#and the duke is a kind caring wonderful man who keeps you safe and cooks you food and is the nicest person in the game | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rose-lord-of-simps · 3 years

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🌹100 Followers Special!✨

Oh my gosh! YAYAYAYAYAYAYAY! Thank you guys so much for my first 100( 133 at this time now) it means a lot and I’m glad you enjoy what I write! Originally I had a different prompt list planned but as I thought about it, it didn’t really fit into the ship that won very well! So we got the fluff alphabet instead!

I present to you~

Solomon x MC x Barbatos

Fluff alphabet edition!

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Mischief. You and Solomon will try new spells and potions or go out to town and prank random demons by adding something that will make them turn into a frog in their drink.

On Barb’s days off he’ll actually join you! He only let’s you two do simple things though, even if it’d be hilarious to see one of the great demon dukes turn into a worm and get eaten by a bird.

Barbs will take you two ice skating whenever he gets the chance to. He enjoys having an excuse to hold both your hands because Solomon can not skate to save his life-

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Solomon loves both you guys’ hands. He loves to hold them and see your faces when he kisses them. He also adores watching you use your hands to cook or cast spells, maybe help with potions. He finds it wonderful how your hands enact the intricate movements for spells.

Barbs loves your waist. No matter what size you are he adores being able to hold you by the waist and pull you close. He also loves to be able to run his hands along your sides, he enjoys feeling your shape in his hands. On Solomon though he loves the place where the pact mark ended up. He likes kissing around the mark whenever he gets the chance.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Separately, Barbs would have the most gentle touch and try to get you somewhere private to help calm you down, away from prying eyes. He’d do whatever he could, he’d offer to hold you if you’d want him to but if you prefer not to touched when you’re sad he will take you to the kitchen or garden, whichever you prefer but if you choose kitchen he is baking you something and letting you vent as he works.

Solomon alone would wrap you up in his cape thingy and keep you hidden from the world. He’d ask what’s wrong immediately and try to distract you if he felt that’s work better. He’d do a few tiny performance spells for you like maybe tiny fire works or zapping a demon in the butt.

Together though they are the best team. They’re taking you to somewhere more private and engulfing you in a group hug if you let them. You can cry your eyes out for however long you wish. If you don’t want to be touched then Barbs will go get you a water bottle for when you’re done crying or panicking while Solomon goes through breathing excersizes with you.

If it’s something less serious though and you’re just having a bad day, barbs will bring you a treat and a kiss before he has to go back to working and Solomon will snuggle you both up for cuddles.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Barbs has accidentally seen many realities for the future with you two and his only hope and plan is to make sure the ones where you break up don’t happen in your realm.

Solomon wants to get a small house in the human realm with you. He knows Barbatos can’t exactly leave his job and he also knows there may be people in the human realm who you want to see. If you’re okay only making weekly-monthly trips to the human realm though then he wants to have a house for all three of you in the DevilDom. Not a very big one, just enough room for the three of you. Totally not because he wants to horde you two away so he can just love you.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Solomon imitated dates and affection more. He’ll let you and Barbs plan whatever you want but he’ll be the one to mention that it’s been a while since you’ve gone on a date. He’ll also be the person who starts kissing Barbs before pulling you in for your own affection.

Barbs is more passive. He’s up for anything you two want to do but knows Solomon isn’t good at making plans so he’ll pick a date and help you plan what you three are going to do. Sometimes he gets in an extra affectionate mod though and will kiss your cheeks while he is working. He tries to remain professional in sowwy! However he ain’t gonna stop you if you or Solomon start kissing him.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Barbs doesnt like to hold grudges especially when it comes to you two. He adores you both and already saw everything would turn out okay. This of course can sometimes lead to him forgetting he still has to make things up in the present though. He doesn’t like to fight, he prefers debate and will only tell you two his truth of the situation, trying to diffuse anything else bubbling up.

Solomon would need to be alone and be mad for a bit though. He doesn’t forgive and forget immediately and tries to calmly talk things out first. If he is getting too mad though he will start raising his voice and trying to leave so he can cool off without hurting someone.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Barbs is so grateful. He feels so lucky to have you both and will always give you kisses when one of you brings him food for lunch (even if it’s Solomon’s cooking) and please give this man a self care day- can we just- this guy is always stressed with the Peince’s antics and on his feet all day, if you and Solomon make him a self care day and pamper him right back he will actually cry a bit. He is fickle aware of everything his partners do for him.

Solomon is similar. He never lets something either of you do go unnoticed and always makes sure to return the kindness. Barbs made him food? He’ll make Barbs dessert! You’re helping him with a potion? He’ll make you a charmed necklace!

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Look Barbs kinda can’t share all the futures he sees with you two. He’ll tell you about past futures you could have landed in if you ask. But other than that he tells you two everything he can. He doesn’t like keeping secrets from either of you however some royal business matters he can’t share yet.

Solomon will tell you everything, if you ask about it. He doesn’t intentionally keep secrets, especially not about his past, but sometimes he forgets that you and Barbs don’t know all the stories of how he got all the pacts he has and will just causally mention one as if it’s nothing. Newer secrets though he doesn’t keep. If someone needs to tell him a secret they have to specify if they don’t want you and barbs knowing. He tells you two everything and if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to share someone’s secret, he knows you two will keep it safe for him.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Barbs takes more time off because of you two. Not a lot but a little more. He’ll always make sure he has time to spend with you two on big dates like anniversaries and holidays. Because of you two he’s also tried a lot more stuff than he ever thought he would, like human world candy.

Solomon sees more beauty in life because of you two. He didn’t want to die to begin with but because of you two he’s found even more reason to live. He loves being able to count you as a reason to coming home the next day.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Barbs gets jealous he can’t spend as much time with both of you as he wants. When it comes to others flirting with you though he can’t help but get a little protective. If it’s at one of Dia’s parties and he has to work he’ll kiss you and Solomon’s cheeks. Something subtle saying you’re both taken by one hell of a butler. If the other goes too far though and neither of you have dealt with them yet then he’ll take care of them himself.

Solomon isn’t jealous at all actually. He knows you’re hot. He knows Barbs is hot. And he knows you’re both loyal. He trusts you two. If he sees someone flirting with you though and notices you’re getting uncomfortable he’ll come and see if you want him to step in and swoop you away.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Barbs... look I just-... just kiss him. Just do it and see how perfectly his lips feel against your’s. Your first kiss with Barbs is gentle and full of care, he treats you and Solomon with all the love he treats his plants so of course that kiss is going to be sweet as a rose.

Solomon is a little more forward with his kisses. He’s a good kisser, kiss him and find out for yourself hehe, but your first kiss with him is more passionate, his hands pulling you closer to him and not letting go unless it’s to hold your hand.

Their first kiss with each other was months before they met you. They had been going on dates and Barbatos asked if he could kiss Solomon. It was honestly adorable. Barbs wasn’t shy he just didn’t want to make a Solomon uncomfortable. But when Solomon just kissed him instead of giving an answer, well hey Barbs wasn’t complaining!

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

They confess to you together. Of course. They invited you to their lunch date, Barbatos cooked and made everything look super cute, heart shaped cake! Solomon didn’t stop flirting with you and Barbatos COULDNT help but join him. They did directly tell you their feelings as well of course.

Barbatos confessed first. Solomon was visiting him, as a friend not a date, and tried to help Barbs cook. Barbs decided to best distract Solomon he’d have to confess his feelings. It worked. Solomon immediately asked Barbatos on a date and started planning it in his head, claiming he had to leave so he could make it perfect.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Barbatos is okay with anything. Marriage isn’t important to him, he could happily live his life as whatever you and Solomon want to be, even if it means eternally being fiancés. A Barbatos proposal would be in the garden. He’s have everything planned out perfectly for you two, flowers would be in bloom, no distractions, and romantic music playing while the scene happens under the closest thing they have to moonlight. It was amazing. Barbs as a husband is the literal best. He’ll take care of you and Solomon better than Dia. He makes sure you bothe eat, take your meds, drink water, get enough sunlight from the human world, he’s so caring.

Solomon would like to get married but it’s not required for him if you don’t want to. He’d propose with magic. He set up a light show for you and Barbs and finished with the proposal, also had note cards with how much he loved you two on them but got so embarrassed at the cheesy stuff on them that he left them out. You found them a week later and he tried to change the subject but when Barbs saw them he knew he was done for. Solomon as your hubby is fun! He always makes sure you’re mental health is doing good and takes you on adventures to get potion stuff with him. He’ll make you and Barbs little gifts, has been banned from the kitchen though.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

Barbs calls you dear. “My dear you look stunning as always.” He calls Solomon sugar. No I will not take arguments. Solomon gets confused to be salty at first glance and too much of him can be a problem but we love him so it’s okay. Sugar.

Solomon calls you dove. You’re gorgeous and such a symbol of love to him. You also bring him peace of mind when you’re next to him so, dove! “Dove I’m going on an expidetion, come with me?” He calls Barbs darling. It started as a lady and the tramp joke, Jim dear and Darling, but it kind of just stuck. Barbs surprisingly likes it a lot.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

When Barbs realizes he is in love he is so discreet about it. The only person who immediately notices, is Diavolo. He smiles a genuine smile more and his stride is just more float like. He genuinely looks like he is enjoying the day. He expresses his love through words. He’ll say it and compliment you whenever he sees you. He’ll always ask Solomon about his spells and stuff. He just talks and pays attention as makes sure you know he adores both of you.

Solomon is descreat about his feelings to someone just passing by. If you’re someone he knows, he is openly telling them about how much he adores his boyfriend and partner. He likes to flirt with you two, especially when you’re doing tasks and Barbs is at work. He’s also big on physical touch, hands will always be held!

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Barbatos won’t initiate affection while he is on the clock. The most he’ll do is blow you two a kiss as he leaves or smile at you. Sometimes he’ll make a heart with his hands if he’s feeling extra sappy. When he isn’t on the clock though, he mostly just holds your hands. Cheek kisses whenever he wants though. He’ll be kind of shy to directly kiss you for too long in public but hey if you or Solomon want real kisses and not just pecks, he’ll never push you off. He’ll just happily reciprocate!

Solomon doesn’t care where he is, if he wants kisses then he wants kisses. He’s respectable about it when Barbs is working or a serious meeting is going on but that won’t stop him from holding your hand or linking your arms together. He enjoys holding you two close when he can.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that's beneficial in a relationship.

Barbatos is one hell of a butler. And he knows how to make you and Solomon feel special in all kinds of situations.

Solomon is entertaining. If you’re sad or need a distraction, he has the perfect flirty comment or small spell to take your mind off things.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Barbatos is the cliche one here. Flowers, chocolates or sweets if you like them, candles, love letters, mood lighting, the whole shibang. He also most definetly has a playlist of romantic songs he hears. He’ll do anything to make you smile. If he sees you over working yourself or Solomon hasn’t taken a break in foreve he gets you water and makes you stop for a minute or two to just enjoy a moment or relaxing. Will also happily give either of you a massage.

Solomon tries! He gets creative with light show spells and he has a list of you and Barbs’ favorite things! He’ll remember little things you mention but he also likes to make sure you two know it’s not from anyone else. He’ll always sign cards more over dramatically than required. Any “grand gesture” he makes is either way over the top or super quiet but DETAILED- THIS MAN PAYS ATTENTION TO DETAIL. And it’s- worth it.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Barbatos will always support you two. He adores you and will help you achieve any goal you set. Solomon needs a spotter in case a spell goes awry? Got it. You just need a cheerleader to bring you food? He’s already making your favorite! He believes in both of you 100% but isn’t afraid to give you two a reality check when he deems it necessary. (When you two may be getting overwhelmed or there is a time crunch) if you’re stubborn about it though and not backing down then he’ll help get whatever it is done.

Solomon helps make schedules for when you or Barbs have a project of some sort due, he attempts cooking, he brings the energy drinks and wake up spells, if you’re going through something rough then he’s going with you. Barbs is having a tough time at work? Time to prepare the snuggle fort. You’ve been studying too much? He’ll quiz you then make you take a nap. Best cheerleader.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Barbatos requires some form of routine because of his work. He, unfortunately, can’t just wake up and say he is going to go to a movie that day. The rare times he does have a day off he makes sure there is a plan for the day. If you and Solomon planned a surprise, that’s fine he won’t ask you just need to tell him to keep the day free of plans. Within the relationship he doesn’t need to try new things but he always is up for whatever you want.

Spontaneous. He’ll plan when he needs to actually get work done but when he doesn’t, it could be a day of just doing nothing for hours before he decides he wants to surprise Barbs at work or you at HoL. He likes to try new things in the relationship, he is up to try almost anything but there are a few things he won’t do.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Barbatos knows you both like the back of his hand if you let him. He’s very observant and knows how to tell when you two aren’t happy and when you two are having the best days of your lives. He knows how to read you well but he isn’t very empathetic. He knows what to do when he sees a certain look on your face and he know exactly how to make both you and Solomon fee better. He’ll listen and tell you what he thinks you need to hear.

Solomon is the empathetic one. He doesn’t recognize when you or Barbs are sad by looking at you, he knows by talking to you. He’s able to hear it in your tone or how you two are speaking. When you vent to him he knows exactly what to say to make you feel better and cries with you. But he knows exactly how to make you and Barbs feel better in every situation.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

You and Solomon mean everything to Barbatos. He doesn’t have to be anyone special or any kind of butler for you two, he can just be himself and not be afraid to ask for something he wants. He has to admit that sometimes he needs to put work first and he feels incredibly bad about it. However if it’s an emergency he doesn’t hesitate to tell Diavolo he has to leave and rushes to you two as fast as he can.

Solomon adores your two. He puts his relationship with you two first more often than he puts most other things. He doesn’t let it distract from his goals and dreams but you two become a part of that dream that he isn’t willing to compromise.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

Barbatos secretly loves being in the middle of you and Solomon. He love being held by you to Solomon behind him and then having one of you in his arms or be snuggled in your chest. He’s warm and relaxed and safe.

