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piracytheorist · 3 years

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A Kiss for Good Luck (15/16)

Summary: So this is the story of one born lucky, and one born unlucky. Fate will keep making them cross paths, but is it to bring them together, or to test them? Captain Swan AU.

A/N: Final chapter in the story! There’s only a short epilogue left after this one :)

Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings on AO3)

Word count for this chapter: 4k (51k in total) AO3

Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter 15: Emma Swan and Killian Jones, June 23rd 2016 (continued)

“I think you were right,” Emma says some minutes into their walk. “About the time thing, and how big or small the luck is.” She turns to him. “Unless you spotted money and didn't tell me anything.”

Killian opens his mouth to speak, but instead a grunt comes out when a jogger bumps him on the shoulder as he passes by. Killian just rolls his eyes.

“Wait for it,” Emma whispers quickly. “Hey!”

The jogger turns around, still running on the spot. He smiles at Emma, but his face falls when he sees that she's holding Killian's hand.

“You just bump into people like that?” Emma asks, an almost comical offense showing on her face.

The jogger looks at Killian, expression turning bitter. “Apologies, mate.”

“Sure.” Killian turns at Emma after the guy has left. “You didn't have to do that.”

Emma quickly kisses him. “You knew that guy?”

“No. You didn't have to do that either.”

“We'll both have to get used to that.”

Killian, instead, raises their joined hands and leaves a brief kiss on hers. “Aye, we will.”

Still absorbing the place around her, still not fully realizing she's even left her country, Emma is surprised to suddenly feel Killian tug her towards a two-store house. She stops and stares at it.

The home he grew up in – well, not technically, but it's still a place that means a lot to him.

“What?” Killian says, letting go of her hand to fish out a set of keys from his pocket.

“It's just... your home.” As much as she likes her apartment in Boston, she'd rather look for a new one herself than pull Killian away from this place. There are still times she misses the home she had with Ingrid. She'd know the feeling.

“Aye?”

Emma just shrugs. “It's nice, that's all.”

Killian knows she means more than that; he doesn't push, however. “Welcome, then.”

He quickly sets to cooking as Emma sits down at the kitchen table and starts toying with the chess set on it.

“That's Alice's,” Killian says.

“Oh,” she says and drops the piece she was holding. “Does she play often?”

“She's a master at it. I don't think she'd mind if you played a bit yourself.”

“I don't know the first thing about chess,” she says and stands up, leaning closer to him and the food. “It smells nice. Nemo taught you to cook?”

“Hm-mm.”

Emma gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. He turns to look at her surprised. Emma shrugs playfully, saying, “What if you were about to put some salt in it and the saltshaker broke?”

He smiles, but he doesn't move for a kiss. “We've got a few potatoes.”

She raises her eyebrows. “So?”

He laughs. “Potatoes have potassium. Potassium absorbs the extra salt.”

“On today's episode of 'Cooking with Killian Jones',” she says, teasingly.

He fights the impulse to kiss her bright smile; perhaps he can hang onto the luck for a few hours more, if it means a better-tasting meal for everyone.

He turns around instead when he hears the front door open. A tired Alice appears from it, her knee looking scraped. He checks the time – she would normally be finishing school in two hours from now.

“Alice? What happened?”

“Something came up with the teacher, and they let us go earlier.”

“And you walked? They didn't let you call?”

“They did. The phone here isn't working and Nemo's phone is off. I didn't know anyone else's number.”

He checks both the cordless phone and the older phone by the kitchen door. Indeed, there's no dial tone. He looks at the girl, feeling immense guilt. That was nearly an hour-long walk, and she apparently fell and scraped her knee.

“I'm so sorry, Alice. I would've come pick you up. Does your knee hurt?”

“It's okay, I just tripped,” she says, tiredly taking her backpack off. “Can I watch some Netflix later?”

He smiles. “I think you've earned it. Come on then, I'll help you clean it.”

As he sterilizes Alice's wound, he thinks about her walking all this route. The school year is nearly over, so she didn't change schools when she moved here; the one she was at already was close to her real home, all the way across town. Though his bad luck never caused him to try and call someone to come pick him up, fail, and end up walking, he feels a deep sympathy for her.

“That woman in the kitchen,” Alice starts.

Killian smiles at her, finally placing a bandage decorated with white rabbits on her knee.

“Is she your friend?”

“You're a curious one, aren't you?”

“Curiouser and curiouser...” she looks around with innocent eyes.

“She is. A... special friend.”

Alice smiles and jumps up. “Do you love her?” she whispers.

Killian feels his face warm up. “I do. A lot,” he says softly, looking at the open door. Hopefully Emma can't hear them.

“Does she love you?”

“I think so. I hope so.”

Alice's smile widens. “You should introduce me to her.” She then walks out, mood significantly lighter.

Emma is standing next to the stove, leaning in carefully to smell the food. With the bad luck on her, she can't risk getting too close.

“Where are my manners? I haven't introduced you yet. Alice, this is Emma,” Killian says when they approach. “Emma, this is Alice.”

Emma simply raises her hand at her. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Alice sits down at the table, resetting the chess board. “Are you from around here?”

“No, actually,” Emma says and sits across from her, as Killian goes to keep stirring the food. “I'm from Boston, from America.”

“The United States?” Alice's eyes glow.

“Yeah. I made a surprise visit.”

“You'll be staying with us?”

“Uh... I think I'll be staying with Killian. But if Nemo is okay, I can come and visit.”

Alice points at the board, still smiling. “Do you play?”

“I know nothing about it.” After a short pause she adds, “Could you teach me?”

Alice giggles and starts picking up the pieces one by one, teaching Emma how they move across the board, even throwing a few tips about how to use each of them.

“You know the game awfully well,” Emma says.

Alice takes a melancholic expression that shouldn't belong on such a young face. “It's the one game I don't need any luck to win.” She then picks up the piece that looks like a horse – Emma's sure it's called a knight. “What's your country like?” Alice asks, her voice noticeably lower.

“Uh... big. Lots of places. I haven't visited many big cities, though. I went to New York City once.”

“My papa was born in Seattle. He's said a few times that we'd visit it together at some point.”

While Alice's head is slightly down, eyes stuck on the chess piece, Emma gives a quick glance towards Killian; he looks at them glumly.

Killian bites his lip, eventually saying, “I just need to leave the food to cook a little more. We can watch some Netflix until it's ready.”

Suddenly, Alice sniffles and runs to the bathroom, knight still in hand. Killian comes to stand closer to Emma, rubbing his face with his hand.

“What about her mother?” Emma asks.

“She left them after Alice was born. It's been just her and her father.”

“And now he's...”

Killian shakes his head.

“That sounds unlucky.” She looks at him meaningfully.

His eyebrow shoots up, and he looks towards the closed bathroom door.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Emma says.

“You think we could transfer our luck to her?”

She shrugs. “It doesn't transfer to others, when one of us kisses someone else. Maybe if we... kiss her on the cheeks at the same time, she can act as a... mediator?”

His face turns serious. “It's worth a try.”

They nod at each other.

“Maybe the bad luck we'll be stuck with can be diluted, if it's shared between us.” She smiles weakly.

He smiles back. He takes her hand and pulls her up from the chair. “Are you sure about this?”

She squeezes his hand in hers and nods. “I am.”

They let go at the sound of the bathroom door opening. Alice keeps her face down, and though they try not to pry, they notice the slight redness in her eyes and the slump of her shoulders.

“Okay,” Killian says. “Time for Netflix?”

That brings a small smile on Alice's face. They walk to the living room, and Alice pauses for a moment when she sees them take the end seats on the three-seat couch that's facing the TV, but eventually she settles in between them.

They watch two episodes of her favourite anime, and by the end her smile seems genuine.

“You didn't even tell me where Nemo is,” Alice says suddenly, turning to Killian.

“He was busy. John needed some help at the office.”

“You didn't sleep here last night.”

“Yeah,” he turns a little towards her, giving Emma a short but meaningful look. “You missed me, my lady?”

Emma turns towards the girl a bit as well, catching her shy smile. She knows enough to understand that what Alice is desperate for now is some stability, even if that means the people she's staying with not sleeping elsewhere out of the blue.

“I'm sure he missed you,” Emma says. “And you know what? I think I'll miss you too, when I go back home.” She probably won't stay long there, she thinks.

Alice looks at her, then back at Killian, undoubtedly catching their wide smiles.

“Why are you two looking at me like this?”

One last look between them, and then they simultaneously kiss Alice's cheeks.

Alice giggles, then runs her hands across her cheeks. “Ew,” she says teasingly.

Killian gives Emma a hopeful smile. She knows her face reflects it.

“Alright, time to eat!” he says and jumps up.

Lunch goes by smoothly, then Emma watches as Killian helplessly loses quick match after quick match. Eventually Alice starts giving him tips, and they end in a stalemate. Killian then sends Alice to go do her homework, and he settles with Emma on the couch, neither of them actually watching what's on the TV, only basking in each other's embrace.

“I feel it's a bit unfair,” Emma says. “You cooked, insisted to do the dishes, and now I'm sitting here doing nothing while Alice is doing homework?”

“We asked her many times if she wants any help with it. She always says she's doing fine, and her social worker said her progress has kept up despite what she's going through.”

After a short pause, Emma says, “How long do you think it will take? Until something good happens for her?”

“I don't know. It's all in theory, after all, did it even work? And since we kissed today, many times, will her luck be little? Or will our bad luck be big because she's been unlucky for her whole life? Has she been that unlucky her whole life?”

Emma sighs. “A lot of questions.”

He kisses the top of her head. “All we can do is hope for the best now. We did something good, maybe we can hope for some good karma.”

At the sound of Alice's footsteps on the stairs, they pull apart, only holding each other's hand.

Still from the stairs, the mock-bitter glare she gives them is sharp. “I can't wait to be a grown-up and not have to do homework everyday.”

They both make a discontented “Ehhh” sound.

“All kids say that, then we grow up and realize how silly we were for thinking that,” Emma says.

“Right, right. I'm done for today.” She raises her shoulders innocently. “Could I watch some more Netflix?”

“You know,” Killian says, “I thought I could make some pancakes. Would you-”

Alice's eyes light up and she interrupts him with an excited gasp and a “Is there any marmalade left?”

Killian stands up, laughing. “You're the main consumer of it. You should know.”

Emma stands close to Killian, ready to react if his bad luck acts up, but instead nearly gasps when he successfully flips over the first pancake. Alice contents herself with three pancakes, then she grabs a jar of orange jam and moves to the table.

Emma leans a bit towards Killian with a worried look.

“Oh, come on,” Killian says. “It's just skill.”

They eat their pancakes in silence, having just finished when Nemo comes home.

“Afternoon,” he says.

Emma quickly wipes her mouth and stands up to meet Killian's father. Both she and Killian join Nemo in the entrance, leaving Alice toying with the leftover jam on her plate.

“Nemo, this is Emma. Emma, Nemo.”

Nemo gives her his hand, and she shakes it gently. “That was quite the surprise visit,” he says. “Is that why you left in such a rush last night?” he asks Killian.

Killian's lips twitch and he scratches behind his ear. “Not exactly. I was just going back to my apartment when I saw her waiting for me outside.”

Nemo looks at the two of them, confused.

“After she figured out the luck thing, she came here to give me the luck back.”

Nemo's eyes widen, then start watering as he looks at Emma. “You really did that for him?”

Emma smiles, unable to say a word under such a grateful look.

Nemo takes a step towards her, then opens his arms. “May I?” he says.

She nods, sniffling softly as he hugs her.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“He wouldn't take it,” Emma says as they pull back. “He's too stubbornly selfless.”

“I don't expect you to just leave without at least making a plan for all of this.” He looks at Killian, then back at her. “But I'm grateful, and proud of you for what you did for him. I want you to know that you're always welcome in our home.”

Emma shrinks into herself, still too self-conscious, muttering a simple “Thank you,” when the phone rings and disrupts the moment.

Nemo moves to pick it up, and Emma quickly thinks how of course it's fixed now, but a cold shiver runs down her spine when after a few words, Nemo carefully slides into the living room, away from a clueless Alice's hearing.

Emma and Killian look at each other with a sudden expression of horror, then back at Alice.

Did they give her their bad luck?

They squeeze each other's hands, feeling the frantic heartbeat under the skin, then look at Nemo, waiting for the damn suspense to be over already.

Nemo covers his eyes, then his mouth. He whispers a few words into the phone, then he walks back to the kitchen, his eyes glassy again.

“Alice,” he says. “It's for you.”

Emma and Killian can nearly feel their hearts beat out of their chest as Alice's face turns serious. She takes the phone and brings it to her ear. She says “Hello?” and seconds feel like hours until her jaw drops and she says in a breathy voice, “Papa?”

Finally, Nemo turns to them. His eyes are still teary, but he's smiling.

“Papa,” Alice says again. “You're awake?” Without another word, she jumps from her chair and runs upstairs.

“He woke up,” Nemo says, fist over his mouth. “I spoke with the doctor first, she said he's expected for a full recovery.”

A breath heavy as lead seems to pour out of the couple's lungs, and they embrace each other tightly, Killian raising his hand to cup the back of Emma's head.

His mind is racing. They did it, it worked. They stopped this cruel game and, hopefully, it ends with luck being Alice's to keep for good. A quick thought about provoking fate enters his mind, but he's certain that fate brought Alice in such a state into his path to lead them into passing over their luck to her. And they did a good deed. Surely that must mean something.

They pull apart and look into each other's relieved faces, until they realize Nemo is looking at them confused.

“Did you two...” he points between them, then looks a bit towards the stairs.

“We may have tried something,” Killian says. “There must have been a reason you of all people were the one to foster the child of someone who helped me.”

“So it's... it's her turn? And what about you two?”

“We've had enough of this exchange,” Emma says. “Hopefully, that way, she'll get to keep the luck for herself.”

Nemo smiles in pride, then Alice is running down the stairs. Her face is, once again, red from tears, but this time her smile lights up the room.

“Papa said it's visiting hours, can we please go see him?” she says.

“Of course,” Nemo says. “Are you ready?”

Nearly jumping in enthusiasm, she follows Nemo outside and into the car.

As the sound of the vehicle fades in the distance, Emma and Killian once again relax into each other's arms.

“We did it,” Killian whispers.

“You think that's it? It's over now?”

“I hope so. Maybe fate wasn't punishing the detective for helping me, but throwing Alice on our way to give us a clue as to what we should do.” He sighs in content as Emma's arms wrap tightly around his torso.

“We did the right thing. Although,” she pulls a little back to look at him, “I now have the sudden need to check if any boys were born at the same time as Alice. How long could that list be?”

“Hm. It won't be a long list, but it would still take long to find them... but we'd probably need to look for girls, not boys.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Do you think...”

“I'm no expert, but she's given a few signs. I mentioned something to Nemo, vaguely, and he simply said that perhaps the social workers had a good reason to send her to a same-sex couple. I think he was just being discreet. You think we should let her know? About the luck thing, I mean.”

“Oof. I was around her age when things changed for the better for me. I don't know how I would've reacted if I'd learned the truth right then. I'd probably feel very guilty.”

“We are adults, who agreed to give our luck away.”

“Still. It might ruin things for her.”

“It started with us. It ends with her. Unless she kisses her father, then trips on the way back to the car, I think it's safe to assume it's hers to keep.”

“Let's hope so.” She leans her head on his shoulder.

If not for the possibility of Shakespeare coming back at any moment, Killian could stay like this forever.

The weight is lifted. The stress is gone. They can finally enjoy being together without that constant worry.

“Come on up,” he says, pulling away and taking her hand in his. “I want to show you my old bedroom.”

Killian's bedroom is in the middle of the hall, with a big window next to the bed overlooking the front porch. The wall is painted a blue color, and probably needs a repaint. The wall next to the bed, where a desk is facing, is full of sketches and drawings, most of them nautical-themed.

Always and forever that pirate boy, she thinks.

There's also a wardrobe and a separate drawer, on which a few knickknacks are set, as well as framed copies of Killian's family photos.

“It looks... you,” she says.

“I haven't changed it much. It was as if Nemo knew me already before I even came here. I was just minding my damn business in this very chair, being a moody teenager,” he says as he sits on said desk chair, “when Nemo came in to tell me that he would be adopting me.”

Emma sits down on the bed next to the desk, holding his hand in both of hers.

“I lived in my first bedroom longer than I have in this one.” He looks around, and as Emma looks too she notices there's glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the ceiling. “But it's this room that held me.” His voice drops, both in pitch and volume. “It's here I cried, in fear and in misery and in happiness. It's here I keep finding myself.”

He looks at her, and the face he gives her is what makes her pull him to the bed. He sits next to her and they lose themselves in a kiss, deep and long and finally carefree.

They've lain next to each other, Emma leaning her head on Killian's shoulder, when the decision to not pull him away from this place finally sets in her mind.

“I think I'll stay here,” she says, raising her head above his.

“Tonight? There's a free room, but there's also an air mattress somewhere here, you'll allow me to- What?”

He's looked at her, and the definite expression in her face has shut him up.

“I mean, move here. Maybe not this house, but this town. To be with you.”

“Emma, you- you don't have to do that. It's over, we can...”

“I want it.” She smiles. Even after everything, it's hard to say the exact words. “Besides, it's closer to Norway from here. I can get to know your family, and you can meet mine.”

“What about your friends? You've known them for years, we're just...”

“They have their own lives. And we can still talk, and even meet, sometimes.”

“You'd stay?” His voice is only a whisper. “For me?”

Emma just kisses him softly.

He sighs against her lips. “It's really hard to consider that bad luck.”

“Oh, you wait and see,” she says teasingly. “I have really bad breath in the morning.”

She nearly freezes the moment the words are out; is... is moving in with him what he had in mind?

However, after a short silence, he just says, “I think I can deal with that. You'll have more to put up with.”

She leans her head back on his shoulder. True, his drinking issue is something they both have to consider from now on. But now they can finally look forward to some stability, safety, and having each other.

And still, she wouldn't have it any other way. For the first time, the thought of the pirate boy isn't one of longing for something she never had; it's a promise that things will stay as good as the two of them make them.

She raises her head to look deep into his eyes. “I love you,” she says.

He smiles that smile again, and she kisses him before it makes her burst into happy tears. They break off, and with eyes still closed, she leans her forehead on his.

She hears him take a breath to say something, but then the front door opens and Alice's excited and loud “We're back!” is heard from downstairs, along with another male voice.

Killian grunts lightheartedly, and the recognition in his face tells Emma that that belongs to his other father. She pulls back a bit, and he takes a few moments to look back at her before he finally tells her, “I love you too.”

She smiles, kisses him once more, then rolls over him to get up and offer her hand. “It is a family home,” she says. “Not much of a privacy here.”

He stands up. “Just you wait, then.”

She nearly laughs at his playful eyebrow and gives him one final kiss, before they take their way downstairs to break the news to Killian's family.

Moving countries will take some time. But they'll work it out, for it's the first time in their lives that they choose the definite path they'll take.

And it's a path they'll walk together.

#Emma Swan #Killian Jones #Captain Swan #captain swan ff #cs ff #ouat ff #akfgl #captain swan movie marathon #piracytheorist writes

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thepandapopo · 3 years

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A Step Through Time Ch 5: Promises

Synopsis:

The one where Felix is done with his younger self being a stubborn asshole and Sophie is determined to treat her fathers equally.

In which Felix confronts his younger self and have a much needed chat while Sophie, who really should never be left alone, makes a not-so-great choice. Pairing: Sylvix

Chapter Index

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

If you had asked Ingrid a month ago if Felix would ever willingly allow someone, anyone, to touch him in even the most casual of ways, she would have laughed first, then immediately sent for Manuela because no one in their right mind would ever think such a thing.

So understandably, to say Ingrid is extremely shocked as she watches the older versions of Felix and Sylvain interact with each other is the understatement of the century.

“They’re disgustingly adorable in their own way,” Dorothea snickers from her seat on the dining hall bench beside her. “I don’t know whether I want to coo or puke.”

Ingrid wholeheartedly agrees.

Clearly fatherhood and marriage, or maybe it was being married to Sylvain of all people, has changed Felix – has made him more… domestic. The Felix and Sylvain of her timeline are already joined at the hip, regardless of how much they deny it, but married Felix and Sylvain are in a league of their own.

Everywhere Felix goes, Sylvain is always there beside him with the shorter man’s battle scarred hand tucked neatly into the crook of his right elbow, his left hand gently securing Felix’s own while also proudly showing off the glittery silver ring adoring his ring finger (his engagement ring, Ingrid reminds herself, as Sylvain had made very clear when he decided that the dining hall was a perfect place to scandalize the entire army with a borderline inappropriate kiss). And if little Sophie is with them, it is like an invisible thread ties them together, ensuring that he is standing no further than a hairs breadth apart from his husband with his daughter in his arms, or placing a hand on Felix’s lower back while he carries their little spitfire.

“I know that couples inevitably begin to adopt some of their partner’s characteristics and habits, but this is almost too much.” Ingrid frowns, finally bringing her forkful of food to her mouth after being frozen in place as she blatantly stares at the happy family. “It’s like Felix isn’t even Felix anymore.”

Across from her, Annette hums her assent. “It’s a bit unsettling, but it’s still really nice to see how happy they are. If you ask me, the really creepy thing is Sylvain’s stare. Have you seen it, yet? It’s like an exact copy of Felix.” Bits of buttery crust go flying from her fork as she waves it around to emphasize her point leaving Mercedes to pull out a handkerchief and mop up the stray crumbs that have found their way onto their once pristine table.

It’s true. Although Ingrid has not been on the receiving end of Felix’s (or Sylvain’s now, for that matter) deadpan glare for a long time, she has seen it directed at others – especially when it comes to anything regarding Sophie who is, clearly, extremely doted upon by her two fathers, even while they try to cajole her into finishing the rest of her vegetables.

“Sweetheart, you know you have to finish your meal first before you get your dessert.” Sylvain’s tone is low and chiding, but the softness of his expression very nearly undermines the authority of his words.

“I don’t wanna,” comes the sad whimper complete with puppy eyes and a wobbling lower lip. “It tastes yucky.”

“Aww, cut her some slack, guys!” Whatever else Balthus is about to say from across the table next to theirs is immediately swallowed back down when not only Felix, but Sylvain as well, levels him with a look so equally unamused that even Ingrid can feel the shiver run down her spine.

“Sophia Gabriella Fraldarius-Gautier. You know you cannot leave your seat until you’ve finished your plate.” Felix says, more stern than his husband sitting on the other side of Sophie, but still bordering the line of fond exasperation. With a grimace himself, Felix spears a few of the sprouts on his own fork and shovels them into his mouth.

