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todisturbtheuniverse · 4 years

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FIC: Liminal Grief [1/3]

Rating: T Fandom: Stardew Valley Pairing: Shane/Female Farmer Tags: Pre-Relationship, Developing Friendship, Grief, Alcoholism, Depression Word Count: 10,613 (total) Summary: The new farmer has a level of equal-opportunity-friendliness that reminds Shane of an old friend, but when the mask comes off, it's more like looking in a mirror. Also on AO3. Notes: Very much based in the game, but littered with my own headcanons, both for this particular farmer and for Shane. Like other stories in this series, this could be considered standalone, but follows the same farmer (named Lydia) and the same Shane, and shares continuity with those other works.

It had taken a while—most of the spring, actually—but Lydia had finally fallen into a routine.

The routine involved sticking to the farm, mostly. It needed a lot of work—a lot of work she didn't know how to do. She spent her days trying to replicate the tips she'd unearthed in Granddad's old books, his journals on the seasons and crops, and her nights sleeping more soundly than she'd slept in her whole life.

It was hard work. Scary work. Every time she took hold of a weed, she prayed she wasn't about to pull up one of the precious crops she'd spent her dwindling money on. But she was getting through it.

And when she'd done all she could do for the day, there was always the distraction of town.

Thinking of Pelican Town's square that way—town, because the farm was technically in some kind of rural unincorporated area—always made her feel a little like some Austenian heroine, donning her gloves and coiffing her hair to visit civilization. In reality, the best she could muster was a shower before the long, dusty walk, but she'd always liked stories. Something she'd had in common with Granddad.

And this story was full of characters: the downtrodden but enduring mayor, the rebellious daughter of the local grocer, the hardworking big-city doctor, the gregarious saloon-owner…

As the days passed, and she made an effort to greet everyone with cheer, she got more and more back: brief small talk peppered into her days, friendly waves, smiles losing their wariness.

Well. From some people, at least. The runner-up town drunk sure hadn't taken to her friendliness so far.

Interactions with Shane followed, more or less, the same pattern as the first. She offered a pleasantry. He found a way to reject it.

When she crossed paths with him again at the bar on a Friday night: "Hey, Shane. How's it going?"

And in return: "Why are you bothering me." With his inflection, it sounded more like a complaint than a question. "I want to be alone."

On a Tuesday as she stood outside Pierre's, when Shane passed by on his way to JojaMart: "Nice day, isn't it?"

It would have been easy enough for him to agree and keep power-walking on by, but instead he said, "No, I don't have time to chat with you." Like she'd asked him to reflect in detail on the most recent Queen of Sauce episode.

But these were downright polite interactions compared to last week's, when she'd been fishing at the river south of the ranch, well after sundown. She'd spotted him walking home, weaving slightly on the beat-down dirt path, catching himself every few steps as if gravity was making its best effort against him.

"Hey," she called out, ignoring the tugging on her line, "are you okay?"

"What do you want from me?" he demanded, his whole body swinging around so that his red-rimmed eyes could glare at her. Once they'd managed to focus, anyway. "Money? I'd give you a pot of gold to leave me alone!"

"I could use a pot of gold, actually," she began, but he was already in motion again, stomping up the path to the ranch house and slamming the door behind him.

She certainly didn't need to keep putting herself out there. There were plenty of other people who were already nice enough to her, going on friendly, even: Gus and Emily, who were always excited when she brought in one of her crops for them to experiment with; Abigail, who came up with imaginative renovations for the farm Lydia now inhabited; Harvey, who was a bit distant but earnest.

But she'd seen the paths that Shane beat through Pelican Town. To JojaMart, hunched into his sweatshirt, scowling; to the saloon, no longer glowering but run down; to the ranch at the end of the night, a slow and meandering walk, like he already dreaded doing it all over again. She recognized the patterns. She hadn't been a shelf-stocker, but she knew a kindred soul. Another person caught on the conveyor belt of the corporate machine.

That was probably her dramatics again. Her character-profiling. Maybe Shane was just a grouch, happy to scare off anyone every opportunity he got. But on the off chance that that wasn't the case…

She wasn't going to stop saying hello just because he glared at her for it. Just in case.

On a Saturday night, as spring began to wilt beneath the pressure of summer, she donned her metaphorical white gloves and committed to a night at the saloon. She'd tried to keep working after sundown a few days this past week, but she still just didn't have the stamina for it; she felt like one of those limp weeds she kept tearing out of her land.

A drink was just what she needed. A drink, and maybe some food. Her stomach rumbled despite the meal she'd eaten at mid-afternoon; the smell inside the Stardrop was greasy, and cheesy, and tomato-y, and she drifted toward the counter, following the smell. Gus was busy chatting with Pam, but Emily noticed her right away and came over with a smile.

"Hey, Lydia!" she said. "You okay?"

Lydia blinked at the concern and picked up a nearby spoon to examine her own face. "I look that bad? I showered and everything."

Emily tipped her head to the side, narrowing her eyes slightly. "Not bad. Just tired. Your aura's a little pale."

"My aura is accurate, then." She dropped the spoon and leaned against the bar counter. "I think I'll just have a beer tonight. A fancy cocktail might knock me out."

"I won't tell Gus," Emily said in a conspiratorial tone, grabbing a glass. "We're making pizzas, if you're interested."

Pizza. The source of that divine smell. Lydia's stomach rumbled again. She'd had a favorite pizza place back in the city; it had been her last meal before she left for the valley. She wondered if the stuff Gus cooked up was any good, if he was hiding a wood fired brick oven somewhere out back.

"Hey, Shane," Emily said, just as cheerfully as she'd greeted Lydia, and Lydia realized that Shane was standing at the bar a few feet away from her. "The usual?"

"Yeah." He laid his money on the bar.

"Coming right up," Emily said, picking up a second glass.

She retreated to pour the beer, and Lydia glanced sidelong at Shane, gave a little wave. He looked even more wretched than usual, eyes hooded, five o'clock shadow thick.

She smiled like she didn't notice any of that. "Hey. Happy Friday."

He met her eyes and sighed. "Sure."

Well, it was monosyllabic, but it was an improvement. Emily returned with their beers. Shane picked his up, gave what might have been a nod in Lydia's direction, and wandered away to his usual table. During the walk, Lydia estimated that he'd already downed half the beer.

"I'm wearing him down," she said, impressed with her own prowess.

"Well done," Emily said. Somehow, she kept the congratulatory tone of her voice from being condescending. "So, how about that pizza?"

Lydia tallied up her funds in her head. She could spare the money, probably. She shouldn't, though. If she wanted the farm to succeed, if she wanted to have plenty for the summer planting, if, if, if—

But the smell was just too overpowering. "Yeah, I think I'll have one," she said. "There a choice of toppings or anything?"

"Just the special, really. Green peppers and sausage and onions."

"Sounds perfect."

Some part of her told her to cancel the order. To take it back, keep the paltry pocket money where it belonged. She just couldn't seem to unstick her jaw to do it. She'd eaten a lot of fresh-caught fish and wild spring onions lately, and not much else; she was dying for a little variety.

She sipped her beer while she waited, people-watching. The kids swarmed in and occupied the arcade; she probably could have caught Abigail's eye and joined them, but their company seemed a little boisterous for her at the moment. They were only a few years younger than her, technically—not kids at all—but she felt out of step with their conversations. Too old, too worn out.

She snorted at her own melancholy. Give a girl a farm she didn't know how to run, and she'd turn into a mopey navel-gazer in no time.

"Fresh out of the oven," Emily said, sliding the platter of pizza across the bar. It was much, much too big for one person to consume, even a person as hungry as Lydia. "Enjoy!"