Solomon takes you two ice skating on a date once. If you don’t know how he will very happily teach you because he was also the one to teach Barbatos how much fun ice skating is.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

He isn’t big on PDA. If you come up and kiss him he will happily kiss back and if you initiate affection then he isn’t going to push you away, unless he is in the middle of cooking at work and Solomon is trying to steal him away. In private he will always reciprocate affection but at first has a hard time initiating it in fear you don’t want him to be affectionate. He does love to snuggle though.

Solomon just wants to constantly hold hands or have an arm around you both. He loves getting kisses from you and Barbs and loves holding the two of you in his arms even more. Sometimes if you’re busy and Barbs is cooking he will help one of you with whatever task you’re trying to complete just so he can have your attention faster.

Y earning - How will they cope when they're missing their partner?

When Barbs is missing you he is slightly extra affectionate towards Solomon. When he is missing Solomon he is slightly more affectionate towards you. When he misses both of you? He’s too busy trying to distract his mind with his work and the task at hand. He will also remind himself that it won’t be long until he sees the two of you so it’s going to be okay. If he isn’t able to see you two for a few days then he just tries to focus on his work even more.

Solomon doesn’t like to miss you. When he misses either of you he just goes to see you. If he is busy or trying to focus on something that needs to get done he’ll get as much of it done as he can before he needs to at least call you. He’ll call you if you’re not in class and just start up a conversation about anything, listening to your voice as he finishes what he was working on before. If Barbatos is at work he will send him something flirty or funny, something he knows will get a reaction out of Barbs even if he doesn’t text back.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Barbatos aims to please. If you or Solomon want to do something or see something or try something or just want something, he does his best to make it happen. If there is a problem or a fight he is usually the one to diffuse the situation and make things better. There have been rare times where he has gotten overwhelmed and just didn’t know what to do and then he just tries to get everyone apart to cool off and collect themselves. However sometimes Solomon wants to take the mischief a little too far and Barbs has to real you two back in.

Solomon adores both you and Barbs so he does what he can. If an argument breaks out he does his best to remain calm and try to just talk instead of yelling. He tries to make you both feel special and makes sure you both know how much he cares but he stays firm on his boundaries. He knows how far he is and isn’t willing to go on certain things and you’re going to need to be persuasive if you want to change his mind. While his boundaries aren’t loose, they are open so if you suggest something he’s probably going to be fine with it.

Oh my goodness, thank you guys so much and I’m thrilled you enjoy what I write! I hope you liked this, sorry if Solomon sees a little too high energy it was a challenge writing him but I think I’m gettin gn better at it! Have an amazing unbirthday everyone and I hope you sleep well!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me gender neutral mc #obey me headcanons #obey me x mc #obey me x oc #obey me x y/n #obey me x you #obey me x reader #obey me solomon #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon x you x barbatos #100 followers special woo!#obey me solomon x barbatos #obey me solomon x reader #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me barbatos x mc #obey me solomon x mc

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philliamwrites · 3 years

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killing me softly with his song | (Childe / Reader) [chpt.02]

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Childe / Reader

Tags: #fem!reader, #from childhood friends to lovers, #reader is a fatui agent, #slow burn, #unresolved sexual tension, #mature language, #forbidden love

Words: 3.5k

Summary: "Lybuov zla, polyubish i kozla,“ sighs your sister as she wipes off the table, but that makes you feel even more miserable. Falling for a goat might save you from an actual heartbreak by Tartaglia’s hands.

Notes: Part 1

Masterlist

Chapter 2

At the barracks’ canteen reigns the unspoken rule that no one is allowed to cook borsch, and trying to do so is punished by cleaning all windows with cold water only in the middle of the night. Can’t see anything because the nights at the outskirts of Zapolyarny are blacker than out in the taiga? Tough luck. There are so many different recipes as there are families out there, and everyone has their very own way to make it. Fatui agents have brought each other to the hospital wing over fighting which recipe is the best, therefore a couple of years before Tartaglia and you enrolled, this rule was established.

Sitting out in the cold of Jaroslawk at four in the morning, you’d kill for a hot bowl of your mamochka’s borsch—the best in Morepesok even though Tartaglia begs to differ, but the only problem with his claim is that he is fucking wrong.

Through your binoculars you see everything is quiet and dark on the other side of the compound, which is a good sign. Unfortunately, good also means very boring. You’ve been lying in the exact same position for nearly three hours now: on your belly, elbows slightly propping your upper body to see the Baron’s estate that’s embraced by a forest like a mother cradling its child. Tales have it if you make even one little mistake inside those cold brick walls, Baron Igor would personally see to it that you don’t leave these woods alive and whatever his hellish guard dogs don’t finish eating up, his servants would send to your family as a small parting gift and warning to get as far and fast away as possible.

If only he were as thorough covering his tracks as he is scaring people, but Baron Igor has never really excelled at multiple things and now, months after the first little bird brought some interesting insight, you can’t wait for Baron Igor to finally slip and confirm the rumours about him selling information on one of Il Dottore’s gun research labs to a spy from Sumeru. Intel has it exchanges usually occur once every full moon and with the orb now hidden behind thick, black clouds, this is the last chance to get some evidence before the ship leaving to Sumeru carries whoever deserves a knife in their windpipe back to their God of Wisdom.

Baron Igor has messed up, got too arrogant, and now you and your team are here to make sure he eats up his mess. It wasn’t easy to infiltrate his mansion. Mitsuki only passed because you took out two of the other contesters for one of the Baron’s favourite restaurants down in Nowobirsk. That man bows to greed and when introduced to the place’s new maître d’hôtel—the best of his kind, the most exotic to own during their flimsy ceasefire with Inazuma—Baron Igor acted swiftly and hired him. Mitsuki had gagged at those words while lieutenant Scaramouche had shown the patience of a man barely holding himself back from violence. Two days later, Mitsuki took his position as spy and head waiter of the Baron’s personal restaurant taking up the whole second floor in the right wing of his stone mansion.

“Fuck me, I look like a penguin,” Mitsuki had said on the night before his work began at the estate, glaring at himself in the mirror dressed in a sharply tailored tuxedo.

“Then we know who to call if Baron Igor decides to open a zoo,” Mikhail had said, but he was in no hurry to turn away his appreciative gaze from how tight Mitsuki’s black pants tugged his slim legs and ass.

That’s the team, Mitsuki, you and Mikhail—Lock, Shock and Barrel, one of your fellow division’s comrade likes to call you for unknown reasons, simply laughing to himself and shaking his head as if trying to get rid of a good memory. Though for all that Scaramouche is concerned, to him you’re triple double and a clusterfuck he doesn’t want anywhere near him or so help him Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, he’ll stake your heads and scatter your remains to the seagulls terrorising the coast of Port Odessa.

“He loves us,” Mikhail likes to joke, even though you aren’t sure the words love and Scaramouche should be used in one sentence.

“One day, he’ll kill one of us with his bear hands and feel nothing,” Mitsuki commonly remarks, sounding like whatever you’d do to receive such a punishment is probably ghastly enough to justify being murdered.

“His hat is pretty neat,” is usually your only contribution and they both look at you as if you’re crazy.

“Any movement?” a voice asks from your right. Mikhail shakes still fresh snow from his head and shoulders as he dugs under the narrow doorway, looking like a puppy trying to shake itself dry. Now that a year has passed since a Geo Vision user crushed his right arm and healers had to amputate it to save his life, he’s adapted pretty well to only one arm and hand at his disposal. He’s balancing a cup in his palm while holding two paper bags with his fingers and somehow makes it look easy. He rejoins you at the window, carefully placing the steaming cup and one bag in front of you. You hand him your binoculars so he can see for himself, and inspect your breakfast. “Do I even want to know where you found,” you peak inside the bag, “pirozhky at a time like this?”

“Couple of blocks down there’s this place. Really nice lady, gave me one for free and added a little extra to our coffee.”

You take a sip, and instantly begin coughing and pounding your chest as it goes down burning. “Archons, that’s disgusting. Who in their right mind puts Fire-Water in their coffee?”

“I know, right?” Mikhail beams. “It’s genius.”

It’s ghastly. You take another sip. Horrible, really. But it keeps you warm and awake. So maybe it isn’t that bad at all.

While Mikhail observes the area, you dig into your beef and onion pirozhky. There’s nothing fun about pulling an all-nighter but sometimes sharing a cup of coffee and eating warm food helps to get through them. Also knowing someone suffers with you. Sharing pain is gain, after all.

“Well, they sure like taking their sweet time,” Mikhail mumbles, getting a little more comfortable on the cold stone ground. He puts the binoculars away and digs into his own food. “What are we gonna do if nothing happens today?”

“Then we’ll come back next month and do it all over again.” Hopefully you don’t have to. Fyrva’snezh was two weeks ago but this winter started off particularly brutal. Two out of three units are still missing from their outskirts training and you don’t want to be in the poor lasses’ and lads’ shoes who are still at the infirmary recovering from severe hypothermia. “What worries me more is that Mitsuki might lose his sanity if he stays there another whole month.”

“Well, what doesn’t kill him makes him stronger,” Mikhail says, wiping his greasy fingers off his pants. “I just want to wipe that smug smirk off the Baron’s pig face.”

He and probably every citizen populating Jaroslawk. “Once Mitsuki locates the communication point, we’ll go in and neutralise the target if we can’t catch him alive,” you say. “Baron Igor will try and weasel his way out of it but so far all evidence stands against him. The rest is up to Her Majesty.” And the Tsaritsa is known for many things, but mercy isn’t one of them. That will show anyone else trying to make business behind her back.

“Do you really think Mitsuki will endure another month in that stupidly tight uniform?” Mikhail sounds like he very much wished for another month out in the cold like this if it meant Mitsuki would bless him for a while longer wearing his uniform.

You stretch your leg and kick him in his shin. “Don’t jinx this, Nozhyalensky,” you say. “No matter how good his ass looks in those pants, it isn’t worth freezing your own ass off out in this cold. If we have to extend our mission, I’m going to steal your coat and own it for the whole time.”

“You don’t care if I freeze to death?”

“I really don’t.”

He puts his hand on his heart in mock despair. “That’s harsh.”

It would be his own fault, no hard feelings. You sit in silence, sharing your scalding hot coffee. In the mansion on the other side, a light flickers on in the east wing. Mikhail shifts and makes a disgusted grunt. “I did not want to know the Baron is banging the Duchess of Pavlovich.”

“Might be good leverage in the future.” You quickly dot it down in your notebook, squinting at the barely illuminated page. “Especially if the Duke refuses to pay his taxes again. I’m sure we can get to him through her.”

More minutes pass in silence. Mikhail continues his watch while you start to mindlessly doodle a little Foul Legacy Child in the corner of your page. You wonder what time it is in Liyue. Is Childe also out on a mission or tugged in and sleeping well in a land that knows nothing of harsh winds and freezing nights. Does he spare a thought of home? Is he missing you as much as you miss him or has he already filled the gnawing void with faceless, warm women that comfort him at night?

“Heard anything from our comrades in Liyue?” Mikhail asks nonchalantly, but he’s always been the poorest liar of you three and it’s pretty obvious where this conversation is going. Part of you hungers for that conflict.

“They still can’t find whoever killed the Geo Archon. But Lord Childe might have located the Gnosis and has begun his infiltration.”

Chances are good he might succeed in another month or so, though from the letters you’ve received so far, it sounds like he might succeed fucking the consultant of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor before that. Tartaglia has never started anything serious with guys before, safe from occasionally drunk making outs, but new cultures could change a lot in you and it’s Tartaglia’s first time staying for so long in Liyue and meeting a man like this so called Zhongli.

Mikhail clicks his tongue in disgust. “I can’t believe this guy is over there for three months already and is still nowhere near finishing the job.” He spits at the ground and twists his mouth in a very familiar manner of annoyance—only usually this expression is meant for initiate Fatui members who can’t tell a shotgun from a sniper rifle.

“How can you still be mad at him for handing you your ass three years ago,” you say. A man’s ego is such a frail thing, thank the Tsaritsa for being a strong, independent woman.

“This isn’t about that stupid fight,” Mikhail splutters, red blotches creeping up his neck. His inability to lie is abysmal. “I don’t get how you stand that guy. His arrogance needs its own giant room to fit inside. Someone needs to knock him down a peg or two and maybe beat out this need to whore around as well—”

You move in a flash. Mikhail doesn’t have any time to react before he finds himself on his back, pinned down by your weight with a knife to his throat. “Mikhail, I love you like my own kin and you know I’d take a bullet for you any time,” you growl. “But speak another filthy word about Childe and I will cut off your tongue and feed it to street dogs while watching you bleed out like a slaughtered pig. Are we clear?”

You feel Mikhail’s chest rising and falling under your spread hand, his body warm, proof of his life. How easy it would be to take it from him, to warm the cold, dirty ground with his blood.

Mikhail’s dark eyes don’t give away anything. He’s holding very still, like a cornered animal faced with its hunter; don’t move and maybe it thinks one is dead. Eventually, he says quietly, “If you could see what an unlikeable, unpleasant person he really is, maybe...” He doesn't finish. There is no need to. You know very well what point he’s trying to make.

“I don’t need your supervision,” you say. “Or your pity.”

Mikhail barks a loud, humourless laugh. “Lassie, if I had an ounce of pity left for anyone else than myself, I wouldn’t be very good at this job, would I?”

You shift your weight. Mikhail groans as you put pressure on a wound a Pyro Vision user inflicted on him a week ago that hasn’t fully healed yet—a favour for Mikhail to prevent him from following his train of thought. You don’t know what is worse: His unrequited love for Mitsuki or Tartaglia and you knowing what you both want but can’t have.