“Papa is also eating them too, see? You can be a good girl and finish your food too, right, Princess?” Sylvain smiles affectionately but his voice is strained. It’s been the better part of an hour now that he has tried bargaining with his daughter and even the most patient of fathers has a limit. His eyes meets Felix’s briefly as an unspoken message flits between them before Felix nods stiffly and chimes in again.

“If you promise to be good and finish your vegetables for the rest of this month, we will think about letting you go see the market that is passing through town.”

Clearly, it is an effective bait and Sophie’s eyes light up like it’s Yule and her birthday all rolled into one.

“Really?!”

This is news to Ingrid. The last time Annette and Mercedes had mentioned it in passing to future Felix and Sylvain, testing the waters to see if they would be amenable to allowing them to take Sophie, it had resulted in a resounding ‘no’ and one teary child.

“This is war, Annie.” Felix had said in a no nonsense tone after a sniffling Sophia had been carted off to check out the pastries fresh from the kitchen. “She has only known a time of peace. Sophie doesn’t understand how dangerous it can be going out somewhere even as simple as a market in times of unrest.”

“But it’s not like we’d let her go by herself!” Annette argued. “We would be with her the whole time!”

“It’s not your babysitting skills that we’re worried about, Annie.” Sylvain said. His lips quirked upwards in a small smile that did little to lessen the gravity of his expression. “Sophie has a tendency to be ah, a bit of a curious child.”

Felix snorted. “Like someone I know,” he muttered under his breath.

“And so,” Sylvain continued, completely ignoring the barb from his husband even though he knows that later on in the privacy of their own room, he’ll get into how the curiosity may have come from him, but the utter fearlessness and stubborn will to do her own thing one hundred percent came from Felix. “Sophie has a bad habit of wandering off. Goddess knows she’s done it loads of times whenever Felix or I take her down to our local market. The only difference is that everyone there knows who she is and at the end of the day, nothing bad ever happens to her and she comes home with a treat or two and a pat on the head.”

“Well then, we can just hold her hand!” Mercedes says like it is the simplest solution in the world.

“We’ve tried that. We’ve tried literally everything under the sun short of actually tying her to us physically with a rope.”

“But what about-“

“No means no, Annette. We will not argue with you about this. It’s not safe.”

“But Feeelix-!”

And that was the end of that conversation. At least, until now.

But then again, Felix willingly reopening a topic he had previously considered closed is probably one of the lesser odd things that have been happening recently.

“Nuh uh, little missy. All your vegetables means all of them.” Sylvain scrapes the larger bits and pieces of vegetables dotting Sophie’s plate to the center, much to her dismay. The scraps amount to a decent pile of greens and not for the first time, Ingrid realizes just how wily and intelligent Sophie really is.

Raising a daughter with the will of Felix and the looks and intelligence of Sylvain will surely be a trial in itself, but that’s not a problem for Ingrid to worry about. Right now, she just has to worry about making herself scarce when Sylvain and Felix approach Mercie and Annie before she gets dragged into it as well.

----

“Why can’t Daddy come with us?” Sophie asks. Her eyes are wide and sad and Felix will never get used to how it makes his heart wrench. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Sylvain crouches so that he’s eye level with his teary daughter. “Daddy has to go to an important meeting with Uncle Dima, Uncle Claude, and Auntie By. But I’ll come find you and Papa if we finish early.” Sylvain smooths back the unruly crimson curls that are already starting to come out of the half updo that Felix had put in this morning. After years of doing his daughter’s hair, Felix has resigned himself to always fixing it halfway through the day lest it becomes a true bird’s nest at night after the wild adventures to be had.

“Promise?” Her lower lip is wobbling and Felix is starting to think that perhaps Sophie is a lot more aware of her influence on others than they think she is.

“I promise, sweetheart.” Sylvain smiles at his daughter before turning his eyes to Felix, a mischievous glint shining through. “Your Papa can vouch that I never break a promise.”

The wink Sylvain throws at him is met with an eyeroll and scoff, but Felix cannot stop the small quirk of his lips. Sylvain has always come through with his promises, both to him and to their daughter. It’s one of the things that Felix loves so dearly about Sylvain after all – there is nothing in the world that he values more than the trust of his family and friends.

“Sophie, go check to make sure you’ve packed your coin purse and a snack. I need to speak with your father for a bit. I’ll meet you at the gates with Auntie Annie and Mercie, okay?”

Sophie doesn’t need to be told twice. She is already vibrating off the walls, eager to get going and visit the market that she has been dying to see. “Yes, Papa. Daddy, I hope you come soon! I’ll buy you a present, so make sure you hurry, okay?”

Felix and Sylvain both watch as their daughter scurries away, red hair flying behind her as she weaves through the mid morning crowd to join Annette and Mercedes standing at the foot of the stairs leading to the Entrance Hall. When she arrives with a hop and skip, Felix finally feels the knot that has been building in chest since that morning abate slightly.

“Hey.”

Felix jolts at the warm hand that cups his elbow. “It’s okay, Fe. She’ll be safe with you. We’re not going to lose her.”

“I know.” Felix huffs, taking a step forward so he can rest his forehead in the dip of Sylvain’s collar. “It’s just... I can’t help but worry.”

Sylvain chuckles, “I get it, Fe. She’s certainly got enough mischief in her to always keep us on our toes. I don’t think she’ll ever grow out of it, to be honest. Goddess knows I dread the day when I’m going to have to beat back suitors and stop her from sneaking out to gallivant with stable boys.”

“There will be no gallivanting with anyone. Period. I would prefer not to stab someone less than half my age.”

“Oh, but baby you look so hot when you’re all riled up and murderous.” The shiver that runs down Felix’s spine is undeniable and after a lifetime together, Sylvain would know the effect he has on his husband even if it weren’t for the hand sliding to wrap around his waist and the other reaching up to cup a smooth, pale cheek.

“Fuck you.” There’s no venom behind his words. Only the breathy whisper of comfort borne from unshakeable trust and love.

“Gladly, but alas I have a meeting to get to.” The red head lets out a full belly laugh and ignores the half-hearted smack from Felix (which still smarts, because Felix at half strength is still stupidly strong with his damn training regimen). “Are you going to talk to your younger self today?”

The atmosphere takes on a decidedly more sombre note, but it’s a necessary topic.

Felix nods. “Yeah. Annie convinced him to come with us to the market to check out the blacksmith.”

“I’m sorry I can’t come. It would be easier if I were the one to talk to him, but…”

“It’s fine,” Felix shakes his head. “The next battle at Fort Merceus is important and you were a big part of the strategizing. You need to be there to make sure they make the right decisions.”

“Even still. Talking to your younger self about feelings is going to be like pulling teeth. I should know. I’m your very own Felix-whisperer after all.” Sylvain closes his eyes and lets his forehead drop to rest against Felix’s; his soft breath tickling the midnight bangs framing his husband’s visage. “Our younger selves need all the help they can get. Sothis… I don’t remember us being such a disaster.”

“Neither do I, and yet here we are stuck trying to convince our younger counterparts that the other is very much interested.”

“For the record,” Sylvain smirks. The hand that was previously wrapped around Felix’s waist is now slowly drifting lower. “I’d like to say that I’m still very much interested.”

“Pinch my ass in public and you’ll lose your hand.”

“Aw, Fe. You’re no fun!”

It’s the twitch of Felix’s cheek that betrays his amusement. “Tch. Insatiable.”

----

Awkward.

That’s the only way that Felix can even begin to describe the odd, tense energy that weighs down their group as they walk leisurely down the long winding roads descending from Garreg Mach.

To be fair, most of the awkwardness is in part due to Felix’s refusal to speak to his younger self, instead choosing to contentedly watch Sophie hop and skip around the flowers dotting their path. Ever since Sylvain’s decision to completely disregard time travel etiquette, the younger Felix had made himself scarce, pointedly avoiding him and his husband as if afraid that he would catch feelings simply by being around them.

Ha. That fucker was already head over heels in love no matter how much he denied it.

“Sophie, when we get to the market, will you go with Annie and Mercie while I visit the blacksmith please?” Felix says it quiet enough that it sounds like it is a private conversation, but in the silence of the forest around them, it easily carries.

Sophie blinks, confused, but acquiesces. “Okay.”

Felix smiles and pats her head. He can practically feel the suspicion and irritation rolling off his younger self in waves, but he can’t really bring himself to care.

He needs to address this issue now because Felix knows better than anyone else just how obstinate he can be, and if he’s right, there’s a very good chance that this younger version of himself will take his feeling for Sylvain with him to the grave out of pure stubbornness.

So when they finally arrive to the market, Felix doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he wants to talk to his counterpart – alone. He kneels and gives Sophie a quick hug after he makes her promise again to not wander off by herself before standing off to the side in the direction of the blacksmith, his arms crossed and waiting patiently while he watches young Felix scowl at the sheer number of people around.

A brusque nod from young Felix and suddenly they are face to face, and there is no denying the discomfort starting to roil in his gut.

Maybe he should have waited for Sylvain to talk to him after all.

“Well? Spit it out.” Despite asking Felix to talk, his younger self pushes past him roughly and begins stalking towards their destination.

“Stop being so stubborn.” Young Felix whirls around at him with a look of incredulity.

“Being ‘stubborn’?” He glowers. “I’m not being stubborn. I’m not being anything except for a pawn of fate apparently because my whole damn future has already been decided for me!”

Ah. So that is the core of the problem. “Your future hasn’t been decided. That’s the whole point of me being here – so that we can make sure that things do happen as they originally went.”

“Oh, so I’m just supposed to accept the fact that my life becomes sickeningly domestic –“ he all but spits the word out like poison, “- and I’m trapped in a life that I never wanted?”

Felix narrows his eyes. “So you’re saying you don’t want this life? You don’t want peace for Fodlan? You don’t want to actually feel happy for the first time your goddamn life since Glenn died?”

“Who the fuck are you to say whether I’m happy or not? I’m happy when I have a blade in my hand, not when I’m being carted around like a… like a stupid trophy wife!”

“First of all,” Felix is proud of how level his voice comes out despite his urge to throttle the man in front of him, “I’m you, so of course I know what you want. I lived that life already.”

He pauses for a bit and then decides to go for a different angle – one that he knows has always worked with him when Sylvain tries to talk him down from stabbing some of the more pompous nobles during trade talks.

He takes a deep breath to ground himself. “But you’re still you. I can’t say I know exactly what you’re feeling, but I can imagine because at the core of everything, I know what I used to be like back then. And I also know that no matter what timeline I exist in, there will always be one thing that remains constant.”

It’s true. There is one truth that Felix knows will span the test of time and space no matter what version of himself he is dealing with.

“…Are you ever going to tell me what it is?” Young Felix mutters angrily, breaking their brief standstill.

Marriage really has made him soft, Felix thinks as he feels the corners of his mouth curl up in a smile. He can practically hear Sylvain in his head telling him about how he probably has his ‘dopey love face’ on right now and his eyes are all ‘melted amber’. What a sentimental fool.

“I think you know.”

“Ugh,” Young Felix scowls and turns away to glare at the bucket of swords in front of the blacksmith’s stall. It’s an admission if Felix has ever heard one, and he knows that his younger self does know.

Despite what the majority of Fodlan thinks, Felix is quite capable at reading people’s emotions. He knows when people feel uncomfortable or when they might need a kind word, but for the most part, he just doesn’t care enough to coddle them because he knows it will only do them more harm than good. Which is exactly why he decides to jump straight to the truth.

“It’s okay to love him, you know.”

Young Felix freezes. The stiff set of his shoulders hunch up almost protectively and he stubbornly stays facing away from him.

“I know…” Felix swallows the lump in his throat, “I know that it’s hard to even think about letting anyone in after Glenn – how hard it is to trust someone enough and believe that they won’t just leave you like everyone else inevitably does.”

Felix touches the obsidian ring on his left hand. He spins it absently and the smooth slide of the black band against his hand grounds him.

“Mother… Glenn… and then Father…” Felix has long made his peace with his father’s death, but there is still the faintest of stings in his heart when he thinks about it. “They all left us. But Sylvain has always been there. He was there when Mother died. He stayed with us for weeks after Glenn died. And he never pitied or babied us when Father died. He was just there.”

It’s a bit hazy, most memories from the war blur together honestly, but Felix does remember the days after the battle at Gronder with crystal clarity – those few painful days after his father’s sacrifice. No matter how many times he told Sylvain to leave, no matter how he yelled at him or tried to chase him away, Sylvain stood by him, steadfast and most importantly, without judgement.

He simply let Felix be.

And that was exactly what he needed.

“He’s the biggest idiot in Fodlan, but you and I both know that Sylvain does everything in his power to care for his friends and family.” Felix says it like it like he’s stating the obvious. “He’s also irresponsible and completely reckless, and Goddess knows that moron wouldn’t sustain half of his injuries if he just trained more, but he does remember our promise. And he’s doing his best to keep it while also making sure we stay alive.”

Felix steps forward so that he’s now standing side by side with his younger self. From his peripheral vision, he can see the furrowed brow and tightly pursed lips that he knows only happens when he begrudgingly agrees.

“I know you don’t believe in a fated future. Honestly, neither do I. But if there’s one thing I can tell you for certain, it is that loving Sylvain, and being loved in return, is the best thing that will ever happen to you.” Felix allows the warmth in his chest to bloom. While that feeling may have scared him once upon a time, he’s learned to become fond of it because he knows that the only reason he can feel this way is because he has come so far and conquered all his demons along the way.

“You’re disgustingly sentimental.”

“Maybe so, but I can still kick your ass.”

Young Felix snorts, “maybe then I’d actually have a good spar for once that isn’t against the professor.”

Felix laughs quietly, the heavy weight on his chest lifting just as the tension eases out of Young Felix’s stance. The truth is out there, and at least his younger self isn’t denying things anymore, but ultimately it will be up to Young Felix to decide the path he wants to take.

Felix Fraldarius is many things, but most importantly he is not a coward, which is why despite not having verbally settled the matter with his younger self, he knows with absolute certainty that Young Felix will never turn away from Sylvain, especially not when he’s been given permission to chase that happiness that he’s longed for.

----

Sophie decides very quickly that the market is her new favourite place. Forget the kitchens and all their yummy baked treats, the marketplace has all that and more.

Everywhere she looks, there is something new to see. Stalls upon stalls are lined with various treasures and fancy looking things that no amount of tears would help escape the wrath of her fathers if, by some stroke of bad luck, she is unfortunate enough to break them.

“Auntie Mercie! Look, Balloons!”

Sophie tugs on the healer’s hands eagerly, careful not to let go and wander off though there is a tiny whisper in her heart that tempts her so. The large inflated animals sway merrily in the breeze, and with the hustle and bustle of the environment around them, it almost looks as if they are dancing with excitement.

“Oh, aren’t they adorable? Would you like one, Sophie?” Mercedes claps her hands together, looking just as delighted as Sophie feels and soon, the trio of females is making their way through the surprisingly large crowd that has gathered for this lively gathering as a reprieve from the war.

“The fox,” Sophie pulls on Mercedes’ hand even more urgently the closer they get. “I want the fox, please, Auntie Mercie!”

“What about the cat, Sophie? That’s one is pretty cute.” Annette giggles. The red headed mage ducks and peers left and right at the variety of floating animals attached to the belt of the balloon vendor. There is already a gaggle of children forming around the man as he hands ribbons off to parents in exchange for gold, and although Sophie feels like she might burst if she has to wait any longer, she knows to wait her turn for the man to address her.

“Hello there, young miss. And what can I get for you today?” When the man finally turns his kind face towards her, Sophie cannot tear her eyes away from her goal. “Perhaps a bird? Or maybe a puppy?”

Sophie’s voice comes out breathy and excited. Reaching a hand up, she points eagerly, “the fox please. Can I have the fox?”

“Of course! Why don’t you reach out your hand for me and I’ll tie it to your wrist?”

Obediently, Sophie sticks out her left arm and watches, enraptured as the white ribbon loops delicately around her wrist, loose enough that she can slip her hand out if she really wanted to, but tight enough that the balloon will not fly away. Reaching into the small coin purse attached to her hip, Sophie carefully counts out the appropriate amount and hands them over.

“Thank you!” Sophie calls out after the vendor as Annette and Mercedes begin leading her away from the throng. It’s much too crowded now, but the little Fraldarius-Gautier cannot help but feel comforted by her floating guardian. Papa did always say that her Daddy was ‘sly as a fox’ after all, and it feels like her father is there with her when she sees it.

“Do you think Daddy will like it?” Sophie mumbles shyly when they’ve walked far enough that the screams of delighted children are nothing more than a whisper in the distance.

“I’m sure Sylvain will love it!” Mercedes says sweetly. The healer looks at Sophie with a mixed expression, almost like she is trying to solve a puzzle that she can’t quite figure out, before Annette interrupts her with a gasp.

“Mercie, there’s the sweets vendor that we’ve been looking for!”

Sweets? Sweets are good. That sounds like something Sophie is definitely interested in.

“Come on,” Annette urges. She grabs Mercedes by the hand and by extension, also Sophie, who is clutching onto her other one, and she drags them with haste towards a brightly colored stall laden with pastries and sweet treats of all kinds.

The saccharine smell wafting from the baked goods makes Sophie’s mouth water, but her eyes dart from one flamboyantly decorated cupcake to another, helplessly unable to pick a favourite.

“Hey! I remember you two!” The friendly looking lady behind the counter smiles as they approach. “You ladies came by my stall the last time I was in town, didn’t you?”

Annette flushes and nods. “The sweets were so good, we just had to make a return visit and pick up some more!” Despite her embarrassment, she is already reaching out to grab a fluffy looking cream pastry that looks more like a cloud than anything else.

“I’m so glad you like them, miss. Business has slowed down recently because of the war. Not much extra money to go towards frivolous things like sweets anymore, you know?” Sophie frowns. War? What war? “Regular patrons like you are always appreciated.”

“Oh, and look at you, you sweet little thing,” Suddenly the attention is turned towards Sophie and any lingering confusion flies out the window. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Sophie!” With her fathers’ voices in the back of her head telling her to mind her manners, Sophie flashes her brightest smile and bobs gracefully into a quick curtsey. “It’s very nice to meet you. Your sweets look so yummy!”

“They’re the best in all of Fodlan, that’s for sure!” The kind looking lady proudly puffs her chest. “Have you ever tried some, little miss? Since it’s your first time, why don’t you go pick one and I’ll let you try it on the house.”

“Really?” Sophie’s eyes round with excitement. Daddy was right – being well mannered really does bring good things!

There are so many choices to choose from that it feels a little bit overwhelming, but eventually a beautiful deep red velvet cupcake topped with a mountain of chocolate frosting and a small candied cherry catches Sophie’s eye.

She likes cherries. She likes cupcakes. That’s two in one, isn’t it? It’s a perfect deal.

“Good choice, little miss. That’s our red velvet cupcake with black forest icing. It’s one of our more popular cakes; especially with the ladies.” The sweets lady holds out the cupcake to her and Sophie quickly lets go of Mercedes’ hand to receive it.

The monstrosity of a cupcake is so large that it takes Sophie both hands to hold it, taking great pains to not drop it nor smear any icing on her dress. She still remembers the scolding Papa had given her over the grass and mud stains in her dress a couple of weeks ago and is not eager to repeat that experience.

Above, her red fox sways gently to and fro, moving every time Sophie maneuvers her hands to nibble away at equal parts frosting and icing. She has long since tuned out from the conversation between the nice sweets lady and Mercedes and Annette, instead choosing to savor and enjoy her treat while it lasts.

Sophie is halfway done her cupcake when a raucous of children shrieking with delight steals her attention back in the direction of the balloon man. There, in the middle of a cluster of children stands a rather short and odd-looking man carting around a small trolley packed with stuffed animals, and at the very bottom, shoved against a dopey looking tiger and a rather ferocious lion is a black cat stuffy, complete with slitted golden eyes stitched painstakingly above some wiry whiskers and a kitten pout.

It’s the most wonderful stuffed kitty Sophie has ever seen. She has a present for Daddy, but what about Papa? Surely Papa would also like a gift – it’s only fair since Daddy gets one, right? Right. Her fathers had always taught her to treat everyone equally, and Sophie feels like that must include her family as well.

Annette and Mercedes are still engrossed in conversation with the Sweets Lady, but now their arms are full of bags laden with goodies they are no doubt brining back to the monastery. An itch like no other claws its way up Sophie’s chest and she really, really wants to ask for permission to go see the toy merchant, but she doesn’t want to interrupt what looks to be a very lively conversation.

One quick glance back makes the anxiousness double as the man begins to move towards an intersection across the courtyard from them. If he goes any further, he will turn the corner and Sophie will lose sight of him.

The gleeful squealing of laughter is getting farther and farther away now. She really should tell Mercedes and Annette where she is going, but she’s running out of time and Sophie will be absolutely heartbroken if her Papa is sad that he did not get a gift from her as well.

It will only be for a quick minute. She isn’t going very far. All she will do is go up to the merchant and buy the cat stuffy and return back to the sweets stall in no time at all.

Right?

In that split second, Sophie makes a decision.

She turns back towards the bustling market square and runs.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

I'm so sorry for the delay with this chapter! I wanted to post it during my xmas holidays but I got so caught up with other things (read: sleeping) that I didn't get any writing done at all. I hope you all enjoy the chapter. Thank you again for being so patient with me and reading up until now. Things are about to get rocky so I hope you're all prepared.

The SylVix PDA thing was actually inspired by art from @emilyliuwho on twitter. You can see the post here.

If you would like to be added to a tag list, please PM me!!

Tag list: @pato-social

#sylvix #felix x sylvain #sylvain x felix #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #SOFT FELIX #domesticity #alternate universe #sophia gabriella fraldarius gautier #a step through time #popo writes #fire emblem #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fire emblem 3 houses #fanfiction #fire emblem fanfiction #ongoing fic

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cavalierious-whim · 3 years

Text

Pawfully Yours (FE3H)

FE3H | Sylvix | General | Complete

Sylvain finds a cat and falls in love.

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A/N: I’m finally reposting some older stuff from my last tumblr blog. Read here on AO3 for better formatting!

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Sylvain has always been a dog person. There’s nothing quite like cuddling with a soft and warm ball of fluff or the heavy weight that sinks into the mattress on top of the blanket as you sleep, or inevitably getting drool in your mouth when you pull them close, crying into their fur as you vent your frustrations about your shitty life into the scruff of their neck.