"Thanks," Lydia said, reverie broken, and surreptitiously scouted for somewhere to sit.

She'd been making inroads, definitely, but it was still an insular community. People tended to pair off, huddle up in their groups—treading the same boards they did every Saturday night. She wasn't sure where to stick a foot in the door, who wouldn't just crush it as they pulled it closed.

Her eyes landed on Shane's table. It didn't get more insular than that. Party of one. Two, maybe, if you counted the beer he was staring at. The look in his eyes suggested it might be his last.

Well, he'd been...amenable, sort of, earlier. There was an empty chair at his table. She had a bribe in the form of pizza. And if he was a jerk to her in front of the whole bar, someone else would definitely take her in. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way over.

Trying to treat this like any other night had been a mistake.

Most of the time, the Stardrop cut a sharp contrast to the bar back in the city. Rustic instead of divey, an old crowd rather than a young one, local beer instead of twenty-seven varieties on tap. And that suited Shane just fine. Remembering that bar meant remembering Patrick and Charlotte, and it was better not to remember. Better to immerse himself in scenery that couldn't get confused with memories.

Especially tonight.

Only problem was his brain, which had had it out for him for just about a year now. Isn't this the song that was playing when they told me they were getting married? it said, and, Look, that bottle Gus is keeping up on the top shelf looks like the whiskey me and Patrick split when Charlotte got pregnant, and, The new farmer girl sure reminds me of Patrick.

He wasn't drunk enough for that kind of thinking yet. Brain should've gotten the message by now. It needed to be damn near pickled before he'd go anywhere near those old memories.

And the farmer girl—yeah, maybe she had Patrick's wide-eyed friendliness, but he wasn't interested in discovering any other similarities between her and his dead best friend.

"Hey," a breezy voice said. "Can I sit here?"

Slowly, he lifted his head. Like his reluctance had summoned her, Lydia stood over his table, balancing a platter of pizza in one hand and holding her pint glass in the other.

He meant to say No. As rudely as possible. Maybe something snide along with it, like, Don't you have other people to annoy? Maybe better than that. A real zinger. Something that would send her scurrying for good. Apparently none of his other comebacks, reiterated at increasing volume whenever they crossed paths, hadn't been severe enough.

But a ghost possessed him instead, and he said, "Why?"

Like an idiot. Give this kind of person an inch, they'd take a mile. Hadn't he figured that out the first day they'd met? He knew exactly how this went.

He knew exactly how this ended.

"Empty seat." She pointed, as well as she could with her hands full. "Unless you're waiting for someone."

It was an innocent-enough assumption, but regardless, it felt like she'd stabbed him in the gut and twisted the knife. It sure felt like he was waiting. Waiting for Patrick and Charlotte to walk through that door, waiting until he knew how to parent his friends' orphaned daughter, waiting to wake up from this unfeeling nightmare…

He could lie. He could say he was waiting for someone. She couldn't have been paying enough attention to him to know the truth, and if she gave him the stink-eye later when it was clear his "company" wasn't coming, well, that didn't matter to him. Maybe it'd put an end to her niceties. Maybe it would be a good thing.

"I'll share the pizza," she offered.

He hadn't allowed himself to look at it too closely before, but now that she'd pointed it out, he could smell it. Bread, cheese, sauce...Gus had really stepped up his game recently. Nothing went better with a beer than pizza.

Well, pepper poppers, maybe, but nobody was making those around here.

"Sure," he said, before he could think better of it. Free food was worth a little inane chatter. "Whatever."

She beamed like he'd greeted her as an old friend, put her pizza down, and sat. "Thanks," she said. "I'm never going to get through this whole thing on my own."

Her timing was a little unbelievable. That she'd forgo rubbing elbows with the rest of the bar—something she did reliably—today, of all days. That she'd bring a pizza along with her. Almost like she had been the one possessed by a ghost—a ghost trying to reach him.

But that was even crazier than all the local superstition. And maybe a little part of him wanted to believe it, but the rest of him couldn't take comfort from something that wasn't true.

He picked up a slice of pizza, though. "I love this stuff," he admitted. "Thanks."

"Sure," she said. "You're doing me a favor, honestly. I don't have the energy to hang out with the kids tonight, and the oldies all want to talk about the farm." She pulled a face. "I work my ass off twelve hours a day at the place. Sometimes I'd rather not relive it all again at the end of the night."

"Hmm," he said. A nice, noncommittal syllable. He took a big bite of pizza—a good excuse not to elaborate.

"Still beats Joja," she sighed. "How is the old place, anyway? Still soul-sucking?"

He swallowed, surprised into responding. "You worked at Joja?"

"Not storefront. Desk jockey." Her nose crinkled up like she'd bitten into a particularly sour lemon. "Carpal tunnel instead of knee problems. I really suffered." He snorted, and she smiled. "Shit, I'm kind of glad to hear you didn't know. Feels like I've been the lone rider of the rumor mill for weeks. But somewhere out there, conversations are happening that are not about me."

"No," he said. "I just don't participate in conversations."

She rolled her eyes, but kept smiling. "Right. How could I forget?"

He felt sort of unsettled by her careless attitude, the same way he had when she'd shaken his hand at the bar. Like his brusque commentary didn't put her off; like she could have a conversation with even an unwilling participant. The exact opposite of him, when it came right down to it. He couldn't tell if he was jealous or repulsed.

"They'll move on eventually," he said. Not a reassurance or commiseration, but a statement of fact.

She eyed him thoughtfully. "You'd know," she conceded. "You're new to the area, too, right?"

"Yep." He didn't elaborate. There was pizza to eat, beer to drink. Conversation to avoid.

Marnie and Jas were the only people in this town who knew exactly why he was here. He was not about to explain it to anyone else.

"You like it here?" she asked.

"Why, are you having second thoughts? Kind of late for that, isn't it?"

"No! No." She frowned, and he realized it was the first time he'd really seen her do so. "Just curious what other people from outside the valley think of it here. I want this to be long term, but…" She shrugged.

But farming isn't exactly easy or profitable? Probably a hell of a shock for someone who'd had an office job. All that sudden, manual labor. All those razor-thin profit margins. A day that didn't end promptly at 5.

"The people are busybodies," he said.

She chuckled. "I've noticed."

"This saloon is the sole source of entertainment."

"Hey, don't forget the museum. And library. Same building, but..."

"All the young people want to leave," he pushed on, ignoring her. "Or they're here on a whim, thinking the valley's gonna cure them of something."

He shot her a pointed look. She raised a single eyebrow, as if to acknowledge his point, but she didn't volunteer what that something might be for her. Fine by him.

"All the old people either feel like they're trapped here, or that it's their job to protect the place against modernization, or both."

"Ah," she said. "Explains that scene I witnessed at Pierre's the other day." She paused to take a deep drink of her beer. "So is there anything you like about the valley?"

"Not really," he said, automatic, even though it was a lie. But he wasn't about to tell her—he wasn't about to tell anyone—that he liked the way the air smelled after dusk, or that he liked the sounds the frogs made at the dock on the lake, or that he liked the way the chickens flocked to him all bright-eyed in the morning even when he was dreary-eyed himself.

There were very few things left in the world he liked, all fragile as bubbles blown by a child. If he drew attention to them, they, too, would vanish.

"I'll take it under advisement," she sighed. "I only spent summers here as a kid. It seemed magical, back then." She picked up another slice of pizza, considered it. "Still does, actually, I'm just...having a harder time believing it."

"It's not magic," he said flatly. "You just had a big imagination."

She laughed, as if she'd never learned how to take offense. "Come out to the farm sometime. There's some creature out in the woods that makes a noise like nothing I've heard anywhere else. We'll see who believes in magic then."

