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undersero · 3 years

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So Well

this is my contribution to march magic, the server collab for @buttershouse

please note: i originally chose for my work to take place during sengoku period japan, but overall there is little significant or identifying factors to support this, so generally it's more of an old world au.

pairing: shinsuke kita x fem reader

warnings: arranged marriage (but kita and reader are in love bc i'm a sap), unprotected vaginal sex, gushing, era-appropriate mentions of the gods/ a higher power, passing mention of era-appropriate expectations regarding sex, flirty and playful kita

word count: 3.2k

**this work is intended for 18+ audiences only. minors do not interact. do not repost this work.**

Kita is a very gentle, loving husband. His hands, calloused from work, always touch you tenderly. Fingertips graze your cheeks as he gazes at you, eyes full of fondness. Soft, sturdy palms smooth over your hair as you lay your head on his chest. Heavy, meaningful nudges as he slides his arms around your waist and smooths his hands up over your breasts. Strong and capable arms tug you into his side while you lay in your bed, being surrounded by his warmth and comfort.

He does little things for you, too. Kita loves preparing your tea for you in the afternoon. It’s never anything special, simple Jasmine tea with a dollop of honey, but he takes great pride in making it for and presenting it to you. He easily reaches tall things and can move things that your arms cannot securely move. More often than you’d initially ever expected, Kita flirts with you- little winks, sometimes he pokes your ticklish sides, tugs affectionately on your hair, kisses the top of your head, bumps your noses together gently.

Kita, who is still so stuck in his ways and his routine, so carefully and lovingly fit you into it so seamlessly it was as if you’d been there all along. He took time for you, to acclimate you into what life on the farm was like; and it was here, amongst all the patience and kind, reassuring smiles, that you truly fell in love with him.

Each morning and each evening, he goes through the garden with you, picking what’s ripe, plucking weeds as needed, and watering. It’s quiet, as things normally are when there’s work to be done, but it’s never awkward. It’s more comfortable than you could have ever imagined. Love doesn’t need constant chatter, and for the two of you, silence works just as well.

Kita is a supportive, loving husband. You couldn’t have chosen a better one if you’d been given the chance.

And if you had been given the chance, if you got to keep what you knew about Kita, you’d pick him every time.

One year ago, when all this started, when you met your future husband for the first time, you were indifferent about the arrangement, and so was he. Being married wasn’t about love or desire, not in the world you two lived in; instead, being married solely revolved around connections, prestige, and social standing. The only silver lining you’d allowed yourself to hope for was that your future husband would be handsome.

And he was. When you first saw him, you were taken aback by his features. You adored and continue to enjoy the direct, honest way he looked at you, how he carried himself with such pride and reliability. The first time you held his hand, feeling it so warm and rough, but gentle all the same, it felt like you’d simply float away, up into the clouds. It was nice. It comforted you, and comfort in love was a luxury you hoped for, but one you never thought you could afford.

One year… it seems both like a lifetime and a second. But now you couldn’t imagine yourself being anywhere else, or being with anyone else. The choice to marry Kita was never yours, but it was one you would make again and again if you could.

Kita, a man of honest words and sometimes hurtful truths, would pick you over and over, too. It was like the gods had been watching you both your whole lives and wove your fates together as a blessing to you both.

Presently, the night is dark and quiet. Millions of stars shine overhead, and a light breeze rustles the broad, green leaves of the trees surrounding your home. Fireflies flicker in the fields and insects chirp. In the distance, an owl hoots. Your barn is closed up for the evening, and from within comes the soft, distant sounds of your resting livestock. All is calm and quiet.

Soft sheets whisper against your bed as Kita pulls them back and slides in next to you. You know he’s in a mood, a playful one, when he gently tugs your book from your hands, careful to slide the bookmark back inside so you don’t lose your page. Even when he’s being frisky, he’s thoughtful, and this fact is just as exciting to you as the way he starts kissing your cheek and rubbing your sides.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” he mumbles, sliding his lips over to yours. You smile against his lips, sliding your hands through his soft hair and tugging, just a little, at the nape of his neck.

“Only a little bit,” you tell him, giving his hair another tug as he groans at the first one. You nudge your noses together before continuing, “but something tells me you aren’t bothered that you interrupted. Not really, at least.”

He hums thoughtfully, as if considering what you’ve said, though you both know fully well that not only did he know he was interrupting, he’d planned on it and fully intended to do so.

“How lucky I am to have such a smart wife who knows me so well,” he says, sliding his hands over your hair.

“Shinsuke, you flatter me,” you chide, heat blossoming through your body as your heart flutters.

“It’s only a portion of what you deserve, dear.”

“Is that so?” you ask, voice quivering the tiniest bit around the edges. Anticipation sets in.

“Mmmm, it is,” he hums, kissing along your face once again before kissing down to the side of your throat, nosing at your pulse and using a gentle but heavy hand to tilt your head to grant him more access to the soft, delicate skin.

“Care to indulge me?” he asks against your throat, “Let me give you more?”

Your heart pounds harder in your chest and suddenly, the space between you and your husband is too vast. You need him closer, more immediate, you need to feel his skin against yours and his mouth on every part of your body.

“How could I say no when you ask so nicely?”

Your voice comes out like a whisper, it’s shaky and needy in a way you’ve only discovered with this man, with your husband, in your bed. Kita slides on top of you, your book tumbling to the floor with a thump and the noise falling on deaf ears. He quickly slides one of his thighs between yours and captures your mouth in a loving, needy kiss.

His lips are soft, but slightly chapped, a side effect from working long hours in the sun. The way his mouth molds to yours is like a dream, something that brings butterflies to your belly, especially when he’s on top of you like this. It’s something you never expected to enjoy, and never expected to desire.

“You,” Kita murmurs, pulling away just enough to speak, his lips moving tantalizingly against yours, “are such a sweet little thing. My sweet little wife.”

Your cheeks burn as shyness washes over you like a tidal wave. By some stroke of luck, Kita doesn’t dwell on this or the adorable way you get so shy when he speaks so sweetly to you. Instead, he presses his lips against yours once more, kissing you with more urgency than he had been.

