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dominimoonbeam · 8 months

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The Truth in Your Skin - 9

The tattoo au! David/Darlin, Milo/Sweetheart, Asher/Huxley

tags: explicit content, nightmare about past abuse, hurt/comfort

The Truth in Your Skin - 9

They walked sloppy lines home on the sidewalk, the night glowing with snowfall and streetlights. Milo laughed, breath forming in the air when Sweetheart unfolded from under his arm, skipping a few steps forward and twirling, arms out. He snagged one wrist, pulling them into a dance.

The street was theirs.

Sometimes, with Sweetheart, it felt like the whole world was theirs. Just theirs.

“I’m sorry about Lasko,” Sweetheart said, a dreamy sigh on their voice as they pulled him along, still dancing but toward their apartment building.

Milo pushed his face into the side of their neck, breathing them in. “S’okay,” he admitted. “He looked so cute blushing between Gav and his friend.”

Sweetheart nodded agreement, turning in his arms just in time to lean back against the front door to their building. They blinked back at him, tipsy and smiling. “I hope you won’t be bored with just my company tonight.”

Milo studied their face like that, bathed in late night lamp glow and flecked with snowflakes. His hand found their hip, squeezing it before sliding up, under their coat and their shirt, to feel their skin. They gasped at his cold fingers, arching but not pushing him away. He grinned. “I could never get bored with you, Sweetheart. There’s no one else I’d rather be with.”

They blinked back at him, so clearly surprised by his words that he had to wonder what he’d said.

He went over them. No, nothing wrong there. Nothing they shouldn’t already know. He leaned in and captured their lips in a kiss. Their piercings clicked softly. Sweetheart grabbed at the front of his jacket, twisting the fabric in their hands and pulling as if they could possibly get any closer.

No, he was never going to get bored of them. Not ever.

Milo grabbed their thighs and they jumped up at the touch, reading his mind and wrapping their legs around his hips so that he could maneuver them into the building. They didn’t know it, but those little acts of trust drove him wild. The way they just blindly hung onto him, kissing and nibbling, while he got them inside and to the elevator, made his heart soar.

“I’m going to strip you down as soon as we’re inside the apartment,” he said in the elevator, feeling them squirm against him. “I’m going to take you apart, Sweetheart.”

The doors opened and he squeezed their ass, carrying them out into the hall.

They licked his ear, breathing against it in a way that made him almost drop his keys. “Not if I take you apart first.”

He groaned, unlocking the door.

Sweetheart unlatched from him, almost falling over when their legs weren’t as sober as their intentions, but quickly backpedaling into the apartment.

Milo laughed, tossing the keys and missing the bowl. He kicked the door shut and managed to get out of his jacket and lock the door without taking his eyes off them. They pulled off their sweater and their top in one move, tossing it into the living room before rushing him again, pushing his back against the door and kissing him hard. Their hands were at the front of his pants, working his belt open.

He shivered, hands on their naked arms, one gliding up to the side of their neck. They kissed him like they were hungry, nipping his bottom lip, and he groaned, a jolt riding down his spine to pelvis, rolling his hips forward to bump into them. They grinned against that kiss and his mind swam from more than just the liquor. Sweetheart wasn’t usually pushy. Mischievous, yes, absolutely. And they loved when he wound them up—when he got them to beg for more, for release—but this was different. This was them winding him up.

Milo surrendered to it gladly, breath hitching when they pushed his jeans down his hips and wrapped a hand around his aching erection. “Fuck…” he exhaled, rolling his hips again, thrusting into their grip and wishing it was their body. They bit his lip again and then broke the kiss. He caught the sharp edges of their grin in the near-dark apartment before they slid down to their knees.

Milo held his breath, hand in their hair, watching the shadows of their face near his sex and feeling their breath roll against his sensitive skin just before their hot tongue stroked him. He gasped and dropped his head back with a thump against the door when they rolled their tongue against piercings.

They’d gotten sound complaints before, from just about every apartment over, under, and beside them. They had a collection of passive aggressive notes left on the door or in their mailbox or even pinned to the lobby message board—all now stuck to their refrigerator with magnets.

Milo always felt a twinge of shame when he got the notes, but they were quickly washed away in the tidal wave of pride at having made Sweetheart shout in pleasure.

They swallowed him and he moaned deep in his chest, palming the back of their head and rocking his hips, fucking them. Their fingers pressed into his hip, holding on.

Sweetheart wasn’t the only one who made sounds. Milo grunted and gasped, already so close to release. He was usually better at holding out, at edging until they were both exhausted and shaking, but tonight he felt like he’d been riding that edge since they left work. He’d been thinking about getting home with his Sweetheart all day.

“Oh shit… fuck…” he gasped, so close.

Their hand pushed his hip and he immediately let go of their head, his chin dropping down to watch them jerk back. They released his cock, coughing.