"Once you've seen the backroom of a JojaMart, you realize humans are incapable of magic," he muttered.

"Who said anything about humans?" she said with an exaggerated wink.

He huffed. Her absurdity was sort of funny, just the way Patrick's had been. Over-the-top, ridiculous; he would've loved that wizard guy in his tower west of the lake, or the crusty old adventurer up in the mountains with the eye patch…

But the similarities meant nothing. She wasn't Patrick. She wasn't being nudged along by his ghost. He couldn't, wouldn't, believe in that shit.

Even though she'd brought him pizza on his birthday. On the anniversary of the day they'd died.

"Well, you ever want a break from that backroom, come out to the farm," she said, serious now. "Get a look at what it's like to live free—and broke." She smiled, a little crookedly, and finished off her beer.

True to her scary sixth sense, Emily turned up right as Lydia put down her glass. "Can I get you anything else?" she asked, beaming between the two of them like she was the proud mother of a child who'd finally gotten a playdate.

He didn't exactly want to encourage that thinking, but...he didn't want to be indebted to anybody, either. Especially not somebody down to their last dollar, when he'd eaten half her pizza. He was an asshole, but he hadn't fallen quite that far.

"No thanks," Lydia began, but Shane cut across her, "One more round. Put it on my tab." He nodded at her glass. "Same thing, or you gonna make Gus mix up another one of those city-girl cocktails?"

For a moment, she looked downright surprised—startled by the offer, maybe, or finally stunned by his ability to insult people. But then she grinned, wide and sincere.

"Just the beer," she said.

"Coming right up," Emily said, and wandered away.

Lower, heartfelt, Lydia said, "thanks."

He shrugged. "Seemed like you might need it. Drown your sorrows, and all that. You want a reliable source of magic, it's at the bottom of a glass."

"Never heard that one before."

"Trust me." He knocked back the rest of his own beer. "Secret backroom wisdom."

She didn't look at him reprovingly, the way Marnie always did when he made one of these jokes; she just nodded, sagely, like she believed him completely.

He doubted it, but...it was kind of nice, feeling like someone wanted to listen to him, for once. Feeling like somebody heard him.

Things could go back to normal tomorrow.

Go to Part 2 ->

#stardew valley #shane/female farmer #sdv shane #sdv farmer #universe writes #i'm going to spread out posting of the other two chapters here but they're already up at AO3 #just fyi #depression cw #alcoholism cw #developing friendship #pre-relationship

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tofuisms · 5 years

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— ✧ EMMA MACKEY ?? no, that’s just TOVA SOLEIL VIDARSDOTTIR !! she’s the TWENTY ONE year old daughter of VIDAR BJÖRK-THORSON & SOLVEIG CARTER, and is, in addition to being an UNDERGRAD there, the current POWER CONTROL TA at paragon academy & FLOOR STAFF at a sound purchase record store. i hear she’s TENACIOUS & ECCENTRIC but tends to be ACERBIC & GARRULOUS. her file says that her powers are NATURE MANIPULATION & PARTIAL ASGARDIAN PHYSIOLOGY. redirect to her stats page HERE and her pinterest board HERE.

you CAN change the world, girl ( you really, truly can )

SECTION ONE OF THREE: BULLET POINT HISTORY trigger warnings for talk of death & divorce & army

tova soleil vidarsdottir was born on july 23rd, 1997, one of ( if not the ) first born children of vidar bjork-thorson & solveig carter. she’s what the world would call a legacy ; and she’s felt the weight of this for most of her life.

she’s always loved her parents. her father was her hero, and her mother was her best friend. it’s easy, in a lot of ways, to grow up and resent the people that brought you into the world - in a great many cases, they don’t seem to do enough. when you’re young, when you’re HORMONAL, it’s easy to latch onto what they did wrong and not what they did well. for tova, it was the opposite. neither could have done a better job, in her innocent eyes, the sun rising and setting upon them.

for a while, this was fine. every parent hopes their child will look up to them, after all - and tova did. she was the kind of child that never wanted to let go of her mother’s hand. never wanted to stop getting piggybacks around the garden from her dad. never wanted to grow up, really, but the sad truth was ; everyone has to eventually.

she always looks to her childhood with rose tinted glasses. she has no desire not to, even though she knows, now that she’s older, things were never quite as good as she recalls. her dad was never really around. it wasn’t his fault - just the life that he led. he was always overseas, doing his part as a soldier in the british army to keep the peace, to save the world, as tova liked to think. she still gets a little THRILL when she hears the sound of the postbox going - a residual feeling from when she was just a little kid, living with the knowledge that a letter was all she’d have of her dad, for a little while longer. when he was back, things were good until they weren’t. she doesn’t recall what her parents arguments were about, anymore ; just that they existed. sometimes she would hear the rising voices, but for the most part, she would sleep soundly - none the wiser to what was starting to build between them.

she remembers things as BETTER than they were. she doesn’t remember them as perfect. cracks existed, but tova never thought that they would grow so wide that repairs would be impossible.

over time, it came to be that tova spent more time with her sprawling family than she did her father. sunny and hers were reliable presences ; vidar’s siblings and the asgardians were, too. he was the only one who wasn’t. as long as aunt theresa was around, though, things were never dire. her dad’s younger sister was probably tova’s favorite family member, though she never would have said, of course. there was just something about her that tova wanted to emulate. she was FULL OF LIFE, and happy, and whenever she came to visit she would bring the best stories, and presents. she was everything.

tova will always feel, in a way, like maybe she was to blame for what happened. she was only eleven - too young to understand, really, when all hell broke loose. theresa pushed her to the floor, lying across her to make sure that she was safe, as shots rang out around them. all tova could think was that she had made her aunt bring her to the shops, before they went to the bank ; she had delayed the trip, she had gotten them caught in this, she --- she had gotten theresa killed. everyone told her differently. in the hours, days, weeks, months after ; everyone knew she harbored some kind of guilt, and everyone knew that it didn’t belong on her little shoulders. still, it was a burden she had to bear. theresa had kept her safe. theora trevor had saved the day. she wouldn’t have been alive without the latter, but if the former hadn’t put herself in harms way.... tova knew it would be different.

this was the turning point. the real one, at that. however much she had grown up and become aware that as much love as there was, her family life was far from perfect, tova had always been able fool herself. in the aftermath of her aunts death, though, things fell apart. two years later, her parents were divorcing.

she never blamed herself for that. it’s kind of surprising to hear from someone with a guilt complex, but the thing was ; tova was getting older, now. she didn’t want to, but she understood that her parents would be happier apart. sometimes, that’s how things go.

understandably, her later teen years were fairly rough. she was going through a lot because of her aunt’s death, and she had to learn, now, how to live two different lives ; the one with mum, and the one with dad. she still loved both her parents, but sunny had always been there. the same couldn’t have been said for vidar.

there was a disconnect between them that tova desperately wished didn’t exist. in a last ditch effort to try and be like her dad, to mend part of their relationship, to relate to him and make him relate to her - tova joined the british army after leaving school. it seemed like the right idea.

it all kind of snowballed, from there.

the army grants educational leave ; tova’s plan had always been to establish herself, and then take that. she spent her seventeenth and eighteenth year in boot camp and then, overseas - time off spent in england. then, she applied and was denied her chance to take a break. she was a good soldier. both her parents had army roots, as did a lot of the people she knew from being a kid ; she knew what she was doing, what to say and how to act, and she was top of her grouping. still, they wouldn’t allow her take her leave.

instead, on a fateful afternoon, tova was called into her superiors office. a man and a woman in suits sat with him, and they explained - as clearly as they could - how she was a top candidate for a special kind of mission. they knew she wanted to go to college. they knew she wanted to go to college in america, at paragon academy, so she could be nearer to her DAD. there had been a new kind of distance forming with the fact he now lived across the ocean, and she had figured she could spent time with the family. they were willing to allow her that time, that chance at a good college education, so long as she also kept working for them. she asked who ‘they’ were, and was told that weapon x were just trying to keep the world safe. she could help them do that.

she didn’t know what she was signing up for. she just thought that...- it was necessary. and if doing it allowed her to get where she wanted to be... tova didn’t ask that many questions.

and now she’s here.