His hands, both gentle and rough, slide up underneath your night shirt, caressing your sides. You arch your back slightly, sharply inhaling as his hands softly grope the swell of your breasts, thumbs circling the peaking nipples.

He smiles so wide when you whimper that it breaks the kiss.

“You sound so lovely,” he whispers to you, nudging your noses together. The tenderness in the moment and his action makes you shiver, the trill in your spine increasing as Kita slides a hand out from under the fabric of your shirt and tilts your chin up to meet his gaze.

It’s private and intimate, the way he’s looking at you. His cheeks are a little pink, partially from the sun, partially from the close proximity to you. Your husband’s eyes are dark with excitement and anticipation, though he still looks at you with such warmth and devotion that it’s easy to forget, as you so often do, that you hadn’t picked this man for yourself. But you would, again and again. And he’d pick you.

“I wish you could see yourself as I see you,” he murmurs, more for his own benefit than for yours, as he strokes your face tenderly with his fingertips. Finally, you find your voice.

“I was thinking the same thing about you,” you say, a nervous smile pulling at your lips. “You deserve to see...how… good and wonderful I think you are.”

He smiles again. Your heart stops.

Kita, your loving, gentle husband, always makes love to you. He doesn’t fuck you, he doesn’t have sex with you. He makes love to you, and that distinction is hugely important, though it’s not something either of you really address or talk about. You were his first. He was yours, as was expected, and as was appropriate and respectable.

He touches you with the utmost adoration, each moment your skin is touching is saturated in love and devotion. Kita is careful to make every thrust, every kiss, every touch meaningful, and he never fails. He excels when it comes to making you feel good, when it comes to making you feel like you matter, that you’re the center of his world, even though you’d only wandered into it barely a year ago under circumstances beyond either of your controls.

Kita loves you, he’s gentle with you, but that doesn’t mean he loves you any less hard; if anything, it only makes his love for you more potent, and when he shows you, it’s something so beautiful and pure that you can’t question it, not even if you wanted to. Kita loves you. You know this. You love Kita, and he knows.

Tonight is no different.

As your night shirts come off with the whisper of soft cotton on skin, and as Kita presses his torso against yours, warmth encompasses you. Warmth from proximity, from his sun-kissed skin, from your own love and adoration, and from the butterflies filling your gut. This is neither the first nor the last time your husband makes love to you, but it’s thrilling, as always. Exciting. New. Exhilarating.

Kita smells clean, like soap. He takes great care to wash each day when he returns from the fields; the soft, mild scent fills your nostrils as Kita starts working his lips down your neck once more, hands expertly smoothing over every inch of skin he can reach.

You slide your hands down his sides, one diving between his legs and palming his stiffening cock, a movement that has Kita nipping slightly more sharply on your neck than he had been, and it’s this slight twinge of pain that makes you mewl in delight. It almost feels like Kita’s blushing cheeks will burn your skin, and you love it. You love making him feel this way, making him so bashful… you liked knowing that you had his heart in a special way that no one else would have, and that no one else could know.

Soon, Kita’s breath is labored and his cock is throbbing. His right hand has slid between your legs as well. Deliciously rough fingers slide over your slick, sensitive folds, causing whines and gasps to fall off your lips before you can even register them.

Then, his thumb grazes over your swollen clit, the tiny nub sending a ripple of pleasure through your body that’s so strong it makes you shutter. It isn’t delicate or dainty; your shoulders heave and shake and you gasp, guttural grunt leaving your lips as you do. Something in Kita changes, then, because he’d never heard that sound from you before. He’d never seen you move like that, react to him in such an instinctive and almost animalistic way. He wanted more of it. He needed to make you do it again.

Another swipe. A similar reaction. Another, a similar. Repeat.

Soon, tears sting the corners of your eyes, your hand around Shinsuke’s cock has stilled, hasn’t moved since the first time he touched your clit like that. Wetness spreads through your folds at an obscene rate, making you feel embarrassed but aroused in equal measure. Kita’s eyes meet yours, the darkness of them taking your breath away before his lips crash into yours.

It’s a breathless few moments with mouths and tongues clashing and lips being sharply nipped with clumsy teeth. Your heart hammers against your chest and you swear you can feel the outline of each rib as it does- you swear you can hear each blood cell as it rushes through your ears, you swear the room is spinning as desire overwhelms you, threatens to pull you under and never let you go, threatens to drown you-

“I love you,” says Shinsuke, his soft but ragged-with-desire voice breaking through your thoughts. You blink. The tip of his nose barely touches yours as he gazes down at you with lidded eyes.

Something about his gaze is so intimate that it makes you feel more exposed than you already are in your naked state. You swear that, in that moment, he really sees you, sees everything you ever thought and everything you are, and everything you hope to be. Everything. All of it. Kita sees it and still loves you and that’s terrifying.

But you know that the secrets he sees will be safe. You know he loves you.

“I love you, too,” you whisper, as if you’re in a sacred temple, “I love you more than anything.”

He smiles again, and you’re breathless. And he’s kissing you again.

And then he’s sliding into your core, going slowly and steadily like he always does. It’s natural for him, it’s second nature at this point. Rushing you or hurting you just so he can get some relief doesn’t interest him. If you’re pleased, then so is he. If you feel good, he does, too.

Your cunt is warm and inviting. Kita is amazed with it, as usual, brow furrowing and bottom lip catching between his teeth as he sheaths himself in the wet heat. You’re suddenly so full of him that you swear you can feel the tip of his cock pressing against the back of your throat. It’s still something you’re getting used to, but you trust Kita, and this does feel good, and before your thoughts can travel any further, he’s swiping his thumb over your clit again.

The pleasure that spasms through you is a different kind. Being so full, being so close, it made you feel everything more strongly, and the whine that left your lips was more high-pitched than any you’d let out previously. Your brows pinch together in pleasure as goosebumps cover your arms.

“You like that, hm?” Kita wonders aloud, voice so rugged with pleasure and so playful that it makes you want to scream and start fucking yourself down on his cock as quickly as possible.

He must be able to read your mind. That’s the only way Kita possibly knows what you’re thinking about, what you’re aching for.