Panic rushed up through his body like a million needles on his skin. “Sweetheart? Are you—”

They were on their feet, smiling and breathy, lips glossy from spit. They licked their lower lip, taking a step back from him and into the dark room.

Milo shivered, watching them unbutton their jeans and slide them off, kicking them away. Sweetheart stood there, naked in his apartment—in their apartment—staring right back at him with that twist of their mouth that told him everything he needed to know. Had he really thought he was getting off first? Had he really thought the night would be over that soon?

He pushed his own pants all the way down and stepped out of them. Sweetheart bit their lip, taking another step back, swaying. They were going to turn and run, down the dark hall toward the bedroom. They were going to run, just as soon as they were sure he knew to chase.

He palmed his erection, his whole body aching to touch them again.

He wasn’t sure which one of them moved first. Sweetheart turned with a high, nervous laugh and he bolted after them. It was a short run but his heart was pounding when he caught them up and tackled them onto the bed, buried in darkness and pinning them to the mattress. They laughed and squirmed and he kissed and nipped his way down their neck, to their shoulder, grinding against their ass until their breathy laughs had turned into breathy moans.

Darlin’s head smacked the hardwood. It echoed in their skull, echoed in every punch that came after. They couldn’t see anymore, couldn’t open their eyes or will themself to move, but they weren’t unconscious either. His breathing was ragged and loud. He hadn’t left. He wouldn’t leave, not this time, not after everything. This fight had been different. It had been worse and it had been final. Darlin had broken up with him. Oh god, if only it had been that simple. If only they hadn’t seen the horrible truth the moment the words came flying out of their mouth. He wasn’t going to let them go with words and knuckles.

Their mouth tasted like blood, their lip swollen where he’d ripped out the piercing. They shivered at the sound of his teeth clicking around the stud. It echoed too. Their body was a sounding chamber of violence now and they wondered if the sounds would ever escape—would ever stop.

The needle buzzed.

No.

He pulled them along the floor, into position.

Nonono.

Darlin woke with a jolt, like a shot had gone off and they were on their feet, only they hadn’t quite made it to their feet. They’d stumbled blind, hands up to protect their face like it hadn’t been ruined already.

Even when they opened their eyes, they squinted with one, body expecting it to be swollen shut.

Someone was in front of them. Someone big and reaching for them.

Darlin jerked back with a grunt, their shoulders hitting a wall and stopping their escape.

They swallowed, tasting blood that wasn’t there.

They heard his teeth on their long-gone lip stud and shuddered.

“Darlin,” he said, and it sounded like he’d said it a few times already. Another echo. God, why couldn’t that be one of the echoes in their head. His voice. So steady and deep. They dragged a deep breath, realizing then that they were gasping, heart slamming their ribs.

His hands were still out but not reaching anymore, a little to the sides now, like proof that they weren’t. Darlin blinked, vision focusing on his face. They realized he was shorter. He was bent, not just trying to be eye level but lower. There was a crease in his brow, the one he got when he was worried or going over the books.

Darlin exhaled hard, realizing what had happened. They were in his apartment. They looked at the couch and the mess of pillows and throw blankets they had dragged off the cushions when the scrambled to their feet. They tried to apologize but it came out thin and garbled. They pressed a fist against their side, hating the tears that pricked their eyes as the adrenaline buzzed through their skin, turning sick.

He shook his head slowly, another step closer but crouching lower. “You’re okay,” he said, like it was true. It sounded true when he said it in that voice. But they didn’t feel okay.

“I…” they tried to explain or lie or apologize but it came out strangled and weak. Darlin winced, closing their eyes and pressing a fist into their side. Why did this have to happen tonight? Here? In front of David? Their eyes burned behind their lids.

“You had a nightmare,” he offered them the explanation they were trying and failing to get out.

Darlin made a choking sound of agreement, forcing down and out another breath before opening their eyes again. He was still there. David.

“What do you need?” he asked, still so steady even when they could see the worry in his face—in that crease in his brow.

Darlin swallowed, looking away, looking around, looking anywhere but right at him because this was a completely different sort of nightmare.

His arm moved, his hand closer now, and they stared at it in confusion before they realized they’d moved first. Their own hand was hovering between their chest and his, like it was caught between reaching and pulling back. They didn’t remember doing that. They hadn’t meant to. His hand was closer to theirs, reaching back? Offering?

Fuck.

Darlin grabbed his arm, their fingers pressing against the perfect edges of tattooed peonies on his skin. He was solid and he was steady and their vision blurred with tears. “Fuck,” they ground out but pushed a step forward and into his chest.

David’s arms wrapped around them. Before this weekend, they would have been hard pressed to come up with the last time they’d been hugged. Now they were two days in a row.