SECTION TWO OF THREE: HEADCANONS

tova is a good kid. i really want to stress that, considering the reveal of the end of her bio ; she was eighteen years old when she was made an offer that seemed too good to be true, and she took it even though it was. it absolutely was, and... she’s been reporting on mutant’s, and on specific ones, and on what’s going on at the school at any given time. she’s been keeping bad people in the loop because she thinks that they’re better than they are, though a part of her is starting to cotton onto the fact that they aren’t. she’s not on their level. she was, and is, just naive.

if i was going to use a single thing to describe her, i’d use a few lines from sandi thom’s song ; “i was born too late into a world that doesn’t care, i wish i was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair.” everything about tova is just... a little bit vintage, and a lot bit punk. she dresses in a very specific way ( fishnets, acid wash, embroidered jeans, t-shirts with slogans, faded band shirts made before she was born, combat boots, stressed tights, MORE ), that also, somehow, manages to mix two styles that seem at war ; and seeing her stood inside her room, all its colors and decorations and cacti in painted pots... would almost be jarring. she'll take vinyl over cd, anyday, and would rather own a car from prior to the 80s than she would one with all the modern amenities. she likes the style of the past, though she can admit that she likes how far we’ve come far more, and every inch of her being reflects that.

when tova was younger and playing outside, in full view of home, she was attacked by a neighbors dog. it was one of those ‘freak accident’ type things, that she hadn’t provoked, and that the dog hadn’t forewarned happening. it was fairly serious, at the time, and she spent the night in the hospital. she’s been scared of dogs ever since, or at least... any dog that isn’t dad’s corgi ( a dog that still took her time to relax around )

tova has an eidetic memory ; which means, while in some ways she isn’t the most intelligent of people, she retains information quite well... though better, if she’s actually interested. for her, that means being able to rattle off music facts from the top of her head without an issue ; her real passions lie there, and she drinks in any and all information she can get. for school, it means she typically doesn’t need to try too hard.

she does have a pet, though ! agatha is her three year old rescue cat, and she’s blind in both eyes. she got her as a kind of ‘welcome to the states and college’ present for herself, mostly because she figured she was going to spend the first few months settling in LONELY, and fell in love the moment she met her. she’s an indoor cat for obvious reasons, and because tova spends so much time with her, has the sweetest and most gentlest kind of temperament she could ; perfect for tova.

SECTION THREE OF THREE: WANTED CONNECTIONS

anything from THIS tag !

TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our EMMA MACKEY fc is looking for her SQUAD / FIVE + TOVA + THE BEST FRIEND connection who looks like GIORGIA WHIGHAM, LAURA HARRIER, JOHN KARNA, CHRIS VERES / ANY FC who are 20+ YEARS OLD. you DON’T have to contact prior to applying. ( the squad includes tova and the best friend - but the DIFFERENCE between this connect and the last is that the squad breeds negativity. not actively. not to the point where it’s become a problem - at least… not yet. but think about any group of people in high school / college. think about how the connections formed in said group are intricate and sometimes hard to pin down. think about how some GOSSIP about the others, and how sometimes, someone doesn’t sit with them for a long time because of something that happened last weekend that remains unsaid for a while. there’s always a new drama. there’s always someone on the spot. they love one another, but sometimes it feels like they don’t really like each other - all of them with their own stories, their own lives, their own developments, and they come together for study group, and to hang out after class, and for lunch, and they have a little groupchat on facebook and ios and snapchat, and sometimes they just don’t THINK. who’s to say if they’ll be friends in ten years time, or if they’re only friends now because they tolerate each others presences? none of them know yet, and they’re not rushing to find out ).

TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our EMMA MACKEY fc is looking for her PARTNER connection who looks like JORDAN FISHER, AMBER MIDTHUNDER, RICHARD WALTERS, ANA GOLJA / ANY FC who is 20+ YEARS OLD. you DO have to contact prior to applying at TOFUISMS or DISCORD ( jean grey rail me challenge#5427 ). ( i don’t really know how to phrase this one. so. tova is twenty one. she’s relatively new to living here in the states. she’s still learning about life, and sexuality, and so on and so forth. i don’t want to label this as a slowburn, or as a hateship, or as… any sort of specific romance connection, because i think it could be ANY of them, or all. not every relationship is the be all, end all. quite a lot of them have an expiration date. and when someone’s young, they don’t always do the big dance around the will they, won’t they - sometimes they talk for two weeks and decide to give it a shot. sometimes they hookup at parties every time one is thrown and ignore each other in the halls the rest of the time. i’m really open to discuss this with someone, because the end goal doesn’t feel like an endgame ship for me ( though who’s to say it won’t end up there? like i said. some have an expiration date, some don’t ). it’s to explore… the relationship side of things. a lot of romance plots are very serious very fast and i think it could b fun to wind it back and make something suPER casual. whom knows where we will end up! )

TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our EMMA MACKEY fc is looking for her EXES / THREE TYPES IN DESC connection who look like TOM MADEN, ALISHA BOE, KHYLIN RHAMBO, MADELAINE PETSCH / PLAYERS CHOICE and are 19+. you DO have to contact prior to applying at TOFUISMS or DISCORD ( jean grey rail me challenge#5427 ). ( one for a relationship that began and ended when they were the smallest of little kids, one for a relationship that ended so badly they have probably never spoken since, and one for a relationship that turned into a close friendship, but was never destined for anything more. take your pick ! )

TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our EMMA MACKEY fc is looking for COWORKERS connection who looks like ANY FC who are ANY AGE. you DON’T have to contact prior to applying. ( just a small connect for more people who work in the local record store ! tova could do with some people who she can have the typical work dynamic with, and mayb they can even be friends outside of it! ) ( zoë barnes + more )

VIDAR BJÖRK-THORSON & TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our CHARLIE HUNNAM & EMMA MACKEY fcs are looking for a SIBLING / PIBLING connection who looks like DANIEL HENNEY, JASON MOMOA, GARRETT HEDLUND, ALEXIS BLEDEL, SKEET ULRICH, HAYLEY ATWELL / UTP who is 35-48 you DON’T have to contact prior to applying. ( tova loves her pibling! and vidar loves his sib - they’re also vidar’s last sibling ( that he was raised alongside ) that is still alive, they’re very close because they were raised together and were always running around together, causing chaos and looking after each other. their adopted baby sister died 10ish years ago due to a fatality in superheroing ( but tova was able to be saved so ofc - conflicted feelings for vidar! ) honestly, they could be adopted, a child of thor + helene ( wld b 42+ if so ) or a child of helene + someone else! bonus points 4 helene + a different asgardian! check out vidar’s INTRO for background info & more fc options. )