And he starts thrusting slowly, his strong hips moving in a slow, strong, reliable rhythm, one that’s steady but quickly has your eyes rolling shut. Shinsuke’s cock, thick and veiny, drags along your velvet walls, nudging against sweet little nooks that make you whimper in pleasure, pressing against little bundles of nerves that make your toes curl.

You wrap your arms around Kita’s neck, wrapping your legs around his waist, in turn pushing him deeper into your cunt, making you both gasp with pleasure. After a moment to readjust, Kita starts rocking is cock back into you again and finds that steady pace once more. He leans in and presses his lips against yours, leading you into a series of messy, loving kisses that only make your head spin even further. You swear your heart may explode with the love you have for this man and for the way he treats you and how he loves you so perfectly, just the way you need.

You pull away after a moment, pressing your face into his shoulder, once again smelling his soap, but now being confronted with his musky, comforting scent that is solely your husband’s.

It isn’t long before you’re grabbing at him desperately, pressing closer as his hips jerk into you at less controlled speeds, signalling to you easily that Kita is losing his grip on any control he has and is quickly giving in to the delicious and carnal offerings of your core.

Kita groans as you rake your hands through his hair, tugging it and making it stand out at all odd angles, disheveling his normally put-together appearance. His eyes are bleary now, dark as you feel his stomach start to twitch and clench against your own, a sure-fire indication that your husband is going to cum, and soon.

Your cunt clenches around Kita as your own orgasm approaches, and instead of the mind-numbing and goosebump-causing pleasure the swipes to your clit brought at the beginning, each time Kita’s thumb presses against your hard, sensitive, aching little nub, shockwaves of pleasure, almost to the point of pain, shoot through your entire body.

Soon, it’s all too much, and you can’t hold yourself together any longer, not when he’s making love to you so perfectly. You clench almost violently before you feel your orgasm burst forth, gushing around Kita’s cock like the water which escapes a broken dam.

And Shinsuke can’t hold on, not when you’re milking him like that, not when you’ve gushed around him so nicely. He cums, hips pressing forward wildly for a few seconds and then stilling as he moans your name, pressing his forehead into the side of your face.

For several minutes, it’s quiet. From outside, the owl hoots once more in the distance. The breeze rustles the leaves and the insects continue singing their nighttime ballads. Your heart, as well as Kita’s, slows from its breakneck pace, returning to normal, and the glowing, warm pleasure that encompasses your bodies ebbs away at its own pace.

You’re almost afraid to let go, clutching your husband so tightly for comfort, like he’s your lifeline, that letting go seems like a huge step you can’t take. Kita sighs, a smile tugging at his lips, and grabs your hips to pull you more snugly to him.

“I suppose I should have bathed after I came to bed,” he murmurs against your skin, and you huff out a giggle.

Bathing is the furthest thing on your mind- all you can think about is being tethered, held to the earth by your husband’s strong arms. You couldn’t imagine life elsewhere, or with another. Luckily, you’ll never have to- you and Shinsuke will live out your days on the farm, surrounded by your rice, your livestock, and a spouse who loves you so well.

**this work is intended for 18+ audiences only. minors do not interact. do not repost this work.**

#haikyuu smut #hq smut #shinsuke kita #kita smut #butter's house #butter's house server collab #march magic server collab

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solomonish · 3 years

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Love is Just a Feeling I Do Not Need (Lucifer x Reader)

Even if this dream isn’t yours, just keep dreaming it.

based off of this song.

ao3 link: here!

Ah, don't you know all this shit is annoying me It's not my act and it's driving me crazy That gaze you're giving me, that voice and that face I see Ah, don't you know? I hate them so-o-o

Though Lucifer was normally a fan of reliability and structure, this was a routine he wouldn’t mind going on without.

Every Thursday, sometime between the hours of 5 and 6 o’clock, you and Mammon would find yourselves shuffling nervously in front of his desk, shoulders hunched in anticipation for the verbal lashing you were about to receive. Most often than not, he’d direct his frustration towards Mammon, saving the gentler reprimands for you. It isn’t that he intended to go easy on you - if anything, he truly thought you could do with a little more firm punishment - but you normally got roped into Mammon’s schemes in the middle of trying to stop them. It was a noble, yet foolish, effort, and forcing yourself through the same vicious cycle seemed punishment enough for your naivety.

If ever there was a chance at levelling with you, Lucifer would hope you’d agree that receiving such a punishment was him was a blessing in disguise. He never lacked in the discipline department, but compared to the types of demons out there that weren’t bound by honor or loyalty and would love to take a bite out of you, his lectures were hardly anything to complain about. Though you’d furrow your brows or glower at him every now and then, it was your sweetness that got you into your messes and it was what allowed those transgressions to pass. He could tell that, as burdensome as you clearly thought he was in these moments, you never intended to interrupt his work or irk him beyond repair.

However, even the sweetest of fruits could rot if left on the table for long enough, and you were no different.

Lucifer had hoped that you might be a good influence on Mammon, or at least teach him a little bit of responsibility, but it seemed the influencing was happening the other way around. You got braver with your challenging looks and quips of defiance, only pushing the boundaries further the longer you were in the devildom. Perhaps, in his effort to allow you to ruminate on your actions yourself, he had spoiled you, for you were certainly acting far out of the bounds of what was appropriate for your situation. Not only did you seem to find your consistent troublemaking a persistent problem that needed fixing, but you also thought that, in a house filled with some of the most powerful demons in the realm, you found it a wise decision to directly challenge him, the oldest, the one most capable of hurting you. Lucifer wasn’t known for his tendency to hold back his anger or his punishments, and exchange students didn’t exactly have the privilege of diplomatic immunity.

Even worse, when he told you as much, all you had to say for yourself was, "You know, you don't have to put on this authoritative act for every little thing just to earn my respect."

Even worse for you, you had a lopsided smile that you couldn't repress, one full of arrogance and challenging him directly. He clenched tighter onto his desk, not quite sending spindling fractures through the wood but hearing it creak in protest all the same. Almost immediately, that cocky grin slipped off your face and you murmured an apology, lowering your head in submission in the hopes he would only continue his lecture and not add on to the punishment.

If the work slotted into his day had been any less, he would have come up with some sort of punishment for you. Your sudden cowardice was not enough to force his pride to keel. But his workload was already too immense to be dealing with a human’s daring - stupid - display of defiance, so he waved you off shortly after and stewed over his reports.