Sylvain has no idea what that’s like. Not one bit.

When he moved to the city, he had to leave Daisy behind. Ingrid on the surface had made it seem that she was more than aggravated to have the Golden Retriever unloaded onto her. Sylvain knows better. Ingrid’s always had a soft spot for Daisy. She’d let the girl sleep in her bed on the occasional platonic sleepover. Dorothea didn’t even have that pleasure half of the time and she was the girlfriend.

It’s led to a rather quiet life and Sylvain is still adjusting to an empty apartment in the not-so-great-but-you-might-not-get-murdered side of town.

Three months into his new home is when he notices the cat. It’s a small thing with sleek black fur. It looks too healthy to be a stray, but judging on how the creature responds to those getting close, Sylvain doesn’t think that it has an owner either. It seems too proud to slum it as a pet, walking along the dingy alleyway that Sylvain cuts through as a shortcut to work, tail swishing and held high. Proud, even.

But then again, maybe that’s just a cat thing. Sylvain doesn’t know, he’s never really given a cat much thought. He doesn’t know why he decides to pity it.

One day, Sylvain brings a can of tuna and popping the top off, he sets it down on the ground. The cat watches him carefully from ten feet away, sitting on his haunches haughtily. Warily. Carefully composed.

“For you,” says Sylvain, not sure why he even bothers to speak to it. It’s a cat. Cats don’t understand humans. Even Daisy had never understood him, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she responded to just the sound of his voice, and not the content of his words.

Still, the cat seems unimpressed, large amber eyes half-lidded as it looks from the can of fish to Sylvain. And if Sylvain doesn’t know any better, that’s what he would think a frown looks like when spread across a feline face.

Sylvain frowns right back. “Well then,” he says. “I see that I’ve wasted my time. Never again.”

He’s wrong through. Sylvain cuts through the alley every single day, a soiled apron slung over his shoulder and a takeaway cup of coffee in his hand. And sometimes, he brings the dumb little cat an old and stale pastry from the shop, because there’s no harm if they’re just going to toss the old food, right?

Sylvain doesn’t stick around to see if the cat actually eats them or enjoys it, or if it just bats the food away with a hiss. He kinda wants to pet the thing though, because it’s fur looks soft and Sylvain’s feeling lonelier and lonelier as the weeks pass by.

Eventually, he has the crazy idea of maybe adopting the pitiful thing. It’s like any other day that he’s posted up an offering. He breaks an old cheese pastry into several pieces and tosses them onto the ground. And this time, he waits, crouched down, elbows resting on his knees.

The cat comes closer, but it seems pissed off, body stiff and tail twitching angrily. Amber eyes narrowed in suspicion. He sniffs at the pastry and then snags a small bite. Then it spits out the food, clearly not a fan.

Sylvain swallows thickly. “So like, if you want a roof over your head or something, I can bring you home.”

The cat pauses like it understands him. It’d been pawing at the pastry, playing with it when it stops, head snapping up as it looks to Sylvain. Then the cat’s mouth opens, fangs long and sharp, and it says with surprising clarity, “Fuck off.”

Sylvain had imagined it, that was the only explanation. It makes more sense than a cat had opened his mouth and spoke to me. Anything makes more sense than that, so Sylvain chalks it up to too many shifts at the cafe, too many hours of schoolwork, and maybe a smidge of not eating enough.

He keeps cutting through the alleyway because it’s the fastest way to work. Sylvain’s a perpetual oversleeper, the kind that sets five alarms and sleeps through all of them, only to roll out of bed with five minutes to spare.

And he can spare that five minutes if he takes the back way, no matter how dark and creepy it seems at three in the morning and on the way to his early shift.

The cat’s made himself scarce. Sylvain now knows that it’s male because of the shockingly handsome voice it carries. More proof that he’d absolutely made the entire thing up in his lonely misery.

Sylvain doesn’t expect to feel sad about the disappearance of the cat, but it’d sunk in deeper than expected. Even if the cat had seemed eternally annoyed-- as far as a cat could seem at least-- he’d been cute, and Sylvain liked bringing it treats. There’s not a lot left that makes him feel good about himself.

That morning, Sylvain pauses because he’s got a moment. The alley is dark and there’s no sign of the cat. Sylvain sighs softly and says, “I’m sorry if I offended you or something. I just thought that maybe a home would be better than an old alley.”

It seems silly to talk to a cat, but he feels a little bit better and he continues to work with a little bit more pep in his step. And later that night he leaves a pastry behind, just in case.

The cat slinks out from under the dumpster once Sylvain’s out of sight. In his wake is a tuna roll, a fluffy pastry filled with tangy fish salad. The cat likes this one, not that he’d ever admit it.

Sylvain rarely works the night shift, mostly because he’d rather wake up at the butt crack of dawn and get his day over with. But sometimes it’s inevitable. Sometimes a coworker just needs a shift covered and Sylvain’s a nice enough guy to agree.

And he doesn’t want to risk getting fired, even if he doesn’t think Byleth is a vindictive manager.

It’s probably a bad idea to cut through the alley at ten at night, but Sylvain’s tired and weary, and he just wants to get home. Not to mention he’s got a container of day-old tuna salad in his hand that he needs to leave the cat, otherwise it’ll just wind up rotting away in his fridge.

He opens the container and places it on the asphalt near the dumpster, waiting for just a moment as he crouches down. Just in case the cat decides to show his face. He doesn’t. Sylvain frowns and with a sigh, pulls himself back up.

There’s a shuffling behind him and he turns to look, only to be slammed against the dumpster, head cracking against the hard metal. Sylvain’s vision swims as he tries to push against his attacker, but then he stops dead. There’s a knife held close to his neck. Sylvain can feel the soft scrape of it as he swallows.

“Wallet,” the man behind him says, a hand gripped tightly around Sylvain’s arm that’s wrenched behind him. He’s stockier in his build, pinning Sylvain against the dumpster easily.

“Hey look man--” The knife digs deeper into his skin, cutting just barely. Sylvain’s not dumb enough to push the situation further. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Back pocket. My phone’s there too, opposite side.” A pause. “You know, just in case you want that as well.”

He can’t help the cheeky reply, but his assailant doesn’t seem to hear him as he rifles through his pockets. The man pulls the wallet from Sylvain’s pocket, flipping through it.

And then there’s a shout as the man is wrestled to the ground by someone else that Sylvain can’t see. There’s a scuffle, some odd yowling, and then the distinct sound of a punch, bones crunching sickly under the hit.

Sylvain stands stock still, still pressed against the dumpster, not moving. Just in case.

“Useless, aren’t you?” Sylvain freezes at the voice, taking in the acerbic tone. “It’s bad enough that you waltz through here every morning, but you should know better than to do it at this time of night.”

Sylvain turns but he doesn’t find the cat, he finds a man standing there instead, finely boned face tugged into a snarl. He shakes out his hand, knuckles already bruising from the solid hit that he’d gotten in. Sylvain blinks. He’s handsome in a feline sort of way, hard edges to his jaw and circles cut deeply underneath his eyes. His black hair is tied into a ponytail high on the crown of his head.

The man toes at the assailant who’s out cold on the ground. “I’d get out of here,” he says. Then he looks to Sylvain again, unimpressed. He stalks over to the container of tuna salad and toes at that too, lips pulled into a grimace of disgust. “Really, now. If you won’t eat it, what makes you think that I will?”

“Um--”

The man blinks slowly, catlike, and with subtle grace. “Do I need to explain it to you?”

“No,” says Sylvain quickly. “No, I just--” A pause as he rubs at his head. “The cat?”

“It’s not the cat ,” says the man with a snarl. “It’s Felix.”

“Felix,” Sylvain repeats.

“I won’t repeat myself.”

“Thanks,” Sylvain blurts. “For, you know.” He gestures to the man on the ground.

“It’s a one-time thing. I don’t reward stupidity,” says Felix as he picks up the container and tosses it into the dumpster. Then he looks to Sylvain again, shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy blue hoodie. “I like the baked ones with the fish and cheese. They aren’t so bad a day past.”

Felix doesn’t meet Sylvain’s face, instead, stalking off without another word.

Sylvain smiles.

Sylvain leaves a pastry that he pilfers from the bin after every shift. It’s not always Felix’s favorite, but he doesn’t complain. Either way, they disappear into his belly, leaving Felix to lick his paws clean after a tasty meal.

He doesn’t turn into a man again, but he does walk Sylvain through the alley. And then sometimes further. If Felix follows him to the coffee shop, he knows that he’ll get a small lid of cream.

It’s a strange routine that concerns an even stranger man. What is Felix, Sylvain wonders? A cat? A man? Both? Neither? He’s real and solid as the day though, and Sylvain knows that he hadn’t hallucinated anything that’d happened.

When winter comes, Sylvain worries. It’s cold and crisp outside, not preferable for a street cat. He wonders if Felix has somewhere warm to sleep, which is why he eventually asks.

“Surely you can’t stay out here all season,” says Sylvain one night, as he watches Felix pull apart half a savory ham and cheese tart. He’s not sure if cats should eat one of those, but maybe with Felix, it’s different. The cat never complains.

Felix pauses mid-bite to look at Sylvain. Then he drops the tart, hisses lightly, and runs off. Sylvain blinks. An answer is an answer at least, and Sylvain stops asking.

One day, it snows. Gautier is a cold and dismal place in the winter, but the snow comes later that year than anyone expects. Sylvain’s wrapped head-to-toe in a heavy jacket, a scarf, and thermals.

Felix follows him to the coffee shop that morning and against Sylvain’s better judgment, he opens the door to the storage shed out behind the shop. “It’s not much,” says Sylvain, “but it’s not in the snow.”

Felix gives him a long look before bolting inside.

Later that day, Felix strolls into the shop as a man, walks up to the counter, and slaps five gold coins onto the counter. Sylvain stares at them and then back to Felix, who immediately bristles.

“I didn’t fucking steal them,” says Felix. “I have a job.”

That’s news to Sylvain and he can’t quite picture it. This is only the second time they’ve met face-to-face, but he has a distinct feeling that Felix isn’t a people person.

Felix points to the fish and cheese pastry in the case. “It’s my favorite.” There’s an awkward pause as he closes his eyes in a near wince and continues with, “Look, I need to talk with you about something, alright?”

Sylvain rings him up, throws in a free cup of coffee, and fifteen minutes later they’re settled into the soft armchairs near the back of the cafe. It’s cold and bitter out, so they’re alone.

“You once offered a home,” says Felix, his hands wrapped around a warm ceramic mug. Sylvain’s coworker Annette paints them and they never get used. Felix huddles closer to it though like he’s trying to leech the warmth from it. “Does that offer still stand?”

Sylvain’s mouth parts in surprise and Felix turns bright red, looking anywhere but his face. “Look, it doesn’t mean anything,” says Felix. “But it’s getting cold out and it’s hard to find somewhere to bed down for the night where I won’t freeze to death.”

“So, my apartment,” says Sylvain.

“I’d be a cat,” says Felix. “I’d stay out of your way. It’d be like I’m not even there.”

Sylvain frowns. “I offered because I wanted a pet.”

Felix bristles. “I’m not a--”

“I know,” says Sylvain quietly. “I wouldn’t ask you to be since you’re… well, you know.” But Sylvain doesn’t know, so he gestures to Felix vaguely. He’s still trying to figure Felix out.

Felix sighs. “It’s only for the winter,” he says. “You won’t see me like this much. It’s not easy to… well, it’s not preferable.” He leaves it at that, which piques Sylvain’s curiosity.

“You can have the entire couch to yourself,” says Sylvain, half in jest.

Felix finishes his coffee quietly and then stands. “I’ll think about it.”

And he must, because when Sylvain leaves his shift in the late afternoon, Felix follows him all the way home.

Felix is never a man, he’s always a cat. Sylvain thinks that he prefers being a feline, though he’s not sure why. When he comes home from work, Felix is often curled up next to the warm glow of the fireplace. He leaves it lit because Felix can handle whatever might happen if something bad does.

As winter passes, Felix moves closer. He’s less annoyed. He sits on the couch next to Sylvain, his tail twitching softly against Sylvain’s thigh. Sylvain talks to him about any and everything, and he knows that it’s probably annoying, but Felix hasn’t yet told him to stop. So he doesn’t.

Sylvain gifts him a collar on Yuletide as a joke. Felix stubbornly wears it, because he’s testy about the weirdest of things.

When the New Year comes, he’s a man again. They’re nestled into the couch, Felix having shoved his feet across Sylvain’s lap with a cursory glance. Sylvain immediately pulled them closer, kneading at his arches.

Neither of them thinks more of it. Or maybe they both think of everything about it. Felix is impossible to read, but Sylvain thinks that he’s starting to recognize his moods. Even the most ornery of cats can’t turn down softly placed affection.

Sylvain wonders if it’s weird to fall in love with a cat. It’s a momentary thought because then he remembers that Felix isn’t just a cat and that there’s probably weirder things out there than Sylvain’s love, or the cat that’s also a man.

They watch New Year’s festivities on the television.

“I hate the noise,” says Felix when the fireworks start. “Too loud.”

“It’s not so bad in the city,” says Sylvain, hands still wrapped around Felix’s cold feet.

“It’s the worst day of the year,” says Felix. “Everyone’s drunk beyond reason and they roam the streets doing shitty things. Like kicking cats.”

There’s a lot to unpack there and Sylvain looks at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s an earnest apology.

Felix huffs, lips curling into a sneer. But then it’s gone as he relaxes into the couch. “No, it’s--” A pause, the air pregnant between them. “I’m not out there tonight, so it’s okay.”

It’s not, because Felix isn’t the only street cat to ghost the streets of the city. Still. “You’re welcome,” says Sylvain, squeezing his feet lightly. Felix kicks at him just because he can.

Winter ends sooner than Sylvain likes, but Felix doesn’t leave. He seems intent on staying and neither of them says anything, even if he’s a man more than a cat nowadays. Felix disappears during the day for his proclaimed job. He even cooks dinner sometimes and those are the kind of nights that Sylvain likes to cherish because Felix gets weirdly soft.

There’s a weird morning as Sylvain’s about to shuffle out the front door and Felix stops him.

“Is there something wrong?” asks Sylvain.

Felix doesn’t immediately answer and when he does, he says, “Have a good day.”

Sylvain assumes the worst because it’s an old habit that he can’t quite break. “Oh shit, you’re leaving aren’t you? Felix, you should know by now that you’re welcome to stay--”

Felix grabs Sylvain by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him forward, pressing a kiss against his lips. It’s short. It’s a little bit sweet. Felix seems to have no idea what he’s doing. Sylvain loves it, hand reaching out to grasp at Felix’s elbow.

When Sylvain pulls back, he asks, “What was that for?”

Felix’s hackles raise, immediately on the defensive. “Whatever, it was--”

“It’s not a complaint,” says Sylvain simply. “I liked it. It also sends some confusing signals.”

“What could be confusing about a kiss?” asks Felix.

“You don’t seem the type to do that,” says Sylvain.

“I’m not.” Felix pulls away, brushing at Sylvain’s shoulder to distract himself.

Suddenly, Sylvain gets it. Felix isn’t good with feelings and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s really a cat-- or maybe it’s not that at all. Sylvain still hasn’t figured out the details of all that nonsense, nor has he asked Felix outright. But Felix seems the kind of person who’s a doer, not a thinker, so he did the only thing that he thought would send a clear message.

Or maybe Sylvain’s overthinking something that’s really quite simple in the end.

“I love you too,” says Sylvain quietly.

Felix’s hand pauses and Sylvain watches him swallow. “Fool,” says Felix, but it’s more affectionate than angry, his voice cracking sweetly as he tries to find his words.

Sylvain smiles, pulling him back for another kiss. It’s longer this time, but just as awkward. Felix sinks into it, fingers curling tightly into Sylvain’s jacket as they hover in the doorway. When they part again, Felix says, “What an absolute fool.”

“The most foolish,” says Sylvain.

There’s a beat as Felix stares back at him like he’s looking, really looking at Sylvain. Felix sees him. And for once, Sylvain doesn’t mind. He’s never liked people seeing him for who he is, but Felix is different. He’s wormed his way into his heart and Sylvain doesn’t want to let go.

“But I wonder,” asks Sylvain, “what’s that say about you?”

Felix could have reacted a hundred different ways. What he does is pull Sylvain closer again, pressing their foreheads together. “Obviously I’m an even bigger idiot.”

Sylvain laughs, before swooping in once more.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #sylvix #sylvain/felix #felix x sylvain #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #fanfiction #fire emblem fanfiction

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sevarix-blogs · 3 years

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can i have 4 for my favorite rare pair Claude and Ingrid? i feel like seeing them cook together would be really cute :)

Thank you for the request!! I enjoyed this one. I hope you enjoy what I came up with!

This request came from these prompts.

Also, check out @threehousesaddictwrites ‘s blog! She has some nice fe3h writing :)

Secret spices

Ingrid was delighted to find out she was on cooking duty after they finally got more supplies delivered. Instead of having to eat meals that looked like they came from her own territory during a drought, they now had a selection of quality ingredients.

She was beginning to prepare the ingredients and select the best cuts of meat when Claude showed up.

“Well, looks like we have a lot to work with this time around,” he said, admiring the ingredients laid out.

“Are you on cooking duty today, too?” Ingrid asked. Despite following his lead during the war, Ingrid still felt like she didn’t know much about the mysterious Duke Riegan.

“Yep! Even our fearless leader has to pitch in from time to time,” he replied with a smirk.

“Oh, and here I thought Byleth was our fearless leader,” she said, returning to preparing the ingredients.

Claude laughed. “Well, you got me there. Teach is great, but, I still like to think I’m the better cook.”

Ingrid smiled. “We’ll see about that.”

“With ingredients like this, seems like it would be hard to mess up. You got a menu planned already?”

She nodded. “Grilled meat skewers.”

“Excellent choice. I’ll take care of the seasoning.”

Ingrid nodded, and continued with chopping. “Go right ahead.”

She glanced over at him a few times, finding he did seem quite comfortable in the kitchen. And he didn’t appear to be pulling any tricks, either. Perhaps he grew out of that after the academy, although she still remembered the stomach poison incident.

Once everything was prepared, Ingrid began grilling the skewers. As it hit the hot grill, she was immediately overwhelmed with a peculiar aroma. It was not at all unpleasant; in fact, she found it to be one of the most lovely aromas to ever come from food. It was just unfamiliar, something she had never smelled before.

She turned her head to glance over at Claude, who had started cleaning up. “What did you put on these?”

He turned to her with a smirk. “Smells good, doesn’t it?”

She turned back to the grill, flipping the skewers and observing the colors of the spices. “Did you just create some new spice blend or something?”

He chuckled. “You could say it’s my secret spice blend.”

Ingrid left it at that, hoping to gain more insight once she was able to taste them. She only hoped this wasn’t one of his little pranks.

By the time she plated one of the cooked skewers, her mouth was watering. She tried a bite even when it was still too hot, but despite that, she could still taste the beautiful mix of flavors.

She had never tasted anything like it before. It was savory, a little spicy, pungent in a pleasant way, aromatic, and just… delicious.

When she looked up, she saw Claude smiling at her. “Seriously, what did you put on these?” she asked. “It’s incredible!”

Claude held out a jar, half-filled with a mix of spices. “I told you, it’s my secret spice blend.” He winked. “I knew you’d like it.”

Ingrid was still baffled at the very existence of such a delicious blend of seasonings. “Where did you even get spices like this?”

He smirked. “You could say I brought it from home.”

“Well, in that case, I need to visit Derdriu after the war.”

Claude laughed. “Well, it’s a little farther than Derdriu, but I’d be happy to take you on a culinary tour of my hometown after all this is over.”

She smiled. “I can’t think of a better way to celebrate the end of the war.”

Claude nodded, clearly satisfied with her reaction. “I agree.”

#fe3h #fire emblem 3 houses #fire emblem three houses #claude / ingrid #claude x ingrid #request #prompt

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nanigma · 4 years

Text

Blue Lions Translation Chapter 3

Okay, these things take a long time for me to put out, because I mostly get my translation vibe on in the evening. And I work most evenings these days.

If you really enjoy my work and can afford to throw some spare change my way, here is a link to my ko-fi account.

My comments in italics

Starting out with the Exploration Dialogue, cause the mission briefing scene is the exact same for all houses.

Exploration

Dimitri

Dimitri: Even when there's no chance to win, there are situations where you simply have to draw your sword and fight.

Dimitri: However, this case seems far too excessive... Lord Lonato is not that much of a fool.

Dimitri: … If he had enough allies to make his rebellion a decisive one, it would be a different matter of course.

[Choose: Allies?] and [Choose: What do you mean?]

Dimitri: … Ah, no.... it was an idle thought. It's just, there's definitely something suspicious about this.

Dimitri: Even if we are only dealing with the aftermath, something unexpected can always happen. Please make sure to be thorough in your preparations, Professor.

English has Dimitri refer to some vague preparations already being in place in his first sentence, whereas the Japanese more clearly refers to them only being supposed to be there for the aftermath.

Dedue

Dedue: His Highness is strong. However, no matter how skilled, if he takes to the front lines, anything may happen to him.

Dedue: … He is a great man that Faerghus absolutely cannot afford to lose.

Dedue: I wonder if the church understands this.

Two things to point out here about how Dedue refers to Dimitri here. First he uses あの方 (ano kata) for him, which is very polite and respectful way to talk about someone in the third person. 方 (person, in this case) is the more polite form of 人 (hito), which can also mean person, but usually in a more human/man/woman kind of way. Now Dedue uses 方 twice in this sentence and that is to refer to Dimitri also as an お方 (okata), which again is a highly respectful term. Suggested translations are often gentlemen/lady, though the connotations obviously don’t fit in this case. Too bad the English translation didn’t incorporate this moment of fanboyism. :(

Felix

Felix: … Catherine, huh? Her excellent technique, the sword she wields....

Felix: Hm... Apparently, she hides her past so thoroughly, it seems not even fragments of it are known.

Felix: I suggest you also make her your sparring partner. She is strong... likely stronger than even you.

Ashe

Ashe: …...

Ashe: Professor, there has to be some mistake. The thought that Lord Lonato would be raising an army is simply...

Ashe: … He didn’t say anything even to me.

Sylvain

Sylvain: Professor, did you see Felix around? He's always had a habit of vanishing the second I take my eyes off him.

[Choose: I saw him at the training grounds] +Support with Sylvain

Sylvain: Well, just as I thought. Sorry, Professor. Thanks for helping me out!