VIDAR BJÖRK-THORSON & TOVA VIDARSDOTTIR, our CHARLIE HUNNAM & EMMA MACKEY fcs are looking for a CHILD / SIBLING connection who looks like BILLIE EILISH, MARGOT ROBBIE, HENRIK HOLM, ELLIOT FLETCHER, KATELYN NACON, JOE KEERY, JENNY BOYD, NAT WOLFF / UTP who is 17-19 or 23 you DON’T have to contact prior to applying at ofichvr / tofuisms. ( but you can if you want ! ) ( tova would… die for each of them, any time any place, but also… you know how ur sibs are your best friends but also your worst enemies? .. yeah. when they’re good, they’re reALLY good - but when they’re bad, mom or dad probably has to step in eventually to referee the arguments. the dynamic would prob be different depending on whether tova is older or younger ; if she’s the eldest, then her natural protectiveness extends to them, and if they’re older… well, same, but she’s probably a little bit TOO textbook ‘annoying younger sister’ a lot of the time. it is very possible that vidar isn’t close to this child due to him not being around for AWHILE - he was in the army from age 18 to early 30s but would come home whenever he was able to - which was NEVER enough! so they could have a relationship where vidar tries and ur chara just doesn’t want that, ur chara looks up to him but they don’t rly know how to interact , etc! it is also an option for the chara to be a TWIN but thats completely up to u! please check out vidar’s INTRO for background info and more fc options! )

#sidekick.intro #「･ﾟ ϟ . ･ * she was a forest fire by design ― tova soleil vidarsdottir. 」

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advernia · 7 years

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fic: firewater

— there’s the passion of burning flames in those eyes of blue. - role reversal!AU: one of the mornings between the resident red king mikoto suoh and his bartender lieutenant, awashima seri.

Tap, tap, tap, goes the wood upstairs: it's a soft yet still audible sound to his ears and he cracks an eye open to be greeted by a blurry view of dark brown, the mahogany wood of the ceiling. From looking at wood he angles his head to the side a bit so his eye could turn to the window, covered with that cutesy white lace curtain that ought to be burned. Little sunlight poured through the glass panes, faint but nevertheless, still there.

(He doesn’t look for the color of the sky - the curtain and the sunlight that streamed in combined makes it look gray, and perhaps that’s what the sky was at this hour. The lack of noise outside and glaring sunlight tell him that, too.)

Mikoto Suoh closes his eye and drifts away to sleep once more, drowning out the sounds of car engines to focus on the sound of wood upstairs going tap, tap, tap.

Kamamoto often pointed out that the bar's floorboards were goddamn creaky every time he would walk around, but it didn’t seem so for Awashima Seri’s case - each step she took didn’t induce a squeaky protest from the wood under the two-inch heels on her feet, nor did it leave the soft click clack sounds that Yata would scowl at whenever it would reach his ears.

(Then again, Yata Misaki always seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face whenever she was involved.)

Once fully dressed, her lithe fingers wrap around her room's doorknob and she closes the door behind her slowly like she had done when opening the door earlier - a practiced motion leaving not even the slightest sound, carried over until she crosses the hall and goes down the stairs, each step she took light and careful. She'd hate to wake her roommate, an adorable young girl sleeping soundly in her animal pajamas.

When Seri's at the first floor’s landing, her eyes turn to the couch at the far end of the rom and a frown pulls at her lips: there he was, sitting at the couch with his gangly legs spread wide open and his arms set behind his head. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips and a half empty bottle was set on the table not far from where he sat - she rolls her eyes then shakes her head before moving across the room to the couch.

Her heels still leave no sound against the floorboards.

When he was within her arm’s reach, she unceremoniously swipes the cigarette from his mouth and turns away, grabbing the bottle on the table on her way back - his eyes flicker open just as quick, and he sees a retreating figure in a cream dress with his cigarette in one hand and a bottle in the other.

(Right - the bottle. How he intended only to drink a few cups of the whiskey last night that turned out to be almost finishing the bottle in one sitting was beyond him.)

… give that back, Mikoto growls lowly.

I'd like you to specify what shoud I return, Seri replies casually.

She’s already going behind the bar’s counter, and she glares at him briefly before storing away the bottle in the refrigerator. A snap from her fingers and hey presto - his cigarette turns to ash right in between her fingers, pieces of white and gray fluttering down to the floor like snowflakes. Mikoto scowls and throws his head back languidly, eyes set back on the ceiling.

You almost finished a bottle of the Hibiki Japanese Harmony, she tells him from across the room, her voice at a controlled volume. Do you have any idea how much a single bottle costs?

There it is: that firm, scolding voice of hers, early in the bloody morning - it’s probably topped off with her narrowed eyes staring him down like a criminal. He brings a hand to his temple and closes his eyes, eyebrows drawing together.

I might as well finish it, he drawls. His response makes her scoff.

You’ve had enough. What did I say about taking bottles from the display?

He blinks. If it's something she set, then it's probably along the lines of 'with my permission' or 'with supervision'.

(Probably.)

… you wasted a good cigarette.

And you're wasting life away by lazing around in my bar, she sighs. Totsuka-kun told me you sat on the couch the whole morning yesterday.

Mikoto clicks his tongue.

(Goddammit, Tatara.)

I was sleeping, he grunts.

You’re always sleeping, she snaps. You smoke three packs of cigarettes in one day on an average, rarely move from a spot that you find comfortable unless needed, and then you take drinks from my display when you feel like it. Your current lifestyle isn’t going to reflect well on your health - do yourself a favor and breathe in some fresh air… if only for just an hour.

Silence. He lifts his head up slowly and their eyes meet from across the room, gazes steady and unyielding.

Lazy amber against gleaming blue - he always found it strange that somehow in those eyes of hers, he would find the intensity of a roaring flame that would rival that of Yata's.

(Or perhaps it was even brighter... sometimes he couldn't tell.)

For what seems like an eternity, he makes the first move - her hands still remain on her hips as she watched him shove his hands into the pockets of his jackets, then he draws out a heavy sigh as he pulled himself off the comfort of the couch.

You’re gonna take a walk too, he says.

She pauses, eyes blinking. Her hands leave her hips to fall to her sides, and she tilts her head slightly.

What do you mean?

Anna finished the milk cartons last night.

She raises an eyebrow at him and frowns.

... There were two whole cartons still left.

He rolls his eyes as he scratched the back of his neck.

… there’s no more anko on the fridge either.

She narrows her eyes at him for a moment, and then she proceeds to open the fridge again for the both of them to behold: she stares and he stares at the fridge with no anko and milk cartons in sight, until she closes the fridge door with a soft thud. Seri glances at him one last time with her hands-on-hips-and-a-frown-on-the-face combination and he shrugs in response, adjusting the jacket on his shoulders.

... Stop glaring. I won't even eat a single piece of your -

- I’ll get my wallet, she huffs.

Mikoto watches her turn around and walk back up the stairs before he exhales a sigh and flumps right back on the couch, listening again to the wood go tap, tap, tap.

Mikoto Suoh ends up carrying four cartons of milk plus two large plastic tubs of anko all crammed up in one convenience store plastic bag, while Awashima Seri holds a much smaller plastic bag containing six boxes of a cigarette brand that she claimed to have lesser nicotine content than Mikoto’s favored brand (that he could care much or less what its name was). They walk side by side at a steady pace, Mikoto’s gaze set straight ahead while Seri focused on the streets of Shizume City.

A few number of robots roamed the streets, cleaning up trash and maintaining street lights and signs. There were also a few people who walked the streets, either joggers or white-collared workers that could be distinguished by their clothing or the objects they had with them. Cars were few as well and perhaps it was no wonder, it was far too early for the day to begin for most people.

It might be better to take walks this early, Seri says as she turned to Mikoto.

Even with heels, she still has to look up at him while talking. He turns to face her, lowering his head slightly to meet her eyes. His gaze drifts from the expectant expression on her face then lingers to the plastic bag in her hand.

… Too early, he sighs. A yawn escapes his mouth shortly after he spoke, as if to prove a point.