Mikhail quietly says your name and gently lowers your hand. The sharp knife has bit into his skin just enough to leave a fine, red line on his throat. “All I’m saying is, I am not the bad guy here.”

He is right, of course. But that makes it even worse, because without a bad guy, who could you put blame on? Who would be the target of your frustration and your scorn? Who would pay for countless sleepless nights wasted alone or in a stranger’s arms?

If there is no good, no bad side, no villains or heroes to put blame on, what does that leave for you? Just the law. It is hard, but it is the law.

There is no one but yourself who carries the burden. Even knowing Tartaglia goes through the same doesn’t soothe the pain steadily growing in your heart. You’re like two stars gravitating to each other, seeking the sweet collision to finally become one and create something bigger, the most exquisite light in the endless black galaxy, but whenever you manage to come close to each other, other forces pull you apart.

You shift your position from towering above him to slumping back on Mikhail’s lap, your anger deflated like a balloon.

“Arguing with you is no fun,” you mumble, sheathing the knife back in its place inside your boot.

Mikhail arches one dark brow. “Learnt from the best. You don’t want to get into an argument with my mama.”

“Are you two leaving me out from a team bonding session?” comes a static voice from your left.

“Darling, we would never leave you out from a potential threesome,” Mikhail says back, a wicked grin flirting with his mouth.

“Blergh,” you groan in disgust and roll off him, grabbing for the plastic piece from where Mitsuki’s voice has sounded; Il Dottore’s newest invention, a voice transmitter agents use for long distance communication.

“So, how’s it cooking, good looking?” Mikhail asks, ignoring your eyes rolling back. “Anything new at the front?”

Mitsuki is silent for a moment. Somewhere, a dog barks. “I think someone might have tipped the Baron off.”

Immediately, you feel Mikhail's body tense next to you. “Do you need us to come in?”

Oppressive silence fills the room. Mikhail jerks, but before he can jump to rash actions, you grab his arm hard enough to bruise. He freezes, and you both stare at the voice transmitter in Mikhail’s hand.

A moment later, static crackles, and Mitsuki says, “I received a note on the caviar shipment. Roads are all clear, it should come in around seven in the morning.”

Mikhail relaxes, but a sweat bead rolls from his temple and disappears behind his black turtle neck sweater. He sags against you, exhaling very loudly.

A couple of years ago, after you three had been working together and hadn’t tried to kill each other as often as other teams, you guys had decided to come up with your own secret language for times like these. Mikhail had first complained about the hours put into learning it the most—the semantics always changing depending on what line of work you’d infiltrate—but eventually even he had agreed it was a pretty neat trick. What Mitsuki has said simply means all is in order and the mission is proceeding smoothly.

“Little fucker,” Mikhail grumbles, ruffling his own hair just to keep his hand busy. You agree. It feels like you’ve aged five years in those last five minutes.

That relief is short lived. A small explosion from the right wing inside the mansion lights up the night like a firework show. Mikhail is out of the window in a flash. You grab your rifle, keeping an eye on him as he crosses the street in a flash and climbs over the iron gate.

Two shadows tumble through the hole in the second floor. You sway your scope, laying eyes on Mitsuki as he wrestles with a cloaked figure. Purple sparks fly, clashing with crimson flames that rise skyward and turn into black smoke. At least something is according to plan even though your Cryo Vision would be more effective.

You watch them fight for a moment, unable to get a clear shot as both are short distance fighters. Mitsuki moves quicker than a flash, whirling two hatches over his head, parrying a deathly bow from the Sumeru’s Claymore. Mitsuki is smaller than most of his comrades. People like to underestimate him, but that’s part of the fun, according to him. Proving people wrong. He dodges another swift strike, rolling out of the way and giving you a clear sight at your target. But over his shoulder, Mitsuki catches your eyes and gives the tiniest shake of his head. Not yet.

You wish he could see the stingy eye you’re giving him right now. You’ve waited long enough out in this cold and your whole body shakes with the need to move, the need to fight. A quick look to Mikhail shows he’s fending off two of the Baron’s guards himself. Luckily, they can’t really hold their stand against a fully trained Fatui agent. He quickly takes out his opponents, closing in on Mitsuki and the Sumeru agent. Mitsuki has driven him to the edge of the forest. So that’s his plan. You wait until the spy is right beneath a long, thick branch, then pull the trigger. The shot is muffled by the silencer, slicing through the air with infused Cryo power. It hits its target, cutting the branch off. The Sumeru spy is too slow. When the branch buries him under its weight, Mikhail finally catches up to Mitsuki, and through your scope you can see him patting Mitsuki down for injuries. Mitsuki pushes him away, not hard or in a mean way, just enough to signal this isn’t the time. The job isn’t done yet.

Mitsuki advances the spy and kneels, looking for signs of life. He looks up, his dark eyes searching your scope. He holds your gaze, picking up his voice transmitter.

“I have good and bad news,” he says. “The spy is still alive, so we’ll get our answers. But now I’m pretty sure the Baron knows what’s going on.”

“Then don’t just stand there, someone go after him, quick!” you yell in your transmitter.

Before Mikhail dashes off, you hear him curse. “Lord Scaramouche is going to kill us.”

He will, considered this was supposed to undergo without the Baron noticing anything.

* * *

Dear little tygress,

forgive my horrible handwriting. I am still shaking from all the laughter your last letter gave me. Zhongli-xiansheng was actually worried for my wellbeing because I had choked on air and almost died. I swear, you will kill me one day, little tygress.

Speaking of little and potential lethal beasts, I’m surprised Scaramouche didn’t use your head as a toilet plunger. I really do think he's fond of you, little tygress. Any other team would be six feet under by now. You have to tell me your secret once I’m back. Scaramouche still doesn’t know I broke his favourite, ugly cup with the bear on the front from Fontaine, and I want to be prepared once he knows.

Everything is the same in Liyue, and at the same time, everything is changing. Rex Lapis’ murder is still unsolved, and I do enjoy watching the little traveller boy run around looking for answers. Once I return with the Geo Archon’s gnosis, dinner will be on me.

How are things at home? I hope Tonia hasn’t finished all mooncakes by herself again and saved some for the rest of the bunch. I can’t bear to hear Anthon cry again about me only sending sweets to Tonia and Teucer. Has the old man gotten in touch with you? He still doesn’t reply to me, but mama says he’s reading the letters. Maybe a bottle of Liyue’s Baijiu will loose his tongue, or hand for that matter. It’s almost as good as Fire-Water, promise.

Till next time and don’t get too much on little ‘Mouche’s nerves, otherwise there will be no room left for me.

Yours, Red Fox

__________________________________________________

please drop by my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing!

#philliamwrites #ao3 #fanfiction #genshin impact #genshin impact childe #childe #tartaglia #genshin impact tartaglia #reader #reader insert #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact childe x reader #genshin impact tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x you #childe x you #genshin impact tartaglia x you #genshin impact childe x you

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virgil-writes · 3 years

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ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

chapter 12 - cabin fever

SFW, around 5K words.

chapter 13 - liebchen (ao3 only, smut)

The sheets underneath him were worn but comfortable, ancient-looking in design but well taken care of. The bed frame is barely there, mattress a well-placed lattice away from being on the floor. He can’t remember the last time he’s been on a bed, the last time he’d laid his body down at all, for any reason. His back complains every other second, not because of the comfort of the bedding, but because it had gone without for so long. A wonderfully comfortable blanket covers him up to the hips, the soft mattress almost makes him feel like he is floating. Fuck, he really missed having a proper bed now.

He inspects himself carefully, still not fully convinced this is not a fever-induced hallucination. His hand is where it should be, and so is his leg, and every other part of his body that he recalled having before. There are half a dozen new scars that he can count, all healed over perfectly like they’d opened years ago instead of hours, forming a map of stories he would rather not tell. He is shirtless but is wearing pants now, his trench coat and hat nowhere to be found. He pushes the blanket aside to find the damn woolen slippers waiting for him on a woven rug. It doesn’t take him long to realize where he is, but nothing resembles her, no personal belongings on the nightstand, no desk or mirror or even a dresser. It looked as if the room was rarely visited, kept clean but empty, and he wondered if sleep was a foreign concept to her, too.

Hesitant, tentative movements take him down the ladder and into the living room, and he expects to find her hard at work at something or another, humming a tune while she cooks, petting the goat and telling it asinine, cutesy things in a soft voice. But the house is silent and she is nowhere to be found, the dog sits in front of the closed front door and watches his every move. It is not aggressive but watchful, like it had been given the task of keeping an eye on the ailing man and alerting his owner in case anything was amiss.

“I’m fine, fleabag.” He laughs at the dog and gets a huff in response, an acknowledgment, and the shepherd moves from its post at the door to give him passage if he so desires. Heisenberg gives it a well deserved pat on the head as it passes by, tail wagging hesitantly as it tried to make friends with him. He is glad to be alone - if anyone ever used this against him, he would deny it.

A plate awaits him at the dinner table, and despite his intentions of running out of there before she could see him again, breakfast is an offer he cannot bring himself to refuse. Bread and jam, a robust omelet served with sprinkles of cheese and herbs. He can almost see the aroma the coffee has left behind, and finds the pot on the side of the wood stove, cup and saucer set for him nearby.

He eats slowly and in silence, chews thoroughly before swallowing, as if he fears some abrupt movement would rip reality apart and throw him back into the pit of suffering he found himself in the night before. There is no blood, no pain; no sign of the madness he had come so close to drowning in. He is safe and comfortable, there is good food in his belly and a warm hearth to keep the cold at bay. His problems are far and cannot catch him, and maybe if he keeps stalling to finish breakfast he can stay in this bliss forever. The world is quiet outside, and so are his thoughts, for once in his life.

A shirt and sweater are neatly folded and arranged as to call attention on the couch, no doubt to replace his blood-stained, ragged trench coat. He feels naked without it, he muses as he pulls the moss-colored shirt over his head, and it feels awkward not to wear the hat and the glasses. It would be unpleasant if she were to catch him now, free of his usual regalia; he felt that she would see right through him, stare deep into his eyes and find out all he had worked so hard to hide.

He did not feel like Karl Heisenberg, Lord of the Village, powerful mutant capable of unspeakable acts of violence. He was… Karl, middle-aged immortal man who enjoyed tinkering, was a big fan of meat an potatoes and didn’t know what to do when he had time to waste in his hands. Karl, of German origin but Romanian by birth, come from a long line of miners and steel workers. People of few words and fewer luxuries, hardy of constitution and blunt to a fault. He had been content to be those things and nothing more, to carry on what the Heisenbergs had done for centuries, until life dumped him on his head and led him to where he is today.

But not today, because maybe just today he can forget, and let his gracious host distract him with her mystery and the delicate curves of her buttocks. Perhaps tomorrow he would go back to treating her like a tool he would use and discard, but today she would be none the wiser, and neither would he. The fresh air of the mountain and distance from the cramped confines of the factory would do him good, he decided, help reinvigorate his spirit and refresh his ideas, spark some inspiration. And if not, well, the food was excellent and she was easy on the eyes.

A pair of boots that didn’t belong to him were by the door, just the right size to fit him. He had walked all the way up barefoot, he remembers, but he would very much like to know how she seemed to have everything that he needed readily available. Was she clairvoyant alongside being a healer? Did she bleed money that she could buy information on him from the Duke and the apparel to go with it? He opened the door to find her outside, looking like the cat that ate the canary, a couple meters away from the gate that separated her plot of land from the heart of the forest. She had just emerged from amongst the trees, heavy coat over her shoulders and leather boots to keep the ice off her feet. Her hands were free, no basket for foraging or firewood in her arms. No sign of a knife or any other kind of weapon, but judging by the look on her face, he could swear she had just committed murder. Her eyes told him she would not speak of it.

“Good morning, pumpkin,” he began, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, at least trying to fish an explanation out of her. Instead she pretended to forget the suspicious circumstances and focused on him instead, her face lighting up at the sight of him up and about, like she didn’t expect to see him anytime soon. Had it been that bad?

“Good morning, my lord. Are you well?” Shame and madness aside, he thought, things were going swimmingly. “I hope the accommodations were to your liking.” Once again with the pleasantries, with the caring for what he thought of her hospitality. Did she get a kick out of being so kind? That was the most foolish thing he had ever heard. He tried to come up with a witty response that would catch her off guard, but the night had been long and there was too much tiredness swamping his mind, and all he got was honesty:

“Quite. Hadn’t slept in a bed in decades.” As if to validate his words, he stretched and grunted in approval, pains he did not even realize he’d had gone like magic.

“Well, it remains at your disposal,” was her response as she chuckled, wiping her hands on the embroidered apron before gesturing an invitation. There was dirt on her palms. “It may not be much, but it’ll give you a good night’s rest.” She motioned for him to follow, something he would grow accustomed to.

“You know,” he began, following her into the shed, accepting the shallow basket she handed him. “I bet it’d be even better if you were there with me.” She hummed in approval, a smile as devious as his on her face. The damn woman would always catch him off guard; Heisenberg was not used to being flirted with, words thrown about only half-seriously, only to make the villagers blush and Alcina mad. He had never followed up on any of it, because it was always meant to annoy, and the fact that she not only took him seriously but fired back pulled the rug right from under him. And boy did he like it.

They laughed but spoke no more of it, tension like static in the air, both fully aware the joke had more than a few nuggets of truth to it. A dozen different scenarios ran through his mind, on ways he could take her, mark her, ruin her. Inside the shed, behind the stables, propped on the porch railing. Standing, face pressed against the floor, legs tightly wrapped around his waist. She smirked as she passed by him, smirked like she could tell every image that went through his mind. Smirked like she knew he would not do any of it, that his flirting was just a front and he had never found the courage to take the plunge, not even once. Her wink was the cherry on the cake, the challenge that made his cheeks flush at just the right moment so that she wouldn’t see it.