“You’re making a habit out of this…” they whispered against his collar, breaths still shaky.

He palmed the back of their head, fingers rubbing at their scalp. “I can live with that.”

Darlin sighed. He made it so easy.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

They shook their head. They definitely did not. They would rather forget it if possible.

When the adrenaline flagged, their body realized it had been sleeping and exhaustion rolled back in.

They unraveled from him before they could fall asleep standing and scrubbed a hand over their face. “I’m sorry. What time is it? I should go.”

David frowned, that worried crease in his brow. “It’s like four in the morning.” He still had one of their hands in his, his thumb stroking across the back of their knuckles. “Stay.”

Darlin hesitated, heart heaving at the idea. Could they really?

He nodded like he sensed the thought. He looked tired too. “We’ll sleep in and then I’ll make us food. Stay.”

Darlin squeezed his hand. They were still holding hands. If they didn’t know better, they might think this was more than friendly. It couldn’t be.

A handful of years ago, Darlin would have made a move. They would have kissed this man, maybe pushed him up against a wall, or pulled him along into the bedroom. They knew it, but that didn’t change anything about the way things were now. They weren’t the same person. They didn’t smile the same or feel the same. And David was definitely just being nice. He cared about them. They were friends.

“Darlin?” he asked, concern in his voice.

Darlin nodded, hoping it was too dark for him to see them blushing. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds cool. Thanks.”

He visibly relaxed and turned, leading them down the hall.

Darlin looked at their hand in his. Skin and ink.

He led them into his bedroom but didn’t bother with the lights. He let go of their hand to drop onto the big bed, stretching out and already looking half-asleep. Darlin hesitated but he scooted over and blindly reached out for them. They were too tired to think clearly—too tired to overthink at all—so they took his hand and climbed onto the bed, dropping next to him and sighing at the perfect weight of his arm settling across them.

#redactedverse #tattoo shop au #no powers #david/darlin #milo/sweetheart #asher/huxley #slow burnish #past abuse #hurt/comfort #angst #romance #<3 #dominimoonbeam

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stars-of-kyber · 9 months

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Walking The Wire - Chapter 1

Bridgerton Family Circus was Edmund Bridgerton's entire world and the day he died, it became Anthony Bridgerton's. He had grown up under the big top, learning the ropes, falling in love with the trapeze and with the magic the circus brought.

And then he met her.

Miss Edwina Sharma had fallen in love with Bridgerton Family Circus the first time she watched their performances and decided she needed to join them. And along with the young woman came her. Kate Sharma. The most beautiful woman Anthony had ever seen. She was fierce, bright, intelligent, absolutely gorgeous and apparently a skilled illusionist to boot. And she hated Anthony's guts. Yet, for some reason, Anthony could not stop trying to find new ways to annoy her.

IT LIVES! The circus is in town and the first chapter of Walking The Wire is up in AO3!

God, I hope you're all excited about this as me because BOY I'm happy!

Google, please know I'm not planning on running away with the circus with my hours of research. It was all in the name of fanfic.

Gotta thank my girls! @kateandanthonyaremyparents, @alihightowers, @harnitbee and @searching4paradiso for all the encouragement! And I have to thank most specially @mimix007 and @waterlilyrose who have been listening to my blabbing about trapeze and circus for a month non-stop and always supported me and encouraged me. I wouldn't have done this without you! Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

The next chapter will be up on Wednesday! See you then! Lemme know what you think! It means the world to me!

#my writing #bridgerton #my fic #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #kathony #modern au #circus au #Acrobat Anthony #Magician Kate #walking the wire #Stubborn idiots in love #slow burnish #angst with happy endings #yes happy endings!#No love triangles #And the only clowns in this story are Kate and Anthony lol

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mossy-rot · 1 year

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I very suddenly remembered promare and i wanna make a fic of the afterword where everything is starting to settle and mad burnish are trying to yknow. live regular lives but for the moment housing is limited to burnish still and they can only afford one apartment between them so they're trying to move in only for galo to up and decide that He Would Like To Live Here Too they're like dude we have like. one mattress and a couch and he just says oh don't worry I got this then leaves for a couple minutes then just. brings up 2 ikea sets of bunk beds

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cthoniccompanion · 7 months

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rewatching promare and letting my brain run wild with aus (for enrichment)

#i still want to post my liogalo figure skater/hockey au someday #but also just playing around with the idea of inserting ships into the liogalo roles #like what if..... thanzag.... but they were burnish and burning rescue.....#personal

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summer-chan111 · 2 years

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I can't believe I've put so much effort into a f*cking meme😅

👇[no caption version]👇

(burnish firefighter au belongs to @astrolavas)

(promare belongs to Trigger)