Lucifer didn’t miss the way you practically scurried out of his office, nor could he block out the harsh whispers outside his door as Mammon fussed over you. For a brief moment, he figured that he should call you back, give you a fitting punishment for your continued antics and save the future version of himself from these headaches. However, he knew that it’d only breed harsher animosity within you, and you would only work harder to annoy him. At the mere thought, his headache returned, and he focused on the paper on the desk in his attempt to block out the pain.

Whether it was due to your tendency to attract danger or his own tendency to micromanage once given a job (and dedicated to his task to assist in the exchange program he was), Lucifer found himself keeping an eye on you whenever he could. Oftentimes, he was out of your range, working in his office or assisting Diavolo wherever he may be in the expansive school. Even during class, when he wasn’t pulled aside to help Diavolo, he was in some of the most advanced classes in the school, all far above your level as a human thrown into an unfamiliar realm. That was one of the reasons he assigned you as Mammon’s responsibility - even though he did know, deep down, that his brother would rise to the occasion, he was also the only brother in a few of the lower level classes you had. That was a thought he didn’t dare linger on for too long, lest he feel another flare of anger build up.

Still, there were moments when he passed you in the hall, or beckoned you to follow him into his office to smooth over some administrative details regarding your exchange student status in the Devildom. Each time you turned your back, he found himself watching you leave, as if his gaze alone was enough to send you safely on your own. Nobody caught him staring - and if they did, they had the wisdom to pretend they didn’t. Yet you were human in every aspect of the word, tactless, weak and unwise, and when you caught his gaze - which he hated to admit had happened, and hated even more to count exactly how many times it happened - you smiled at him kindly. Those times, you weren’t planning anything or hoping to annoy him. You were merely treating him like a friend, giving him a silent greeting when you knew he wouldn’t make his way over to you to meet you properly.

Treating him like a friend...treating him with as much familiarity as you did his brothers? The thought insulted him. If you weren’t afraid of him, he would have to amend that quickly. Until he could see the respect in your gaze, and until he could be certain you feared him how he wanted you to, he loathed that stupid grin on your face as much it made his stomach churn.

It isn't fate or a miracle that brought us here Expecting nothing, it all remains so unclear Since I don't mind if you aren't really the best I'm sure that we'll be fine Come and hold me tight

Weeks and months did nothing to quell your troublesome nature. If anything, the more familiar you found yourself with your surroundings, the more you tried to bend the rules until they broke. Lucifer was aware of all of your antics - at least, he certainly hoped there weren’t any he was missing, because then he’d wonder if your feeble human body could handle all of that activity. Still, Lucifer was a man who knew how to pick his battles, no matter what his behavior with his brothers may say. More often than not, he warned against the stupid ideas he could see brewing in your mind, figuring that if there was no stopping you he could at least instill you with the proper sense of caution.

If he sat too long on the thought of how much trouble you really did cause, the only thought in his mind screamed the audacity! What kind of entitlement did you think you had? How could one human decide this realm was theirs to meddle with?

It was infuriating how much you managed to get wrapped up in, despite your inexperience. Perhaps it was that inexperience that had you scrambling about the Devildom like a new, untrained puppy that insisted on chewing everybody’s shoes? (This is why Lucifer never allowed pets, he realized. If his brothers couldn’t control a creature they could communicate with, how could they control an animal?) Maybe you assumed that being under the care of the seven demon lords meant you had some sort of immunity to the consequences of your antics. But being under their care did not mean they cared for you, and it was time that you realized just how lucky it was that you managed to survive this long.

Brash as it may sound, you weren’t anything special. At best, you were extraordinarily lucky (or unlucky, depending on how you enjoyed the exchange program); one human chosen out of billions. You had no standing here, not one of chosen status, no power or understanding of the magic that ruled the world around them.

It did work in your favor, if only a little bit. At least this way, Lucifer had no expectations of you coming in, so your disruptive behavior was no more disappointing than was to be expected. He had no image of you in his mind, nothing for you to contradict. It’s not as if you really cared what he thought, but it sure saved him the bother of reconciling his mental image with the unfortunate reality you were. Of course, that also meant that he didn’t always know what kind of trouble you were about to stir up, just that you would definitely stir up some trouble.

It isn’t until he hears a loud crash and your voice among the startled yelps that he realizes how much time he took from his reports to reflect on you.

Or rather….on your behavior.

Love is just a feeling I do not need I can't handle it so I'll go on tirelessly Close your eyes and feel me breathe down your neck Even if this dream isn't yours, just keep dreaming it

Yes, this was the best solution.

He noticed the way your shoulder tensed when you heard his footsteps. Have you learned the sound of his footsteps already? How cute.

You were sitting at a table in the library with Satan standing not too far away. Lucifer remembered Mammon begging someone to be your escort home so he could take care of some business with the witches, and after some arguing and a firm interruption by yours truly, Satan was tasked with bringing you home safely. Of course, he had to stop in the school library first - some human wasn’t going to force him to change his plans. You had the wisdom to take out an assignment to work on, clearly one of the easier ones that wouldn’t be too disturbed if you stopped in the middle when Satan was prepared to leave.

Lucifer didn’t plan on stopping in the library, but Diavolo was stuck in a separate meeting and he happened to be walking by, so why shouldn’t he check on the human in his charge?

He approached you with quiet, even steps, enjoying the way you went stiff as soon as he was near enough to start speaking to you. You looked to be expecting that, though, and he just couldn’t have that. No, instead he stepped directly behind your chair, placing one hand on the back of it so his gloved knuckles barely brushed against your shoulder. Bending at the waist, he leaned down so his chin almost touched your other shoulder, his breath ghosting your ear as he peered down at the paper in front of you.

“I see you’re taking your duties here in the Devildom seriously for once,” He started, his voice almost a deep purr. “Diavolo will be pleased to hear this report.”

You were fighting a shiver at the sound of his voice alone. He knew that you knew that he could feel the way you held back your shiver. That probably pleased him more than if you had actually done it.

“U-uh, yeah,” You stammered, fiddling with your pencil. “I’m just...trying to get some work done.”