The morning was spent tending to the animals and the garden, and she instructed him on how to feed the chickens and keep the tiny goat happy. Its name was Prince and it demanded to be treated like royalty, lest the puny humans faced his wrath and for now adorable headbutts. The thing followed him around the whole time, demanded his attention when he collected the eggs from the coop, when he let the horse out of the stable to let it stretch its legs. Only when the weather took a turn for the worse did it scurry off to hide in the pens with its mom, settling down on a nice and dry bundle of hay.

He was put in charge of firewood while she tended the garden. The innuendos were kept to a minimum, but the static never left, and he felt her eyes heavy on him as he brought the axe down, muscles flexing and veins showing on his forearms with the effort. Maybe he ought to do more housework around her, and she’d come around and do his bidding without hesitation.

When the wind blew away his hat, Heisenberg realized there would be no going back to the factory unless he hurried. The storm had been mounting for days now, but he had never been one to pay much attention to the tells of weather; he rarely left his hideout, and with the factory being mostly underground, he would be trapped inside for a few days at best. He had perhaps half an hour for a journey that would take him one or two under such bad weather, and he would have to be lucky for the bridge to hold if it got too bad. She wasted little time paying attention to his inner turmoil, and went about securing the animals instead, making sure they had food, water and a warm place to spend the night. Snow was falling fast by the time she was done, and she ushered him in when he’d stood there too long, snow coming up to his shins already. They brushed off as much as they could on the porch before heading inside, water dripping down their shoulders. There was a long pause as they both watched the storm come down through the living room window, a knowing silence that the day would be long, and the night longer, and neither would be leaving that cabin for at least the next day.

“Well, it seems the bed is yours for the night again, my lord,” were her words as she bolted the door, a hint of joy in her voice. He imagined it was a lonely existence, secluded in the mountains and feared by all, not part of any community and especially not theirs. She always seemed so happy to see him, to see another human whose first instinct wasn’t to attack her. He would pity her if he cared, if his existence wasn’t equally as lonesome, if he hadn’t fashioned it to be exactly what he wished. He’d never needed anyone yapping about everything and nothing in his ears, interrupting his work and diverting his attention from what really mattered. Alcina was insane to have taken in the girls, really; children sounded like an exhausting chore that never ended. He never understood why she always looked so content in spite of it all. His mother always told him one day he would understand, he would want to keep someone close, and then he would want someone else just like them to cherish and love, to teach and share the good and bad moments. He would turn a hundred soon and never quite felt like it; maybe in another hundred years?

His only answer was a lopsided smile, tired and sad, and he tried to brace for the barrage of questions and comments that were certain to come. She was trapped inside her living space with the stranger who emerged from the guts of the forest, come from a village rife with death, where he was sovereign save for Mother dearest. He was the favorite son and the most powerful, gifted with strength and wits and influence and power. Those he could not talk down he could easily buy out, and those he could not buy out he could easily destroy. He was a fabled recluse and rumors ran rampant of the work he’d conduct in his factory, of treasures he kept deep underground. It would be a long day, the first in forever that he would spend so close to another breathing, talking human, and he did not know what to expect aside from a lot of chit-chat and a mounting headache. Surely she would like to know all about him, now that he couldn’t run away from her. Surely she would pry into his motives, pepper in questions about his siblings and the village. A thousand smug answers he conjured in his mind, each snappier than the other, every retort a question thrown back at her. It was only fair, of course; she had thrown much at him, bits and pieces of improbabilities that he couldn’t put together, and if she intended on digging deep, he would do the same.

To his surprise, all she did was leave her boots behind next to him and proceed to ignore him, going about her daily life like he was of no consequence. He found himself stunned, rooted in front of the door with a puzzled expression on his face. She looked at him as if to say well, this is it, make yourself at home and enjoy the day, and once again the domesticity of it all broke him more than words could ever have. He felt weird as he reached for the papers he had brought with him the night before, tucked next to the myriad of books on her shelf. They remained silent when he took a seat at the table and pushed open the schematics to get a better look at them, the potted plant centerpiece serving as a paper weight so he could work properly.

First, she dusted the shelves, reorganized her herb cabinet and found a place for his hat. The curtains were drawn and she took a peek outside, checking on the pens and the stable to make sure the animals would have a comfortable enough day. Then she bound off to a corner of the living room, producing a basket with threads and fabric, yarn and needles that she brought over to the couch. She sat cross-legged, close to the fire, and only spared him a brief glance before tending to her needlework. He felt weird as he reached for the papers he had brought with him the night before, tucked next to the myriad of books on her shelf. They remained silent when he took a seat at the table and pushed open the schematics to get a better look at them, the potted plant centerpiece serving as a paper weight so he could work properly. The first few minutes were nerve-racking, his paranoia telling him he would look away and find her peering curiously over his shoulder, trying to steal away his secrets to use against him as leverage. He read the same words again and again only to realize he hadn’t understood them, eyes turning to her every minute to make sure she still hadn’t moved. She caught him eventually, eyebrow raised in his direction as she tried to make sense of the situation, mouth turning into an “oh” as she jumped off the couch and stood on the tips of her toes to reach the very top of the bookshelf. A minute later and she had brought him a candle and holder, a half-empty box of matches in her other hand. She stood at the other end of the table and pushed it in his direction, still not curious regarding his work, but figuring that, even in daylight, the cabin was dark and he likely was not used to doing things by candlelight. It took him a moment to process and bring the light closer, shocked as he was to see that she intended to leave him to his own devices but cared about his comfort.

The hours were a blur then, when he convinced himself she would not surprise him, and his suspicions were correct; a change of environment had done wonders for his creativity, solutions jumping at him paper after paper, a multitude of new projects and ideas for him to try once he was back at the factory. He can’t remember the last time he had been so productive, the last time he had folded everything in and told himself he was done for the day, because he had done more than enough. She had brought him tea and bread at some point and he had eaten absentmindedly, crumbs and drops of jam staining the papers, but he could not bring himself to care. After tea she had brought him coffee, and then a jug of water, and while he felt a bit like a caged animal being fed periodically, it did wonders to keep his work flowing.

Night had already fallen when he finally took a break, got up to stretch his legs and look around to see just what she had been doing this whole time. Her crafts basket was back in its place, a sock taking shape on the needles. A book abandoned where she was sitting instead, the little witch nowhere near it. Instead she was busy preparing dinner, swaying her hips to a tune but quiet as a mouse, like she was going out of her way to give him peace and quiet. He appreciated it, try as he might to deny it, how she cared without meddling, made herself present but not intruding.

Maybe he should hire her to be his assistant, help him organize the half-done office he had begun building on the upper floors of the factory. She certainly would be great at helping him keep his affairs in order - and by that he meant she would keep him fed, mostly, the one thing he kept forgetting to do and that always set him back. He could provide her with something better than this, surely, her very own quarters with modern wonders such as electricity and proper plumbing, a bathroom of her own, maybe even a fridge. Had she ever seen a fridge before? He imagined she would decorate the place with all manner of silly things that would only serve to gather dust, knickknacks and wreaths and woven things, and that it would smell of flowers and fresh-baked bread. Her responsibilities would include housekeeping and Heisenkeeping - organizing his papers so he wouldn’t lose them, keeping track of all of the family meetings he had to attend, dealing with the Duke for supplies so he wouldn’t have to. He’d reward her handsomely, give her days off, be a good employer unlike his parents had been. Not a bad plan, if he did say so himself.

He had only forgotten to factor in that she was, still, a powerful, self-described blood witch. He had been entertaining himself with the thoughts of having her around as he watched her prepare dinner; she’d gone hunting in the morning, he realized, two hares hanging upside down from an iron ring. She took one down to place it at the cutting board, its insides clean but pelt still intact. He had no doubt she would be skilled at skinning it; when one lives as long as she has with no contact with the outside world, such skills are necessary for survival. What he did not expect was the way she’d go about it: a firm hand grabbed a handful of fur, gave it a gentle twist and pulled, effortlessly, the entire thing coming off in her hand, no cuts and no tears, neck and head and all. He could see the knife from where he was sitting, placed blade down into the ceramic jug.

Heisenberg bent forward to see better when she did it the second time around, and it was as unexplainable and horrifying as the first. Gross but humane, like she simply coaxed the skin to slide right off the flesh. If the thing had been alive, he imagined it would have been quite painful, a whole human suit in her hand and living flesh left behind. The thought almost makes him gag, a disgusted sound escaping his lips and making her realize she’s not alone. She slowly turns to face him with a sheepish smile, like a child caught red-handed. “Pretend you didn’t see that?” She offers, but he shakes his head no. Not in a million years he would forget the sheer brutality of it. He waits but she doesn’t explain it, goes back to making dinner like nothing had happened.

“Could you do that to something… Bigger, darling?” He approaches her slowly, like a predator carefully stalking its prey, though he feels far from a position of power at the moment. She nods her head yes. “Like, say, a good ole’ human?” He whispers in her ear, a shiver running down her spine at the sudden intrusion and hot breath against her skin, flirting his go-to attempt at getting back the reigns of any situation.

“Want me to test it on you, my lord?” She quips in the same whisper tone, and he is wise enough to back off for now.

“Think I’ll pass.” Before he can run back to his seat, she hands him the smaller, bone-bladed knife and pushes a bowl of potatoes towards him, the sudden motion startling him and eliciting a chuckle out of her. Looks like he’ll have to earn his keep. For a while they work shoulder to shoulder in peaceful silence, save for his grunts of frustration at not being able to peel a potato successfully. It’s been a long time. “You ought to show me what you can do one of these days. I’m awful curious.” She considers it for a second, head moving left and right, knife following the movement.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” and she doesn’t mean metal bending and knife juggling, he knows. He can’t think of a reason why she would want to see him, truly see him, monstrous appearance and all, but if that’s the price to pay, he’ll gladly do it. It would be good for his ego, too, that priceless look on her face as he shifts into the stuff of nightmares.

There are no more gruesome sneak peeks for the night and soon the stew is ready, he helps set the table and she finds a bottle of wine she’d stashed away for a rainy day. She explains over dinner that he was quite feverish when he arrived, and it’s a wonder he made it through the night. He truly was sturdy, no ifs or buts about it, she said in appreciation. There were cuts and bruises all over him, all shapes and sizes, like he’d fallen through glass. Did he have an accident at the factory? There was genuine concern in her voice, though they both knew that she knew better.

His curiosity gets the better of him and he experiments with a few questions, each answer leaving him further in the dark. How old was she? Somewhere around a hundred and thirty. She remembers being old enough to read around 1902, when she saw the date on a newspaper she fished out of the gutter, but beyond that time was either a blur or she’d been too young to remember. Where did she come from? Not a clue, but she’s been around: she’s seen Italian castles, been to centuries old British pubs. She’s seen the Brandenburg Gate and visited Chateau de Versailles. She’s bathed in the beautiful waters of the Greek coast, made a pilgrimage to the volcanic beaches of Iceland. She’s never made it past the ocean to the Americas or down to the warmer climates of Africa, but time has never been an issue, and she figures she’ll get to it eventually. He asks her why all the wandering, is someone after her? Her breath hitches and her eyes lower, shoulders slump, a deep breath before the replies. Something like that, and he understands maybe it’s best if he doesn’t push.

They returned to the topic of his feverish display once dinner was over, with her cautioning that he had been lucky this time around, lucky that she was home, lucky that he even made it across the bridge and found his way home. Home, her use of the word is deliberate and strokes something warm and fuzzy within him. Disgusting. There was the matter of the shard, he took a sit on the couch as she reached into a drawer to pull out a bundle of clean cloth, and he feigns confusion when she unwraps it to reveal a piece of metal shaped similar to an arrowhead. He recognized it, the shavings of a project he had worked on… Maybe a year ago? It’d been sticking out through his ribs when he arrived, she said, and it looked anything but recent; infection had taken around it, skin red and swollen. She could see that it was agonizingly painful - had he not noticed it at all?

“Ah, so that’s what it was.” He blurted without really meaning to, a humorless chuckle that left her confused. “I’d been feeling this weird poke in my ribs for the longest time - thought I’d broken something.” He shrugs and she nods, clearly aware of their peculiar situations, perhaps now beginning to comprehend just how many layers of fucked up he was made of. “You’re a miracle worker, doll.” His fingers instinctively trace over the spot where the shard had been, nothing there but a scar that had healed remarkably well. “How can I ever repay you?”

Money, gems, jewelry? She didn’t strike him as the materialistic kind. No, she was all about the meaningful gestures, the showing of kindness. There were a few ways he could think of showing his appreciation - slamming her body against the wall to press a hard kiss on her lips, a nice, firm tug on her hair as he nibbled on her neck. Or maybe something softer if she was so inclined, more romantic even, like a well-placed, resounding slap on her ass cheek. “I’ll be sure to think of something, my lord.” Was the answer she gave, though he was sure she meant something else entirely judging by the way she let her coat slide off to reveal her bare shoulders as she set about getting ready for bed. Her hands gathered more and more of her skirt until it’d reached the middle of her thighs, delicate lace adorning the band of her stockings, tiny suspenders disappearing from sight but serving to peak his curiosity. She undid the hooks that kept it in place, fingers threatening to roll the garment down agonizingly slow. Instead she turned to look at her enraptured audience, the pose propping her ass up and so close to his hands. He had thought it had all been an act, carefully orchestrated to put him on edge, but the gasp of surprise she let out told him otherwise. “I am so sorry, my lord.” She quickly let go of it all and stood up straight, a flush running across her face. “I am not used to having visitors.”

“You needn’t stop on account of little ole’ me, darling.” He is quick to say, rich laughter that filled the room with mischief. Heisenberg sprawls further onto the couch, legs parting like an invitation. Best seat in the house, in the whole village even. “I did enjoy it.”