Seri shakes her head, shifting the plastic bag she held to her right hand.

Any time of the day I suggest, you always think it’s early.

Because it is.

Even when I suggested that you and Anna take walks on the afternoons?

Mikoto groans audibly and Seri can only sigh in frustration, her left hand tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

If it’s any consolation… there’s little security in the mornings, so there would be less eyes on you.

… You make it sound like I'm on the run.

For a moment, there’s the sound of rumpling plastic. Mikoto glances at her briefly - at her furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips - before looking away.

That... she pauses to bite her lip for a moment before continuing, ...that isn't what I meant.

Mikoto closes his eyes.

A light breeze rushes in and dances in between them, and he breathes in the chilly air it brings.

... I know.

... Cook meat for breakfast afterwards, then I'll consider it.

Seri looks up at Mikoto again, an eyebrow raised. Her hand's about to open the door to the bar but then he spoke, breaking the silence that fell around them for the rest of their walk. He doesn't meet her gaze, too preoccupied with scratching the back of his neck.

Afterwards? she repeats. Mikoto runs a hand through his hair upon hearing her response.

You heard me, he sighs.

Mikoto opens the door and walks right in immediately, heading for the counter.

Seri trails behind him a few seconds after taking in his words.

... I'll determine your portions on the time and intensity of your walk.

He suddenly stops walking, turning around to watch her close the door and walk past him, not even sparing a glance at his face and the expression of dread it held.

You're not serious.

If we're trying to regulate your health, your diet should come with it, she chuckles.

And for the second time that morning, Mikoto Suoh audibly groans.

1: i remember seeing a tumblr post about a what if: seri was mikoto’s lieutenant and izumo munakata’s and i’m like... nice... that would probably be a fun time lol, this AU has so much potential 2: i am liking my headcanon of mikoto not making it a point to call seri by her name (not even by her family name) and vice-versa. and they’ve been like... friends(???) since middle school. or probably longer, shocker. totsuka calls both of them by their given names tho. communication is strange.

#k project #mikoto suoh #suoh mikoto #awashima seri #seri awashima

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parabcllums · 5 years

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⌜ EMMA MACKEY, DEMIWOMAN, SHE / HER / THEY / THEM | i wish i was a punk rocker by sandi thom, choleric, the pop culture fiend ⌟ ⏤ blink and you’ll miss TOVA SOLEIL VIDARSDOTTIR, the TWENTY ONE year old daughter of VIDAR BJORK-THORSON ! they’re an UNDERGRAD student at paragon academy, and i’ve always found them to be pretty ECCENTRIC & TENACIOUS, though i’ve heard that they can also be really ACERBIC & GARRULOUS. i don’t think getting their way is a smart thing to do - everyone knows that their power is NATURE MANIPULATION & PARTIAL ASGARDIAN PHYSIOLOGY. redirect to her stats page HERE and her pinterest board HERE.

you CAN change the world, girl ( you REALLY, TRULY can )

SECTION ONE OF THREE: BULLET POINT HISTORY trigger warnings for talk of death & divorce & army

TOVA SOLEIL VIDARSDOTTIR was born on july 23rd, 1997, one of ( if not the ) first born children of vidar bjork-thorson & mother. she’s what the world would call a LEGACY ; and she’s felt the weight of this for most of her life.

she’s always loved her parents. her father was her hero, and her mother was her best friend. it’s easy, in a lot of ways, to grow up and resent the people that brought you into the world - in a great many cases, they don’t seem to do ENOUGH. when you’re young, when you’re HORMONAL, it’s easy to latch onto what they did WRONG and not what they did well. for tova, it was the opposite. neither could have done a better job, in her innocent eyes, the sun rising and setting upon them.

for a while, this was fine. every parent hopes their child will look up to them, after all - and tova did. she was the kind of child that never wanted to let go of her mother’s hand. never wanted to STOP getting piggybacks around the garden from her dad. never wanted to GROW UP, really, but the sad truth was ; everyone has to eventually.

she always looks to her childhood with rose tinted glasses. she has no DESIRE not to, even though she knows, now that she’s older, things were never quite as good as she recalls. her dad was never really around. it wasn’t HIS FAULT - just the life that he led. he was always overseas, doing his part as a soldier in the british army to keep the PEACE, to save the WORLD, as tova liked to think. she still gets a little THRILL when she hears the sound of the postbox going - a residual feeling from when she was just a LITTLE KID, living with the knowledge that a letter was all she’d have of her dad, for a little while longer. when he was back, things were good until they weren’t. she doesn’t recall what her parents arguments were about, anymore ; just that they EXISTED. sometimes she would hear the rising voices, but for the most part, she would sleep soundly - none the wiser to what was starting to build between them.

she remembers things as BETTER than they were. she doesn’t remember them as PERFECT. cracks existed, but tova never thought that they would grow so wide that repairs would be IMPOSSIBLE.

over time, it came to be that tova spent more time with her SPRAWLING FAMILY than she did her FATHER. her mother and hers were reliable presences ; vidar’s siblings and the asgardians were, too. he was the only one who WASN’T. as long as aunt theresa was around, though, things were never DIRE. her dad’s younger sister was probably tova’s FAVORITE family member, though she never would have said, of course. there was just something about her that tova wanted to emulate. she was FULL OF LIFE, and happy, and whenever she came to visit she would bring the best stories, and presents. she was everything.

tova will always feel, in a way, like maybe she was to BLAME for what happened. she was only eleven - too young to understand, really, when all hell broke loose. theresa pushed her to the floor, lying across her to make sure that she was safe, as shots rang out around them. all tova could think was that SHE had made her aunt bring her to the shops, before they went to the bank ; she had delayed the trip, she had gotten them caught in this, she — she had gotten theresa KILLED. everyone told her differently. in the hours, days, weeks, months after ; everyone knew she harbored some kind of guilt, and everyone knew that it didn’t belong on her little shoulders. still, it was a burden she had to bear. theresa had kept her safe. theora trevor had saved the day. she wouldn’t have been alive without the latter, but if the former hadn’t put herself in harms way…. tova knew it would be different.

this was the turning point. the REAL one, at that. however much she had grown up and become aware that as much love as there was, her family life was far from perfect, tova had always been able fool herself. in the aftermath of her aunts death, though, things fell apart. two years later, her parents were divorcing.

understandably, her later teen years were fairly rough. she was going through a lot because of her aunt’s death, and she had to learn, now, how to live two different lives ; the one with mum, and the one with dad. she still loved both her parents, but her mother had always been there. the same couldn’t have been said for vidar.

there was a disconnect between them that tova DESPERATELY wished didn’t exist. in a last ditch effort to try and be like her dad, to mend part of their relationship, to relate to him and make him relate to HER - tova joined the british army after leaving school. it seemed like the right idea.

it all kind of snowballed, from there.

the army grants educational leave ; tova’s plan had always been to establish herself, and then take that. she spent her seventeenth and eighteenth year in boot camp and then, overseas - time off spent in england. then, she applied and was denied her chance to take a break. she was a good soldier. both her parents had ARMY ROOTS, as did a lot of the people she knew from being a kid ; she knew what she was doing, what to say and how to act, and she was top of her grouping. still, they wouldn’t allow her take her leave.

instead, on a FATEFUL afternoon, tova was called into her superiors office. a man and a woman in suits sat with him, and they explained - as clearly as they could - how she was a TOP CANDIDATE for a special kind of MISSION. they knew she wanted to go to college. they knew she wanted to go to college in AMERICA, at PARAGON ACADEMY, so she could be nearer to her DAD. there had been a new kind of distance forming with the fact he now lived across the ocean, and she had figured she could spent time with the FAMILY. they were willing to allow her that time, that chance at a good college education, so long as she also kept working for them. she asked who ‘they’ were, and was told that WEAPON X were just trying to keep the world safe. she could help them do that.

she didn’t know what she was signing up for. she just thought that…- it was necessary. and if doing it allowed her to get where she wanted to be… tova didn’t ask that many questions.

and now she’s HERE.