He hummed, looking over your answers and taking his sweet time doing so. The longer he remained leaning by your side, the more he could hear your breath shallowing. Even if he was in charge of your safety, that didn’t mean he couldn’t still have a little bit of fun with the human that had a penchant for having too much fun with him.

Before you could swat him away, he quickly straightened himself out and patted your shoulder. Satan had returned by that point, just rounding the corner of a bookshelf and narrowing his eyes the moment he saw Lucifer. A second later, his eyes drifted down to you and he furrowed his eyebrows - clearly, Lucifer had affected you much more than he could see, and the thought made him preen himself on the inside.

“I trust you’ll keep up the good work. Keep an eye on them, Satan.”

His cold demeanor was back, and neither of you had anything to say about it. How joyful things turned out to be.

Much to your chagrin, Lucifer was a fast learner, and he took to flustering you just enough to keep you sedated when he felt you’d cause trouble. At first, all it took was a little invasion of your personal space, a targeted breath or a pat on the shoulder, all things you could easily brush off as just him trying to communicate a point the way humans do. After a while, you built up a feeble tolerance that he could send toppling down again by switching those pats to gentle strokes. He might be getting friendly with you, but you never made any attempt to push him away.

He didn’t have any ulterior motives. He could justify himself by saying this was the only way to keep you under control. Lucifer may not have been the avatar of lust, but he was never one to be shown up by his brothers. Seduction was an art form he had mastered long ago, and even if he wasn’t purposely intending to bed you, he was a maestro at using his skills to affect you. Besides, the faces you made and the way you flustered yourself when he was even in the same room as you was enough to encourage him to keep going.

It didn’t matter that, after a while, Mammon had convinced you to get back into his schemes. It didn’t matter that when Lucifer asked you sly questions about finishing your work, you had some response about needing to have time to make his life even harder.

There was no harm in trying to keep you charmed, was there? Not when you seemed to be enjoying it so.

It's no use to just regret all night long So instead of mourning why don't you take me along? Just admit that I'm the best, can't you see? Love me till I hurt oh baby, come dance the night away with me

This was a song and dance the two of you learned the steps to quickly, one that went on for much longer than it had any right to. This was a fact you realized when it, quite literally, culminated in a dance.

Lucifer considered himself a master of tact, figuring that he could settle your tomfoolery once and for all with a rather serious talking to. Maybe, since this time you conversation would happen in public with the prince as a witness, you might listen and take some of his words to heart. Or, in the worst case scenario, at least he could be sure to keep your attention for long enough to get a meaningful message across.

Getting you alone was easy enough. Though you were surrounded by some of his brothers, it seemed Mammon was the only other one interested in separating you from the group and was stumbling over himself in his efforts to make it happen. Besides, even with the way you disregarded every warning he gave you, at least you learned that Lucifer only ever asks as a formality. So, he found himself leading you by the hand to the middle of the floor, placing a hand on your waist as casually as one can and mimicking the way the others moved around you.

“What is it you’re plotting with Asmo?” In order to keep the conversation between the two of you, he leaned down slightly to mutter in your ear - not close enough to raise any suspicions, but close enough that you could certainly feel just how much he had you in his grasp. Moments ago, he had already made you aware of his intentions, so the shocked expression on your face really had no right to be there. Still, he couldn’t say he didn’t find a sort of pleasure in the way he could practically hear your blood rush through your veins as you tried to keep up your facade of control. Unfortunately for the both of you, you were as easy to see through as you were frustrating.

“Let me make one thing clear,” He practically hissed, enjoying the way you shivered. “I respect my brothers’ freedom to do as they wish. However, if I ever sense that you’ve become a threat to Diavolo or us, then I will show you absolutely no mercy. Understood?”

Lucifer made sure to snake his arm around your back, holding you against him and gripping your hand with as much strength as he could without truly hurting you. He had effectively caged you in, making sure that you knew there was no escape from the way he knew things needed to be done. And you really needed to stop poking your nose into their business.

“I-I want to be good friends with all of you, Lucifer,” You answered, giving a pathetic tug to the hand in his grasp. Without responding, Lucifer narrowed his eyes at you and relaxed his grip slightly. Somehow, you proved yourself to be a bigger fool than he originally thought.

“Well, that is not what I want.”

He watched your face fall at that, and there was the strangest coil in his stomach at that reaction. What, had you genuinely thought you could just waltz into the Devildom and call the Demon Lords your pals? What would you even have to gain from that?

Before he could admonish you further, Solomon appeared from the crowd, offering you a smile that was so casual it could only be practiced. For just a moment, his eyes flickered to your waist, where Lucifer’s grip was still strong - Lucifer didn’t dare loosen up, lest Solomon think he had any shame in being “caught.”

When Solomon asked to steal you away, Lucifer obliged, sending you off with what could only be described as a warning glance. You seemed relieved to be in the hold of somebody else, and Lucifer couldn’t blame you. At least you seemed to have some common sense about you. Still, he couldn’t deny the way the coil in his stomach only got tighter.

He figured it was just a result of both human exchange students being massive headaches and did his best to brush it away.

Ah, don't you know all this shit is annoying me You're in my world now, away from reality As long as I can toy with you for just a moment Then I don't mind, if you aren't really mine

Perhaps Lucifer was a fool for thinking if he left you alone you wouldn’t fester.

You had managed to be so, so much worse than he ever expected you to be. It wasn’t enough to simply meddle in the affairs of the brothers so readily available to you - no, five demons were not enough to sate your endless need for trouble. So, in the few months you had been in the Devildom, you decided to somehow find the one brother he needed to keep hidden from you and, in the process of going against explicit orders, set Belphegor free and get yourself killed. For a moment, seeing your lifeless body in Mammon’s arms, Lucifer wasn’t sure what had thrown him off: seeing his brother free and knowing the punishment that was charging towards him fast enough that he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop it, or the mountain of paperwork that would surely come from this turn of events. Mammon’s desperate denial echoing through the entrance of their manor wasn’t exactly helping, either.

But then you did the only thing you did better than causing endless migraine for Lucifer: you fixed your mistakes and started building something better from them.

