're toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. He licks his lips.

There's still a couple more hours until sundown. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll figure out exactly what the fuck he got blasted by. For now, he owes you a proper thank you, and himself a little Christmas treat for his trouble.

#hahaha I CHEATED and made it christmas themed!!!!!#this got WILDLY out of hand it was too long to post as an ask lmao #homelander x reader #homelander x you #my writing #depowered homelander #gonna have to go back and make that a proper tag since it's a running theme now #this definitely started as a headcanon and then went off the rails #ask and you shall receive #darling anon

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milkstoner · 1 year

Text

turns out you cant show my art historian ass a picture of my anime boy without me going absolutely crazy over it. here we go

the boot is not only sexy but is used as a repoussoir, aka as a way to direct the viewer’s eye to the main composition. like almost a fourth of the image is occupied by that boot, and it is BLURRY, accentuating the perspective and establishing a real physical distance between you and malleus. it’s truly like, you wake up after tripping on a banana peel in front of him. in your daze you see the boot, then as your vision clears, you see malleus looking down at you in disapproval. he leans slightly so he can take a good look at you.

there’s a beautiful white light coming from above, from your right, but there is no way to know just how it got here; we are surrounded by stone and the framing focuses only on malleus. there are no windows in sight that could let a natural light into the room. truly, all you see is him, covered in a divine blue light, which undoubtedly has a comforting connotation; the light at the end of the tunnel, the angelic light a saint would see in their visions.

so you think you’re safe. you think he’s spared you, because he doesn’t look too angry, and because the unnatural light above him makes him look like a benevolent higher being. those of us who are observant, however, will notice the spindle of his staff glowing green and getting ready to ultimately throw a spell at you. in short, you will soon meet the same fate as miss aurora.

when you know the danger you’re in, you realize you’re trapped. everything around you is stone; nobody outside will hear your screams. they’ll only echo through the abyss of which he is law. but he warned you—not only does he use his staff as another way to separate you from him, he’s threatening you with it. he’s showing you his magestone as if telling you he won’t hesitate to use magic on you. whether your dazed mind realizes or not is between you and the great seven.

so he’s threatening you, but he does so completely effortlessly. look at how gently he holds his staff; there is no doubt that thing is very heavy, for it is… tall, but his fingers barely support it. it’s as if it floats in his hands. his palms don’t touch that staff. look at each of his fingers, starting with the right hand; only three fingers at most are making contact with what should be the heaviest part of the staff. that hand is directly below the enormous spinning wheel part. let’s look at his left hand… it’s literally caressing the shaft. his fingers are relaxed and the arm is comfortably resting on his throne. you can imagine him stroking the staff very gently… he might not even realize it, but he’s showing off his physical strength. if you were to hold that staff, you would have to use your strength, but he… does not. he doesn’t need to. and it really goes to reinforce the fact that he is a powerful, superior being, and that he needs just a little bit of magic, just a little bit of strength to get you on your knees and beg for mercy.

back to his face. GOD, what a fucking face… whew that sure is a face… hello, handsome… hey, i just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number. my god what a beauty. look at those piercing green eyes, colour of green chartreuse, fully intoxicating and contrasting with his deep raven hair. when you look into those eyes is when you realize you’re fucked. there’s something about how unnatural they look, how bright, how unapologetically magical they are that is fully ensorcelling. they glow the same green as his spindle; they contain the same danger. and yet those threatening eyes are so beautiful, framed by thick, dark lashes; you can’t help but admire them.

those beautifully defined lips, yes… tell me they’re not desirable. tell me they’re not tempting. the top one is thinner and darker, a purple, highlighting the cupid’s bow. that’s all i can say really those are nice kissable lips.

this card really perfectly evokes malleus’ sublimity. here, i mean sublime in its philosophical senses, particularly edmund burke’s definition. doesn’t this card look like a dream—a dream of danger, a dream of delightful horror? the blurriness of the boot evokes a confusion and separates you from the threat. you watch him in adoration, for he is gorgeous, though you have this unexplainable uneasiness, this anxiety. you don’t know what’s going to happen; in fact, the lighting has you thinking you’re not even conscious. you are struck by fear and attraction, a delightful horror. you’re at his feet, worshipping him, and you think it’s enough to make him take pity on you; and it just might.

#malleus draconia #twisted wonderland #twst #malleus twst #twst malleus

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