[Choose: I saw him at the dining hall]

Sylvain: Oh, is that so? Sorry, Professor. … At any rate, he must be eating there by himself, I am sure.

English is simple (which just has him go “Right, it’s meal time”), but I feel the Japanese line implies that he was planning on inviting Felix to eat with him and is disappointed to be told he already went ahead.

Mercedes

Mercedes: I heard rumours regarding Lord Lonato. They say he is a very kind and gentle lord.

Mercedes: I really wonder why such a kind man would suddenly raise an army...?

Mercedes: Ah, by the way, Professor. Didn't you work late again yesterday? Pushing yourself isn't good for you.

Mercedes: People who stay up late will have a ghost rise up from the bottom of their well and... Just kidding.

I am sure everyone is familiar with Japanese ghosts and their association with wells. Most famous of the older stories is probably Okiku.

Annette

Annette: This time we have to help out the knights, correct? Could that mean...

Annette: … Ah, no, I am sorry! It's just, someone I am looking for might be among the knights.

[Choose: Is he a knight?]

Annette: Yes. If he is here, most likely... it's just a possibility, he might also be among the monks.

Now I am imagining Gilbert with a tonsure.

[Choose: It would be nice if you could meet him] +Support with Annette

Annette: Thank you so much, Professor! I'll definitely catch him someday...!

Ingrid

Ingrid: I simply cannot understand why His Highness would allow someone from Duscur at his side.

Ingrid: 4 years ago, they committed treason by killing the king and slaughtered all of the innocent soldiers and knights accompanying him.

Ingrid: Even if His Highness forgives them, I cannot do so... ever.

Ingrid interestingly uses the term 弑逆し (shiigyakushi) here, which refers to killing your own lord or father. This would imply Duscur was already some kind of vassal state to Faerghus, but from what we know Duscur was independant before the Tragedy. (I checked the books in the library on this in Japanese) Feels like a weird inconsistency.

Scene: Into the Fog

Dimitri: Being able to accompany “Thunder Catherine”, famed for her bravery... haha, it is quite an honour.

[Choose: Thunder?] and [Choose: Thunderbird?]

Okay, this is a bit of a word joke that the English decided to skip out on entirely rather than come up with an alternative. So Catherine's relic is simply named “Thunder” (雷霆 raitei) in Japanese, netting her the nickname “Thunder Catherine”. The first response would simply be Byleth wanting to clarify this. The second response implies they also didn't even listen too closely to Dimitri and heard something different: Thunderbird ( 雷鳥 raichou)... or better known to us as the real life bird species “ptarmigan”, whose Japanese name uses the kanji for thunder and bird. Sadly, this slip up doesn't change any dialogue and the localization didn’t have a joke here..

Catherine: Hm, you don't know? This is “Thunder”... It is one of the Heroes' Relics.

Catherine: A very long time ago, the goddess granted her power to ten heroes... It took the form of these Relics that were passed down to their descendants.

Catherine: Although tempting, there won't be a chance to swing Thunder this time. After all, our duty is to deal with the aftermath.

Sidenote, but Catherine uses the pronoun “atashi” for herself, which is typically considered extremely girly or even childish. It is also written in katakana, which makes it stand out more and implies a “rougher” pronounciation.

[If Ashe is alive]

Ashe: … Why would Lord Lonato start such a reckless uprising?

Catherine: Shouldn't you be the one with more details on this, Ashe?

Ashe: I don't understand. He didn't tell me anything about this...

Dimitri: … I am sure Lord Lonato didn't want you to get involved in his revenge.

[Choose: How are Ashe and Lord Lonato related?]

Ashe: Lord Lonato adopted me and raised me like he would a true son.

Another interesting side note: Japan didn't do what we consider adoption for a big part of it's history. Rather, it was mostly common to do for those without a male heir. One way had them finding a suitable husband for their daughter (usually one without an inheritance of his own), then adopted their new son-in-law into the family, so their name could be passed on. The other way involved adopting a distant relative.

What this means is that Japanese media often handles adoption plots a bit weird from what we know. So Ashe is super formal when talking about and to his ostensible father figure, as well as his role as a commoner being far more emphasized than his adoption by nobility. Japan really isn't as gung ho about “Blood doesn't matter” when it comes to family as the western world is. The relationship between adoptive kids and parents often feels more like a benefactor with his beneficiary.

Ashe: He was also a kind, great man. And yet still... This must have something do with my adoptive brother...

In relation to the above, the term Ashe uses to refer to Christophe here is more commonly seen when adressing one's brother-in-law.

[Choose: Revenge?] or [Continuing]

Catherine: Hey, Byleth. Do you know about the Tragedy of Duscur?

[Choose: I've heard about it] and [Choose: I have no idea]

Catherine: Well, it's the name of an incident from 4 years ago, where the King of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus was killed by the people of Duscur, but...

Dimitri: ...I do not mind. Catherine, please continue.

Catherine: Lord Lonato's son, Christoph, was executed by the church on charges of being involved in the incident.

[Choose: The church executes criminals..?]

Catherine: From the church's perspective, in place of the still chaotic kingdom, we passed judgement that did not exceed the doctrine.

[Choose: Why was the king targeted?]

Dimitri: …......

Catherine: It was known that King Lambert planned to implement large scale reforms and he had a lot of political enemies.

[Continuing]

Catherine: … Whatever the truth, since then, Lord Lonato has held a grudge against the church.

Catherine: No... it would be more accurate to say that he has a grudge against the church and the one who handed him over to the church...

Church Soldier: Report! The enemy is drawing closer! There is no way to avoid them!

Church Soldier: The enemy forces were much greater than expected and because of the mist, they managed to slip through the knights' siege on them!

Catherine: Oh... Byleth, our mission has changed. Everyone, prepare for battle!

During Battle

Skipping most of Catherine's dialogue

Dimitri: There's shouting coming from within the fog... it appears the knights have already started the battle.

[Reacting to killing militia]

Ashe: Even the townspeople were sent to battle...!? Lord Lonato... why would you...!

Dimitri: Ugh... I am sorry... This is not something that can be forgiven... !

In English Dimitri seems to target this last bit at the civilians, but to me this here sounds more like he is directing it at Lonato for sending them into battle.

Ashe vs. Lonato

Lonato: Ashe... stand aside. I have to defeat the wicked ones! Without fail!

Ashe: Lord Lonato... please stop this now! Why would you do something so reckless?

Lonato: Rhea is an infidel that deceives the people and blasphemes against the goddess. With a cause this great, we surely possess the divine protection of the goddess.

Ashe: Even if you say that, all of this is wrong. How could you mobilize even the townsfolk!

Lonato: … In that case, turn your blade against me without hesitation! I cannot turn back at this point!

Dimitri vs. Lonato

Lonato: I deeply apologize, Your Highness... To think I would come to cross swords with you...

Dimitri: … Lord Lonato. I sympathize with your resentment to an extent.

Dimitri is being extremely formal here, using the pronoun “貴公" (kikou) to address Lonato. It's a very archaic term (aka. Samurai old), normally used by men to refer to other men that are equal or below them in rank. He is already pretty formal usually, but this shows he turns it up a notch when dealing with kingdom affairs.

Dimitri: I have no wish to take you down, but... I apologize.

Lonato: Your Highness... For my son, for the sake of the people, I simply cannot stop here.

Lonato: If it is your wish to stand in my way, then I can only force you aside...

Scene: A Harsh Reality

[If Ashe is alive]

Ashe: ... Why did something like this happen. Even though Lord Lonato used to be such a kind man.

Ashe: The townsfolk were all such good people too... And yet, these people... I killed them.

Ashe: There was nothing... There was nothing else we could do. I know that, but I... !

Dimitri: ... Please, don't push yourself, Ashe.

Ashe: ... I apologize for making you worry.

Ashe: ... I will take a moment to assess the situation in town. I just hope my younger siblings are okay...

[He leaves]

Dimitri: … For me this was also the first time I fought against citizens. I did it, even though protecting them is my duty.

[If Ashe is dead]

Dimitri: There were militiamen among the enemies. … For me this was the first time I fought against citizens.

[Continuing]

[Choose: It was an unavoidable sacrifice] and [Choose: That's just reality]

Dimitri: … These people were neither knights nor soldiers! They were not just people to be... killed.

Dimitri: No... I am sorry. It is not right to blame you.

Dimitri: Indeed, if we had not killed them, many more citizens may have lost their lives in the future.

Dimitri: I can understand this logically. But still... Hey, Professor.

Dimitri: In any era, the people in power always fight and howl at each other for the sake of some greater cause or to avenge the lives that were trampled upon.

Dimitri: Still... can any loss of life be forgiven, so long as you hold up the two words saying “Greater Cause”?

In Japanese, it's 'the two characters' that make up the word 'taigi' (greater cause).

Dimitri: Lord Lonato did not raise his blade out of self-interest, but for the sake of the justice he dedicated himself to.

Dimitri: Maybe if we didn't cut them down like that, we might have found some other way together...

Dimitri: I ... have to think that. Though maybe you’ll just tell me I am downplaying it and laugh at me.

[Switch back to Catherine with some dialogue common to all routes]

#3H #blue lions #nanigma translates

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fe-semi-decent-scenarios · 4 years

Note

Oh my gosh I love your Ashe x reader! So wholesome 💝 could I get a one-shot of Ashe and the reader where the reader asks him to have tea time with her, and she puts so much effort into the tea and snacks in order to confess to him?

[Hello! sorry that this request took some time. I’ve recently gotten into watching ‘The Great British Baking Show,’ and now I find myself learning how to make tarts vs. doing anything productive lol. On the bright side I learned how to make a gnash icing! I did my best with this one, and it’s a bit lengthy to make up for the wait. I wrote it from s/o’s p.o.v because somehow that just happened(I normally don’t opt. for first person). It’s not my best work, but I hope you like it!]

Ashe Ubert x Reader: {Tea over Troubles}

Premise: Much has happened in the short time you’ve spent at the monastery. One thing in-particular being a snag in your heart for a certain freckle faced sweetheart. Being the tongue-tied romantic you are, can some evening snacks smooth over an otherwise awkward confession?

“I’ll take one bag of mint brew please,” I said while reaching into my pocket. It was rather early in the morning, so the market was only just opening. Not too often do I show up around here before noon because of classes, but today is an exception. At my voice the shopkeeper tipped his hat at me in a greeting, before sifting through his wares.

“Sure thing. That’ll be 300 gold,” He said and pulled out a small sack. I took it gratefully and handed him the desired amount. It’s a bit pricier than what I usually go for, but on special occasions money is not something to mull over. In the distance the monastery clock chimed to signal the start of class, and I hurriedly shoved the sack into my bag.

“Thank you! I’ll be around next week for my order of Almyran pine,” I toss him a wave before leaving, and in turn the man does the same. Though next week I hopefully won’t have to visit at such an ungodly hour.

By the time I arrive class had already started. Professor Byleth stood stark in front of the chalk board, and it appeared that they were in the middle of a lesson on trajectory for the long-range fighters in our group. While their back was turned, I took the opportunity to slowly creep into the room. The door creaked just a smidge, drawing a few of my peers' attention. Felix glares my way but that’s no shock. What better thing could he do with his time then judge me? Luckily, I sit second from the back next to Sylvain. Reaching it undetected goes well enough. Though said tablemate is a chatterbox who’s laugh cost all my stealth points.

“You’re late (Y/N), this is unlike you,” The professor said. Sylvain’s snorty laugh drew their attention. It seemed that as I tried to calm my seatmate down, they maneuvered to stand in front of our table. Not the best situation to be caught in.

“I’m so sorry professor. I couldn’t find my books this morning,” I lied. Not an obvious one, but my tense posture might be a giveaway. If it was, they didn’t seem to care.

“I see, just try not to let it happen again,” They said and left me no room to reply before returning to the board. As if a puppeteer let go of my string my posture slumped, and from my side came a nudge. I ignore it only for Sylvain to wrap one of his arms over my shoulder. Across the room Ingrid lets out an irritated sigh; at least with me he won’t leave a mess for her to clean up. That poor girl.

“So…where were you really,” He pressed his face closer to my own, and from the corner of my eye I could see that cocky smirk of his.

“In my room?” I said, playing dumb.

“Do you expect me to believe that?” He said, but then his eyes widened a fraction “don’t tell me you were seeing someone? Now this is good,” his tone dropped an octave at the end. Utter mortification overtook my features, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes in disgust. All that did for him was solidify his theory.

“Could you get your mind out of the gutter?!” I snapped, but then remembered where we were “Honestly, Sylvain. Nock it off,” I whisper while pulling away entirely. He then shrugs his shoulders and turns back to face the board.

“My mind is exactly where it should- Ow!” His shriek startled me, and despite my own interests I join him in inspecting behind us. As Sylvain rubs the back of his head all I can do is assume someone flicked him. Maybe threw something? Alright then, the pencil on the floor supports the second option.

“Now what was that for?” He asked the two behind us. Ashe looked up from his textbook with one eyebrow quirked. He questioned what Sylvain meant, while at his side Annette clearly had a guilty conscience as she twiddled with the hems of her sleeves. That’s when I had to hold back my own smile. If Ashe knows nothing, then what could he have been reading from an upside-down textbook?

“Focus you two! This is important,” The professor cuts the interaction short, and when Sylvain turns, I can’t help but catch Ashe’s shoulders slump. How cute.

As usual the professor’s malicious lessons wear us all dry. By the end of the day we’re all like savages scouring for fresh game to cook up. Well, not exactly. We just need a few hours of sleep and maybe a glass of water. The only one of us who’s still fully attentive at this hour is Dedue. It’s…a bit unnerving how he can go so long with perfect posture.

“Class is dismissed. Remember that we have a mock battle next week, so be sure to brush up on formation placement for when I’m not there to guide you,” The professor concludes our lesson, and with a wave of the wrist people begin to file out. I wave goodbye to those sitting near me, and instead approach the professor’s pew. They glance up from the papers they’re reading and signal me to speak.

“Excuse me, Professor. Can I have a moment of your time for a personal issue?” I ask, and they place the papers down.

“I assume this has to do with why you were late today,” I nod.

“Alright, go on”

“Well, as you know things have been a bit rough for Ashe since the incident with the western church. I wanted to cheer him up, so I went out this morning to buy his favorite tea. I also wanted to get him something nice to eat…but I don’t know what he might like,” My words come out rushed and a bit uneven. The professor looks at me as if to say, ‘now how does this involve me?’ and I shakily move to tuck any hair stragglers behind my ear. Yeah, that surly couldn’t have made my feelings more obvious. I’m just a mastermind with words, aren’t I?

“You eat meals with him often after training, right? Any ideas?” I elaborate, and for a moment they pause to think.

“Sweet bread. He orders it often as a dessert,” They said, and give me an encouraging pat on the shoulder. With a large grin I snatch up my schoolbag and bid them farewell. The professor may not be the most expressive person, but that doesn’t mean they’re not supportive.

“Thank you, professor!”

After that catastrophe I began to make my way towards the mess hall. If luck is on my side, then the chefs won’t have any issue loaning out the kitchen to me for a few hours later this evening. As I walk the greenhouse comes into view, and perhaps it was a sign. What better way to cheer someone up than with flowers? With that in mind I change my course with a skip in my step and enter the garden in hopes of crafting a small bouquet. Though instead I’m met with a pleasant surprise.

“Ashe, Dedue! Fancy meeting you here,” I approach the duo, who are harvesting out of the vegetable gardens. At my presence Ashe jolts, and nearly drops the basket he was holding. Dedue was quick to respond and steadied him easily.

“O-oh! (Y/N) don’t do that, you nearly scared the wits out of me,” Ashe puts his free arm to his chest with a relieved sigh, and I can’t help but giggle. I nearly forgot he was the easily startled type; my bad.

“Haha I’m sorry guys. I hope that I’m not interrupting, just a few minutes and I’ll be out of your hair,” I said, and bypassed them to peruse the flora section of the garden. It was hard to pick out a distinct aroma, as the mass amount of plants seemed to overtake the room with the scent of wet soil. Someone must have watered recently.

“There is no need to rush. We are only collecting morfis plums for the head chef,” Dedue said, and continued to fill the basket Ashe was carrying.

“Dedue is right. Please, take your time,” Ashe said as well; once the basket was full, he began to carry it to the exit. As he walked, I noticed small patches of dirt littered over his uniform.

“That seems to be enough. Thank you for your help Dedue, I can deliver them from here,” He opened the door, and waved goodbye to the both of us before taking his leave. With every step small bits of dirt fell onto the floor in his wake.

“Then I will take my leave as well. Goodbye (Y/N),” Dedue moved to follow, but hastily I called out to him.

“Dedue hang on one moment!” He halted but did not turn away from the door.

“Yes?”

“I know this is kind of sudden, but do you perhaps know what Ashe’s favorite flower is? I wanted to prepare him a present,” I said a bit softer than before. Just as the professor did, he paused in thought. Then he pointed to the small bed of violets planted in the corner.

“Hm. I do not know, but I am under the belief that he prefers violets,” I couldn’t suppress my urge to hug him, so I did. I gave him a swift side squeeze and ran over to crouch by the blooms. Just a few in a vase would be perfect!

“Dedue you are the best! Just…don’t tell him that I’m doing this? Please?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder to meet his eyes. He remained expressionless as usual, but I could still hear the amusement in his voice.

“There is no benefit in ruining a surprise. I will not speak of it,” He bowed, and then dismissed himself.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then” I cheered, “bye! Thanks again Dedue,”

That evening had been spent productively, and by ‘productively’ I mean ‘making multiple sweet breads till one came edible’. It turns out that baking bread wasn’t as easy as it sounded, and that the chefs really don’t like when you make a calamity of their kitchen. After endless attempts I did manage to make something of…substance? If anything, Ashe will have a good laugh from it. By the end of the night there was flour lodged in places that I honestly didn’t know it could reach. The time from cleaning the kitchen to arriving at my room remains a blur, but the fresh loaf stored on my desk makes it all worth it.

When I manage to clean myself up for class, I arrive to see a bit of a twist on the normal set-up. Where I’d normally find my lover-boy classmate sat Ashe, and next to Anette was the missing flirt in question. They spoke idle chatter while waiting for the professor to arrive, so instead of interrupting I advanced towards my seat. With a newfound morning wind, I pulled out my usual chair.

“Hey, I didn’t hear anything about a new seating arrangement,” I spoke out to no one, but when I sat down Ashe turned towards my way. His hair appeared tamed for once and after catching my gaze he moved to comb it back with his hand. As I’ve said before: too cute.

“Good morning, the professor thought it would be a nice change of pace,” he said, a bit too cheery for this early, “I uhm…hope that it’s no issue?”

“Issue? You mean blessing. Now I can focus without Sylvain chatting my ear off” I leaned against the desk in hopes of getting more comfortable. At my dismissal of the new yet welcome change, he moved to unpack his things. Had he really waited to see if I was in favor of this?

“That’s very true. I’m also glad that we share a table now. I like having you as my partner,” a pause, a recollection, and then panic, “I-I mean for w-work! Partner for work!” His voice became more of a squeak as he moved to correct himself. From behind me Sylvain kicked at my ankles, without a doubt congratulating me on flustering the boy. As Ashe continued to scramble for his dignity, my head began to feel a bit heavy on my palm. Staying up into the morning hours wasn’t one of my brightest ideas, but what’s done is done.

“Say…are you alright? You seem out of it,” Placing the last of his things on his desk, Ashe turned to face me. It’s only normal that he’d ask, given my appearance and his caring nature. With a small smile, I attempted to shoo away his concern.

“Just didn’t sleep well, it’s fine. Would you maybe like to hang out later during free hour? You know, take a break from school for a bit,” Changing the topic was a good move considering how his face lit up. All remise of concern wiped away in favor of his face going flush.

“If it would help you feel better than I would love to,” he eagerly replied, “N-not to say that I would say ‘no’ otherwise. I’ll just be quiet now” Perhaps confessing isn’t as difficult as others make it seem. If he gets excited over simply spending time together, than tonight might cause him to collapse.

After dinner had been over with, I set my sights on assuring that everything was set and ready. The rooms that the monastery provided for its students were small but shouldn’t be too cramped if it’s only two people. Unfortunately, being fancy wasn’t a luxury I could afford, and the plain table I had borrowed from the infirmary made me feel small. After some searching, I decided to use an old shawl as a makeshift tablecloth and placed the vase of violets on the center. After slicing the loaf and plating the bread, I made quick work of seeping the tea. It wasn’t as decorative as what we see in the mess hall, but it’s the thought that counts. With not much time left I swiftly attempted to fix my hair, but a soft knocking cut it short.

“(Y/N)? It’s Ashe,” Ashe spoke from the other side. In a panic I looked for a comb, but alas luck was not on my side.

“Coming!” I moved to open the door, but paused at the last second, “Hey, could you maybe, not face the door when I open it?” I asked, and Ashe’s confusion came through the door just fine despite not being able to see him.

“Uhm, sure? Can I ask why?” His voice came apprehensive.

“Just do it please” I said, and soon came shuffling from the other side of the door. With a quick glance back to assure everything was set, I cracked the door open to make sure he followed directions. Just as expected he faced the other way. His hands locked together behind his back, making his unease apparent. Cautiously I reached to cover his eyes with my hands, and despite jolting in surprise he did not pull away.

“W-what are you doing? (Y/N), is that you?” He moved to place his hands over my own, ushering me to slowly pull him backwards in a rush. Although it was clumsily, he still followed. His hands were clammy against mine, yet my condition was no better. Next to the chill night air my rose-tinted cheeks burned noticeably.

“Yes, yes” I whispered in anticipation and turned him to face the table, “Now open!”

Once he caught sight of the room it was as if he glowed. In all honesty this is possibly the first time I have seen him this happy, which made all the effort worth the prize. One step at a time he approached the table with the cheesiest grin stretching his cheeks. After a moment he reached to delicately pluck a flower from the vase.

“Oh my- what’s all this for?” He asked, lifting the violet to his nose. As he did so I maneuvered my way to serve the tea.

“For you of course” I said, handing him a now filled cup and pulling out one of the seats. He sat down obediently, much to my delight. He placed the flower back in the vase as I took my seat across the table.

“M-me?” He lifted the cup to take a sip, only to pause with it hovering near his face “I love this scent…” As he took in the scenery, I took the liberty of pouring my own cup. One look at his face gave away how touched he was, which meant that my plan was a success. Slowly he lifted the cup to his lips and contently hummed with closed eyes.