#promare #promare au #burnish firefighter au #galo thymos #aina ardebit

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ghastimart · 1 year

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some doodles of my (favourite characters) promare-xiv crossover. i have thought about it a normal amount (asks in my askbox asks in my askbox) if you see trans galo & trans lio yes the fuck you do

reblogs loved, likes liked

#promare #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #lio fotia #galo thymos #mad burnish #burning rescue #my art #ghastimart #doodles #man i could seriously ramble for fucking ages abt this au #but some of it gets into endwalker spoilers sO #AAA

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amazeingartist · 7 months

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promare au thoughts because yes

soap & ghost are together and in their shared apartment, soap is letting his flames dance around ghost cuz happy + ghost thinks soap’s fire is beautiful. a flame touches ghost’s mouth and he then leans in to brush their lips together to blow the ember into soap’s mouth. needless to say the rest of the evening is spent on the couch, taking turns warming each others lungs with heated breath; soap thinks one of his favourite views ever is of his fire flickering in ghost’s mouth, on his tongue. ghost thinks the same of soap’s reaction to himself

btw don’t worry ghost’s safe to those unfamiliar, burnish can perform a kiss of life to share their sparks with one another and a non burnish can return a burnish’s flame back to them via this method too. in canon it’s for life saving purposes but it’s also used as symbolism for romantic love sooo

#ghostsoap #soapghost #simon riley #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #promare au #burnish!soap #firefighter!ghost #firefighter!soap #basically shotgunning but with alien energy fire

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seaturtlesadboy · 2 years

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Promare sequel concept idea:

It’s been a few months to 2 years after the events of Promare. Everyone has been preoccupied with trying to rebuild the city and housing the displaced Burnish. The Parnassus has been broken down and sold for parts, which funds have been used to help build a borough in the city where the ship crash-landed. There is continued conflict as the Burnish struggle in the city that once spearheaded their genocide, and rumors about what happened during Promare run rampant. Strange thefts and disappearances start happening in the city, and while some are ready to chalk it up to internal disturbance, our heroes start to suspect something sinister is afoot. Things come to a head when Lucia and/or Heris’s lab is raided. Through some detective work (featuring some classic infiltration scenes, stakeouts and chases) we find out that many of the parts of the Parnassus were sold to another extremist group. They believe that Kray didn’t go far enough when planning his actions from the first movie. They plan to use the technology to hop dimensions and destroy the Promare star, killing all Promare. It’s up to Galo and Lio to once again save the Promare by stopping the group before they can use their technology for evil.

#just one of many possibilities #this time i was trying to think of one that sounded like something trigger might make #alternatively the extremists could be burnish who want to travel to the promare to bring them back #but the process is unstable and it would either risk hurting the promare or destabilizing the dimensions #and then galo and lio either stop them or merge the dimensions by uniting the burnish and promare once again #but with trigger’s tendency toward clumsily trying to tackle real world political issues i think the body text is more likely #anyways i love aus and possibilities so if anyone wants to tack on go for it #promare

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wordveined · 1 year

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Burnished Night

Category: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Rating: PG/SFW Genre: Fantasy Word Count (currently (all parts)): 2635 Status: Incomplete

Summary: A second chance at life is hard to come by; one granted when the first was all but forfeit is unheard of. Even so, Edelgard survives; unprepared to face the Fodlan that greets her when she awakens, but not alone in the slightest.

This is a sequel to Tarnished Dawn. It is highly recommended to read that first, though not necessarily required.

Directory: I (you are here)

***

Chapter One: Woke Up In Chicago (And The Sky Turned Black)

chapter title taken from June by Florence + the Machine

She feels it like a whisper, at first. The hint of warmth, faint but steady in the way it seems to wrap around her where she lays. Edelgard flexes the fingers of her right hand, where the sensation is strongest, and is startled to find that she cannot move them much at all, restricted as they have been by that warmth. Then the sensation tightens; her hand lifts, though not of her accord, and a voice she will always recognize speaks softly near her ear.

"El?"

Dimitri?

Her childhood moniker slips from his mouth like a sigh, all quiet and soft. A beat passes, then another, and when she makes no move to respond, that feeling - his hand, she realizes - tightens again, and something gentle brushes against her knuckles, the touch featherlight. His voice, when again he speaks, hums against her skin there like a vibrato.

"El, can you hear me?"

His words almost seem to trail off at the end; to quiver, as if afraid to be left unanswered. For how long he has sat at her beside, how many times he has gone without a reply, Edelgard does not know. But she does know that she does not have it within herself to hear his voice tremble again.

When did I become so soft?

It takes far more effort than it should, but slowly, Edelgard manages to crack her eyes open. Just a sliver, enough to make out a portion of the room and some blurry shapes contained within. It must be enough, for she can hear Dimitri suck in a breath and hold it, low though it is. His grip on her hand tightens once more, and as she works on getting her eyes open wider, the blur to her right shifts closer and becomes clearer, and then she finds herself looking up into Dimitri's face as he stares back down at her.