After you revealed yourself and let the brothers know that you were still alive - while also somehow airing everybody’s dirty laundry at once, something he made a note to talk to you about - he watched as somehow, slowly, his brothers looked at each other with the same appreciation they used to in the Celestial Realm, lurking just beneath the surface. Sure, there was still plenty of progress to be made, but he finally saw a fracture in the insurmountable mountain he had been facing for thousands of years - and it was all because of you.

With the churning feeling the thought brought him, he started to understand how love and hate were thought of as two sides of the same coin.

Leviathan could be found peeking out of his room slightly more often, gravitating to the room you were in with a handheld device and offering to show you what he was playing. Satan took his books out, too, sitting in the same room as you and occasionally casting what he thought were sneaky glances your way. Asmodeus insisted on spending more time with you in his own way, trying to hide the way he held your face in his hands a little longer than necessary by saying he was assessing the state of your skin. Beel seemed more open around you, occasionally dropping snacks in your lap without needing to be asked, giving you a look that seemed to both ask if you were alright and assure you that he was when you met eyes. Even Belphegor had warmed up to you, trying to sandwich himself in between you and anybody close to you or pulling you away to quieter spaces where he could nap in your presence. Lucifer watched as the unease gradually melted away from your expression with each attempt he made to get you alone, until you seemed to feel safe with him.

As usual, Mammon stayed by your side, especially in the days after your...incident. There were many times when you would sit on a couch in the common room, only for Mammon to come flying in moments later and sit so close to you he was practically on your lap. Lucifer bit his warnings for him to be careful back at least half of the time, deciding that this puppy-dog behavior at least seemed to be keeping the two of you out of trouble.

Trouble…

It only took your untimely death and a harsh reminder of just how close you had managed to get to his brothers to force him into realizing that trouble was all he ever thought you of. Lucifer couldn’t quite decipher why that left such a sour taste in his mouth. Perhaps it was the fact that since the incident with Belphegor, he had barely seen you. Honestly, he only saw you a fraction of the day compared to the amount of times he needed to usher you into his office to set you straight beforehand. As embarrassed as he was to be suffering through such...withdrawal, a long day of stress from his brothers had him summoning for you before dinner.

You only opened the door enough to squeeze yourself through, sneaking in as if he were a sleeping lion you shouldn’t dare to wake. He watched as you slowly made your way in front of his desk, fiddling with your fingers the way you did when you were nervous. Strange. As far as he knew, you hadn’t done anything wrong. He hoped that if you did, you had the wisdom to keep your mouth shut.

“You wanted to see me?” You asked in a small voice. Lucifer held you in a steady gaze, glad that Mammon decided not to follow you this time. He’d have known how much of an act this was from the get go and scold him for ‘making the move on his human.’

“Yes.” Lucifer took his sweet time shuffling through the papers on his desk, watching you through his peripheral vision. He could feel your stress levels rising as you waited for an unknown blow, watching as you subconsciously fidgeted the longer he let the silence go on. When he decided that he had teased you enough, he leaned back in his chair and said, “I merely wanted to see how our exchange student was doing.”

“H-huh?!” You asked. Indignation flashed on your face in the most wonderful display before quickly being taken over by your practiced calm facade. “O-oh, I’m fine, thanks.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Just fine?”

“Well….yeah. I’m good.”

Clearly, you weren’t one for conversation right now. With a sigh, he leaned back and thumbed through the papers on his desk again before pulling one out of the stack and placing it in front of him. Furrowing his eyebrows, he reached in his drawer and pulled out a small stack held together with a paperclip and dropped that one on top of the single sheet, holding back a smirk at the way you flinched.

“Good. Then I suppose we can get started on this paperwork about the whole accident.”

“What?!”

“Well, we still have to file an accidental death report. Or perhaps we should fill out an injury notice…? Ah, nevermind. It seems you’re up for both.”

He allowed you to turn on your heel and leave without another word. After staring at the now-empty space for a moment, he put the stack of absentee notices back in his drawer and continued on with his work.

It isn't jealousy or hate that made me act like that I'm not like her, so there's no need to get mad I know my way around this heat that we feel So don't worry, just enjoy Don't give me that look, boy!

You ran your hand down the side of your face, trying in futility to wipe the sleepiness from your mind. Sitting in the dimly lit office, you listened as Lucifer droned on about your test grade. The lecture had turned into a study session, which you appreciated, but it quickly turned back into a lecture after one too many mistakes on your part. You could see the irritation clear on his face, yet he was speaking to you as if you had just been caught plotting something treasonous against Diavolo.

You tried to huff quietly, but Lucifer’s sharp ears heard you. The stony glare he held you in woke you up instantly. “Oh, is this too boring? Perhaps that explains your performance.”

Already having been caught, you sighed. “No, Mammon has just been keeping me up lately.” It was too late in the night to think about how you accidentally ratted him out.

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed so you could only see the red seemingly glowing with the rage he was hardly holding back. Stopping the pacing he had taken up an hour ago, he turned towards you and took long strides to stand in front of the desk until he was beside his chair. You kept your sleepy gaze locked on his eyes, a silent challenge for him to back down. What would he do to the precious, fragile little human while they’re half asleep?

With a sigh, Lucifer closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, his own way of breaking the stare-off without really admitting defeat. “I should have known he had something to do with this.”

“Hey…” If Lucifer ended up punishing Mammon for your own slip-up with your grades, you’d be feeling guilty about it for weeks. “It wasn’t really his fault. I should know by now how much studying I need to do…”

“Hmph. Since this leads back to him, I suppose I have no choice. The two of you are banned from seeing each other until I can come up with a fitting punishment and study regimen to set you both straight.”

“What?” You stood up from your chair, not changing how he literally looked down on you but feeling as if you looked more imposing. “You can’t just do that!”

“I will do what I must to keep you on track, as is my responsibility.”

“You cannot forbid me from talking to your brothers. Besides, isn’t he supposed to be my guardian?”

“You have more pacts, should the need arise. If he insists on hoarding your time as he has, then-”

“Oh, is that what this is about? I didn’t expect you to be so jealous about it.” You scoffed. “Now you’re really being a Mammon.”

“Do not compare me to him in that way ever again!” He barked at you, slamming a hand down on the desk with a loud bang! That shut you up quickly, and you watched Lucifer warily in case he lost control of himself. For a brief moment, the human glamour surrounding him faded and you saw a flicker of his wings, feathers splayed out and bristled in his anger. “This study session has gotten away from us. You may turn in for the night.”