When it was time to say goodnight, he kept his composure and even helped her move one of the pillows and blanket down the ladder. If his mother were alive she would chastise him for not being a gentleman, for not refusing vehemently to let her sleep on an uncomfortable couch instead of her own bed. But the day was over and so were the pleasantries, and he would have to take the time to cleanse her off his mind, ease himself back into his usual mindset. She was impossibly alluring, impossibly annoying, impossibly loving. There was no figuring her out and it seemed there would be no delving deeper in. Playtime was over and it was back to work tomorrow as soon as she storm had passed. He needed to shed away her kindness before it managed to ooze under his skin, but she had no intention of making it any easier on him.

“Here you go,” Heisenberg had no time to stand on ceremony, shoved the pillow in her direction and flashed her a smile to keep up appearances, mind wandering somewhere else, somewhere where he did not care about her. It was better this way. “Good night, sweetheart.”

Even though he tried, he never truly reached that fabled place where she was of no importance. Not that he would ever acknowledge it.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #karl heisenberg x reader #virgil writes

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thecleverdame · 4 years

Text

This Is Not A Fairy Tale - Seven (finale)

Alpha!Prince!Sam x Omega!Reader

Story Masterlist

Summary: You’re a suppressed Omega who is forced into servitude after the death of your father. Your stepmother Naomi is a heartless woman who forces you to do the cooking and cleaning, while she tries to marry off her own two daughters, Alex and Claire. But your life takes a wonderful and dangerous turn when you meet the charming Prince Sam who also happens to be an Alpha.

Warnings: ABO smut, abuse, death of parents, magic

Beta: ilikaicalie

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Three Weeks Later...

You feel Sam before you even open your eyes, the heat of his body pressed against your back. The pads of his fingers are tracing the raised, pink scars that will be a permanent reminder of life before him.

“Good morning, wife,” he murmurs, lips hot and wet on your shoulder.

You smile to yourself, eyes fluttering open. He’s right, you are his wife. This is the first morning you’ve woken up next to your husband.

Yesterday’s ceremony was small, or at least that’s the impression Mary gave you. She kept assuring you that there would only be the closest friends and family in attendance. So you were unprepared for the room of a hundred people who rose to their feet as you walked down the aisle.

The only saving grace was the petite redhead who approached your table during the feast. Rowena stepped forward and you squealed in excitement, dashing to her and holding her tight.

“Thank you,” you whispered, watching as her eyes teared up. “I’ll be forever grateful.”

“It was my pleasure,” she smiled, taking your hands in hers. “If you never need me, all you have to do is say the words. I’ll be able to hear you.”

You watched as your fairy God-mother disappeared into the crowd, wondering if you’d ever see her again.

“Who was she?” Sam’s hands curled around your waist, dipping down to kiss your cheek from behind.

“She’s family I didn’t know I had.” You turned in his arms, smiling up at him. “She was kind to me when no one else was. And now I have you, and my world has been turned upside down.”

“In a good way, I hope.”

If there’s one thing you’ve come to learn about Sam in these weeks together it’s that he’s always touching you. A hand at the small of your back, squeezing your shoulders, or a leg under the table, pressed against yours. He seeks constant physical connection and you couldn’t be more happy to oblige.

“How does it feel to be married?” he asks as you shift onto your back. The heavy curtains are still closed, leaving only a small sliver of light. It’s enough to see his face, the darkness all around you making the moment feel all the more intimate.

You think for a moment, tracing fingers along his jaw.

“Safe. I feel safe and secure,” you confess. “Is that a terribly strange thing of me to say? My heart is just so full.”

“No, not after the life you’ve had.” He dips down for a kiss, his lips linger for a sweet moment before propping himself up on an arm to get a good look at you. “You’re my favorite like this, in the morning when you’re barely awake.”

“Why,” you laugh, trailing a finger down his chest. “I can hardly think when I’ve just woken up.”

“That’s part of it. When I ask you a question you answer with your first thought. Later in the day, you have your wits about you. But right now your hair is wild, all around your face...and your skin is warm from sleep. You’re so beautiful like this.”

“Sam,” you blush, grinning from ear to ear as he kisses you again.

There’s a knock and you both look toward the door as a servant calls out the time and a reminder that your attendance has been requested in the main hall.

“Do we have to go? Can’t we stay here all day?” You offer a pout, looking up at your husband who’s grinning wildly.

“Perhaps we have just enough time to enjoy each other.” He kisses you with an open mouth, hot breath and teeth scraping over your lips.

“If you had the self-control to keep from knotting me, perhaps we would have time.” You chuckle as his fingers run up your side and you squirm underneath him. “I don’t think we should keep your parents waiting, my Alpha.”

He grunts when you use his title, dipping his face to kiss your neck.

“I’ll be quick.”

You knew this day was coming, but you had hoped by some miracle you’d be able to avoid this part.

You sit next to Sam, who’s seated to the right of his parents. There are senior advisors flanking either side but the public has been barred from these hearings. With the exception of your wedding guests and the few servants who attended to you, no one knows of your existence. There’s an official announcement planned for tomorrow morning and after that, your new life will truly begin.

“Don’t be nervous.” Sam takes your hands, squeezing your fingers so hard you think he might break them.

King John looks from you to Sam, offering a nod and then looks to the guard in the back of the room.

“Bring him in!”

The Duke is a far cry from the man who asserted his ownership only weeks before. He’s in tattered clothing with shackles around his wrists and ankles. Breathing fast, his head darts from side to side looking at the King and Queen, then the princes....and then his eyes fall on you seated next to Sam. He has a physical reaction, looking at King John and pleading before the inquiry has begun.

“Please, your majesty, you have to understand. I didn’t know!”

“Silence!” John booms. “Please read the charges.”

A magistrate stands up, unrolling parchment and clearing his throat before reading.

“Duke Archibald, you are charged with attempting to subvert the crown, intimidation of the King’s guard and kidnapping of the prince’s Omega. How do you respond to these charges?”

“I had no idea who she was,” he sputters, reaching out with both hands. “I would never, ever have touched her had I known.”

“You were aware she was claimed, were you not?” Mary inquires, low and even as she inspects the man in front of her.

“Yes, but I was told that it was a stable hand that claimed her. If I had known she belonged to the crown I would have never entertained the thought of-”

“Did you ask her?” Sam asks, already seething in anger. You glance sideways at him, watching his jaw clench. He already knows the answer, you’ve told him every detail you can remember.

“What?” The Duke looks from Sam to you in horror. “I was told that-”

“That is not my question. I don’t care what you were told. Did you ask her about her claim?”

“No,” he grumbles, indignation overtaking his fear of the situation and that angers you. While you’ve always been a forgiving person, his self-importance disgusts you.

“I tried to tell him,” you speak up. “He had already spoken to my step-mother. She told him that I was prone to wild tales. I was informed that if I spoke of Sam I would have my tongue cut out as a punishment.”

There’s a low murmur throughout the room. Sam’s fist curls into a ball and Mary swallows hard, maintaining her composure.

“How was I to know?” The Duke retorts, looking to you in evident disdain.

“You didn’t find it odd that an Omega of her age suddenly became available? You came into our kingdom to retrieve her, but you had to know she’d been kept a secret from us. An Omega living in a country cottage? Have you ever heard of such a thing?” The King poses these questions and the court erupts in laughter at the absurdity of it.

You are rare and had anyone known of your existence you would have been snapped up as soon as you presented. Most likely for Sam’s brother; a thought that makes you uncomfortable to think on.

“We’ve heard enough.” John waves his hand. The Duke begins to protest but two soldiers take each of his arms and he falls silent. “Does anyone have anything they would like to add.”

He looks down at you, but you shake your head, thankful this is nearly over.

“I find you guilty on all counts and hereby sentence you to death.”

You close your eyes, feeling Sam’s hand take yours again. The Duke is no doubt a terrible man and you’re glad he’ll never be able to mistreat another living soul, but a death sentence is hard to make peace with.

The Duke is dragged from the hall, screaming and pleading for his life and everyone resets, preparing the next accused.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” you whisper. Sweat breaks out from head to toe at the thought of seeing Naomi face-to-face one last time.

“We need you here,” Sam leans toward you. “But if it truly becomes too much, tell me and we’ll leave.”

“Thank you.” You smile at him as the doors at the end of the hall open and three women scuttle forward.

They have no idea what’s coming, While you’ve been recovering, Naomi and your stepsisters have been none the wiser. They’re under the impression that the Duke whisked you off and now they’ve been summoned to the castle so that Sam and Claire can become formally acquainted.

Alex spots you first. She goes wide-eyed, stopping in the middle of the aisle and Naomi chastises her.

“What are you doing?” your step-mother hisses, grabbing Alex by the arm.

“Come on!” Claire flashes a sickly smile at Sam and then her gaze ticks to you, and the color drains from her face.

“What’s wrong with both of you?” Naomi, forces a laugh, addressing John and Mary. “I am so sorry. My girls seem to have lost their manners.”

“Mother.” Claire grabs her wrists, looking at you and Naomi finally realizes the extent of the situation.

You want to crawl under your chair, to fade into the background. While you know none of them can hurt you any longer, you’re still fearful. A fear that you are certain will last a lifetime.

“You have been summoned to face the following charges,” John explains, nodding toward the magistrate.

“All three parties are charged with conspiracy against the crown, kidnapping, unlawful detention of an Omega, and assault of a member of the royal family.”

“What?” Naomi panics, stepping forward. “I’ve never-”

“You beat and tortured my wife.” Sam takes over staring down the evil woman in front of him. He’s collected now, his emotions under check as he inspects her in silent judgment.

“Your wife,” she repeats. Claire reaches out to take Alex’s hand as they stand there like lambs being led to the slaughter. “You married her?”

“What did you think my claim meant?” Sam looks to you.

“She thought she got away with it.” Dean chimes in for the first time, chuckling to himself. “This must be a rude awakening.”

“Let’s get to the matter at hand.” John knocks on the arm of the throne Two loud wooden pops reverberate off the walls and quiet the room instantly. “We already have testimony from Y/N. She’s informed us of the treatment she has endured throughout the years she was in your care. And your reaction to Sam’s claim and her subsequent, albeit short-lived sale to the Duke. This is not a trial. This is your sentencing.”

“You will not allow us the opportunity to defend ourselves?” Naomi looks in shock at the court.

“No.” Mary leans forward, gesturing to you. “I believe the only person we’re interested in hearing from is you, my dear.”

You take a breath, looking at each of them in the eyes. Alex...Claire...Naomi.

“None of you have ever shown me mercy,” you begin, voice wavering. You take a moment to compose yourself, drawing on the strength of the Alpha beside you. You’re not alone anymore, you have Sam to give you courage. “I thought I would die chained up in that basement. I wanted to die when you beat me, every time I prayed it would be the last. And when you gave me to the Duke, I was sure I would live out my life in agony, separated from my mate and enduring any manner of unspeakable horrors. All three of you took joy in my pain. But I wish to extend something to you that you never saw fit to offer me. Mercy. My father loved you, Naomi. I have no idea what he saw in you, but he loved you and your daughters as if they were his own. It is for this reason alone I ask for your leniency, my king.” You look to John, whose face is locked in a deadpan expression as he listens intently. “In the memory of my father, I beg you to spare their lives.”

“Thank you for speaking.” He sits back and Sam’s hand once again curls around your knuckles. “Taking into account the wishes of my daughter-in-law, I condemn each of you to a life sentence in the dungeons.”

Alex cries out, sobbing into her hands. Claire faints, her body crumbling onto the floor and Naomi just stares at you, her eyes daggers. She would kill you here and now if she could.

“You’ll pay for this you ungrateful girl,” she spits as her wrists are shackled.

“No. I will live a happy life. And you will pay for your sins,” you reply, turning to your husband. “May we go now, please. I don’t wish to see her for another second.”

Sam stands behind you as the sun sets over the horizon. The breeze is blowing in from the west, bringing with it the smell of honeysuckle. You stand on the balcony overlooking the city as Sam wraps his arms around your belly, pulling you back against him.

“How does it feel to have a new life?” he asks softly.

“Like a fairy tale,” you admit, resting your head against his chest. “But this is not a fairy tale. It’s my life. I can scarcely believe it.”

“Perhaps it’s both.” He turns in you in his arms, both hands cupping your jaw. You look up into those wonderful eyes. The face of your husband and Alpha, the man who’ll remain beside you for the rest of your life. “Come inside. Let’s have a glass of wine and you can tell me about your father. I’d like to hear more of what sort of man he was.”

You smile, letting out a breath and with it all the sorrow of the past. Sam is your future. Only love and family lie ahead.

“Well,” you take his hand walking back inside. “He could be a bit cranky from time to time, but he was a wonderful man….”

#alpha!sam x omega!reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfiction

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three-houses-text-files · 5 years

Text

dorothea/ferdinand

c-a support + paired endings

Ferdinand: Ah, Dorothea! The dining hall seems so much brighter with you here. Dorothea: Ferdie! I must say, you are quite adept with flattery. Please, give me some more. F: Flattery? No, I was not... There you go with that attitude again. F: Why do you reserve such cold treatment for me, and me alone? F: Do you hate me, Dorothea? Or have you some other reason to avoid my company? D: I underestimated you. I assumed your noble upbringing had dulled your perception. D: But you got it right on your first try. I hate you. F: Huh. I was right. F: Might I ask why you find me so despicable? I can scarcely guess. D: Don’t waste another minute thinking about it. F: That will not do. I do not think you would hate a person for no reason. D: Hm, perhaps. How's this? If you can guess why, I'll let you know if you're right. D: The brains of us commonfolk are so simple, it should be pretty easy for a big-shot noble to sort out. F: Very well. I cannot walk away from a challenge. I have no choice but to chance a guess. F: You are always making fun, calling me a "big shot" and so forth. Perhaps you think all nobles are... No, it could not be that simple. D: Oh? What can't be that simple? F: Please. Will you not give me a clue? D: Well, let me see. A good clue... I know! It's because you're like a bee. D: That oughta be enough of a clue. So long, Ferdie. F: A bee? I haven't the slightest... Perhaps because I am such a diligent worker?