“I know you do. I did a bit of detective work in hopes you’d like it,” I said, and nudged the plate of sweetbread closer to him. He reached out to take it hesitantly. Perhaps all this made him uncomfortable? A bit pushy? As he placed the plate in front of him Ashe’s eyes seemed to dart across the room, eyeing at anything and everything not in my general direction.

“I don’t know what to say…” He said, finally looking my way “You’ve gone to all this trouble and I have nothing to give” He once again moved to pick a violet. The sight was…charming to say the least. I could only offer a supportive chuckle in response. What else could you do when laying your heart bare.

“Then don’t say anything,” With one final breath, I placed the now empty cup back on its saucer. His own gaze seemed ignorant of what was going on: unreadable. Perhaps that was a good thing; better to go in blind than already know the outcome.

“Ashe, I care about you. I want you to be happy, and I know this can’t undo all the hardship that you have had to face” Silence. With a shaky sigh I steeled myself for the worst, “But, when I thought of what I could do this is what came up. I’m no deity, but I figured this is something in my power” Good enough. As I spoke my eyes shut to gather some courage, but in the long run it was ineffective. From Ashe came no answer, not even a peep. All I could do was steel myself for rejection…until a warm hand encased my own. I peered my eyes open to see that my grip on the teacup had intensified, and two calloused hands worked to sooth my tense disposition.

“Thank you. I can say from the bottom of my heart that this makes me feel-well, loved...” One hand moved to cup my chin and lead my gaze to meet two puffy green eyes. Had he been crying?

“I’m trying to find the right words but it’s so hard,” his forehead inched to lean against my own. His eyes fluttered shut, and ever small detail from the laugh lines decorating his forehead to the minuscule healing scrap along his cheek became apparent.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I care about you, ever so much” he breathed out, and I could feel my own tears begin to streak down my cheeks. With a slight tilt I leaned in to peck his nose, something he wasn’t expecting clearly. His eyes peered to gaze into my own, and before I knew I was smiling.

“In a romantic way?” I asked teasingly, reaching up to hold the hand he settled on my cheek.

“Yes, very much so”

#fe3h ashe #ashe ubert #ashe duran #ashe x reader #ashe ubert x reader #blue lions #fe3h #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h imagines #fe3h scenarios #fe: three houses

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sabineelectricheart · 3 years

Text

Duchess Fraldarius

Summary: In Spring, Imperial Year 1181, Mercedes von Martritz finally wed.

Rating: R - Content features heavy themes. Not suitable for most audiences. Consult warnings before proceeding.

Graphic depictions of rape, domestic abuse and confinement. Reader discretion is highly advised.

Words: 2700

Notes: Due to absolutely no-one’s request, I am proud to present another disturbingly dark fanfic. Usually, I only put out MC fics, but this one does not fit Byleth at all, but it is perfectly befitting Mercedes’ card if she does not return to the monastery in 1185.

Margrave Gautier would much more befitting for the role of abusive husband, but I have already done one about his sick tendencies and I am to understand he is still wed. So Rodrigue it is.

Remember, you were warned.

The snow falls steadily out the window. There is grave silence in the grounds, the people out that grand, ornate, thick double doors are hungry, tired and worried for their future, but none of it ever came inside. Inside, there was no cold, no darkness and no want. Only happiness and tranquillity.

Mercedes, Duchess Fraldarius, is sprawled out on the plush mattress of the Castle’s master bedroom donning a thin, silk sleeping dress, one of the many she kept on the trunk by the foot of the bed. She wore little else, other than a pair of shoes and stockings, for meals.

In Spring, Imperial Year 1181, her stepfather finally settled on a marriage contract with a nobleman. Rodrigue, Duke Fraldarius, who was in dire need of gold to fund the resistance effort against the Empire, once the Kingdom fell. Her stepfather wanted to buy himself some nobility, and so the deal was closed.

“Daddy.” The blonde cleric whines, pouting at the man before her.

He had undressed her, kissed along her neck, and commanded she get on the bed, leaving her incredibly turned on. Now, Rodrigue stands at the foot of the bed, slowly folding up his sleeves, not touching her. He is not even looking at her, and that just will not do.

Her husband has been married before. Mercedes remembers, very faintly, Ingrid commenting that, despite being a regular fixture at Castle Fraldarius, she had never met her mother-in-law, even before her untimely death, six or so years ago, before Glenn’s passing. The first wife was kept just like the second, she concludes, it is just her husband’s way of life.

No-one, other than her husband, her stepfather and Margrave Gautier, knows she is here. Sometimes she hears Felix’s voice, sees his teal hair running on the grounds, but he does not come to visit her. No letters arrive, either. It was disturbing at first, but now she finds comforting.

“Daddy!” Mercedes repeats, giving a displeased kick of her feet.

She sees the beginnings of an amused smile tugging at his lips, the soft yet wicked turn of his facial hair, but he quells it, and instead looks at she with a raised brow.

“What is it, sweet pea?” Rodrigue asks with a chilling tone.

“I am waiting!” She grouses, narrowing her eyes slightly.

At that, he lets his amusement show clear on his face.

“You must be mistaken, dear. Waiting implies the presence of patience, and I do not believe you to be very patient.” He teases, finally putting his now exposed forearms down at his side.

She only whines, squirming on the bed. She rubs her thighs together as she gives Rodrigue her most pleading look.

“Oh darling.” His taunting voice only fuels her arousal. “Very well, I will give she attention. Since you are very clearly desperate for it.”

Their marriage is barren, and will remain so. Rodrigue himself brings her contraceptive herbs and charms. War or no war, estranged or not, Felix is his heir, and he is not about to have his House thrown apart by conflicts between half-siblings, like so many others all around Fódlan had. It was hard enough keeping his own brother’s prolific family at bay.

The Duke glances down at the apex of her thighs. “Take off your smallclothes for me.”

Though the command is gentle, Mercedes rushes to comply, lifting her hips so she can pull her underwear off under her skirt. She bends her knees, removing them completely, and toss them to the floor beside her.

“Good girl.” He praises, feeling his tights become too small for his virile, deviant manhood. “Spread your legs, let me see how aroused you are.”

The church girl side of hers takes over for a moment and the blonde blushes at that, suddenly feeling shy. She rubs her thighs together once more, looking down at her husband bashfully. He tuts.

“Do not get shy on me now, precious. Let me see that sweet pussy.” His posh accent, the finest High Imperial language, the likes of which spoken at the courts, but rarely at the church and never at home.

Perhaps it is a sick memory of Baron Bartels, that blond, cold man’s domineering presence and strong jaws, a combination of beautiful and terrifying that confounded and charmed many a maiden in Adrestia. Perhaps it is her admiration of Ferdinand and Lorenz from her times as a student, that sincere but entitled kindness, born not out of a public spirit but of an instinct to reinforce a social order that privileged them. Be as it may, that proper speech has her sex pulsing, drives her to comply with the wildest things. The woman draws her legs apart slowly, biting her lip in embarrassment. She is sure he can see her folds glistening with the evidence of her arousal.

He hums.

Is it wrong? Is it sick? Mercedes does not know anymore, but in any case, there is no escape from this castle. There was no more Church of Seiros or Holy Kingdom of Faerghus to grant her a divorce, and even if it were, she would not be able to reach Galatea on foot, trekking through forests and mountains. She escaped an abusive marriage once before, she does not have the strength to escape another.

She does well if she convinces herself she is happy in here. Where she is fed and protected.

“There she is.” Rodrigue steps closer until his thighs make contact with the mattress, eyes glued between her legs. “My little girl. Are you eager for daddy, dearest?”

Mercedes nods, expectantly.

“Look at that, you are dripping.” He murmurs.

She whimpers needily, and at the same time she draws her legs together, feeling exposed under his intense gaze. He grabs her ankles, yanking them apart.

“Keep them open!” He growls his order, looking at her sternly.

She nods, giving another pitiful whimper, lest she angers her husband.

The Duke brings a finger up, sliding it teasingly through her folds. The blonde lets out a breathy moan at the contact, angling her hips to invite him to touch her some more.

“So responsive.” He repeats his ministration and she squirms, careful to keep her legs spread as he had instructed.

Finally, after a couple slower drags, the nobleman’s long, calloused finger, bearing his signet ring, stops at her entrance. He eases it into her tight heat, and the cleric moans at the sensation, head falling back. Below her, she hears her husband inhale sharply.

“You are so tight for me darling.” Rodrigue brings his free hand up to rest on the base of her stomach.

He holds her down as he begins pumping his finger in and out of her, pace torturously slow. Mercedes whines, attempts to buck under the firm pressure of his hand failing. She tries to wait patiently for him to speed up, but he seems to have no problem taking it slow.

She, however, have a great problem with that, and decide to let him know.

Mercedes weighs she is rather happy with the situation. Her whole life had been about caring for others. She cared for Emile under the Bartels, she cared for her mother when they ran away, she cared for her stepfather in Fhirdiad, she cared for the students at the Sorcery School, and she cared for Annette at the Officers’ Academy. In Fraldarius, she is cared for, she does not have to lift a finger or concern herself with anybody.

It was freeing, in a way.

“Daddy, give me more.” Mercedes means to sound assertive and compelling, but her aroused state means the words come out a desperate whine.

Rodrigue raises an eyebrow, finally looking up from her pussy.

“That is not how one asks nicely.” He reprimands, continuing his excruciating pace.

The Duchess lets out a huff and roll her eyes before she can stop herself. Swiftly, Rodrigue’s hand leaves her pussy and comes down on her inner thigh, a sharp smack sounding in the room.

Mercedes gasps.

“Watch it, girl. That attitude will not be tolerated.” His voice is a low growl, and she quickly nods.

“My apologies, daddy.” She mumbles, cheeks burning at her little scolding.

The man hums, placated, and the blonde wife feels emboldened to rephrase her question.

“Please, can I have some more?” She corrects her earlier words.

“Much better.” He brings his hand back down to her entrance, sliding two large fingers into she now.

She moans, gripping the bedsheets, relishing in the delicious stretch. He pumps his fingers at a steady pace, a welcome change from that prior. Soon, he pulls his fingers from she once again, and she whine at the loss. He shushes she, thumb rubbing over her stomach soothingly.

“You will not be empty long, sweet thing, do not fret.” His free hand works open the fastenings of his trousers, pulling them and his smallclothes down enough to free his thick length.

She watches intently as it bobs against his stomach, wide eyed. Rodrigue chuckles at her reaction. He gives himself a few languid strokes.

No, Mercedes lied. She has much to concern herself about in this chamber. There are no books and no needlework, there are no sweets to be baked or wounds to heal. Her only pastime is wondering where her husband might be, when he will arrive with her meals and whether he will fuck her.

It might have been a minor concern of hers, if she had more to busy herself with, but her mind gives it proper weight since it has nothing else to think about. So much so, she has taken to sleep with one of his capes, one that smelled of him.

“Do you want my cock, darling?” Rodrigue murmurs, leading her to nod enthusiastically.

The Duke raises an eyebrow at Mercedes silently, and she quickly realizes what he is waiting for.

“Yes, daddy, please give me your cock” She slurs, eyes pleading.

He hums.

“Good girl.” He holds himself at his base and slowly guides his length into her waiting hole.

The blonde Duchess moans as he sinks into her, walls fluttering around him.

“That is my girl,” Rodrigue grits out as he watches her pussy devour his cock.

He hooks his arms under the crooks of her knees, pulling Mercedes so her ass is hanging off the edge of the bed. He begins to rut into her deeply, holding her thighs in a bruising grip. She moans at the rough treatment.

“Do you like that, sweet pea? Do she like when I pound your pussy?” His voice is somehow steady and his face unbothered save for his furrowed brows and a light sheen of sweat.

His composed posture is a sharp contrast to her moaning, writhing form below him. If one was to capture that moment on a painting, it might belong to the realm of grotesque, rather than romantic. These are two people who have lost themselves in their indulgence.

Mercedes does not care about any of it and nods desperately.

“Yes, daddy, it feels so good!” She moans loudly.

“Naughty girl.” He growls out. “Worry not, I will fuck you straight. I will bring out a proper Fraldarius wife out of you just yet.”

The blue-haired nobleman brings a hand up from her thigh to her mouth, sliding his thumb over her bottom lip before slotting it into her slack mouth.

“Suck.” He orders.

The blonde woman complies, working his thumb with her tongue and suctioning gently. Another growl leaves his lips.

“So obedient. Such a good girl for me. Just for me to fuck.” His hips snap into she all the more roughly, his pace increasing.

Mercedes moans around his thumb, squeezing her eyes shut. She feels herself climbing towards her peak, her walls tightening around Rodrigue.

“Open your eyes. Look at me when you come.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

Her doe-like blue eyes snap open, coming down to meet his. Cold, sick, vicious and lascivious.

“There is my girl. Come on, come for me.” He encourages.

Having been granted his permission, she allows her body to fall over the edge. She moans breathlessly around the thumb still in her mouth, legs shaking and pussy spasming with her release.

The tightening of her channel is enough to send Rodrigue into orgasm just after she with a muttered “yes, darling”. Despite his vehemence against a child of her own, he always releases inside her. She feels as thick ropes of his cum fill her, and she whimpers. Her eyes flutter shut, feeling spent and exhausted.

Rodrigue pulls his thumb from her mouth and his cock from her cunt after a moment of catching his breath. He goes over to the bedside table, grabbing a towel to clean himself with and tucking his length back into his trousers.

Then, he goes back over to her, handing her the same piece of cloth so Mercedes could clean her intimacy.

“Come on sweet pea, you cannot fall asleep just yet.” He pulls her further down the bed by her waist, sliding his hand under her back to guide she upright. “I am still voracious.”

The Duchess open her eyes, feet meeting the floor. Despite up straight, the woman stands on shaky limbs.

“I am tired, daddy.” She complains feebly, looking up at him.

Rodrigue coos, wrapping his arm around she for support as he guides her to the bathing area.

“I know, you can sleep right after I am satiated. For now, clean yourself, as you still have a duty to perform.” He murmurs, stopping by the tiled room door and nudging her forward gently.

“Would you cuddle with me afterwards?” She glances back at him with wide, pleading eyes.

He gives her a soft smile that makes her heart flutter with adoration.

“Of course not, precious.” Rodrigue responds instantly, with a soft voice of someone waxing poetry by their lover’s ear. “I would not sleep well here with you.”

Mercedes does not know why she bothers asking. He never stays. She still held on the hope that he would stay a night, that the loneliness on her heart will be dispelled, if only temporarily.

Oh. Is she lonely? She does not know. Either way, it is best not to dwell on those thoughts. As her husband pointed out, she still has a duty to perform.

She makes her way over to the toilet and Rodrigue goes back into the bedroom. He pulls back the bedding and her some tea as she relieves herself and washes her hands. She heads back into the bedroom, walking over to him.

“Would she like pajamas, are she cold?” He asks, handing she the glass of water. She take it, looking at him thoughtfully for a moment, before shaking sher head.

“Alright.” He gestures to the steaming, inodorous tea with his eyes. “Drink up.”

She obediently raises the teacup to her lips, taking a couple of sips, eyes on his over the rim. He raises an eyebrow at her, and she continue drinking until half the cup is empty before pausing again, looking at him once more. He nods, waving his hands, signalling he wanted her to drink it all. She would do well if she complied, she would not want to be forced to drink the rest.

“Good girl.” He praises, setting the ceramic down on the bedside table.

Mercedes climbs into the bed, facing Rodrigue, and nestles under the covers. He removes his coat and trousers, leaving him in his smallclothes, and climbs into bed beside she. He wraps an arm around she and she snuggles in close, resting her head on his strong chest. His thumb rubs soft circles on her arm.

She feels her head faint, as her husband touches her lower and lower. He might have tired of her voice. It does not matter, she will perform to his highest expectations, conscient or not.

The last thought that runs through Mercedes’ head is that it is the 24th of Eternal Moon, 1185. The eve of the Millennial Festival, of the oath she had swore to return to Garreg Mach.

It seems she is not going to make it.

*_*_*_*_*

Fire Emblem Masterlist

Three Houses Masterlist

#fire emblem #Rodrigue Fraldarius #mercedes von martritz

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fe-husband-heaven · 5 years

Note

AHHHHHHHHH HELL YEA 3H BOYS. I’m so in love with Felix, honestly he makes me emotional 🥺. Okay so,,, how about a drabble of him and his fem s/o in which he’s jealous of Sylvain flirting with her all the time and Felix shows her she’s his? 👀 can be pre-timeskip or post-timeskip, whichever you prefer! Thank you in advance!

Hnnnn I love Felix so much too, what a sword dork mwuah!

__________________________________________________________________________________

"What does that fool think he's doing?"

Ingrid turned away from her lunch to look at what had the prickly swordsman hissing, laying her eyes on the resident town flirt, she immediately felt a headache arising-

"Now, doesn't a nice hot meal in town with me sound great?"

A laugh from you rang out, you couldn't help it. Leaning against the dining hall wall with your arms crossed, you huffed up at Sylvain, who was currently hovering over you with an arm extended to cage you in one spot while he made a show in the seething Felix's field of vision.

"You're rather brazen today, huh Gautier? Are you sure its a good idea to be prodding the bear?"

Sylvain winked before leaning down to purr in your ear,

"It's what I'm best at."

Sylvain was having way too much fun. Felix never e v e r caught feelings and now, he's head over heels for his sparring partner turned friend turned lover? Oh this was too good not to have fun with.

You pressed a hand to Sylvain's chest to push him back lightly, you weren't going to become collateral damage for one of his pranks.

"Yeah, well, that bear knows how to wield a sword so you might want to-"

You were cut off by the loud sound of Sylvain's arm being slapped down, with enough force that Sylvain nearly fell face first into the wall behind you before he managed to stabilize himself and hold his arm in pain.

"Ow?! A little much don't you think Felix?!"

You stood amused at a clearly annoyed Felix who had made his appearance, seemingly having had enough of the display. Sylvain really shouldn't play with fire.

"Get your lance."

"Huh?"

"I said. Get your lance. If you like to run your legs as much as you run your mouth, you might just survive my blade. "

"Ahaha...Now now Felix, don't you think beating your friends into the ground is a mean and excessive thing to do?"

With his hands up in defeat, Sylvain began getting nervous. He'd teased Felix countless times before, pranks on his easily irritable friend were a normality in their friendship and while, as children Felix would chase him with a stick afterwards, a grown Felix with a sword would likely not end with a little bruising as it did when they were younger.

Sylvain thought he'd known his friend quite well but it seems he might have underestimated Felix's feelings for you..just a little. Felix had always been a little territorial of things he considered his, namely his sword, but the icy look he was currently receiving let Sylvain know that you were beyond off limits, prank or not.

"Right, Ingrid?"

Hoping for an ally, Sylvain turned to the blonde chivalrous woman who had walked up following Felix's abrupt rise from his seat in the Dining Hall,

"Actually, Sylvain, I might just join him in it."

Ingrid's stern tone was not lost on him so he turned to look at you, and for a second Sylvain thought he heard something akin to a growl come from Felix.

There was an unspoken "Help" in his eyes, and you shook your head at his antics before reaching out to grab Felix's hand.

"Now now Felix, it's in the nature of our local Gautier to go skirt chasing as he pleases, you know that. So don't go wasting your sword skills on him, yeah? Let's just go~"

You tugged gently at his hand and when he turned to you with a glare, you just smiled at him, your grin growing bigger when you saw him soften.

"Fine.", he relented, side eyeing Sylvain who shot him a grin.

You were a little surprised to see it was so easy but happy nonetheless.

"We'll see you two later, c'mon, let's go Felix."

Felix allowed himself to be dragged away but not before looking back at Sylvain with a glower and mouthing a "Watch your back, half-wit." accompanied by pointing at his own eyes and jabbing them in Sylvain's direction.

As you two exited the dining hall, you thought you heard another smack, probably Ingrid slapping Sylvain upside the head-

________________

Plopping yourself on his bed, you let yourself smile at Felix's behavior in the dining hall. Rolling over to face the ceiling of his room, you glanced over to see him watching you expectantly with his hands on his hips, foot tapping the floor impatiently. He liked the sight of you on his bed more than he should.

You took a moment to think of what to say, as per usual, he didn't like to initiate a conversation that wasn't started off with "Hey, dog."

After a couple more seconds of silence, you settled on needling him a little. With a small smirk peeking on the edge of your lips, you broke the silence,

"I didn't know you were so..possessive~"

He scoffed at you and crossed his arms,

"Don't be ridiculous. It has nothing to do with you...I just don't like seeing the mutt slobbering over anyone, it's annoying when I'm trying to eat. That's all."

You giggled at his explanation. It's so like him to try to deny he was feeling jealous, but you weren't going to push him to admit it.

"Is that so?"

Staring at the ceiling, your mind wandered. Felix was the bane of all things romance. He never entertained the attention of anyone else because he considered them interruptions. For someone like him to come to like you..well, you must have being doing something right.

You were sure of his feelings for you, he doesn't play around and he doesn't waste more time with others than he needs...but how sure is he of your feelings..?

"Hey, Felix..?"

"What."

"You know that Sylvain was just teasing you..right?"

He scoffed,

"Of course I do. I've known that mutt for years, it's no surprise to me. Don't worry, it's not going to make it hurt any less for him later."

You smiled at that, he put on that front but his friendship with Sylvain was as strong as steel. It also reminded you of before the two of you were involved. He was always pretending that you were nothing more or less than a training partner.

Always keeping you at arm's and sword distance, but immediately getting cross when you took so much as a risk. You remember the long lecture he gave you when you got a scratch from an enemy lance.

Your opponents weren't the only ones Felix had a problem with, apparently, pathogens were also on his reasons-to-berate-you list. You had only been sick for a couple days but he made it a point to be there everyday and nag that,

"If you can't handle a couple of germs, how are you supposed survive battle? I can't believe you got yourself sick, if you die from something as small as this, I'll kill you."

Looking back, he was a lot more obvious than he probably hoped he was, it didn't help that anytime another man got you alone, Felix would magically appear needing to hone his swordsmanship with a worthy adversary.

"-what are you daydreaming about now?"

"Ah nothing, I just...Felix..you know I only want you, right?"

Half expecting him to be a little flustered, you were a little surprised when he folded his arms and didn't miss a beat,

"Obviously. I refuse to put up with anyone half assed. If I thought you weren't going to become Y/N Fraldarius, I wouldn't have bothered."

Not being mentally prepared nor expecting something like that from him, you blinked owlishly, lips parting in surprise.

It seemed to be a slip of the tongue if Felix's eyes widening were an indication. Immediately, he sputtered out some sort of attempt to backtrack. Clearly, mortified to have said something so sappy.

"Wait! No-I don't mean-ugh..."