Despite his mighty anger, the time you spent with him and your inherent recklessness left you unable to cower. The longer you stayed in a stand-off, the more pointed your expression got until you were giving him the most doubtful expression he had ever seen on your face. “You know, I wouldn’t mind spending these nights with you if they didn’t always end with you yelling at me.”

As if on cue, the D.D.D. you left on the desk lit up, allowing Lucifer a glimpse of the many messages and calls left by none other than the second brother. Fighting back a grimace, he watched you snatch it up and collect your books in a hurry. Some of the papers crinkled as you shoved them into your bag, but he didn’t wince - he did play a part in your haste, after all.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out who you were going to vent to in a few minutes. Lucifer couldn’t bring himself to care, though, not when he had the distinct feeling he had ruined his chances at a goal he wasn’t aware he was trying to meet.

Love is just a feeling I do not need I can't take it so untie it as much as you please Close your eyes and stop your breath if you dare Even if this dream isn't yours, just keep dreaming it

He hadn’t intentionally softened up on you, yet he found that he took those words to heart.

After the incident in his office, you told him that you thought you’d study better on your own and improved your grade with your next test. In the weeks leading up to it, Lucifer could hardly get you to stop for him, only seeing you at dinner and when he would text you about urgent transfer student business. Even after he got word of your improved marks, he still had trouble getting to you for long enough to offer a proper congratulations. You really did prove yourself to be a ton of effort time and time again.

It wasn’t until you started to seek him out that he was able to properly communicate with you again.

You found him in the kitchen when he had dinner duty, on a rare night when he didn’t need to bribe someone to pick it up for him. He could feel your presence even with his back turned, aware of the way you leaned against the doorframe and crossed your arms. He finished chopping the ingredients on the cutting board in front of him before looking over his shoulder at you curiously.

“Need a hand?” You asked. Something in your voice was different - more confident. Lucifer could hear the challenge in it, even if the details still hadn’t made themselves known.

He gestured to the small pile of dishes in the sink, not about to turn your company away. You nodded and started to run the water, letting silence settle between you. Finding himself watching you for a few beats too long, Lucifer cleared his throat and turned his attention back to his chopped vegetables. He noticed that the second half were chopped a little more unevenly than the other pieces, and he quickly pushed them into the pan.

Clearly, you had taken a page from his book and decided to leave him in wait, biding your time before finally hitting him with your carefully chosen words. Unlike you normally were, he wasn’t on the edge of his seat, sweating in anticipation - but the longer the silence wore on, he found his patience wearing thin. Even if this performance of yours was amusing, he still found himself aggravated by just how far you thought you could push your luck.

Finally, you decided to speak up. “Have I been avoiding you these past few weeks?”

Lucifer didn’t let himself falter in stirring the pot on the stove. “I believe that’s a question only you know the answer to.”

“Hm. Well, I haven’t been meaning to.”

“Based on our last meeting, that much has been hard to tell.”

“Do you really think I’m so petty?” You turned the water on to rinse the bowl in your hands, forcing him to wait until responding.

“With so many strong personalities now bound to you in pacts, it’s hard to tell how their influence will manifest.”

You gave him a bitter laugh, shoving your hands in the water until your palms flattened out on the bottom of the sink. The warm water felt hotter on the skin on your forearms that hadn’t been able to build a tolerance to it. Even if your intent was not to start a petty argument, his intentions clearly didn’t align with yours.

“No, I think I have to solid a grasp on myself to let them do that to me.”

He said nothing, but you could hear his confident footsteps as he approached you. His gaze met yours in a silent challenge as he slid the cutting board in the water, unconsciously allowing himself to gravitate towards you. When he got too close for you, you grabbed a spatulat from the bottom of the sink and gently pressed the flat end against his chest to push him away. Lucifer glanced at his shirt, clearly miffed at the damp stripe across his chest.

“You know, Lucifer, if you want a pact with me, you just have to ask.”

For a moment, the expression on Lucifer’s face was too convoluted for you to make sense of. He certainly didn’t look caught off guard, but he also wasn’t as furious as you thought he’d be. With his eyebrows furrowed together and his gaze searching yours, you couldn’t figure out where his shock and confusion ended and his anger began. You cursed him and how he always seemed to have a grasp on what he let you know through his expressions alone.

Lucifer stood there, hoping that the confusion on your face wasn’t covering something else that would force you away from him. He couldn’t understand how you always managed to pierce through him and see directly into his mind. As he was coming to understand it, he did want a pact with you. Certainly not because he saw how close those brothers of his were to you now, though - he was not the avatar of envy, and he had nothing to be envious of, especially in regards to them - but the thought of his mark on your skin, the thought of you belonging to him in such a way was undeniably appealing.

However, every interaction with you didn’t seem to push him in the direction of ever obtaining such a relationship with you.

Quickly gathering his wits, he only scoffed and went back to his post on the other side of the kitchen. You turned towards your job, too. This time, he wasn’t the only one ruminating in stubborn silence.

I don't feel no guilt, oh, is that so wrong? Ah, instead of asking why don't you take me along? Just admit that I'm the best, now you see Love me till I hurt oh baby, come over here and set me free

Asmodeus: You won’t believe what I just found out about the succubus I was telling you about yesterday! Satan: Have you gotten to the seventeenth chapter yet? It really is the turning point, in my opinion. Leviathan: ok thx Lucifer, YOU S*CK!: Heh, yeah, that’ll be perfect. Mammon: Oi, are you even paying attention to me?!?

With a sigh, you turned your D.D.D. off without responding to the messages and tucked it back in your bag.You were already on your way to the House of Lamentation. The brothers could (and would) bother you the moment you walked through the door.

“I’ve sighed like that many times,” Lucifer said beside you, looking down at you with a polite half smile. “My brothers are hounding you again, no doubt.”

“Yeah...they’re quite...affectionate.”

“That is a word you could use,” He agreed. “Though sometimes, not the most accurate.”