SECTION TWO OF THREE: HEADCANONS

tova is a GOOD KID. i really want to stress that, considering the reveal of the end of her bio ; she was eighteen years old when she was made an offer that seemed too good to be true, and she took it even though it WAS. it absolutely was, and… she’s been reporting on mutant’s, and on specific ones, and on what’s going on at the school at any given time. she’s been keeping bad people in the loop because she thinks that they’re BETTER than they are, though a part of her is starting to cotton onto the fact that they AREN’T. she’s not on their level. she was, and is, just naive.

if i was going to use a SINGLE thing to describe her, i’d use a few lines from sandi thom’s song ; “i was born too late into a world that doesn’t care, i wish i was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair.” everything about tova is just… a little bit vintage, and a lot bit punk. she dresses in a very specific way ( fishnets, acid wash, embroidered jeans, t-shirts with slogans, faded band shirts made before she was born, combat boots, stressed tights, MORE ), that also, somehow, manages to mix two styles that seem at war ; and seeing her stood inside her room, all its colors and decorations and cacti in painted pots… would almost be jarring. she’ll take vinyl over cd, anyday, and would rather own a car from prior to the 80s than she would one with all the modern amenities. she likes the STYLE of the past, though she can admit that she likes how far we’ve come far more, and every inch of her being reflects that.

when tova was younger and playing outside, in full view of home, she was attacked by a neighbors dog. it was one of those ‘freak accident’ type things, that she hadn’t provoked, and that the dog hadn’t forewarned happening. it was FAIRLY serious, at the time, and she spent the night in the hospital. she’s been scared of dogs ever since, or at least… any dog that isn’t dad’s corgi ( a dog that STILL took her time to relax around )

tova has an eidetic memory ; which means, while in some ways she isn’t the most intelligent of people, she retains information quite well… though better, if she’s actually interested. for her, that means being able to rattle off music facts from the top of her head without an issue ; her real passions lie there, and she drinks in any and all information she can get. for school, it means she typically doesn’t need to try too hard.

she does have a pet, though ! agatha is her three year old rescue cat, and she’s blind in BOTH eyes. she got her as a kind of ‘welcome to the states and college’ present for HERSELF, mostly because she figured she was going to spend the first few months settling in LONELY, and fell in love the moment she met her. she’s an indoor cat for obvious reasons, and because tova spends SO MUCH time with her, has the sweetest and most gentlest kind of temperament she could ; perfect for tova.

SECTION THREE OF THREE: WANTED CONNECTIONS

#⌜ ･ﾟ ϟ ･ * she was a forest fire by design ― biography. ⌟ / vidarsdottir.

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sexysilverstrider · 7 years

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morgan can i call u morgan wherever u are pls post this one ao3 too or just exist in front of me so i could hug u n never let go

Hey, it’s the anon from a while ago. You know, the one who talked to you about that Berkut AU? I saw that you went through all the sadness of the post-Berkut battle in the game, so I thought I would submit you a little cousin bonding (with a dash of Berinea) fic based on that AU to cheer you up/distract you from Echoes canon. Although, there’s still that small dose of angst because I love it and I know you do as well. Hope you enjoy! Sorry if it doesn’t seem to flow well, the idea I was going for was parallels, so having a moment from childhood and then having a moment in present day. P.S.: To explain a certain thing I mention in this fic, it’s a headcanon of mine both in this AU and in canon that Alm’s circlet is from his mother and that Mycen is allergic to cats.

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

“Wow…These belonged to our mothers?”

Young Alm, barely eight years older, and his cousin Berkut, who wasn’t much older, gazed at the objects in their hands with awe. Alm held a dark blue circlet that had a simple silver design in the front. Berkut held a small golden ring that had a beautiful design crafted on it.

“Yes, your mothers both entrusted them to me so that you boys would have something to remember them by,” Mycen explained as the children carefully examined the gifts, “That circlet was your mother’s favorite Alm, the first gift she received from your father when they were courting. And Berkut, that was your mother’s treasured wedding ring.”

“…We can keep these?” Berkut asked softly, eyes never leaving the one and only thing he had left of his parents.

“Well, I should hold onto those for now, I think.”

“But why?” the boys whined simultaneously, pouting at their grandfather.

“You two get into far too much trouble,” Mycen chuckled, “You could easily lose or break them. Don’t worry, when you’re older and more responsible, they will be yours to keep. And I do hope you both grow into people who make these items’ original owners proud.”

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

“How long do you plan on staring at your reflection, cousin?”

Alm’s cheeks felt hot as he turned to glare at Berkut, who had caught him staring at the hallway mirror. Berkut’s smug look turned to one of slight surprise as he took a good look at Alm.

“Ah, I see…You’re wearing your mother’s circlet.”

“I’m finally old enough for it to fit,” Alm replied, a hand gently brushing against the cold silver design.

“I understand,” Berkut said, raising his hand to show that he was wearing his mother’s wedding ring, “Glad Grandfather finally decided we’re old enough to have them.”

“I just wish he’d tell us more about our parents,” Alm turned back to the mirror, frowning as he looked at the circlet in the reflection, “I mean, all we know is that my father and your mother were siblings, they died soon after our births, and that our mothers left us these gifts. But I wanna know more about their personalities, their lives.”

“I agree but you know very well how troubled Grnadfather looks whenever we ask about them. To have lost both his children so suddenly must have hurt him deeply, it’s probably too painful for him to talk about it.”

“I know that, but…”

Berkut chuckled as he dragged a protesting Alm away from the mirror.

“One day soon, we’ll learn about our parents, Alm,” he said before adding in a more competitive tone, “Until then, let’s focus on learning how to swordfight without breaking any more pots.”

“Hey! Tobin started it and you know it!”

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

“Berkut, you can’t tell Grandpapa!”

Berkut hadn’t even had the chance to welcome Alm home before the younger boy ran inside, arms hiding something wrapped in a blanket. Berkut raised an eyebrow as Alm motioned for him to come closer, moving the blanket just a little to reveal the contents.

“Is that a kitten?”

Indeed, sleeping soundly amidst the warmth of the blanket and Alm’s arms was a small orange kitten, fur covered in leaves and bits of twigs. Berkut’s eyes widened at the sight of the small creature before he hesitatingly stroked her head with his finger.

“Isn’t she cute?” Alm, who usually grumbled at the slightest hint of looking “unmanly”, cooed, “I found her by the meadow. Celica went off to get some milk for her.”

“She’s so tiny,” Berkut murmured, “Wait…Why can’t we tell Grandpapa about this? You know he’s allergic to cats.”

“We’ll hide her in Celica’s room! Grandpapa will never know she’s here,” Alm replied happily. He noted the unconvinced look on his cousin’s face, “C’mon, Berkut, you love cats as much as me and Celica do. And you know with Grandpapa’s allergies we’ll never get to have one until we have our own house!”

“We’re definitely gonna be found out by dinner,” Berkut sighed, “But fine, I guess I can help.”

“I knew I could count on you! Now c’mon, pick a name! Celica has one in mind, and so do I.”

“Um…I…” Berkut stammered, “W-well, she’s orange…So, maybe we can call her Orange?”

Berkut fought a losing battle trying not to blush under Alm’s unimpressed stare.