It is a hauntingly familiar position to be in, even if she is bedridden instead of kneeling in defeat. And there are other changes, too. He still wears an eyepatch, his one eye still the same cerulean she remembers; but gone are the deepest lines of fatigue that decorated his brow. Some smaller ones linger still, but he no longer looks to be carrying the weight of the world upon his shoulders. And where before his hair hung unkempt and limp, it is now tied back at the sides - it leaves the whole of his face open and unhidden in a way Edelgard has not seen since their days at the academy, and for a moment it throws her. But whatever shock she lets slip on her features is composed soon enough, and then she opens her mouth to speak.

Or she tries, at least. But what comes out is little more than a croak, the rasp of a voice gone unused for far too long. Dimitri shifts at her side, glances away for a moment before he turns back and there is a glass of water held to her lips. At first she accepts a small sip, then another; before she knows it Edelgard has gulped down the whole thing, her dry, greedy throat rejoicing at the sensation of relief the cool liquid brings. She relaxes back into the pillows with a sigh, and this time when she speaks, her voice is clear, if not a touch quieter than she would prefer.

"... Thank you."

Dimitri nods, sets the glass back down with a quiet clink all without ever taking his eye off of her. Edelgard is a little unnerved by it, at first, but when all she can see in his gaze is concern, rather than resentment, she exhales a little breath she hadn't known she had been holding in. Dimitri gives her hand a gentle squeeze, and it's only then that she realizes he hasn't once let go of it since she awakened - though she is quick to push that thought aside.

There are more important things to focus on than that, right now.

Edelgard clears her throat softly, glad to find it no longer feels raspy or dry. Then she speaks, her voice a quiet hum in the otherwise silent room. "How long has it been?"

"About a month. Wyvern Moon is almost here," he replies. The first thing he has said since she awoke, and though his tone holds composure, it is still soft - and it softens further still as he continues. "I am glad it's not been longer."

A month. This revelation surprises her, but only in the fact that it has not been longer, indeed. When she had used the Hegemon Husk in Enbarr she had been fully prepared to die, and the weakness that had suffused her limbs moments after its power was extinguished had been all-consuming. She still feels some of it, in her extremities and her core, but it is far duller than she presumed it would be. To have awakened after only a month…

Well, it is both a curse and a blessing, she supposes. Clearly the world is not finished with her yet.

"I must extend my thanks to your healers, then," Edelgard murmurs, her gaze shifting to meet Dimitri's once more. "They are clearly very skilled, to have brought me back so quickly."

For the first time, Dimitri’s expression changes, and his lips mold into a small half-smile as he nods. “Mercedes and Marianne have barely left your side, these past weeks. Even when the Imperial Physicians began to waver, they were not deterred.”

Edelgard’s eyes widen in surprise. “The Imperial Physicians? Are we still…?” she trails off, uncertain if she should finish. But Dimitri simply nods again, and answers that silent question all the same.

“We are still in Enbarr, yes. Your condition was too critical to be moved anywhere else,” his smile disappears, and though he does not frown, Edelgard can see that it is more out of restraint, rather than a lack of unease. “Those first few days were… especially rough.”

Though he falls quiet once more, Edelgard can hear his words on repeat in her head. Especially rough. Perhaps she had been closer to death than originally presumed. The thought of that brings a number of questions to mind, but at the forefront of them all is one she knows she has held onto since she remembers looking upon him last. And though perhaps it is not the time, nor the place, Edelgard cannot help herself from asking it of him, anyways.

But she cannot meet his eyes while she says it.

“Why did you let me live, Dimitri?”

He sucks in a sharp breath. Silence follows, thick with tension, and Edelgard wonders if maybe it really was the wrong thing to say. But after a moment that feels longer than it truly is, Dimitri exhales; the sound slow and controlled, and the hand that still clasps hers relaxes its grip as if to let go, but still does not pull away.

“I went into that battle prepared to extend mercy, should you have chosen it,” he says, and in his voice she hears an echo of that day, of the plea he had not given words to but could not hide from her all the same. “And it was not out of pity or sympathy; if anything, it was born out of my own selfish desires.” Dimitri pauses, as if to brace himself, then continues.

“I am done losing the people that I care for, Edelgard. And despite the last five years - or perhaps in spite of them, this includes you.”

Edelgard’s breath escapes her in a rush; only then does she realize she has held it since he began to speak. Her gaze darts back to him, sharp as she meets his one-eyed stare. But no matter how hard she looks, how determinedly she searches, Edelgard can detect no lie in the azure she looks back into; only sincerity.

She doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Maybe he can sense that he’s unsettled her thoughts, for suddenly his hand slips out of hers and he rises from his seat at her side. “You should rest up - I imagine you are still exhausted, given everything. I’ll have a healer come in to check on you shortly.” And before Edelgard can protest, even utter a syllable to the contrary, he slips from the room; the soft click of the door as it latches behind him the only sound left to accompany the mess that is her thoughts.

***

True to his word, Dimitri must have spoken to someone fairly quickly; for it’s only minutes later that Mercedes comes bustling into the room, a basket of what she can only presume is medical supplies clutched in her hands. So when the other woman settles herself into the chair and opens it up to instead reveal a sizable pile of sweets, Edelgard can only raise her eyebrows in shock as she looks upon it. Mercedes must see how wide the Emperor’s eyes have gotten, for she lets out a pearly little laugh before she reaches into the pockets of her dress and retrieves an Elixir bottle from its depths.

“You shouldn’t look quite so surprised, Your Majesty,” she says as she uncorks it and hands it over, mannerisms clearly conveying that Edelgard should down the contents - she does so without complaint. “After all, it has been a whole month since you’ve eaten last, and I find there’s not a better way to both perk someone up and build up their energy than with fresh-baked sweets.”

“Well… I suppose when you put it that way, it makes perfect sense,” Edelgard concedes as she sets the bottle down, lips now curved into a slight smile as she accepts a pastry from the blonde. She takes small, cautious bites at first, uncertain as to how her empty stomach will take to the food; but when it sits without incident, she becomes a little more gregarious in her eating. When it is gone, she is only mildly surprised to find Mercedes at the ready with another to press into her grasp, but Edelgard accepts it without issue. Even prior to her extended rest, she had kept her consumption of sweets and baked goods to a minimum; this feels purely decadent, and given that she lives when before she had fully well expected not to, a little bit of indulgence seems warranted.

When the second pastry is finished, she accepts another Elixir from Mercedes, then settles into the pillows behind her with a sigh. She allows herself a moment to enjoy the sense of calm that has suffused the room, then turns to Mercedes with as much purpose as she can currently muster.

“What can you tell me about all that has happened since the battle?”

Mercedes hums, the sound thoughtful as she closes the basket and sets it aside. She doesn’t seem at all shocked that Edelgard has asked - indeed, she rather looks as though she expected it. “Well, we’re still in Enbarr; several of the healers - myself included - had actually wanted to move you to Fhirdiad, as the School of Sorcery is closer by if any complications were to arise, but your condition was rather unstable, and neither Dimitri nor Hubert would hear of it.”

“Hubert is alive?!” Edelgard can’t help it; she starts at this revelation, pushes herself up from the cushions with as much force as she can muster. She must look near-ready to swing herself out of the bed, for in seconds Mercedes is on her feet, hands on Edelgard’s shoulders as she gently - but firmly - presses her back into a reclined position. She leaves her hands there, perhaps afraid that Edelgard will try to rise again as soon as she lets go.

“Yes, alive and well. His injuries, while bad, weren’t anything quite so severe as yours. He was up on his feet maybe a week after the fighting stopped,” she explains. All of Edelgard goes limp in relief at her words, sinking into the cushions, and Mercedes sits back down. “I’m quite surprised he wasn’t here when you woke up, actually. It’s been almost impossible to get him or Dimitri to leave your side.”

There it is again. She had almost missed it before, as struck as she had been by the knowledge that her most trusted friend still lived, but with Mercedes saying it so casually, Edelgard can’t help but get stuck on that thought.

‘Neither Dimitri nor Hubert would hear of it…’

‘Impossible to get him or Dimitri to leave your side…’

Hubert, she understands. Of course he would resist her being moved to Fhirdiad, regardless of the resources available there - truthfully, Edelgard thinks he would have resisted even if her condition had been stable, so stubborn is the man. And for him to refuse to leave her but for short periods of time runs par for the course, as it has since her return from exile in Faerghus more than a decade ago.

But Dimitri… surprises her. That he was with her at all when she awoke was enough of a shock; but his earlier admission, coupled with this discovery that he has been remiss to leave her sickbed, is…

Well, it’s rather a lot to deal with all at once.

Edelgard sighs. There is no use dwelling on it, not while she is still bedridden and with other things to worry about. She pushes the thought from her mind, and Mercedes seems unsurprised when she avoids the topic entirely upon speaking again. “What else? I know that Leicester has been ceded to the Kingdom - has Dimitri spoken of his plans regarding it, or the Empire, for that matter?”

Mercedes shakes her head. “Not a thing that I’ve heard. I know that when Claude first left, Dimitri tasked Lorenz with managing all former Alliance lands in the Kingdom’s name, and Hubert has been taking care of matters here in your stead - but outside of that? I couldn’t really say.”