He gave up and pinched the bridge of his nose, he never spoke with a filter but if there was ever a time for it to show up, it was then. His cheeks felt like they were burning and he hated it, he'd rather take on an army than deal with having said that in your presence.

You bit your lip as Felix hid his red face in his hand, the tips of his ears were tinged the same color his face was. Trying to hold back from laughing failed miserably as giggle after giggle escaped past your lips.

Felix watched you incredulously, before furrowing his brows and clambering onto you, caging you between his arms. Momentarily halting your laughter but your face started to strain with the smile you had on.

"What do you think is so funny?"

You grinned up at him, he was embarrassed, and when he's embarrassed, he goes on the attack.

"Nothing! Nothing! It just made me happy, I think I love you a little too much, I couldn't hold it in~"

Felix sometimes hated how honest you were. It was never like his honesty, blunt, brutal, crass. You were just open, sincere, and candid. He was never prepared for any of it.

He sighed and shook his head,

"..Why'd you have to go and say that?"

Slowly, he leaned down, lips dangerously close to your neck.

"Is something wrong with it?"

A hand trailed gently under your shirt, you shuddered,

"Yeah...now we can't return to the dining hall."

____________

"Are those-"

"No."

"But they look like-"

"No."

"..are you su-"

"Sylvain."

"Alright! Alright! I get it, I'll drop it."

"Thank you."

"...ButTheyLookLikeHickeys-"

"Sylvain! Ugh, you know this is all your fault you know!"

Near snapping your spoon in half, dinner time hadn't started without a few stares from your comrades,

"MY fault? How is this MY fault? Just reign in your little mosquito boyfriend! No one's seen you since lunch! It's dinner time already, you were gone for so long that..."

He trailed off,

"..you guys were gone for so long...oh my god, you guys were...!!"

You slapped a hand over his mouth and considered strangling him for a moment-

"Shhhh! Could you be any louder?? And yes, it's your fault! If you hadn't gone and made a show of your philandering then my neck wouldn't look like I was rolling around in poison ivy!"

You jabbed a finger into his chest,

"Felix never forgets grudges, I should have known! He knew that laundry day isn't till next week and that I don't have any high collared clothes left. These little things, are a declaration to you doofus! He's marking his territory!"

Sylvain stared at you for a moment before howling in laughter,

"Oh this is too good, I knew I was in for a bruising later but I didn't think he'd be leaving a couple marks on you too..!"

For a moment, you thought about lying to Seteth and saying Sylvain had been pestering Flayn (he hadn't) but you were too busy beating yourself up for not realizing.

You should have known! He was licking and sucking on your neck more than usual, and you had noticed, but you were too busy being distracted by what his fingers were doing-

Ahhhhhhh, this is some next level mastermind stuff, and! And! By the time you realized, he had already scampered off to the training grounds.

You couldn't exactly yell at him over it in front of the tournament head.

Huffing, you sighed in defeat, he'd won this round but the next White Heron Cup was coming up soon and you knew the perfect suggestion for who should enter.

Which only left the other monkey sitting next to you,

"Sylvain...I'm going to tell Gilbert you were hitting on his daughter-"

He stopped laughing,

"You wouldn't..."

"Watch me."

#sylvain #felix #lemonish #hee hee can you tell felix is w h i p p e d #also sylvain has big dumb energy I love him too #3houses

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syilcawrites · 3 years

Photo

a/n: hello earth and fe3h fandom, I wrote something for sylvgridbigbang (twitter) and had the pleasure to collab with artist Bringmemisery (twitter), so make sure to go check out their wonderful art!! It’s my first time writing this ship but I hope you enjoy it hoho!!

summary: Sylvain is reckless, and Ingrid isn’t okay with that

tags: hurt/comfort, post-timeskip, post war, angst with a happy ending

ao3

daffodils

Ingrid had never been outside by the pond at night. Despite the lack of presence at the Monastery for the past five years, she could still spot some fishes swimming about, gathering around her as if they were waiting for her to drop food.

She hummed as she eyed a dead daffodil floating across the surface of the pond water toward her, and as it grew closer, the little fishes tried to nip at it.

"Hm, did a bandit actually feed you this entire time or something?" she murmured curiously as she dropped bits and pieces of bread into the water. Her lips tilted up into a lopsided smile as she watched them greedily snap up at the surface to get the crumbs.

Ingrid chewed absentmindedly at the rest of her meal, as she let out a small sigh. It was the last night before they left the Monastery to march toward Enbarr, to end the war once and for all.

Once and for all…

She stared down at her plate of food, stopping mid-chew. It was one of her favorites—pheasant roast with berry sauce—and even though she had it several times over the past five years, she missed eating it here, at the Monastery.

Five years.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she inhaled and exhaled slowly—the crisp night air cooled down the panic that had sprung in her chest.

Five years since she died and was reborn anew—if she could meet herself from five years ago, what would she tell herself?

Her eyes flit over to the window, where she could see the shadows of her laughing friends inside the Mess Hall—she caught a glimpse of the Professor passing by the door, whispering to someone that Ingrid couldn't see.

Among the chaos and dissent in Faerghus, she had only seen her classmates in whispers: in glimpses of broken windows, in the imprint of footsteps against the soft snow, in the memories of flickering candlelights.

Her eyes misted over, but she blinked it away as she stared back down at the fishes.

"We'll be fine," she whispered to herself, grabbing a pheasant leg. She ripped a hefty piece out of it with her teeth. She needed to eat, she needed energy, if she was going to protect them. She'll make up for all those lost lives, and this time… this time no one else will die.

"If you eat that fast you're gonna choke, you know."

Ingrid jumped at his voice, almost dropping the leg into the pond water.

She glared at him.

"Sylvain," she grumbled, promptly dropping it back onto the plate as she reached for her napkin. "You know you shouldn't sneak up on me while I'm eating."

He laughed heartily as he took a seat next to her, his smile reaching from ear to ear. "I forgot how engrossed you get when you're eating."

She clicked her tongue in feigned annoyance as she wiped her hands. "Why are you out here?"

"Why arent you inside with everyone else?" He replied back without missing a beat. Typical—answering her question with another question. "The Professor has been shooting worried glances at you ever since the start of dinner." He pat his stomach in satisfaction with such a comfortable, content smile that Ingrid wanted to siphon some of his relaxed, carefree aura to herself too.

Because with each passing second the knot in her gut had been tightening, ever since this morning.

"I just needed some fresh air," Ingrid said simply. She leaned back on her hands and looked up at the stars. It would've been comfortable, if she didn't feel his undivided attention on her. He made no effort to hide that he was actively staring at her.

"What is it?" Ingrid glanced at him. He's been like this a lot, ever since they reunited. He just… stared at her for minutes without saying anything sometimes. And when she would point it out, he would blink and that weird, far-off gaze of his would disappear. She always wondered how the inner cogs in his head worked, and at some point, she thought she had figured it out. And then her effort went down the drain along with those five years apart.

"It's just nice that we can talk like this again," he said with a shrug.

Their last moments together were still fresh in her mind—being torn apart from one another by the onslaught of Imperial troops. She had never seen his brown eyes, usually filled with laughter, look so dark and desperate as his hand lost grip on her arm. She knew he had always held his grief in a locked box, but in that moment, it had spilled out for her to see in full view, and she could do nothing.

After the Battle of Garreg Mach, she came back to the Monastery at night, and cried in relief when she couldn't find his body—and none of her other classmate's bodies—amongst the corpses that lay rotting.

"If you look at me with such wistful eyes I might bite you."

Ingrid blinked, unfazed. "Are you really trying to practice your flirting techniques on me right now? Don't tell me you're going to try to flirt your way through Enbarr?" she scoffed, punching his arm. "You really have gotten weirder over the past five years."

"Hm," he said, tilting his head at her as if he was in deep thought. "Really?"

"I would've thought your flirting skills would've improved after all this time, but when you asked me about my make-up—"

"Okay, okay, I've heard enough!" Sylvain chanted as he placed a hand over her mouth. "It's been a long time since I last saw you!"

Ingrid laughed as she pulled his hand away. "That explains nothing—"

"I just wanted to know if the guy you liked deserved your—"

"You're deluding yourself if you think I'm wearing make-up for some man," Ingrid scoffed, looking at his hand. The closest thing she had to a romantic partner was her lance, which was dutifully by her side every day for as long as she could remember.

Since Glenn.

Ingrid tightened her hold on Sylvain's hand.

"Don't be careless tomorrow," Ingrid demanded quietly, her eyebrows knitting together as she brushed her thumbs over the callouses dotting his skin. There were a lot more than she remembered.

"You should worry about yourself."

"I appreciate the concern," she said, raising her eyes to meet his gaze. "But you and I both know that I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."

He frowned at her.

"I don't intend to drop dead tomorrow," she said with an easy smile, releasing a hand to reach for her cup of wine. When she raised it to offer some to him, he was still frowning. "I can protect myself, and I will protect you too." She thought her words would've reassured him, but instead, it seemed to… do the exact opposite. He looked away from her.

"You've always been like that Ingrid," he muttered with a twinge of annoyance. "Always thinking about others. Haven't you learned to take care of yourself these past five years?" His words were sharp—she knew him well enough that his words bore no ill intention toward her, but it bothered her all the same.

"Of course I have." Ingrid dropped his hand and pressed her palm against her chest. "I always have. Why do you think I've always trained relentlessly for?" She always put herself first so that… so that she could protect everyone. Protect him.

He didn't look at her, and simply glared at the fishes swimming around them as if it was their fault.

She didn't want to see another familiar face in the aftermath of destruction—no, she couldn't. She would never let that happen, never let that future ever come into the light.

"Then for my sake, stay where I can see you tomorrow." His hand hovered over her cheek, but instead, he placed it on her shoulder instead, squeezing. "When we reach Enbarr, stick by me. Please."

The light from the Mess Hall flickered against the side of his face as he stared at her.

"Okay," she whispered, nodding. "I will."

——————————————————————

The tip of the lance hissed passed her head, grazing her ear, as she ducked just mere seconds before it swiped the spot where she had just been. She swung the butt of her own lance toward the solider, causing him to rear back just enough for Sylvain to swoop in. He knocked the mounted soldier off his horse with the Lance of Ruin, the blade piercing through the cavalier as he fell. Sylvain's shoulders heaved up and down, with blood dripping down his armor, splattering the silver a dull red.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his breath coming out short and fast.

Ingrid gave a stiff nod, exhaling as she regained her position. "Thanks," she said breathily, shaking her head. She had to focus.

She knew it would be bad in Enbarr, especially breaking into the heart of it, but the amount of enemies spilling toward them seemed endless.

The Professor stood close by them, swinging her sword smoothly, as if it were an extension of her own arm. But despite her natural talent, Ingrid could spot beads of sweat rolling down her skin—a sight she had never witnessed before, not until now. The Imperial Army had begun slowly closing in on them, spilling from an entrance across the throne, advancing at a pace that was hard to keep up with.

"Everyone, stay close!" The Professor's strong voice cut clear through the cries and shouts of the battle. A surge of energy bloomed inside Ingrid—she would fight until the very end, alongside everyone.

"They keep coming from underground—someone needs to hold off the area or else well be pinned over here until they finally wipe us out," Dimitri grunted, sending another ten soldiers flying through the air with the might of his lance.

They needed to be quick, concise. Ingrid knew they wouldn't hold out for long, not like this.

"Watch my back!" Ingrid launched toward the opening on her wyvern without a moment's hesitation. It was a simple solution—she could get there quicker than the others, and could dodge the fastest among them.

"Ingrid!"

Before she could fly away though, a hand roughly grabbed her shoulder, whipping her back. The wyvern halted as Ingrid tightened her grip on the strap of the harness before she could fall off the sadle.

"You can't just charge in there!" Sylvain said, his voice hoarse and dry. "We stick together."

Ingrid tensed, guilt bloomed inside her like an ugly disease.

"There's too many in the path, you'll be—"

"If there's one thing I'm confident in, it's protecting you." Despite the blood running down his cheek, the fatigue that ran through his veins, he still offered her that familiar sweet, reassuring smile of his.

"Do not act rashly! Felix and I will take the rear—Dedue, lead the front. Sylvain and Ingrid, make sure you defend the blindsides!" the Professor shouted, slicing her way toward them. "The rest of you must try to take out the black mage to the right, and stay close to one another!"

The Blue Lions shouted in unison, a battle cry loud enough to shake the roots of Enbarr itself, as they spilled into position.

Ingrid had stopped keeping track of how many men and women had fallen from them—one thought surged her forward and kept the bloodlust boiling within her from running thin: to keep the ones dear to her safe. She would not let any one of their blood run dry, no matter what.

The one to break her from her fervent stupor were the cries from Edelgard—the closer they got to her, the more Ingrid could make out the anguished desperation of her large, mishappen figure. Pain tinged at her heart to see one of her former peers turn into something so grotesque.

Edelgard's black eyes pierced straight at them, cracking the courage that Ingrid had felt was indomitable mere seconds ago.

"Something is coming toward us!" Dedue bellowed, straining his shield up from the onslaught of enemies.

The Professor slew down the last enemy who had lingered behind them and flitted her head toward the direction Dedue was pointed at—her normally blank eyes steeled at the sight of Edelgard extending her elongated arm hurling forward.

Ingrid grit her teeth as she halted her wyvern—

Before any of them had time to register what Edelgard was doing, she had swung her dark arm forward—it sped toward them faster than they could blink.

Unable to track its path, Dedue braced himself, but it whizzed past the top of his head, in direct line of—

Ingrid's breath hitched in her throat as she leaned back instinctively, seeing the dark, condensed orb aimed directly at her.

The air around her sparked, as if electricity had filled the air, and the ends of her hair stood as a shout of despair bubbled from her throat. She lifted her hand to her face in a vain attempt to block it, biting down hard enough for her lips to bleed as her body tensed.

In a flash, the darkness was replaced by a fiery orange all too familiar, Sylvain—

The orb collided with him, flinging him off his horse. He barreled straight into Ingrid as she tumbled off her wyvern from the impact. She instinctively wrapped her arms around him, breaking his fall as they plummeted toward the ground.

Her breath knocked out of her as her back slammed against the marble floor, her mind swimming, unable to register what had just happened. Her blood rushed toward her ears—roaring, muting whatever the Professor was shouting about.

She gasped as she realized her arms were still tightly wrapped around Sylvain's' limp body, heavy against her own. She was half expecting him to suddenly sit up, to smile at her as he made some ludicrous joke about being on top of her, but he didn't.

Ingrid grunted as she rolled over, switching positions. Her hand was placed on either side of his face as she stared down at him, fear running through her veins as she helplessly watched the blood drip down his face.

Her mouth moved, but she couldn't hear her voice. Dark spots swam in her vision as she shook him again and again, screaming until her voice bled his name.

——————————————————————

Daffodils remind Ingrid of the sun—bright and hard to stare at for too long. It was perfect for Sylvain. She grabbed a handful that was scattered around the field, dutifully blowing away the dirt from the bright yellow petals.

"Need help?"

Ingrid turned around to see the Professor holding out her hand, staring at Ingrid with those bright green eyes. Ever since the Professor came back, she was different in various ways that Ingrid couldn't put into words, but her attentiveness to her student's well-being hadn't changed.

"Ah, Professor…" Ingrid shuffled nervously on her feet. "Um—" Before Ingrid could finish, she took the flowers out of her hand.

"You should be resting," she said, her voice almost chiding. She flicked away the specks of dirt with focused precision. "You're not fully healed yet either."

"This is nothing." Ingrid raised her cast up briefly, sighing as she glanced down at it. It was more bothersome than anything. A broken arm shouldn't be something she should take lightly, but... staying outside proved better for her mental state.

"Ingrid," the Professor said softly, catching her attention. Ingrid looked up at her, startled by how focused the Professor was on her. "You shouldn't hold it in."

"I'm not holding anything in," Ingrid said with a stiff smile, keeping her voice light. "I'm just… I think he'll like these flowers." Maybe it'll wake him up. He hates the color yellow, so he'll wake up and tell her how awful she was at choosing which flowers to give to him.

"Come on." The Professor handed the daffodils back to her. "He'll want to see you when he wakes up."

Ingrid cracked a smile.

As they trailed down the hill, she stared down at the face of the daffodils—they seemed to be smiling back at her, swaying softly in the light breeze. Ingrid lifted her gaze to the far-off castle. Even from the distance, it stood proud and tall. It was weird, setting foot in the same space where the four of them—Ingrid, Sylvain, Dimitri, Felix—once chased one another. She always wondered if those days would come back; carefree and content.

She tightened her grip on the stem of the daffodils, clutching on to it as if it were her own lifeline.

"Will you eat with us for dinner tonight?" the Professor asked hopefully as they neared the entrance to the castle.

Ingrid nodded, already heading for the direction to Sylvain's room. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" Ever since Sylvain had fallen into a coma, she spent most of her time next to him. "I'll come this time, after I give him the flowers." Ingrid cast one last smile over to her before she disappeared, taking long strides to the infirmary room.

She opened the door.

Dark and silent.

Quiet.

His soft breathing was almost inaudible, even when she stood still and tried to concentrate on it.

Before Ingrid sat on the chair next to his bed—which was practically her own bed at that point—she lit the candle on the table and grabbed the ribbon that she had left lying on the table next to her. She pursed her lips as she tried to wrap it around the stem of the daffodils—it wasn't the first time she'd done this, but for some reason, her fingers kept fumbling.

"Twist… one loop… flip…" Ingrid murmured to herself, recounting what Annette had told her. "Hm." She lifted the bundle of flowers up, frowning at how deformed the bow looked.

"It looks awful," a hoarse voice next to her whispered.

"As if you can do any better," Ingrid muttered back, glancing at the bed with a glare. She placed it back down on her lap and began undoing the ribbon.

"Give it to me." A hand weakly tapped on her arm, prompting her.

"I—" Ingrid paused, staring down at his hands.

She blinked once, twice, before locking eyes with him.

He looked terrible—as pale as snow, lips chapped, purple under his eyes—and his full concentration was trained on the daffodils in her hands.

"You're awake—" Ingrid swallowed, her voice shaking. "You're awake?" She stood up so fast the chair clattered to the ground, along with the daffodils.

"Hey—those are my favorite flowers!" He attempted to sit up, but groaned instead.

"Sylvain!" Ingrid scolded, helping him sit up. He smiled cheekily at her, and it was so full of fatigue that she almost burst into tears.

"I thought you hated yellow," Ingrid choked out, her hands trembling as she brushed his disheveled bangs from his eyes.

He hummed as he thought—he reached out to her, brushing the ends of her hair with the tip of his fingers. "No, it's been my favorite color for a while now."

#fe3h #fire emblem three houses #sylvgrid #sylvain x ingrid #my fanfics #wow i wrote something other than zelink ashoudsf #sylvgrid big bang #anyway not betad so :~)#i first wrote it back in like sept #so to say the least when i was editing i changed like 99% of what was going on cause my writing had changed so much uahefbfksd #i didn't know how to add to collection on ao3 so i reposted husafhui

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bae-leth · 5 years

Text

A really long Miklan and Margrave Gautier headcanon

Is this how you submit longer asks? This is my first time, so I’m really not sure. It got a bit long and I’m really sorry about that. I got carried away. This contains spoilers for Miklan and Sylvain and has a lot of my own ideas scattered within it. I don’t know how old Miklan is, but he looks 21-25ish, so I just went with 25. I also don’t know when crests manifest, so I’m guessing it’s something you find out at birth? Correct me if I’m wrong.

Miklan is a character that I’m really interested in. He was just another victim of the crest system, and it must have been brutal to be abandoned by his family because of something out of his control. From the moment he was born without a crest, his fate was decided. I ended up coming with a small backstory for him and his father.

He probably didn’t understand what was going on as a child. It’s likely that his father treated him well before Sylvain was born because Miklan was his only child and heir at the time. There was no guarantee that Margrave Gautier would ever produce a crest-bearing child, so he had to raise Miklan to be the next head of the family.

He provided Miklan with the best education he could and hired skilled warriors to train his son. He spent countless hours teaching Miklan about what it means to be the head of the family, of what it means to be a leader, of what it means to be a noble. Maybe Miklan even had a fiancee seeing how Ingrid already had a betrothed at such a young age.

Miklan was introduced to his future wife at age 5, and while he didn’t understand what it meant to be engaged to someone, he liked her. She was three years older than him, nice, and liked a lot of the same things five year old Miklan did. Due to his status of a noble and future heir, Miklan didn’t really have that many opportunities to interact with children his age. The moment they met, something clicked and he spent the rest of the visit with her talking about anything and everything that came to his mind. She had a nice laugh.

Life was perfect for him. Miklan was surrounded by loving parents and loved spending time with the girl he was to marry. He was a noble and his family had no shortage of money. Anything he wanted, he got, but he rarely felt like he was missing something. There was not a cloud in his sky.

But, I’m sure Miklan’s lack of a crest was a sore spot and a major source of shame for Margrave Gautier. Crests were important in the status quo in Fodlan, and especially for the Gautier family. Their family had always placed great pride in their crest. Perhaps Margrave Gautier never manifested a crest either, the first head of family to not have one in a very very long time. Had his youngest brother not died from illness, had his mother not become infertile due to the same disease, and had any of his three other younger siblings bore a crest, he never would have been able to claim the title. Growing up, Margrave Gautier couldn’t go a day without being reminded that he was inferior to his brother.

“Did you hear that the next Gautier heir doesn’t have a crest?”

“What a shame that the only child with a crest died. The Goddess can be cruel sometimes.”

“I’m sure that his father must be disappointed. The Gautier family did value their crests so much.”

It drove him mad. He worked and trained night and day, sacrificing meals and sleep to try and better himself so that he could prove that he was worthy despite not bearing a crest. But, no matter how hard he worked, no matter what he did, no matter what, the truth was that he did not bear a crest and that was it. It was clear in his father’s face, clear in the other nobles’ mocking jeers and mock sympathy, and clear in the way that all of his achievements were overshadowed by the lack of a crest. He tried to escape the system, but instead he became like Sisypus who was forced to roll a boulder up a hill only for the rock to roll back down the hill before he could reach the top. All of his struggles were futile and he willingly let himself fall back into the system. I like to think Margrave Gautier was also a victim of the crest system.

When he became the head of the family, he thought that if he could produce a crest-bearing heir, his honor would be restored. So, when Miklan was born without a crest, he was crushed. He still loved his son, his beautiful newborn child, but there was always a small voice at the back of his head that whispered in his ear.