“Ugh, you and Celica picked such boring names,” Alm complained, “She wanted to name her ‘Emily’.”

“Well, what’s your suggestion then?”

Alm, grinned, as if he’d been waiting for Berkut to ask.

“Purrscilla, of course!”

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

“Hey, Berkut! Look who I found wandering around the camp!”

Berkut, who had been looking over his horse to make sure he hadn’t been hurt too badly in the earlier battle, looked over his shoulder at Alm’s voice, only to let out a sigh.

“Alm, have you already forgotten what Grandfather said about picking up strays?”

Alm merely grinned at his cousin’s exasperated look, adjusting his grip on the fluffy orange cat that was purring away in his arms.

“I know, I know, but she’s such a sweetheart, she came right up to me!” Alm chuckled, looking down at the cat fondly, “Doesn’t she remind you of Purrscilla?”

The tiny kitten from their childhood had managed to slip under Mycen’s watch for a full three days, before she snuck out of Celica’s room and curled up in Mycen’s lapping, sending the poor man into a sneezing frenzy. Berkut, Alm, and Celica were lectured thoroughly that day, and little Purrscilla was given away to another family in the village.

“I still can’t believe we went with your stupid name back then.”

“Excuse me for wanting to have some fun with names!” Alm countered, before talking to the cat, “He’s such a killjoy.”

Berkut rolled his eyes, patting his horse and bringing him back over to the other horses before approaching Alm. The cat purred louder as Berkut gently scratched her under the chin.

“You better not try to take her with us,” Berkut warned Alm, seeing how attached his cousin was getting.

“I won’t, I’m not a fool,” Alm sighed, “I’ll let Clawrine go after dinner.”

“…Clawrine?” Berkut repeated.

“Well, it was either Clawrine or Pawrissa. And she looks like a Clawrine, doesn’t she?”

“Alm, I swear…”

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

“Alm, you won’t believe this!”

Alm, who had been busy trying to feed the family sheep, and getting his clothes gnawed at for all his efforts, looked over where Tobin had yelled. He smiled as he saw Gray and Tobin dragging Berkut towards him, Kliff and Faye following close behind. Oh, he couldn’t wait to hear what this was about…

“Berry here got his very first confession!” Gray laughed once the group reached Alm.

“Confession?” Alm repeated, surprised and amused as a red-faced Berkut refused to look at him, “As in a love confession?”

“It was that cute girl who works in the tavern,” Tobin explained despite the death glare Berkut was giving him, “You should’ve seen it Alm, it was like something out of one of my sisters’ fairytales!”

“You could practically see the hearts in her eyes while she confessed,” Faye giggled, “It was rather adorable!”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Berkut muttered, “Besides, I turned her down.”

“And made her cry,” Kliff added.

“You made her cry?” Alm asked disappointedly.

“Not on purpose!” Berkut insisted, “I just told her I wasn’t interested and that it’d be in her best interest to find another, then she ran off crying.”

“Yeah, well, I’d stay away from the public eye for a while, Berry,” Gray snickered, “Her father’s gonna kick your butt when he hears you made his little girl cry.”

“It wasn’t on purpose!”

Alm, seeing Berkut’s face growing increasingly red from a mixture of embarrassment and anger, decided to come to his cousin’s rescue.

“Like what happened between you and the older sister of that girl you turned down last month, Gray?”

The group went dead silent at Alm’s words, only for everyone to turn to look at Gray, who was frozen in place.

“Wait a second,” Kliff began, fighting a smile, “That broken nose you had last month…Don’t tell me…”

“Ohh, do tell us more, Alm,” Berkut said teasingly, as the others tried and failed to fight off laughs.

“Alm, you’re dead to me,” Gray grumbled.

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

Rinea was truly a vision, with her long hair as blue as the sky and those warm, gentle eyes. Her sincere kindness, her willingness to put her life on the line to heal, to try and save her family from destitution, the way she smiled and laughed, the way she got him to open up to her.

Berkut had accepted it a while ago…He was in love.

“Rinea’s nice, isn’t she?”

Berkut startled for a moment. He had been so focused on watching Rinea, who was in the middle of a discussion of healing methods with Silque and Faye, that he hadn’t noticed his cousin approach him.

“Ah, sorry, Alm, I was distracted,” Berkut said, “What was that about Rinea?”

“I was saying that she’s really nice,” Alm said, “Kind, dependable, shy but she tries hard. And she’s amazing in battle. Did you see her take down that Terror that was about to get me back at the shrine? Incredible!”

Alm’s eyes twinkled in admiration as he looked over at Rinea. Berkut couldn’t help but feel pride coursing through him, even though Rinea was the one being praised. But, intermingled with that pride, was worry.

It was just admiration in Alm’s eyes, right? Alm’s affections laid toward Celica, Berkut was certain of that. Just because Rinea was so easy to love, so incredible and wonderful, that didn’t mean Alm felt anything for her other than respect. And even if he did, it couldn’t match Berkut’s own feelings. It could never match the depth of what Berkut felt. Alm could never match Berkut, he never could when they were children, it should be the same now. So why? Why was he falling behind?!

“Berkut?”

Alm’s voice was the trigger that brought Berkut back, making him remember where he was. He saw the troubled expression on Alm’s face.

“You did it again,” Alm said worriedly, searching Berkut’s face, “For the past few weeks, there are these moments where you become dead to the world…What’s wrong?”

What was wrong? It’s true, he kept having moments where his vision would narrow, where his mind would go all over the face, bringing up thoughts he never knew he had, feelings he never knew he could experience so strongly. It started with his first encounter with one of those Duma Faithful members…During the last encounter, he confronted the bastard, demanding to know what spell had been cast on him that put such thoughts in his head. And what had that person replied?

“Nothing has been planted in your mind…Those thoughts were always there, buried deep in your soul…”

“It’s nothing,” Berkut told Alm, although he knew very well that wasn’t true and Alm certainly didn’t look convinced, “I’m alright, Alm.”

“…You don’t talk to me anymore, Berkut…not like before,” Alm muttered, “Are you really alright? Or is it something you don’t want to tell me?”

“…It’s nothing that concerns you, cousin,” Berkut was beginning to feel irritated at Alm’s prying.

Alm looked as though he wanted to argue further, but thought better of it. The pair stood in silence as the cold but strangely familiar Rigelian air played with their hair.

“I know I’m busy with the Deliverance,” Alm said after a while, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk like we always did before…You can rely on me, Berkut.”

“Because we’re family,” Berkut responded, although the affection in those words seemed dulled, “You can rely on me as well. Such as relying on my ability to know if something is wrong with me or not.”

“I rely more on your damn stubbornness,” Alm snapped back, “Ugh, sorry, I don’t wanna fight. Not when this is the first chance we had to properly talk in a while.”

“I know…But it’s getting late, we can talk another time.”

Berkut took one last glance at Rinea before nodding to Alm and walking off.

“Berkut.”

He paused, although he didn’t turn back to look at his cousin.

“Rinea worries about you too…If you won’t ease my worries, at least ease hers…”

He heard Alm walk off, but he still didn’t turn around. He was alright. He was certain of that. These thoughts that plagued him, they were nothing he couldn’t handle. He was strong after all. He would get through this on his own.

And when he did, he would face Alm and Rinea properly…

#ho ho ho hoooooooly SHIT #AAAAAAAAA #berkut #alm #berinea #MMMMMM THIS IS SO GOOD AAAAAAAAAAAA #fire emblem #PLS READ THIS IM IN LOVE #THANK U BLESS U AAAAAAAA #BERKUT COMES IN FEH NEXT WEEK I CANT WAIT FOR HIM N ALM TO RECONCILE!!!#submission

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