This news feels both unexpected and unsurprising, and it’s an odd combination for Edelgard to contend with. On the one hand, it wouldn’t have been without reason for Dimitri to simply conquer all of Fódlan under the banner of Faerghus, to install loyal, Kingdom-born vassals as rulers over new administrative regions - it’s what Edelgard herself had nearly done, and would have had she been the victor. But such a move would be unlike Dimitri, this much she is certain of, and to instead leave lands in the charge of those who would best know how to govern them… well.

It makes her wonder just what Dimitri has in mind for the future of the continent as they know it.

So caught up in her musings, Edelgard hardly notices as Mercedes rises from her chair; only glancing over when she sets the sweet basket and a few additional bottles of Elixir and water on the chair within the Emperor’s reach. She gives Edelgard a soft smile when she notices her stare. “I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day, Your Majesty. If you need anything or if there’s any trouble, a guard is posted just outside of the room - just ask him to fetch me and I’ll come running.”

Edelgard returns her smile - it’s hard not to, what with the older woman’s calm demeanor being so infectious. All the same, however, she is grateful for the promise of solitude. There are too many things running rampant in her brain to parse through while in the presence of company, and it must be evident in her features for how efficiently Mercedes excuses herself from the room.

The door clicks behind her, just as it did for Dimitri earlier, and for the first time since she woke, Edelgard is alone with her thoughts.

#‣ fic.#‣ sfw.#‣ au.#‣ rating: pg.#‣ category: fire emblem.#‣ fic: burnished night.#‣ ship: edelgard/dimitri (fe).#c: it is here #it is fucking long c: c:#and i am not fucking done with it c: c: c:#originally any follow up to tarnished dawn was gonna just be a one off like td was #but uh. they said No.#also unbeta'd #also not proofread i proofskimmed

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matoitech · 2 years

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the promare flamethrower guitar...

#mad burnish band au ppl .. ur time is now

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ceilidho · 3 months

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prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 1; ghoap x reader)

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately.

Ghost listens because the periods between missions are long and colourless—he fills the time with paperwork, PT, exhausting his muscles in the gym, and dissociating in a booth at the only good pub on base when Johnny drags him along—and it’s better to tune out the thoughts in his head and replace them with something else. Besides, for as much as he gripes about poorly trained dogs barking too much, he enjoys the sound of Johnny’s voice. It quiets the faint ringing that follows him wherever he goes, an agitated humming that leaves him, on his best days, on the brink of rage.

“Tinnitus,” a doctor says when he brings it up during a routine check-up. Can you shut that fucking noise up?

“Best we can do is get you hearing aids.” Apologetic, sincere even. Stained, as always though, by a trembling, noxious unease. It emanates off the doctor in waves.

Hard not to feel uneasy around a man in a mask, Ghost assumes. That’s all part of it though. He doesn’t cultivate comfort, doesn’t attempt to engender soft feelings or put the mind at ease. His body and persona are designed to put the body and mind on the knife’s edge of fear, and then tip it over. He leaves the sweet talking and charming to men like Johnny, who babbles red language in a tongue like larkspur.

Ghost’s first language is oil slick. It stains and it covers and it darkens everything it touches.

And now, Johnny’s talking about a bird.

A couple months after Las Almas, the first picture comes out. Not a folded up keepsake tucked away in the pocket of a bag or a wallet or the inside of his jacket, but right on Johnny’s lockscreen on his phone. He disapproves at first glance. Not of the girl, but at the thought of keeping something so valuable on display for anyone to see. It’s not how he functions. Everything sacred is burned, destroyed, or—if precious enough—buried so deep underground that salt miners might greet it on the way down.

“Pretty, eh?” Johnny goads, nudging Ghost with his shoulder. He’s all wide grin, eyes electric-blue like the flames of Kawah Ijen.

She is pretty. Pretty as pie. Not a speck of grit or blood on her; if there’s any edge to her at all, it’s tempered by her smile in the photo on Johnny’s phone. A sugar sweet cunt, by the looks of it, sure it’d taste like candy if he got his mouth on it. He angles his eyes with Johnny’s lips and wonders how many times he’s eaten her out, if hers was the last cunt he ate. Likely. His boy’s the loyal kind, hard to shake off once he’s got his teeth in. Swapping spit or blood, he doesn’t leave once he’s got a taste.

“Where’d you find her?” he asks instead of agreeing, and takes a swig from the bottle in front of him. The bar’s hardly filled out yet; the two of them come early because Ghost’s an old man—that’s what Johnny would say—and doesn’t like to be around people once the sun’s set. It’s a burnished gold now, sun hovering low in the sky when Ghost turns an eye to it.

“Florist. Met her when I picked up flowers for mam’s birthday.”

Nearly a month then. “And I’m just hearin’ about this now?”