“A child without a crest is worthless.” He tried to push it to the back of his mind, but it was always there. I think that although he loved Miklan, he unconsciously gave up on him. Margrave Gautier may have provided Miklan with a good education and trained him to be the next head of the family, but you can see that Miklan’s stats show that he isn’t proficient at lances which is the Gautier’s holy relic. He didn’t even bother to try and train Miklan to use it. Though you could argue that it would be useless since Miklan couldn’t wield it anyways.

He couldn’t ignore the others’ whispers either.

“Oh my, did you hear? Margrave Gautier’s son also doesn’t have a crest. I wonder if the margrave is cursed?”

Cursed. Perhaps he was. All he wanted was a child with a crest. He needed a child with a crest. In the end, it became an obsession, a manic craze.

Miklan and Sylvain weren’t his only children. The year after Miklan was born, his wife gave birth again. Stillborn.

The third child was miscarried. He probably started to give up at this point, after all, he’d already had three children and two were dead upon arrival. It must have taken a major emotional toll on him, having to live through the deaths of two of his children within two years. During this time, he paid extra attention to Miklan, ensuring that his remaining child was safe and healthy.

But then, the fourth child was born, healthy, with a crest. The Goddess had heard his fervent prayers and blessed him with a crest. His name was Sylvain Jose Gautier.

This was the one. This was his future heir, his shining beacon of hope. And in that moment, Miklan was all but forgotten in Margrave Gautier’s mind.

Ok! Now back to Miklan. He was probably happy to have a sibling, a sibling who was alive. I headcanon at him being around six when Sylvain was born. He was giddy with joy at the idea of having a partner in crime after being alone for so long. But, of course, this wouldn’t be the case.

Margrave Gautier would spent all his time doting on his crest-bearing child, making sure he was safe and well taken care of. He couldn’t lose this child.

Young Miklan would have noticed that his father wasn’t spending as much time with him anymore, but he wouldn’t have realized that it was because of the crest until much later. He thought that maybe if he worked harder, trained harder, his father would pay more attention to him. Miklan was always an obedient and hardworking child. But, now, he spent hours training and training, never getting a bad grade on his tests, always receiving the highest of praises from his instructors. But history repeats itself and to Margrave Gautier, Sylvain’s light is so bright that Miklan is completely outshined.

Seeing how Miklan was able to assemble a group of bandits and be successful in his plunders, I think he probably has pretty good leadership skills on top of being educated in tactics. In different circumstances, Miklan could have been highly successful. He’s a natural leader, charismatic, and incredibly hard working, but instead of nurturing his strengths, Margrave Gautier uprooted him like a weed to make room for his flower even though there was enough land for them both to coexist.

Miklan didn’t find about why he was being ignored until he overheard nobles gossiping in at a party. Then, it finally all makes sense. He was being replaced by Sylvain. Although, Miklan is a smart kid. There’s no way he never realized that Sylvain was being favored because of his crest. Instead, he went into denial for as long as he could because he couldn’t accept the truth. Naturally, if Sylvain was born with a crest, the Sylvain would be the one to inherit the title of Margrave, the position which Miklan has shed blood, sweat, and tears over to prove that he was capable.

But now, he’s angry. He’s frustrated. He’s jealous. He’s resentful. Everything he’s ever done has now gone to waste all because his brother was born with a crest. Sylvain will never have to work for anything. Sylvain will never be looked down upon because of something outside of his control. Sylvain will never have to prove himself.

And then a terrible thought comes to him. If Sylvain died, then everything would return to normal. He feels like a monster the moment he realizes what that meant. He couldn’t hurt his baby brother like that, not when Sylvain toddles up to him and looks up him adoringly with those large eyes of his and calls him “Mik” in that giggly voice of his. But, he can’t help but think and it only gets worse as the years go on.

He thinks when he sees his father smile lovingly at Sylvain. He thinks when Sylvain makes eyes and coos at Lady Galatea. He thinks when he sees Sylvain brightly smiling while surrounded by a gaggle of rambunctious friends. He thinks when all of the nobles gather around Sylvain and predict a bright future of the boy. He thinks when he corners Sylvain and asks him why he isn’t taking his studies and duties more seriously and ten year old Sylvain stares up at him and replies, “Because it doesn’t matter.”

Hate continues to fester within him like a tumor. It’s barely noticeable at first, but it’s there, growing more and more each day, unhindered, killing him, killing the kind and cheerful Miklan until all that’s left is a mess of hatred and a boy who’s far too lost in his own jealousy and insecurities.

So much tragedy could have been prevented had someone simply stepped in to check on him, but no one ever came. Miklan was alone in his internal battle and it was a matter of time when the devil in him won the war. He went through the latter half of his childhood and the beginnings of his teenage years, some of the most important developmental years, alone with only his demons to guide him.

One day, he sees Sylvain leaning over the well. He doesn’t know what comes over him, but he takes a quick look around before shoving Sylvain as hard as he could. A wounded cry bounces off the walls of the well, and Miklan is shocked back to his senses as he stares in horror at what he’s done. He’s afraid to check so he runs, runs until he reaches his room and locks the door. Curiosity drove him to peek outside the window to see servants hauling the young Gautier out of the well, face purple and bleeding, arm twisted at an unnatural angle. And he cries alone, terrified at the person he’s become because there’s a small voice in the back of his mind that had hoped Sylvain was dead.

Sylvain tells Margrave Gautier that he lost his balance while looking into the well, but Miklan knows that Sylvain knows.

Things only continue to get worse. Miklan leaves Sylvain alone in the forest when they went hunting together. Sylvain tells Margrave Gautier that he had wandered off by accident. Miklan shoves Sylvain down a flight of stairs. Sylvain tells Margrave Gautier that he tripped on the carpet and fell down the stairs instead. Miklan impales Sylvain’s chest while sparring. Sylvain tells Margave Gautier that it was his fault for not paying attention.

Why didn’t Sylvain ever blame him? After Miklan’s realization that he was being replaced, he began to distance himself from his brother, from the reminder of his failure. Despite sharing the same blood, there really wasn’t anything else to their relationship other than this cycle of hurt. But, Sylvain never confronted him about his behavior nor did he blame him for anything. Miklan would have prefered for his brother to retaliate compared to the passive approach Sylvain took on. It would have hurt less.

But instead, Sylvain comes up to Miklan one day as he’s studying and pulls up a chair next to him. Gently, he lays his head on Miklan’s shoulder without a word, soft red hair tickling Miklan’s neck.. Why he didn’t shove Sylvain off of him, he doesn’t know, but they stay like that until until the room is cast awash with gentle red glow of the setting sun.

“I’m sorry.” Is the last thing Sylvain says to Miklan before he stands up and leaves the room. That’s the closest they’ve been in years and the last time they’ll ever touch each other until Sylvain pierces the Black Beast’s heart many many years later.

I think Margrave Gautier still loved Miklan, but was so enamoured at the idea of restoring his honor with Sylvain that he neglected his other child. Why was Miklan disowned when Sylvain was 16? Was Margrave Gautier waiting for Sylvain to come of age to become his heir? Then why disown Miklan when he could have just stayed in the family? Perhaps Miklan went too far and got caught and Margrave Gautier who feared for Sylvain’s life, banished Miklan. According to my headcanon, he would have been twenty one.

He never says goodbye to Sylvain, not that it would have had any meaning behind it. He doesn’t get the chance to see his parents one more time. He’s just thrown out.

How lost would he have felt. Where would he go? What would he do? Deep down, he knows this is because he couldn’t control himself, because of his jealousy, but instead, he blames Sylvain because if he hadn’t been born with a crest, none of this would have happened. He blames his father for abandoning his child. He blames everyone else for putting so much value on the crests.

Maybe he sneaks into his fiancee’s residence, climbs up to meet her at her balcony, to ask her one last question because now that he’s been disowned, he’ll never get to marry her. He asks her (hypothetically at this point because the news hasn’t broken out yet) if she could love him if he couldn’t become Margrave Gautier.

Silence.

So he leaves as a broken man with a broken heart and a broken life. Later on, he finds out that his father had sent a letter calling off the engagement and that the girl had already known about his situation.

We all know he forms a bandit groups later, but what if he finds a family there? A group of bandits who’ve been hurt by the crests or need to steal in order to survive. He’s notorious. After all, he’s Miklan Anschutz Gautier, the former heir to the house of Gautier and a man with incredible leadership skills and strength. They flock to him and while he doesn’t realize it until much later, it’s some twisted sort of a family for him. They steal, murder, and hurt to survive, and yet he finds that he’s happier here than anywhere else. He’s treated normally here. He’s noticed.

How ironic. He was once trained to destroy groups like this, and yet, he’s leading one now. It gets to his head. Once upon a time, Miklan was nobody, ignored like he didn’t exist, but now, the kingdom deemed him important enough to deploy its troops to try and take him down. He was strong. He was capable. He would show them what they missed out on. He would ruin the people who hurt him.

Stealing the Lance of Ruin is far too easy. The Gautier residence is like the back of his hand to him and he watches as his men cut down the guards in a sneak attack, not batting an eye as they called out to their former master to spare them. He notes that they were the same ones who dragged him out of the mansion after he was disowned. Before long, he’s face to face with his enraged father. Miklan disarms him easily before snatching up the lance, feeling it tremble and buzz with power before he turns and literally walks out of the mansion. his father, no, Margrave Gautier wasn’t worth wasting time on. Besides, he wanted him to live so that he could hear gossip of Margrave Gautier losing the holy relic to the failure. He would never be able to live it down.

But then, the Church becomes involved and it isn’t long before he’s standing in front of Sylvain again. There’s no heartwarming reunion, no happy hugs, no tears, only two strangers who knew they hated the other. It was all Sylvain’s fault that he was like this now and he’d kill him for that. He wouldn’t let Sylvain ruin his life again. He’d show the world that he was better, that he was stronger and smarter, that he was worthy. That’s his last thought before he’s consumed.

There were so many times that this ending could have been avoided.

If only he was born with a crest.

-----------

notes from bae: I... wow..... I love this. so much? You did a fantastic job at adding so much depth to both Margrave Gautier and Miklan, to the point where I was feeling sympathetic for the both of them by the end of it all. That’s good writing right there.

but instead of nurturing his strengths, Margrave Gautier uprooted him like a weed to make room for his flower even though there was enough land for them both to coexist. - this metaphor??? SO GOOD??? IM????

this is so well thought out and absolutely well done from the beginning to the absolute end. everything from the Margrave’s own personal history with him not having a crest, to his unborn children, to the slow neglect of Miklan, and how Miklan then slowly gets consumed with jealousy.... oh my god. If you wrote a fic on this.... I would genuinely hand you money.

THIS IS SO GOOD. IM OFF TO REREAD IT. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING THIS IN.

#submission #anon #fire emblem three houses #fe16 #sylvain #miklan #margrave gautier #THIS IS SO DETAILED AND WONDERFUL

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coneygoil · 5 years

Text

The Home We Built Together, part 26

Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…

“What is this called again?” Astrid sniffed the bag Ruffnut had shoved into her grasp.

“Moon tea.” Ruffnut gave a little nod toward the bag. “It’s supposed to prevent babies from popping out of you before you want the little grubs to.”

Astrid wrinkled her nose at the pile of tea leaves in the bag. She knew this smell. “I think this is the tea my mother used to brew when I was younger. I never liked the smell.”

“It tastes better than it smells.” Ruff swirled her fingers around. “Just put honey in it and you won’t even notice.”

“How’d you get this anyways?” Astrid could take a good guess but asked anyway.

“My mom has a HUGE stash of it.” And there it was. Astrid was slowly learning way more about Ms. Thorston than she wished to. “I’ve drank it several times. Not that any beefcake has tried to conquer this, but when the times comes, I’ll be prepared.” With the click of her tongue, Ruffnut proudly shot a finger gun.

“Hey!” someone shouted from behind. Astrid groaned to herself, knowing exactly who it was. “You two ladies discussing these?” She grudgingly glanced over her shoulder to find Snotlout flexing his biceps and groaned out loud this time.

A filthy grin spread across Ruff’s face. “Speaking of beefcakes—”

Astrid took that as her cue to head home. Hiccup had left for work after lunch to finish up at the forge for the day. Their routine had shifted ever since Toothless had literally shot down into their lives. Her and Hiccup would feed and work with the arena dragons before their morning duties. Then it was dragon training with Gobber. The dragons did well most of the time with pretending to be fearsome beasts. They hit their cues when needing to. The only problem was after they were “subdued” they’d want a reward, and Hiccup would sneak a little treat to them. He was tired of smelling like fish.

After lunch, if their duties were finished, they’d venture out to the cove to be with Toothless. Soaring endlessly over the sea, they’d explored miles upon miles far from Berk. Sometimes they’d cook fish over a fire for supper, or they’d trek back home to cook up a heartier meal. They’re evening routine hadn’t changed. Warm mugs in front of the firepit. They’re chairs were pushed closer now. Astrid would rest a hand on Hiccup’s knee, or Hiccup would lean on the heel of his hand behind her to close the gap between them.

No dragon raids. No drama. Just life. An enjoyable life.

Astrid wished it could remain this way always, but she knew it wouldn’t. Stoick and the band of Vikings he’d taken on the search for the Nest had yet to return. One day soon her and Hiccup would have to reveal their plan. One day soon they’d either fly or fall.

Astrid hung the kettle over the firepit. A strange eagerness had set in, fluttering about in her chest. She didn’t know when her and Hiccup would consummate their marriage, but this was one step closer. She tried not to linger on it too much. Hiccup had wanted it to occur without plan, and if she was honest with herself, she really did too. But Astrid couldn’t help the little sparks of excitement when her mind wandered to the press of his lips to hers or his fingertips gliding across her skin. Astrid blushes a pretty shade at the thought. How fast she had changed her mind about absolutely no one kissing her!

A bubbling noise boiled from the kettle. Astrid grabbed the hook and lifted the iron kettle from the firepit. Setting it down on small stand nearby, she deposited some tea leaves into a mug then using a mitt, poured the steaming hot water over the leaves. All that was left was to wait for it to steep and add honey.

Her head snapped up at a placid knock on the door. Her eyebrows knitted together. They never received visitors. She answered the door, surprised and yet not surprised at the same time, to find her mother waiting there.

“Mother, what’re you doing here?”

“Is it a crime to visit my only daughter?” Ingrid Hofferson looked expectantly at Astrid. Stepping aside, she let her in. “Astrid, I never see you anymore.”

A ting of guilt pressed in her chest. “I’m sorry, Mother. I have a lot of responsibilities these days.”

Ingrid waved her excuse away. “Of course. Of course. You’re a married woman. Come. Let us sit and catch up.” Both women settled down at the kitchen table. “I’ve hardly seen you since the last dragon raid. How is Hiccup treating you?”

“Good.” Such a vague answer. Astrid searched for a better reply that wouldn’t give too much away. “We’ve gotten close.”

“I’m glad.” Ingrid offered her a tight smile, not quite reaching her eyes. “I worried over this arrangement. Your father and the Chief didn’t give much room for discussion. Hiccup seems like a nice boy, no matter how destructive he can be at times.” She paused, eyeing Astrid carefully. “Is he gentle with you?”

Astrid’s mouth gaped open, bewildered by the question. But the meaning finally caught up with her. Why was her mother concerned in this area of her life? Were husbands meant to mount their wives like beast in the wild? Astrid couldn’t fathom Hiccup taking her in such a way. If he ever tried, he’d probably end up with a bloody nose and dislocated shoulder.

Astrid exhaled a quiet breath, finding the subject far more awkward to discuss with her mother than with Ruffnut. And the fact that they hadn’t consummated their marriage made it even more difficult to speak such matters. “Mother, there’s nothing to be concerned about.” Hiccup was gentle in all aspects of their relationship. He was attentive to her wants and never forced her into anything. Sometimes he was overly cautious when expressing what he desired. Besides the misunderstand they had for those few days, he’d gotten better at communicating his wants for her. “He’s good to me. He really is.”

Ingrid leaned forward, asking in a hushed tone as if trying to keep anyone from overhearing. “How are you feeling? Any queasiness?”

“No. I’m feeling fine.”

“What about tenderness in your bosom?”

Astrid glanced down at her chest as if to consult it. “No tenderness.”

“How’s your flow? Have you kept track of it?”

At the mention of her monthly cycle, Astrid knew exactly what her mother was digging for. Her mouth gaped open for a brief second. “Mother! Is this a friendly visit or an interrogation?”

Ingrid reached across the table to pat her daughter’s hand. “I can’t help to be a wee eager when it comes to the thought of a babe. You’ll be carrying the future chief of Berk! What an honor that is, dear. And, I want you to receive the very best care as soon as the symptoms appear.”

“I can assure you I am not with child.” The gods would have to place a babe in her belly themselves for her to say she was. At least for the time being.

Her mother’s mouth turns down in disappointment. Ingrid had birthed one child but had experienced pregnancy four times. After three miscarriages prior to Astrid’s birth, she’d given up on baring more children and taken to drinking the moon tea to prevent anymore heartache.

Ingrid sniffed then drew in a deeper inhale. She flicked her gaze to the mug on the table. The wisps of steam curled into the air from its liquidy contents. Ingrid reached for the mug. “I haven’t smelled this in quite a while.” She brought the aroma to her nose, throwing a puzzled look at Astrid. “Is this moon tea?”

Astrid shifted uncomfortably, the helfy gaze of her mother pinning her. “Yes.”

Ingrid sat back with a huff. “And here I was hoping for a grandbabe when this whole time you were stifling that chance.” If only her mother knew moon tea wasn’t the only thing keeping her from being pregnant.

“Please understand, Mother,” Astrid appealed, “I’m not ready for a baby. Me and Hiccup— we have something good going on, and I don’t want that to change anytime soon. Let us get to know each other first before we bring another person into this marriage.”

Ingrid held her daughter with the motherly regard of disappointment. Then it melted and she grasped Astrid’s hand. “I understand. When you’re young and falling in love and wanting to be with each other – just the two of you.”

Every muscle in Astrid’s body seized up. The blue of her eyes popped at the assumption. Love wasn’t a word she’d considered when this marriage was arranged. Hel, falling in love with someone wasn’t even in her orbit of thought…ever. Now that the revelation had been voiced, it wouldn’t easily slip from her mind.

What was love? She’d seen love displayed in many different ways. From physical affection to sacrificing one’s life for another. It was all love. It was everything that she felt, everything that she would do for Hiccup. Maybe, just maybe, she did love him. She shook her head of the heaviness, stashing it away to sort later. Right now was not the time.

The front door opened, and it was as if her ponderings manifested him into existence. Hiccup halted right there in the doorway, staring wide-eyed at the two women like a child caught swiping honeycakes. “Hey Mrs. Hofferson. You’re here.” He scratched at the back of his neck and thumbed toward the door. “Should I leave?”

“Oh, no Hiccup, you don’t have to leave your own house,” Ingrid informed with a little chuckle as she stood. “I was just leaving. You two have a life to carry on with.” She gathered Astrid into a motherly embrace that spoke more than words could. Heading toward the door, she grabbed Hiccup’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Curtesy goodbye greetings were dispensed as Ingrid let herself out.

Hiccup watched until the door shut. “I think your mom was trying to break some bones,” he remarked, shaking his hand free of the aches. “Her grip is almost as strong as my dad’s.”

“Don’t let her soft tone fool you.” Hidden behind Ingrid Hofferson’s maternal gentleness was a fierce mother bear that kept her apprehensions to herself until if or when they needed addressing.

“Were you two having tea together?”

“No,” Astrid sighed, occupying the chair once more. “She dropped in to check up on me.”

Hiccup nodded, acknowledging her. He grabbed up the mug of cooling tea to take a sip.

“She was also fishing around to see if I was bearing you a child.”

Hiccup seized up and choked on the tea currently flowing down his windpipe. Astrid snorted a laugh, smacking his back to help it go down. He coughed a few times, sputtering out, “What is with our parents and grandchildren?”

Astrid shrugged. “Everyone is awaiting the future chief of Berk to be birthed.”

He swirled the contents of the mug absently as he gazed into its shallow depths. “What did you tell her?”

“She sort of figured it out herself when she smelled my tea.” The corner of Astrid’s mouth quirked up knowing Hiccup didn’t know what this particular tea was for.

“What does the tea have to do with anything?”

“It’s called moon tea and it’s for preventing pregnancy.”

Hiccup froze, the freckles on his face darkening at his sudden paleness. “If it prevents you from being pregnant then what would it do to me?”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Probably nothing, you dork. You’re not a woman.”

Hiccup carefully set down the mug as if the contents would pop out and bite him. All Astrid could do was shake her head. Men became weird when it came to sensitive matters of women. She doused the firepit with the remaining water in the kettle, the wood crackling and steam rising as the water made contact.

“C’mon.” Nabbing Hiccup’s hand, she tugged him toward the door. The room seemed to be closing in on her after that whole conversation. “I need to get out of here for a while. I’m sure Toothless is itching to stretch his wings.”

Hiccup followed along, eagerly. “Good idea.”

Tags: @martabm90 @chiefhiccstrid @drchee5e @celtictreemuffin @hey-its-laura-again @celtictreemuffin

#httyd fanfiction #hiccstrid #arranged marriage au #the home we built together

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wittyblather · 5 years

Text

people who are okay don’t act like this (pt 1/?)

f!byleth x dimitri, blue lions x their single brain cell

hurt/comfort, rated m

thank you to @joiedecombat for the prompt <3

It would have been nice, sharing his dinner with Byleth. Away from anyone else. Almost alone.

But he supposed tonight, it wasn't meant to be.

"Goddess's sake. She had a horse. They let her have a horse! What the hell was I supposed to do? Poke it in the eye?" Sylvain said.

"You were supposed to win."

"Oh, good call, Felix. So glad we have you on the team. You know what? Next time, you enter the surprise horse lance tournament, and let's see how you do."

"Get off me!" Felix gave his classmate a shove; he had a habit of invading others' personal space when he'd drunk too much, which he certainly had tonight. The mulled wine in his goblet sloshed over its edge and splattered the wooden table with red.

Mercedes flinched away, pulling a handkerchief from beneath her shawl to dab at the worst of it.

"The rules did say anyone who's passed a cavalier certification could bring their mount," she said. "Dimitri did the last time he entered. Didn't you watch?"

"Listen." Sylvain leaned unsteadily across the table. "I got a lot to do on Saturdays. I can't watch every tournament that happens at this place. It's intenable."

"Untenable."

"What?"

"Untenable. It's untenable."

"That's what I said."