——————————————————————————————

F: Ah, you have arrived at just the right time. Care for one of these handmade treats? D: My goodness, Ferdie. When did you become such a talented confectioner? F: Oh, Dorothea! I am hardly an expert. D: Nevertheless, you have managed to make some tasty-looking treats. F: Well, it is the first time I have tried my hand at it. Honestly, there were several unsuccessful attempts preceding this batch. F: I made these pastries to solve that riddle you gave me. The reason you despise me. D: Oh? F: You said I was like a bee. The bee is a dutiful worker, just as I am. F: But the bee inherits a capacious home, with a wealth of honey. Similarly, I inherited my fortune. I did not receive it as a reward for my labor. F: I surmised that perhaps you'd feel differently about me if I earned something all on my own. F: That was my plan. To emulate your transformation from desperate pauper to successful songstress. D: All on your own? Did you renounce your nobility? Give away your riches? F: No. I made these! F: I obtained all the ingredients on my own, without anyone's help. D: You mean...you got the sugar and the flour. F: Yes. To earn the flour, I worked in the fields. To earn the sugar, I carried a merchant's wares. D: Who did the cooking? You? F: Naturally! I took on some extra chores in exchange for use of the kitchen at night. D: I have to admit, that's impressive. Hey... It looks like you had a bit of an accident. Is your hand OK? F: I burned myself a little while I was baking. Nothing to worry about. D: Nonsense. That burn will scar, you know. Come on, let's get you to the infirmary. F: Wait! Dorothea! You have yet to try my treats... D: You should be fine now, Ferdie. Big-shot nobles have to treat their bodies with care just like the rest of us. F: There you go again. Noble this, noble that. Though you did say it with less disdain than usual. D: Nothing gets past you. As it were, I may have reconsidered you a little. F: You have reconsidered me? Finally! Just as I had hoped, we are becoming friends. Now then, I propose that we— D: I only said I reconsidered a little. And you still haven't figured out why I said you're like a bee. D: Which is funny, because you look like a bee right now. Bye! F: So, I am still a bee. A completely mystified bee…

——————————————————————————————

F: Ah, Dorothea. I am surprised to find you here. I did not think you were all that religious. D: There’s a lot you don't know, Ferdie. But you're right. I'd hardly call myself devout. D: After all, it was thanks to the goddess and her noble regime that I suffered so much as a child. F: You must be quite brave to speak so coarsely in this hallowed place. F: But what do you mean...about suffering as a child? D: Ugh… Do I really have to tell you? D: Oh, forget it. I'm sure you already know that I'm an orphan. D: I grew up in the alleys of Enbarr, begging for coins, eating scraps, drinking from drains. D: I see. I remember seeing street children around the city... D: I could've died. Then the right person overheard me singing... D: And suddenly I was in the opera. I was a songstress. And my goodness...did the nobles like me. D: The people who used to spit on me and call me an urchin? They praised my voice and my beauty. D: A nobleman who had once kicked me, gave me the most gorgeous shoes. I almost asked if it was a joke. F: So, that is why you despise the nobility. But why do you think I am the same as them? F: Do you really believe that is the kind of man I am? F: You think I would ever treat people differently based on appearances? There is nothing noble about that! D: Oh, really? You're something different? That's not how I remember things... D: It was the very day that I was discovered... I was in high spirits. Nothing was wrong in the world. D: I secretly bathed in one of the town's fountains, hoping to wash off some of the dirt from the streets. D: I sang the same song the opera composer overheard earlier that day. And that's when you appeared. F: Me?! No... It could not have been... D: Don’t play dumb. You glared at me, the same look I'd gotten from every other noble. Then you ran off. D: When we met at the academy, you were a different person. All smiles and friendly words. D: You were like a bee, Ferdinand. A bee attracted to a flower in full bloom. F: So, it was you then, singing that song... F: Dorothea, please listen. This is a misunderstanding. F: When I saw you... I could not take my eyes off you. I was hypnotized. F: Your beautiful voice, your elegant face...droplets of water on your skin that glittered in the sun. I thought you were a water nymph. D: Stop it. Don't lie to me. F: No, it is true. I was only a child. The vision overwhelmed me. That is why I ran. F: I plucked up the courage to return, but no one was there. I thought perhaps it was a dream... D: … D: Maybe I can believe you. I've wanted to ever since the day you made me those treats... D: I thought then that maybe you weren't like the others, but... There's a lot I have to let go of, Ferdie. F: Of course. I am glad we had this conversation. You know, I do not mind you thinking of me as a bee. F: Life as a simple drone, circling a queen... It actually sounds quite wonderful. D: Don’t drones keep the queen safe from other bugs? I like the sound of that.

——————————————————————————————

paired endings

After officially becoming the new Duke Aegir, Ferdinand set about reforming his territory. Thanks to the wisdom of his wife, Dorothea, Ferdinand's policies were of massive benefit to the commonfolk and brought about a swift recovery. In recognition of this achievement, he was called upon by Emperor Edelgard to introduce these reforms to the Empire at large as the new prime minister. Though the work kept him very busy, he always managed to find time for Dorothea. It is said that their children filled their loving household with beautiful music ever after. (black eagles route)

After officially becoming the new Duke Aegir, Ferdinand set about reforming his territory. Thanks to the wisdom of his wife, Dorothea, Ferdinand's policies were of massive benefit to the commonfolk and brought about a swift recovery. In recognition of this achievement, he was called upon to help govern to Fódlan at large. Though the work of reforming the entire nation kept him very busy, he always managed to find time for Dorothea. It is said that their children filled their loving household with beautiful music ever after. (other)

#fire emblem three houses spoilers #fe16 spoilers #fe3h spoilers #dorothea x ferdinand #ferdinand x dorothea #romantic

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m2mtl · 5 years

Text

(ENG Translation) Fake Cinderella - Chapter 9

Chapter 9 raw (click for the link)

t/n: Heya. Here’s my second release, I’ll try to translate as much as I can while I’m still not that busy. Again, if you find any inaccurate translations (since I usually just make sense of the literal translation by google or systran then rephrase it in a better way), typos or other errors, kindly do point it out. Thanks~

Also, another chapter of the manga was recently released, and I was just wondering if you wanted to retain my translation of the names or the manga’s since it differs slightly (i.e., Alterie = Arthirea, Nadir = Nigel). And that’s it, enjoy~

(7/28/19) t/n: Rephrased some things to make it clearer.

Previous chapter - TOC

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9. The Duke of Elsevert

"Her Royal Highness,"

Upon the call, my mind returns to reality.

In front of me was Count Stasen. This elder knight, who was a strong-bodied warrior, was a man of a few words.

Still, there is a feeling of security that is somewhat strange but reliable. It's really puzzling that this person was also a scholar with the title "Vera."

Thin golden hair, which is believed to be of those from the north... Many people in the north have silver or light gold hair. The color of their eyes are mostly light blue - the count's is also light blue.

(The stranger thing [t/n: pun not intended] is that such a person is the leader of my knight escorts)

"Your Royal Highness, it is the schedule for your return to the royal capital."

On his knees, he handed it over with both hands.

I received it.

"Thank you. I will be in your care."

His eyes widened and he looked somewhat surprised; he stared but immediately went out. Because it was sudden, everyone is busy preparing for our return.

After waking up, I usually only interacted with the maids, but after the incident I began to look closely at the knight escorts. It seems a person has been on the escort mission so as not to be very noticeable until now, but after the "falling incident" and the "attempted poisoning," it seems he can no longer stay that way.

(Don't run away)

That person did not run back to the Imperial Palace, which seems to be safer than here.

The killing intent directed at me... I was clearly aware of it.

So far, I have not completely acknowledged the murderous intent. Although I was told that I was being targeted, it didn't feel real.

However, now it's different.

(My enemy)

An enemy who is aiming for my life.

The fact that you are aiming for my life, it may not yet be known for sure.

But now, I am clearly aware that I am in danger everyday.

I used to go to work, then from work to my home; sometimes I went to hang out or rant to my friends. It was a routine far away from worrying about dangers to my life.

(Retaliation)

I am not a saint.

I’m not a cutesy character that starts to cry when I get tired.

When you hit my right cheek, I would hit back. I know it's unwise, but I'm the type to fight back.

Being alive, that will be my best revenge.

But that alone is not enough.

Because, Ellelucia is no longer here.

(It does not matter if this is misplaced anger. It's fine even if it's an outburst of anger.)

I will do it if I can do it.

I remembered the terrorist attack that happened in the United States. The Great Powers fell into the mud. A vicious cycle in which retaliation calls for revenge... a toxic cycle.

But I can't keep doing nothing anymore.

(But I am still weak ... and these hands are still too small...)

That's why, I cannot pass down judgement with my own hands. To do the same things they do... I cannot kill people with these hands.

I think it is impossible for anyone who has lived in the ordinary 21st Century Japan to carry it out, no matter how much you hate that person, no matter how much you want to kill.

What I can do... that is...

(To find the real mastermind)

He isn't the soup cook who was regarded as the perpetrator.

There was another criminal who did it... it wasn't that cook.

The ones who carried out the orders, of course, would also be guilty.

But, the person who ordered to kill me.

That person is the real culprit.

(Put the mastermind in court)

That was what I thought of as revenge.

I can only do my best indirectly.

That's how I'll move to my goal.

(For now, I'll just gather information)

I can't collect information directly by myself, and it's a shame I have no memory of the falling incident.

Alterie may have seen the culprit.

If I had remembered, I might have solved the problem at once along with this case.

I wish I could go around hearing from all kinds of people like in detective stories, but if I do so, I'll stand out and I can't let the information spread to outsiders.

In fact, I suspected at first that the falling incident might have been Alterie's suicide.

(Because...)

It's because she felt somewhat empty deep inside her heart, which is probably why she was called Puppet Princess.

Even if you didn't exactly jump off yourself, you might have been aware that it was a dangerous place but still went anyway... and then perhaps you may have tried to do it.

The balcony above the lake is windy. It's even more so at night. Alterie is so light that easy to lose balance there... a not-so unintentional accident.

(But now I can say that was not the case)

As "Alterie" gradually comes back to me, it seemed to me that wasn't what happened.

Still, it doesn't mean I understand everything that is in Alterie's heart. I only have this vague feeling.

But if I give it some thought, I can understand even if it's just a bit.

The knowledge I have received from Alterie is what she studied and learned diligently.

(For what purpose...?)

I think it is a proof of her efforts to be worthy of being the crown princess.

If so, such a child would probably not go to a dangerous place by herself.

Because she was well aware of how important her position is to the kingdom.

Now it's clear that the fall was not an accident.

(That's why... I won't run away)

I won't run away and hide somewhere safe.

(It's just that, because this place is not my territory, I'm going back home)

Even though the enemy knows me, I do not know neither the shadow nor shape of the enemy.

So at least, I want a home advantage.

Even so, it's an overwhelming disadvantage.

(But I decided not to run away)

It's alright. I'm not going to jump into danger.

I will not waste the efforts of Alterie up until now.

I am the crown princess.

(I will just pay them back what I owe)

Self defense is essential.

Even if the defense is a little excessive, it will be within acceptable limits. Probably.

The next day, after finishing all the arrangements, I received that the usual morning greetings from the duke.

At the side, maids aside from Lilia were busy carrying the luggage to the carriage. All the knight escorts were also ready, except for the two at the back.

"There was a danger of poisoning. Normal escorts are not enough. We are returning on such a short notice... contact the Imperial Palace and receive instructions from the Crown Prince."

Duke Elsevert fiercely objected when I told him that I was going back to the palace.

I still have a lot to explain as to why I’m returning to the palace.

Well, I understand how he feels. If I return as is without explaining, it would create a big fuss.

"I'm going home."

Still, I clearly told him once more.

The duke was shocked as he stared at me.

It's probably because it's the first time Alterie expressed her intentions like this.

Perhaps, he hasn't heard her speak up before.

"I am going back to the Palace."

I repeated while looking straight into the duke's blue eyes.

His eyes looked blue even with the light.

(Oh...)

The color of my eyes, I knew I inherited it from this person.

"... Do you doubt Elsevert?"

The duke asked, as if squeezing out his voice.

His eyes were turned away... For the first time, I thought that I was truly facing him.

I felt the weight with which he said those words.

He seemed exhausted.

I believe he was a person who is very concerned about appearances.

His short beard is well kept and his platinum blond hair is shiny. There are no wrinkles in his thin and fashionable long coat.

Although he seemed younger than his age of forty-four, his eyes looked empty. He's like an old man in despair and resignation.

I answered, hoping that my words will reach him.

"No."

It was not clear if it was the duke, the ladies-in-waiting or the knight escort who inhaled sharply. Or maybe it was all of them.

But either way, I saw that they properly understood my answer.

I dare not say why.

I do not want to do or say anything unnecessary while I still do not know where the true criminal's eyes are hidden.

So far, my only advantage while I am far away from home is while Alterie is a 12-year-old girl, she has the experiences from my 33 years of living.

At best, you're likely to think that I am still a twelve-year-old naive princess.

"Understood... at the very least, may you permit my son to escort you?"

The duke did not refer to anyone in particular. It's just that he said it in a beseeching tone.

I tilt my head. The duke's son will be an escort?

"The sons of the duke, Lord Dior and Lord Rael, are both part of the Eastern Division."

Lilia explained.

The national army of Dardinia is roughly divided into six divisions. There's the central division and the divisions in the east, west, north and south; then there's the Imperial Guards. (t/n: Just guessed this since it literally translated to "Konoe Division") On the other hand, each aristocrat had a private army. It was not strange that Duke's sons were working in the Eastern Division, as Elsevert was chief for the east.