Not in this same pub three times a week since then. Not on the tarmac, suited up and sweating already beneath two layers of gear. Not in the shower beside Ghost’s, fingers reaching over the side for a bar of soap because Johnny can’t be arsed to get his own. Not with his head slumped to let Ghost shave the sides of his head nice and neat, thick fingers splayed over the delicate bone of his skull that Ghost knows would take nothing to break.

It rankles him until he looks back down at the phone in his hands—the one he’d plucked from Johnny’s fingers even while he whined about Ghost always stealing his shit—and feels his heartbeat slow. It levels out like staring into the scope of a rifle, the molecules of his breath melding with the molecules of the air until even the sound of his heartbeat dulls to the insects around him.

Johnny purses his lips. “…Wasn’t sure then. Am now.”

“Cunt’s a cunt. What’s there to be sure about?”

“No.” Johnny shakes his head vehemently. “She’s no’ like that. She’s special—I’m telling ye, Lt—” he stresses when Ghost snorts, the sound thick with scepticism, “—she’s a good egg. Smart one. Sweet as pie.”

Sweet as pie. Mutt half-shares his thoughts these days. They must have brought more home than just shellshock and keloids.

Johnny squawks when Ghost unlocks his phone and thumbs through his photos, trying to wrench it out of Ghost’s hand to no avail. He’s easy to hold back. All he has to do is put down his beer for a second and get a handful of hair and jerk, and there it is. Peace and quiet. A wince bleeding into his peripheral vision while Johnny mumbles something under his breath about him being a mean bastard.

He snorts again. Even from Johnny, he’s heard worse.

There isn’t much left of him these days. A tired husk and a taste for Guinness. He bleeds and shaves and wipes it off, smells the viscera still staining his mask that he hardly ever washes, can’t bear to honestly. Waste of fucking time, as far as he’s concerned. Just going to get dirtied again, soaked in blood again within the week. Shaves his head too just to have less to deal with, less to distract him from the single-minded intensity he brings to the job. He’d dematerialize if he could, become a ghost in name and shape, if only the laws of physics allowed.

Instead he’s saddled with a body that echoes back his age in creaking joints and low back pain. Scar tissue that aches when it gets cold.

In the months he’s known Johnny, he’s never let himself think about the world outside their bubble. His rank demands a certain level of socialising, and while he doesn’t schmooze with the brass like other lieutenants might, Ghost hardly has the privilege of isolating himself all the time, but still he can count the people he considers close on one hand.

Not family, but close. The thought of family is sheathed within him; he knows to leave the knife in lest he bleed. Still, Johnny’s fought his way onto the list and now he has to pay with his pound of flesh.

There’s a switch that’s been off for years, closer to a couple decades, and it flips back on when he finds this man that trusts him without question, that follows his orders and looks up at him with these big, puppy blue eyes. It twists something in his chest. It turns him into a thing that says maybe it’s better to take than just covet.

There are other photos of the girl in Johnny’s phone, some likely not meant for present company (Johnny flushes red when Ghost flips to a picture of his bird in a pretty little number, lace cupping her tits and ass, sitting on Johnny’s bed back home and looking back at him over her shoulder with a little grin). Still, it interests him to see this side of his boy; he’s maybe thought of it before in abstract terms. He knows that Johnny’s no stranger to a wandering eye, not with the way he’s built and his pretty boy face. He’s well acquainted with Johnny’s dick, hard not to be in such close quarters; it’s a nice, pretty thing, just like him, a good handful. Nothing like the ruddy battering ram in between Ghost’s legs. The one Johnny once got a glimpse of in the showers after a two week long stint in Kyrgyzstan and paled, mouth gaping open while he stared until he could finally laugh it off.

Ghost remembers thinking detachedly about how lovely that little gaped open mouth would feel around his cock.

Surprising that it took this long for him to cotton on to his own desires.

“Bring ‘er around then. I’ll see for myself how sweet she is.”

Johnny scowls at the sudden uproar from a nearby table. “No’ a chance in hell. Dinnae trust any of these fuckers to behave around her.”

Ghost hums. He’s not wrong to be wary; under the table, Ghost runs a hand over his bulge and gives it a squeeze, lifting his thigh to readjust. She has a lovely mouth too.

He’s been breathing fire and brimstone recently. Hungering to hear something break. It takes Johnny’s hand on his arm to hold him back, every cigarette puffed down to the filter. The pictures on Johnny’s phone make it seem easy though.

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately, preening at every opportunity to show her off. He doesn’t know that it takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost’s brain to file the girl in Johnny’s phone under mine, slotting her right under Johnny in that category and isn’t that just perfect because it also takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost to imagine what she might look like under Johnny.

He hands Johnny back the phone, face down. “You get one week. Then I wanna meet your bird.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost/soap/reader #ghoap x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #ghoap x you

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