"No, it wasn't -- !" Felix slammed his utensils down, then took a deep breath and set his jaw. "You know what? This isn't worth my time." He grabbed a hunk of buttered bread off his plate, wrapping it in one of the napkins Sylvain's wine had spoiled. "Pass my congratulations on to Leonie if you see her. And make sure the drunk one doesn't bang on my door at two in the morning when he has to puke."

"We'll do our best," Ingrid said. Dimitri didn't think he imagined the twitch in her eye when she spoke.

His poor friend. They put her through so much, the three of them. He'd have to remember to buy a box of her favorite tea the next time he went to market.

"Your Highness?"

Dimitri peered over his shoulder, startled from his thoughts. Dedue stood just behind him, the same meal on his plate as always, regarding him with curiosity.

"Is there a reason you don't sit?" he asked.

Dimitri shook his head.

"Until a moment or two ago, there wasn't any room for me at the table. I was looking to see if the other houses might take pity on a refugee, but it seems the problem has resolved itself," he replied. He thought it sounded natural enough; Goddess knew he had experience saying one thing and thinking another.

But even as he took a step toward the other Blue Lions, he could sense Dedue's eyes on the back of his neck, unconvinced.

"The professor finished her meeting a few minutes ago. She was not far behind me in line. If you sat on your own, she would probably join you," he said, his voice more hushed than it was before. "She did not appear to take any of the mulled wine herself."

(-- why should i CARE if she took wine or not, who are you to presume you know best, you CUR --)

"I thank you for your concern, Dedue. But it's quite unnecessary." Dimitri felt his smile grow tight. He disliked being abrupt with his friend; the Duscur man only ever did what he thought best for him, steering him as unobtrusively as he could away from those things that proved...well, difficult.

But there were so many people around. Too many, even for a whisper. Already he caught Hubert's eyes from across the hall, appraising their pause with a pointed smile. Had he heard the mention of the wine? The professor? Of course not. The noise of the dining hall was a dull roar at the quietest times, and they were dozens of feet and tables apart.

Still, his skin crawled.

"Let's eat with the others tonight. I'm sure they'll clear a seat for you. It's only right that we commiserate as a house after the blow we took today." His hand clutched perhaps too tightly around his own goblet, Dimitri made his way across the hall, just in time to catch Byleth accepting her own meal from the cooks in his peripheral sight.

Presumptive as he might have been, Dedue hadn't been wrong. He'd known how far the professor was behind him when he stepped into the hall. He always seemed to know where she was these days, her presence drawing his eyes as surely as the moon drew the tide. And when Mercedes pushed ahead of him to the last seat at the table, too wrapped up in Annette's chatter to notice her transgression, he hadn't said a word to stop her.

It would have been nice, sharing his dinner with Byleth. Away from anyone else. Almost alone.

But he supposed tonight, it wasn't meant to be.

#fire emblem three houses #fe16 #dimileth #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #byleth #blue lions #dimitri is a good boy who tries his best

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thepandapopo · 4 years

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A Step Through Time Chapter 3: Wishes Do Come True

Synopsis: In which Sylvain comes to a horrible realization and Felix learns something new.

Mercedes and Annette learn that they should really give disclaimers whenever they tell kids about wishing wells.

Pairing: SylVix

Chapter Index 1 / 2 / 3

It only takes a week for Sylvain to decide that his newfound knowledge about Felix’s sexuality is a horrible, horrible curse.

The type of curse that is initially disguised as a blessing because Sylvain is ecstatic that he might actually have a chance, but is really a curse because now he can’t stop noticing how many men seem to linger around Felix.

Did Felix always have this many men around him?

Sylvain never noticed it before, but now he cannot help but note that whenever he’s not sparring with Felix, there never seems to be a shortage of male soldiers clambering to challenge the sword master. In fact, if Sylvain is being honest, they all seem a little too eager to test their blade against the Fraldarius heir. Of course, none of them ever manage to win, but that doesn’t stop them from approaching Felix even on his grumpiest of days.

Sylvain doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it one bit.

And if anyone notices that Sylvain is now sharpening his lance with a tad more force than absolutely necessary in the shadows of the training grounds while glaring holes at anyone who approaches his best friend… well, no one says anything because they’ve all seen him skewer his enemies with negligible effort.

“Lord Fraldarius! Sir!”

A new recruit that Sylvain can’t bother to remember the name of jogs up to Felix with a sword in hand and a traitorous part of his brain notes that he’s well built and boyishly handsome.

“Would you be willing to spar against me again? The pointers you gave me last time really helped to improve my form and I’m hoping that you could do the same again.” The soldier stands with his shoulders back and spine straight in the perfect picture of respect, but Sylvain has done this song and dance enough times that he can spot the underlying flirtatious tilt of his head and innocently deceptive tone.

If this were the first time that he had approached Felix, Sylvain would have given him a pass. Hell, even a second or third time would be okay. But this is the fifth time this week that his recruit has approached Felix, and Sylvain cannot figure out for the life of him why Felix is giving him the time of day when he could so clearly go practice sword forms on his own.

So, in typical Sylvain fashion, he saunters over to interrupt their conversation.

“How about you spar against me instead?” To his smug delight, Felix doesn’t shrug off the arm that he throws casually around his shoulder. “I’d be happy to train with you. Plus, that gives Felix the opportunity to focus on critiquing you and giving you pointers.”

Sylvain picks up a training lance and gives it an expert twirl, muscle memory taking over as his feet slide into a ready stance that he could probably replicate in his sleep. There’s something fierce stirring in his gut and he can feel his body jittering restlessly; Sylvain has never been a fan of training (at least not as much as Felix), but his senses are on overdrive today and his mind is focused solely on winning.

“On my mark.” Felix puts away his own training sword and walks over towards a nearby pillar to watch the match. He crosses his arms across his chest and Sylvain can’t help but let his eyes distractedly trace the bulging lines of his biceps that drift down towards a tapered waist…

Damn it.

Now he’s turned on, frustrated and jealous.

A piercing whistle cuts through the air and Sylvain sends a silent half-hearted apology to the new recruit before lunging forward at full strength.

----

“You should have held back.”

“I did.”

His younger self snorts while cutting into his pheasant, “I’ve been your sparring partner for years. And I’ve fought by your side enough times to know what it looks like when you’re not holding back.”

A small smile creeps onto Felix’s face. He really shouldn’t be eavesdropping on his past self’s conversation with Sylvain, but watching the red headed flirt stumble over himself with this new information has been more than a little amusing.

In his timeline, Felix is the one who is always flustered – although admittedly less so now, so it’s nice seeing the tables turn for once even if it’s not with his Sylvain.

Felix doesn’t give any indication that he is eavesdropping – his gaze is still fixed on his own meal and on little Sophie beside him, who has her tongue adorably stuck out while carefully eating wobbling spoonfuls of Onion Gratin Soup.

“I’m surprised that you’ve been helping train the newer soldiers.” Felix can tell from the offhanded way Sylvain tosses the comment out that he’s fishing for information. There’s a subtle edge in his voice that Felix can only hear from years of learning how to avoid arguments with his husband.

“Why? It makes sense. Byleth said she wants more swordsmen to add to my battalion and if they’re going to be fighting with me, then I need to make sure they’re up to my standard.”

“Fe, no offense but your standard is a bit high.”

“Your standard is just low.”

Felix is eternally grateful for Sophie when she masks his snort of laughter with a request for another bread roll.

“That’s not true! Admit it Fe, you always have extremely high standards for everything.” There’s a nervous energy to Sylvain’s prattle, like he’s stalling time to build up courage. “Not that it’s a bad thing! But it is true that you have that expectation for all aspects of your life.”

“Really,” his younger self says dryly, “like what?”

“Like your taste in partners.”

Honestly, Felix is impressed that Sylvain held out as long as he did before caving and broaching the subject with his younger self, but that doesn’t make it any less awkward or mortifying for Young Felix. He’s only listening in on this conversation and he can practically feel the embarrassment that is flooding his counterpart, but that will be nothing compared to the absolute disaster this conversation is headed towards.

Is it considered masochism if Felix is kind of enjoying this?

“We are not talking about this.”

“Aw, come on, Fe! What did you think of that recruit? He was pretty cute.”

The violent coughing that follows is concerning enough that Sophie turns to look worriedly.

(“Papa, is he okay?”

“I’m sure he is, Sophie.” But not for long.)

“What?”

“The guy I was sparring! He was totally interested in you, by the way. Cute face, decent body, but kind of weak.”

“Goddess, kill me now - wait. You… since when were you interested in men?”

“Uh. Since forever? Fe, haven’t you ever heard Ingrid complain about me? I ‘flirt with anything that has a pulse’ – her words, not mine.”

As much as Felix is enjoying the explosive trash fire that is this conversation, he isn’t a fan of everyone in the dining hall knowing their business and judging by the steadily increasing volume of their conversation, there are at least a few others eavesdropping now as well, curious as to what has gotten the two nobles so riled up.

“What the actual fuck, Sylvain. Why have you never told me you were interested in men?”

“I thought you knew!”

“How was I supposed to know if you never told me?”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry!”

His younger self looks like he is on the verge of either combusting or stabbing Sylvain so Felix takes it upon himself to intervene. Sophie, who has since finished her dinner, tilts precariously to the side as her eyelids droop. With one hand, Felix ushers his daughter off the bench and towards the front of the dining hall while his other hand drips the tray laden with their dishes. When Sophie is finally far enough ahead that she will not hear him, Felix takes the opportunity to casually stroll by the two men.

His presence alone is enough to shut them both up and Felix can’t help but let the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

As much as he would love to see the red head squirm some more, he does love the idiot and he cannot help but say something to him and ease his guilt. “To be completely honest, we already had a feeling.”

Once again, Felix finds himself on the receiving end of his infamous glare but he can’t find it within himself to care as long as he can end this conversation quickly. Consider it a mercy to his younger self, or to their privacy in general.

“Oh, and just so you’re aware,” Felix calls over his shoulder as he walks away, his calm voice at odds with the small shit eating smirk on his face, “Sylvain knows about us now too.”

Felix doesn’t stick around long enough to see the consequences of his words, instead quickly catching up to his daughter and scooping her up before depositing their dishes and heading back to his room.

----

Perhaps it is the consequence of eating cheese for dinner that catalyzes the stream of ridiculous night terrors combined with the fact that the Gautier cheese used in the soup was reminiscent of home, but when Sophie wakes up for the third time that night in tears and crying for her Daddy, Felix swears that he is never letting his daughter eat Onion Gratin soup before bed ever again.

A lone candle sends flames dancing in their assigned room, casting shadows across the walls that flicker hypnotizingly and threaten to drag Felix back down into the dredges of sleep if not for his crying daughter in his arms.

As much as it breaks his heart to see Sophie in tears, there is very little Felix can actually do to make her feel better. He isn’t the one she misses, and he doesn’t have the magical capabilities to perform the time travel spell by himself – not that he would even consider risking the safety of his daughter in an experimental spell to begin with (speaking of which, he’s going to have a chat with Linhardt about how Sophie managed to get herself sent to the past when he gets back).

It certainly doesn’t help the situation that he is due to leave on a two day mission in the morning, which is why he shows up exhausted at Annette and Mercedes’ doors at sunrise dropping off a still slumbering Sophie in their care for the next couple of days.

Sophie may not be either his nor Sylvain’s biological daughter, but she certainly inherited some traits from her fathers; and the one thing that her and Sylvain have in common is that they both like to indulge in sweets whenever they are feeling particularly sad.

And so, with a request to bake cookies with Sophie and a hasty reminder to not let her eat too many sweets lest she get a stomachache, Felix hurries off to join his battalion that is set to depart shortly after breakfast.

Which is exactly how Annette finds herself sitting on a stool watching Mercedes and Sophie cut out cute little shapes from their rolled-out cookie dough.

“Sorry Mercie, I promise I’ll help out next time when there’s less… risk of fire involved.”

Mercifully, the healer simply laughs and waves off the apology; after all, it is no secret that Annette has an uncanny ability to make things explode in the kitchen without meaning to.

“Oh that’s quite alright, Annie. After all, I have a wonderful little helper already – isn’t that right, Sophie?”

Sophie doesn’t reply but continues to meticulously push the Pegasus shaped cookie cutter into the dough.

“Sophie…?”

Peering over the counter, Annette tilts her head so that she can see past the curtain of crimson that reveals teary honey eyes and a bottom lip wobbling dangerously with barely held back sniffles.

“Oh dear, what’s wrong Sophie? Do you want a different shape?” Mercedes coos and gently turns her so that both her and Annette can fully see her expression.

One lone tear manages to drip past long brown lashes before the flood gates open.

“I…I m-miss…” Sophie chokes out before abruptly stopping, her face scrunching up in distress.

Sweeping her dress under her knees, Annette crouches down to Sophie’s eye level and smooths her hair back in a comforting gesture. “Who do you miss, sweetie?”

Once more, a flash of uncertainty and reluctance crosses her expression before Sophie finally breaks down and whispers, “I miss Daddy.”

There must be something else bothering the little Fraldarius, Mercedes and Annette conclude after an hour of fruitlessly trying to comfort Sophie that Felix will be back before you know it, because nothing they say seems to elicit any reaction other than Sophia stubbornly insisting that she misses her Daddy. Any attempts to cajole further elaboration merely ends in Sophia clamming up with more tears, looking guilty as if she has broken an unknown rule.

“Sophie, are you sure you don’t want to tell us more about what’s bothering you?” Mercedes frowns. “Is there something more than you missing Felix?”

Flour streaked hands grab the hem of her dress to wipe away the errant tear tracks on her cheeks. Shaking her head once more, Sophia invokes her Fraldarius stubbornness and repeats her mantra. “I miss Daddy.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Annette pauses for a moment as an idea strikes her. There really isn’t anything to lose considering nothing else they have done so far has helped – not even the freshly baked cookies. “Hey, Sophie? Have you ever heard of a wishing well?”

“Wishing…well?” Little eyebrows scrunch up in curiosity.

Annette beams. “Yeah! It’s where you go when you have something you are wishing for that you really, really want to come true. I like to go there whenever I am feeling sad so that I can make a wish. How about we take you there so you can make a wish for your Daddy to come home faster?”

“I can wish to see Daddy?”

The hope stirring in her eyes makes Annette’s chest clench guiltily, but she’s desperate to cheer up this little girl who has taken up resident in her heart with her radiant smiles and cheer.

“Yep! They say that if you wish really, really hard that the Goddess will hear you and grant whatever you ask for.”

“Really?” Sophie turns to Mercedes with wide eyes in search of confirmation.

Smiling back, Mercedes nods. “Yes, that’s true. But if you want your wish to reach the Goddess, you must bring an offering that is connected to your wish. Do you know anything that your Daddy likes? Maybe something we can get from the pantry?”

“Cookies.”

There’s a beat of silence as Annette and Mercedes stare at each other.

Felix doesn’t like cookies.

“Uhh… are you sure you wouldn’t rather just eat the cookies?” Annette asks; neither of them are willing to call out a child, much less a distraught one. “Maybe there’s something else we can find?”

Even though they’ve only known Sophia Fraldarius for a little while, it doesn’t take a genius to know by the set of her shoulders and pout that her mind is made up, leaving the older girls no choice but to follow along, bundling up mini Pegasus cookies in a Mercedes’ white handkerchief and setting off for the well just outside the Cathedral’s main hall.

Thankfully, it is a relatively warm day and the wind does little to bother them, despite their high altitude. When the well comes into view, Sophie’s excitement grows with each step and by the time they reach the stone structure, the knot holding the handkerchief together threatens to spill cookies across the floor, loosened by her excited skipping.

“Oookay,” Annette claps her hands together and grins. “Before we make our wish, we need to make sure we properly present our offering.”

Placing the wrapped goods on the ledge of the well, all three girls take a step back and clasp their hands with Mercedes leading their prayer.

“Dear Goddess, we are grateful for your kindness and compassion. We offer these items in hopes that you will hear our wish and grant us what we seek. May you always watch over us and protect those we hold dear.”

Taking a step forward, Mercedes makes the first wish. “I wish for all our friends and comrades to come home safe from their battles.”

From Sophie’s other side, Annette goes next. “I wish to see improvements in my faith magic so that I can protect my friends.”

When it comes to her turn, Sophie steps forward hesitantly with her hands clutched to her chest. “I…I wish that I could see Daddy.”

Stepping back, Sophia hastens to mimic the other two and claps her hands twice to finish the ritual.

Even when they turn to head back towards the dining hall for dinner, Sophia carries her wish in her heart and repeats the prayer through the rest of the day and into bed. By the time she finally manages to fall asleep, her heart is swollen with enough hope that it chases away the night terrors and leaves her with dreams of riding through fields with the person she misses the most.

----

On the next day, Sophie rises with the sun.

Though still bleary eyed and exhausted, excitement runs like electric through her body and propels her from bed in a rush to get dressed in a forest green dress that matches a shirt she has seen in her fathers’ wardrobe.

If her wish really does come true, then Sophie wants to look her best so that her Daddy knows she has been taking care of herself and not out romping in the bush, wrecking havoc for her caretakers like she does so often when she visits the capital.

Breakfast crawls by ever so slowly, time moving with the same speed that her gloopy porridge drips from her spoon, but eventually the dining hall clears out and Sophie is able to drag Mercedes and Annette to the entrance of the main hall where she plants herself on the stone wall atop the staircase leading down to the marketplace.

“To make sure I don’t miss Daddy!” She had declared proudly to her caretakers when asked why she had picked this spot to settle down at.

Burnt sienna eyes focus heavily on the portcullis that protects the entrance to Garreg Mach. Even as the sky climbs higher in the sky and the noon bell tolls, Sophie does not leave her post, instead opting to eat her lunch consisting of sandwiches outside on her perch.

But as the hours of the day begin to count down and the sun sinks lower and lower towards the horizon, Sophie cannot stop the gnawing darkness of doubt that coils in her gut and grows stronger with the fading daylight.

“Still waiting?” Sylvain asks as he joins the small group of friends that have gathered anxiously anticipating the tears that will inevitably come when Sophie realizes that sometimes wishes don’t come true.

“It… probably wasn’t the best idea to give her false hope.” Ingrid frowns. “How are we going to console her when Felix doesn’t come back? He’s not due to arrive for another day.”

Letting out a moan, Annette drags a hand down her face. “I know! I shouldn’t have mentioned anything. Now she’s going to be even more upset.”

“Why don’t you just tell her that Felix isn’t coming back tonight then?”

“Because Linhardt,” Leonie rolls her eyes. “We’re not monsters who go around killing children’s hopes and dreams.”

“All I’m saying is that the upfront disappointment might be the better alternative.”

“I’m sure we can just talk to her and explain that Felix will be back the day after tomorrow.” Mercedes reasons.

When the dinner bell tolls, it echoes throughout the courtyard and through the now-empty stalls. The sky glows with reds, pinks, and oranges that are slowly fading into the dark blue of the night sky, casting their last brilliant rays on the earth.

The sniffling that ensues shortly after the bell chime fades is expected, but no less painful.

“Is… is Daddy not coming?” It’s almost unfair how lethal Sophie’s teary face is as it cuts into their hearts.

“I’m sorry, Sophie.” Dorothea says, wrapping up the little Fraldarius in a tight hug. “I’m sure Felix is doing his best to come back soon. He’ll be here for sure in another day or so.”

Leonie flashes her best reassuring smile. “Yeah! I’m sure that Felix will be on his way home soon.”

“But I miss Daddy.”

More tears are coming now and the panic among the adults is steadily increasing.

Ashe and Annette do their best to offer small placating reasons as to why Felix hasn’t come back, however despite their best efforts, Sophie’s distress grows and grows until she is sobbing just as hard as when they first found her in the middle of the sealed forest.

“I want Daddy!”

“Hey, hey.” Dorothea coos. “It’s okay, no need for tears! Why don’t we get you inside first, hm? Sylvain can give you a piggy back ride, would that make you feel better?”

Ever on the same page as her girlfriend, Ingrid quickly drives her elbow into Sylvain’s ribs and pushes him forward.

“Ouch! Er. Yeah! Of course. How about it, Sophie? Want a ride back to the dining hall?” Sylvain beams and offers up his hands, but quickly retracts them when the wails increase in volume.

“Sylvain! What did you do?”

“What?! I didn’t do anything!”

Ingrid huffs. “Well, clearly you did. Listen to her! She’s crying even louder-“

“Rider at the gate!” The shout from the sentry breaks cuts through their argument and for one blessed moment, everything falls silent except for the sound of sniffling and hoofbeats on stone that grows ever louder as it approaches.

“Rider? Not a messenger?” Caspar frowns. It’s an odd announcement – there are very few people who are brave enough to travel solo during war – and the sentries know and recognize the Resistance army’s trusted messengers.

Which means that whoever is approaching is an ally, or someone they recognize… which is even more odd because everyone they know is either already accounted for inside the walls of Garreg Mach or are out on missions and not due back for a few days.

But when the portcullis finally raises and the oaken doors part, they too recognize the person astride the horse, now galloping through the marketplace with hair the colour of crimson flame and very familiar honey eyes trained only on the weeping child seated on the stone wall.

They all continue to gape silently in various states of shock even as the rider slows to a stop at the foot of the stairs.

“What the-“

It’s undeniable now.

If the Resistance Army thought it was weird that they now had two Felix’s, they were definitely not prepared for the arrival of an older looking Sylvain Jose Gautier decked out in noble regalia with another Lance of Ruin strapped to his back.

The lazy grin he flashes them is unmistakably Sylvain, but when his eyes finally return back to Sophie, his expression morphs into something so soft that it leaves the current Sylvain reeling.

“Hey sweetheart, did you miss me?”

Sophie wastes no time in scrambling to her feet and dashing down the stone banister to throw herself into the arms of the older looking Sylvain.

“Daddy!”

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

Author’s Note: This was so weird to write. Originally I wanted to do it in Sylvain's POV, but then it switched to Felix's POV, then I realized that I defaulted to active voice for Sylvain's part and told myself I would go back and change it to passive voice, but then the chapter just kept morphing and morphing and dear lord I don't know.

Imma just leave it in active voice for now. Because that's what feels right LOL. Maybe I'll have to scrap my whole passive voice practice; this chapter was hard enough to write as it is. English is hard. (Says the person with a major in English Literature).

Tag List: @pato-social

#A Step Through Time #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fire emblem 3 houses #fire emblem #Sylvix #sylvain jose gautier #felix x sylvain #sylvain x felix #felix hugo fraldarius #time travel AU #Popo writes #Original Character #sophia gabriella fraldarius gautier

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