The Dardinian nobility are just ordinary people except for the legitimate heirs. The second son and so on only have the opportunity of becoming either a priest or a military man.

"I'll allow it."

I nodded and stood up.

The duke bowed with a somewhat relieved expression.

To be honest, no matter how many times we meet, I never recognize him to be my father. Still, I somehow felt that I was connected to this person.

"Thank you for helping me."

"It's no problem. I wish you good health as you go on your way, Your Royal Highness."

The duke says, and as he stands before me, he prays for my safety during the travel.

I nodded in response to that.

It wasn't as if everything was resolved in that instance.

I can never forget how my heart aches when I think of my mother.

However, I felt like I was getting there.

And perhaps, the duke as well.

When it was time to leave, the duke came to send us off.

The duke's figure remained on the drawbridge of the castle until my carriage was out of sight.

----------

Previous Chapter - TOC

#fakecinderella #fakecinderellachapter9 #englishtranslation #translation

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ferelden-loser · 6 years

Text

Fireside - The Herald and the Inquisitor

Also available to read on Archive here! Please drop by to give us any thoughts or kudos, as it all means the world to us - http://archiveofourown.org/works/13799823

Written by @thursdaysshepard and myself, about our slightly canon-divergent characters Arahiel and Mahinnah Lavellan. Hopefully there will be more little doodles like this to come, sooner or later.

The clan they had found past the outskirts of the Exalted Plains was far more approachable than anyone had been expecting. Dalish here tended to keep to themselves, Mahinnah told the Inquisition. In a place so crowded with history, most of it tainted by anguish, many of the elves still couldn’t see beyond the ghosts of Orlais’ long-gone march. Bitterness lacing the infrequent transactions of elves and shemlens was not uncommon across the scarred landscape. In recent years fewer Dalish wandered the Plains in favor of lands with more profitable resources; those who stayed here were hardened, their trust not easily given.

It had taken months of careful approach to win the acceptance and eventual admiration of the clan. Small favors led to bigger endeavours in an effort to prove reliable. After a time, the approach of their party would be met with a welcoming gleam in the eye of the clan’s Keeper. There was little motive to their interactions, save for a chance to forge new connections where none had been in such a long while.

Mahinnah and Arahiel saw it was a chance to breathe easy among familiar settings for the first time in just over a year. The human’s Herald and their army’s Inquisitor were not regarded so highly in the beginning, but stilted honorifics gave way to softer adorations in the elvish tongue after a time. The clan wasn’t as large as the one they knew best, yet it still felt homely.

Some weeks after the final foray into the abandoned forts of the dead, the party were nursing new wounds around the Dalish campfire. The corpses they had fought were not the only concern. Bands of Freemen still roamed the Plains, apparently having nothing better to do than attack whatever and whoever they came across. A surprise ambush of eleven to four had left them all in a sour - but otherwise glad to be alive - mood.

Mahinnah takes a sweeping look around as he slips between the aravels. The sun is finally beginning to set overhead. A pleasant smell of something unidentifiable cooking in the near distance fills the air. At this point, it could be roast mabari and he’d still eat it.

“Lethallin.” he says quietly as he approaches Arahiel and the others around the fire. He sits gingery on the earth beside his clan mate, favoring his left shoulder. Healing magics from the Keeper here had taken most of the sting away but a dull ache lingered.

“Still won’t let you take that off?” he says, gesturing to Arahiel’s face with a poorly concealed smile. A bandage wrapped around the other’s head, covering most of one eye, definitely should not have looked as funny as it did, especially when the vision of Arahiel getting whacked in the face with a blunt club was fresh in his mind.

Arahiel hums, adjusting the wrapping where it’s clearly annoying him. “Awful lot of fuss over a little head wound. I’ve done worse to myself sparring. Still, it would have hit Varric if I hadn’t leapt in, heroically as always.”

“I appreciate it, Snowflake.” The dwarf himself replies, looking up from a letter in his lap, from the Merchant’s Guild probably, or one of Hawke’s other associates.

Arahiel shifts his gaze from Varric to Mahinnah, smiling warmly, even though only one eye is visible in the expression. “How’s your arm, da’len? Has the bruising gone down any?”

“Greatly,” he says, thankful. “It’s a shame Varric had to be the dwarf in distress, otherwise you could have leapt heroically in for my sake.”

Varric grunts in disapproval, though a smile flickers about his face in the firelight.

“I would argue our Inquisitor’s leap could be viewed as reckless,” Dorian says from the otherside of the circle. He sits with his staff across his lap, an assortment of books beside him. No one could quite gather where exactly they had been procured from.

“Then again,” he adds cheerily, “recklessness only adds to the odd charm you Southerners seem to have.”

Mahinnah rubs his arm, glancing away from Dorian’s not so discreet wink.

“You should be more careful, you know.” he says to Arahiel. His concern was not reproachful, but still plain to see.

“Don’t you worry, Hinnah. I’m made of sterner stuff than most - namely our squishy, though undoubtedly attractive, northern companion.” Arahiel replies, grinning back at Dorian playfully, “Besides, as long as there is a Herald to serve and an ancient blighted magister to overcome, I’ll be around. That’s what necromancy is for, after all.”

“I’d rather it didn’t come to that. After a while you’d start to smell dreadful.” Dorian says, cringing at the thought.

“And you wouldn’t be nearly as charming with half of your face starting to rot away, Inquisitor.” Varric chips in as he adjusts the reading glasses on the end of his nose.

Cassandra makes a quiet noise of disgust as she nears the fire. “Must you all be so morbid? I’d rather avoid conversation of death, even if only for a while. We did well today; we must remember that.”

“Our Lady Seeker is right, as always.” Arahiel agrees, smiling with delight as a blush fills her sharp cheeks. “We did very well indeed. The Freemen are starting to hold back. We’ll teach them not to mess with the Dalish, or the Inquisition. Or in our case - both.”

“I feel a little guilty.” Cassandra admits, “If I had been there to help—“

“Nonsense.” Arahiel insists, “We left you to defend the clan. You did just that, and quite impressively. The Keeper has assured me that they’ve never felt so safe, even surrounded by shems.”

He casts a mischievous look at Mahinnah; somehow referring to humans as shemlens to their face always gave him some kind of childish thrill, like cursing had done for them both as young boys.

“Easy,” Mahinnah leans in to whisper in elvish, his humor obvious. “Cassandra still takes some strange offense to that one.”

“Not so much anymore,” Dorian says with a lazy flip through the pages of one of his books.

In the odd silence that follows, Mahiannah stares, incredulous, across the circle.

“You’ve learned elven?”

“Learning,” Dorian corrects with a snort. “How else am I to keep up with Andraste’s Herald and Inquisitor in all their adventures if I can’t eavesdrop on their little private conversations?”

He leans up to accept a small bowl of steaming stew, offered by a younger elf. Amidst the small circles clustered throughout the camp other members of the clan were distributing dinner among themselves.

“I’m full of many marvelous and hidden talents,” Dorian adds, raising a brow as he takes a sip of the stew.

Mahinnah accepts two bowls for himself and Arahiel to the tune of Cassandra’s quiet, disgusted huff.

The conversation comes to a companionable lull as they each focus in on their food. The warmth seems to settle into Mahinnah’s skin, easing some of the soreness from earlier, and the taste is simple but familiar. After meetings with dukes and the associated feasts therein, or bare rations foraged from fruitless battlefields, he had begun to miss flavors like this, of home.

Around the camp the overall noise begins to fall as well. Everyone was enjoying the meal in earnest; save for two small figures at the edge of the furthest campfire, sequestered off in the fading light. Curious, Mahinnah gently bumps his arm against Arahiel’s, motioning in their direction.

A human or dwarf would perhaps have to squint in the dark to make out the figures, but elves with Ari and Hinnah’s keen eyes saw more than others. The two people are different in size on further examination; a mother and a child, it seems. The young boy, sits sniffing at his mother’s side as she strokes his hair, their still-steaming bowls of stew forgotten momentarily.

It is not immediately audible, but it soon becomes clear that the boy’s mother is humming a lullaby under her breath as she caresses her child’s head tenderly. The boy stops sniffing and leans into his mother where they sit away from the clan’s fire. As Arahiel and Mahinnah watch on, experiencing a strange familiarity from this exact scene, more mothers drift from the glow of the flames to the shadowy spot away from them. Following them are children, mostly young girls; daughters and sisters. That’s when the voices lift through the dark, reaching the ears of those seated at the fire in a haunting, soothing choir.

Arahiel goes rigid as Mahinnah’s body shrugs into relaxation, his head turning from the sight of the clan singing their soothing lullaby to the glowing embers at the base of the crackling fire. His uncovered brown eye stares, unseeing and unfocused, his mind lost in the rising voices of the clan.

Countless years, it seemed, had passed since they last heard that song. It was old, but not uncommon. Mahinnah could remember his own mother singing it to him during moments like these, past sunsets and calm nights he could no longer visualize with any perfect clarity. Nostalgia runs deep in the pained look he hides behind a quiet dip of his head. The ancient words come easily to his lips, but this moment doesn’t belong to him, and he restrains them in favor of listening without interruption.

Cassandra, Varric, and Dorian watch with interest, eyes narrowed as they peer through the evening dusk. Cassandra looks strangely touched as the chorus progresses, such a soft expression rarely seen on her features. Varric sits completely still, another rarity in itself. He faces away from the gathering, a curious smile barely visible in the low light.

Dorian stares neither at the clan nor towards the fire; he meets Mahinnah’s gaze instead, both wondering and reverent. On any other man, one might have called it humility.

It takes a long moment for him to look away.

“Ari.” Mahinnah says softly, the nickname almost unfamiliar for how long it had gone unused aloud, “I’d almost forgotten what that lullaby sounded like.”

“So had I.” he replies, barely more than a whisper, his focus still lost in the base of the fire. He no longer felt comfort from the warmth of its flames. Instead visions came to him - a sight he knows he could not remember, of burning aravels, the heat of vicious and unforgiving fire. The screaming and crying of innocent elves rattles around in his brain, and somewhere among it all, a woman’s voice that he is sure he knows echoing the self-same words of the lullaby, like a mourning spirit wailing over the site of a massacre.

Arahiel is overwhelmed by the sudden urge to get away, before this strange pseudo-memory consumed him. His stew flies from his lap as he suddenly stands and marches away. He has no direct goal from this point; nearby the rushing of a river calls to him. The water is shallow - the Plains have a longer dry season than most temperate areas in Orlais - but he wades in until the water laps at his knees, his bare feet consumed in the icy dark stream.

Voices call for him, urging him back, but he ignores them. Conflicting desire gnaws at him; one half of his brain clutches to these parts that he thinks is memory, and the other forces it away out of his reach, begging him not to go near, almost in the sound of Istimaethoriel’s own voice when she was younger, when she used to plead for Arahiel to concentrate or behave…

In frustration, Arahiel yells and kicks the water. The camp behind him falls silent. Many stare on at him, and he can feel the weight of their gaze on his back like the survivor’s guilt he had almost forgotten which now bares down on him all at once.

It is Cassandra who reacts first, rising from the fire, her own stew forgotten and going cold at her feet. Across the way Mahinnah sees her fingers flicker instinctively towards her side where a sword is not currently present, as if the cool touch of a weapon would allow her some means to fix whatever is wrong. He is familiar with the feeling, as unproductive as it might currently be.

One or two murmured conversations begin to pick up as he stands, holding a placating hand out towards the Seeker. She looks to the lone figure in the water. Confusion echoes through her and in the faces of their other companions, but neither Varric nor Dorian speak.

After a brief moment of hesitation Cassandra nods and stiffly takes her seat once more, abiding by Mahinnah’s silent request. He mouths a brief ma serannas and begins to pick his way across the landscape towards the water glinting in the rising moonlight. Behind him, he hears the lullaby pick up once more, fainter this time.

Arahiel is still, unmoving as the statues that loom over old Chantry sites in the Emprise. Mahinnah wades through the gentle current to stand beside him, shutting out any lingering eyes of the others following his progress.

“Lethallin?”

“I’m sorry.” Arahiel murmurs, and it’s not immediately clear even to himself if he means those words for Mahinnah. As he turns, his attempt at an embarrassed smile is tampered by the fact that it does not meet his unwounded eye. He drops his head and stares at the ripples around their ankles. They bump and glide over one another, making room for each other. Much like he and the other elf at his side. Accommodating, part of the same whole. It restored the sense of belonging he had lost for a moment.

“It was too much.” he admits as he continues in a lower voice than his apology, so only Mahinnah can hear him. “We used to hear it as children, I know, which ought to have been a good memory. But there was something else, a different version underneath it all. And that, with the fire, and the fighting today, it was just…. too much.”

Arahiel glances up, focusing on his companion now, his expression drawn into a confused and frustrated frown.

“I thought I heard her voice, Hinnah. I thought… I thought I heard my mother. My real mother, from before the Lavellan clan found me. Perhaps it’s because the Veil is thin here, but that’s never happened before. It scared me, lethallin.”

How could you hear what you hadn’t ever known, Mahinnah thinks, but doesn’t dare speak it. Arahiel was a Lavellan in everything but birth and the topic had gone largely undiscussed for most of their lives. There wasn’t anything to discuss, really. Most clans adopted city elves and foreigners often enough for it to become widely accepted without question. Few had circumstances as strange as Arahiel’s, however.

“It’s possible you could have.” he says thoughtfully. “What we know of the Veil encompasses very little of what we could hope to understand.”

He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “What exactly did you hear?”

“Screams.” Arahiel says bluntly, once again not meeting Mahinnah’s eyes, “”The crackling of fire, but not from the camp. I saw burning aravels -- I felt the heat of them on my face. And over all that, just audible in the chaos, a woman’s voice, and that lullaby.”

It sounds ridiculous, he is well aware. After all, even if it was because of some sort of connection to the Fade, Mahinnah was the one with the Anchor. It’s true that Arahiel had felt more connected to the other side of the Veil than he had been aware of before the Conclave, but that didn’t explain his visions. Perhaps he was just tired. The day had been stressful for everyone, for a multitude of reasons. Perhaps it would be best if he just called it a night, settled into his tent to sleep, and see if the vision lingered on him come the morning.

“Solas or Dorian might have a better answer than I.” Mahinnah offers after a long moment of silence. Nothing was worse than the sensation of helplessness, especially when concerning someone close, but he truly could offer little explanation. Shouts through imaginary fire were clouding his conscious. If he listened hard enough, perhaps he would hear the lullaby too.

“I know that probably isn’t helpful,” he adds with a weak smile. “We could always leave in the morning, if you wished? Or now, in fact. The others could catch up with us tomorrow. Unless you’d fancy to see shems blindly following us in the dark?”

Arahiel turns over his shoulder to their friends, who are trying their best - and failing - to not seem as though they are watching on with concern. The frown lines fade from his brow and his expression is replaced with one of amused and grateful appreciation for their fellows. Cassandra had not always looked kindly upon the two of them, but she had grown into a close companion over time. Varric had hit it off with them right away. And then there was the mage Dorian - Mahinnah had found love in this charismatic man, and Arahiel himself a good friend as well.

“No, we’ll stay the night. It’s been a tough mission for everyone. I’ll be alright, da’len.”

He pats Mahinnah reassuringly on the shoulder and leads them both back to the fireside, clearly wearied by his experience but determined as ever to not let the cracks show. They knew the stakes placed on them; any sign of fragility or weakness, even in front of those who did not believe that they were chosen such as the Dalish, could affect the strength of the Inquisition as a symbol for all in times like these. They had to maintain strength and determination, and the dedication of the Inquisition would follow. In time, they might come to believe it of themselves too.

#arahiel lavellan #mahinnah lavellan #arahiel and mahinnah #the herald and the inquisitor #herald of andraste #the inquisitor #my ocs #ocs #dalish inquisitor #dai #inquisition #dragon age #lee #zeke #wildredrose14

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6four1-blog · 7 years

Text

June 20th, 2017 (Kavousi, Crete, Greece)

This week’s hours have been arduously long and I’ve been desperately trying to get more sleep without missing out on too much. The culture shock has been a bit overwhelming and the surplus of experiences is inundating my mental dam and overtaking my writing speed’s capacity. We had to work six days last week, which comprised of nine hours of physical labor everyday, seven hours on site and two hours in the gym. This crazy schedule is pushing my body to its limits but I am slowly growing accustomed to it. My mornings have become as rigid as a science experiment protocol. I unconsciously begin to take out $5.20 every morning at the bakery for my pastries. For these past six days, only three out of five trench members were on site, and the low numbers have blessed me with some extra digging practice and has allowed me to bond with a fewer number of people on a deeper level. There were rumors about negative drama pervading some trenches, and I really didn’t want my trench to develop that kind of culture. Thus, I attempted to make jokes in the morning as an effort to wake others up and lift the mood, even though I was dead exhausted inside. Alex and I have begun giving each other gifts every once in a while. Since Azoria is located in the mountains, any sea stone found on site must have climb there with some form of ancient human assistance. Because there’s no useful analytical data that could be obtained from these sea stones, they are the perfect, and only, ancient objects that we are allowed to keep. I would find a few round pebbles in the sieve every day and I would give them to Alex as presents. He keeps them all in the side pocket of cargo pants, which I find very cute. As the excavation progresses, I intend to build him a large collection; by the end of the trip, I hope he can look back on them as a metaphor for a wonderful third year at Azoria.

Before this week and due to the rain days, our longest streak of site work was three days. This week jumped to a dramatic six days of full-fledged plowing in 27 degrees Celsius weather. It was the physical equivalent of transitioning from Compsci 101 to Compsci 201. The sun literally cooks us like human-sized pieces of Kobe steak and our metal skaliskiris became so hot that our callouses were no less tender than sunny-side up eggs on a frying pan. Today, I woke up unable to completely close my hands, and it’s a miracle that I am still typing right now. I have probably consumed more than two grams of ibuprofen this week alone, a portion that would have probably lasted me a whole month of Ultimate Frisbee at Duke. But at some point in the middle of this week, a mental shell cracked and I entered a new state of mind about excavating, finding myself no longer afraid of the heat, the blisters, and the dirt. I was wearing work gloves for the previous two weeks but I have almost completely given up on them at this point. The clay surfaces and cobble packing require a lot of feeling and touch with certain tools, and while being able to discern certain layers of earth from others sounds like a fictitious ability, understand where clay floors exist is indeed an acquired skill and grasping it has been oddly gratifying. Since it was just Lexi, Kate, and I digging for a while, we have also begun to develop an affinity for certain skaliskiris. Tucker had marked his with the blue twist tie, I had marked mine with a black one, and I helped Lexi mark hers with a green-yellow one. In the end, interestingly, not only have I become attached to my team and the B-trenches, but I have also become clingy to the tools I work with.

On that note, I would like to emphasize I love working with the people in my trench. I love the atmosphere that we’re building, one filled with support, compliments, and, most importantly, sarcastic jokes. Even though Lexi sat behind me on the plane ride from Athens to Heraklion, I, until this week, never really had a full on conversation and quality time with her. She turned out to be a religiously committed volleyball player, practicing almost every day back at Trent University. That was something I could relate to very sincerely because I have lived, and I still continue to live, that lifestyle at Duke. Part of my conscience picked up on that aspect of her character from prior short interactions. There was a determination, sense of self, and mental toughness that is forged almost exclusively through intense participation in and commitment to a physical activity. I am just beginning to know Kate and talk to her more. She seems wholly wonderful like a book just waiting to be read. Later on in the week, she was really sick for a few days, and it was unfortunate that she couldn’t join me and Lexi on site. One of her fellow Iowa State friends’ grandmother passed away, and, even when she was getting sick, Kate sacrificed her entire night’s time and sleep to make sure that Jasmine booked the right flights and would have a safe and worry-free trip home. Her effort impressed me and after witnessing her concern and care, I will definitely make a conscious effort to talk to her more and get to know her better. Overall, in conclusion, working in Alex’s trench is truly a pleasure and I hope we continue to grow and maintain a positive culture for the remaining four weeks.

In addition to bonding with the people in my trench, I am slowly getting to know Alex a lot better as well. After long days on site, we have begun working out in this small makeshift garage gym owned by a local Greek man named Tosos. One can easily tell that Alex is a studious and incredibly kind man just by his demeanor, which radiated from the very timbre of his voice and the form in which he carries himself. However, there is an implacable beast in the man that awakens when the weights start clanking and the music starts beating. His rest intervals are short and he loves to pack his exercises into supersets, which, painfully, tore through all the ATP reserves I had in less than half an hour. His choices of lifts are forcefully dynamic and the pace is unforgivingly quick. The Cretan sun cooks the building we workout in, making it a furnace by the time we arrived at around 5:30 p.m. The oven pushes your exhaustion and blood flow to its absolute limit and every rep gave a pump I that was as novel to me as this island was itself. For the rest of the summer, I am going to put my trust in Alex and I will strive to continue following his workout regime. Having been an athlete all my life, I believe one’s attitude in athletics often translates to his or her work habits in other aspects of life. Now I have no doubt how hard he works at UNC, and I am super glad to have met a principled and persevering man like him.

If you didn’t know before, the two things in the world that I am the most afraid of and the worst at are dancing and singing. If I had to dance and sing in front of a large crowd alone on stage to save my life, I think I would prefer death. This past Tuesday was one of those days when I felt adventurous and bold. So, when David came downstairs and asked me to attend a traditional Cretan dance lesson with him, I said yes and walked out the door with slight hesitation.

The classroom was this mistakenly abandoned building that we’d walk by every day after excavating. The space was overwhelmingly green, and, in a mercurial flashback, I knew that my brother, whose favorite color is green, would have loved it here. The building was a large space converted into a classroom around fifteen or twenty years ago. Two bookshelves and blackboards were haphazardly placed on either sides of the room and both lengths had windows like that of a Gothic church. The blackboards seemed long out of use and parts of the chalk have been stuck on the board for so long that it could have easily juxtaposed some graffiti on a tunnel wall in Durham, North Carolina. One of the bookcases contained beautiful ancient tomes that consisted of, if I recall correctly, almost 20 volumes. The books seemed to be much older than the classroom, as if they were heirlooms of an old family of Kavousi that contained all of this villages’ ancient histories and bloodlines. The other bookshelf was a dramatic contrast, filled top to bottom with children’s books. David and I could not read the Greek, but the images were hilariously entertaining, depicting people of different cultures from around the world. Its depiction of Chinese people was this old, wise, Confucius doppelgänger, which is not a bad image of my people at all. We were halfway through exploring that bookshelf when the dance lesson started. The mid-age man taught us a six step dance that rotated in a circle. I was so nervous trying to learn and coordinate the steps that I grappled the shoulder of the people next to me as if I was hanging on for dear life. Afterwards, the Greek workman beside me, Stellos, introduced himself and apparently remarked to his friend that I was gripping his shoulder really tightly. The trench master Irini, who was on my other side, politely asked me to hold her hand with less anxiety and force.

Eventually, I did loosen up and really began to enjoy myself. Until then, the two indirect non-vocal ways I felt connected to someone was reading their writing and listening to their music. For me, reading another’s writing was both seeing the world from their point of view, as well as seeing into their soul with my own eyes; I get an opportunity to understand how their minds function and exploit a lucky occasion to imagine their perception of the world. Listening to their music connects me with their emotions, and I think one would be surprised by how much we can learn about each other from sharing playlists and songs. In my first revolutionary dance lesson, I discovered another way through which we feel connected to our peers. The beat of the song drowned out all of our howling cultural, academic, physical, and personality differences and served as an united pounding heart for everyone in the circle. Each of our feet were individual muscle fibers of this powerful beating organ, working together in unison with the rhythm and moving in absolute homogeneity and flowing grace. No one was the hero of the stage, and that was what I loved about this traditional Cretan dance. It was done as a group and was meant to connect you with others, rather than for you to show off and isolate yourself. Afterwards, as we walked back to Tholos, I thanked David for inviting me to dance. It was a barrier that I desperately needed to break, and I finally did it here on Crete.

Being confined in a small village allowed me, David, and Weston to grow very close in a short period of time. On a Thursday after working in sizzling conditions that put the Tuscan sun to shame, David, Weston, a bunch of the girls, and I trekked down to the Tholos beach villas. We attempted to check out an herb farm that, very unfortunately, was closed. David and I had worked on site that day and had grabbed a few beers before heading to the beach. After eating almost nothing up at Azoria, the alcohol flowed straight into our systems and had us tipsy in less than ten minutes. We proceeded to drink more beer as we walked and, by the time we found a table down at the beach café, the conversation was flowing like the Yangtze and words were just spilling out of our mouths. I always seem to express myself quite emotionally and very thoroughly every time I am tipsy. Being the only noticeable Asian person in this area, it was a time for me to reflect on what it meant to be a minority in the society that I live in. In the United States and Canada, I have always managed to find myself a bubble of friends who are also Asian and have the same values and life outlooks as I do. Being stuck in these bubbles curtains the fact that I am part of a minority and that, outside of these wealthy and educated spheres, being a minority plays a huge role in one’s identity. Among the local Greeks, I had to disprove the stereotype that all Asian people practice Kung Fu, since the main exposure that these Europeans have had to Asian culture is its popular Kung Fu movies. My physique didn’t really help prove my point; apparently, before they got to know me, they were referencing me as the “Karate Kid” in Greek.

As for my fellow Americans, I tried my best to explain the Asian-American experience. It was difficult because, previously, I never had to pry my mind and think so deeply about my Asian identity in America. I found my inspiration and preferred choice of diction in a Humans of New York post about a young African-American man and his experiences growing up in the suburbs of Miami. For Asian-Americans, oppression and inequality are not necessarily our biggest problems, and neither is socioeconomic status. Personally, I think the most pressing matter is a lack of recognition entrenchment in the collective American identity. For Asian-Americans, there is a barrier that makes it difficult for us to become the leaders and politicians of important institutions and almost anything to do with the general public. As a result, we resort to pursuing careers that either earn us the most money or the most respect. Our immigrant identity is still so young and fragile that we attempt to compensate by obtaining immense amounts of wealth and chasing after the most prestigious occupations, as if we are almost trying to bribe and prove our way into the collective melting pot. Being here in Greece lifted those weighty, ominous clouds off my back. It was as if Atlas had been finally freed from his eternal damnation, finally able to unwind and look upon this world with awe and appreciation for its beauty once again.

In my three short weeks here on Crete, I realized that the locals were always absolutely delighted to learn about my Asian background. They seemed to have had their fair share of American tourists and finally got the chance to spend time with someone who looks completely different. Instead of telling the Asian-American narrative that I have been building for the past twelve years, the anecdotes I shared and the mannerisms I described were as uniquely Chinese as possible, filled with experiences and memories that I pushed away and suppressed so that I could assimilate into Vancouver and fit in at Duke. Maria and I talked for two hours one night, and she told me to never forget where I came from. That “Chinese people, like Greeks, have a long history and a strong sense of ταυτότητα (taftótita; a rough Greek translation for ‘identity’).” As I rode back to the Tholos hotel in Katis’ car that night, I realized I had found myself in a community with an unapologetic and unconditional appreciation for my visible cultural diversity. I couldn’t help but beam as we sped down the road in the clear night. I looked out of the window at the faint outline of the Cretan mountains and at the constellations in the distant universe, finding the Big Dipper and the North Star. These constellations have guided ancient and modern sailors, both Greek and Chinese, away from and back to their homes for thousands of years. Staring at the North Star that night in the car, I decided that, after Crete and Austria, it was time to pay China a visit.

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