You chuckled them, purposely averting your gaze. Part of Lucifer wanted to direct your attention back to him so he could watch the pretty blush that painted your cheeks as you laughed, but he kept his hands to his sides. It was so difficult anymore to know what you were thinking. The closer he got to you, the more he learned to find comfort in your presence, the more he found the pesky feeling of hope cloud his judgement and his crystal-clear vision. How could he be sure that, now that the two of you were finally on good terms, you weren’t comfortable with the relationship? It had been so long since Lucifer had to forge an entirely new relationship, and he had the world’s most troublesome (or second most troublesome, considering your competition) human to work with. Though he was never one to question his own judgement, he still couldn’t help but tsk at the sheer absurdity of the task.

“This is probably the most peaceful walk home I’ve had in a while. It’s astonishing how easy they make getting caught up in trouble on the way seem.”

“Is that why the other day you seemed so shocked when we told you the walk was only a few minutes?”

You chuckled again. “Yeah. All the detours make it seem longer.”

“Perhaps one of these days, I should take you on a detour of my own then?” When you stopped walking, he turned back to give you a sly smile. “I’m not one to be bested by my brothers, you know.”

“Wow, ruthless,” You began walking again and fiddled with your backpack strap nervously. “Maybe I should be the one to plan it, though. I’m not entirely convinced your version of a detour wouldn’t involve more paperwork.”

“Shall I be looking forward to this date, then?” Lucifer could feel the embarrassment radiating off of you. He loved to make you this flustered, so he could realign his sights while you were too preoccupied to hide behind anything. And you just so happened to be unbearably cute with your face turning red. The way you muttered ‘yes’ and dashed up the steps to the house had him preening.

Love is just a feeling I do not need I can't handle it so I'll go on tirelessly Close your eyes and feel me breathe down your neck Even if this dream isn't yours just keep dreaming it

Bit by bit, Lucifer found himself finally, finally getting closer to you without any unpleasant endings. (Well, save for the ones where one of his brothers interrupted and dragged you away, but the two of you shared a fondness for their shenanigans that made it difficult to stay mad at them.)

Or, well...staying mad at them was difficult for you/.

Lucifer wasn’t upset with his brothers, but there was a certain frustration bubbling up beneath the surface that he had to wrestle down every time he had a moment to wonder about their actions. He couldn’t blame them for wanting to spend time with you - after all, he himself was trying to make himself time in your schedule. Not only that, but the ever-approaching end of the semester was looming over them, and everyone could feel the desperate attempts to get one last bid for your affections in before you left. The whole situation was rather distracting, his far-wandering thoughts only adding to the time he spent hunched over his desk instead of out with you.

Lucifer was not a man to waste time bemoaning facts that he could not change. That did not mean he was immune from all feelings of doubt or irritation. He might have been able to concentrate if there wasn’t such a pesky thought creeping up on him the second he let his mind stray from his papers. Still, he couldn’t help the ugly sensation of being caught in a competition where he might actually be losing.

Though he had faith in your tenacity - that and your boldness were truly qualities to marvel at - Lucifer did wonder just how much you valued availability. He thought that the two of you had come to a silent agreement - that you thought alike, that you felt alike - but as much as he knew what happened beyond the door to his office, you remained the enigma.

It would be so easy if he could just get you to admit that he was the one you thought of above all the others. The desire for such a simple statement, he hid with faux aggravation at your refusal to admit such a simple task. As much as he tried to convince himself that you were hanging out with the others as a replacement for him, he knew just how much and how uniquely you valued the others.

He didn’t need to use force to get what he wanted, but he was slightly accustomed to nothing standing strong in the presence of his power. You, however, never bowed, and it grated at him how much he wanted to rightfully earn that place in your heart and how difficult it was to just get you to say it.

His thoughts distracted him from his papers, his papers distracted him from his thoughts. They all distracted him from you, aside from when he wondered if you were thinking something similar about him.

Are you really asking why you're alone? Turned your back on me and I get why you don't want more Come back, hold me, dear, love me till I scream

Your departure was approaching, and Lucifer found himself alone.

His moments not spent on work or cleaning up after his brothers were normally spent with you. Unless, of course, those moments happened in the early hours of the morning and he should be dead on his pillow.

Perhaps if he found himself graced with your presence, he wouldn’t have slept anyway. It wasn’t sleep he was chasing, after all, but you. You were the one he was vying for, even if his pursuit felt less romantic and more like running after a wild goose. No good things came easy, he told himself. He didn’t need easy.

But your longing glances were getting harder to pull away from, and the days until you left were already in the single digits. It was hard enough to steal you away for a moment, let alone enough time to lay his intentions bare and finally get what you both wanted.

He hated the thought that he had let you take the lead in the relationship in a roundabout sense, so he preoccupied himself with anger over having to do all the hard work himself.

He could list off all the reasons you would return to him, the obvious choice, for hours if asked, and even then only put a dent in the miles of options. The fact that he even considered justifying himself to anyone felt foreign, but he let his mind settle on the thought anyway. Still, it didn’t go unnoticed how you didn’t try to leave the sides of his other brothers, how nobody bothered to knock on his door anymore, too preoccupied with you. He missed you already, and he hadn’t even seen you off yet.

Lucifer knew that you’d come to him eventually. He didn’t doubt you, and he certainly didn’t doubt himself. But you had a habit of making him wait and wonder.

He was just about tired of waiting, he was tired of wondering, and he didn’t know if he could take another dream that only left him more confused than he was when he fell asleep.

Don't you ever wake up baby, keep on dreaming our dream

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bunnieresources · 3 years

Text

cookie run: ovenbreak writing prompts.

“ all problems are illusions of the mind. “

“ stop thinking about needing to stop thinking... “

“ i won’t go easy on you. “

“ we all know how this is going to end, by me winning! “

“ are you... afraid of me? “

“ i just wanted to be... a hero... “

“ just don’t cry, alright? “

“ a perfect subject for my further experiments! “

“ would you like to volunteer for a special experiment? “

“ everyone has a dark side, everyone! “

“ silly you, no one can hear you scream in the darkness. “

“ you’ve been most... useful. “

“ hey, does running late count as exercise? “

“ seen my bounty? i’m that good! “

“ are you trying to get on my good side? “

“ i’m here! beg for mercy! “

“ so tell me... i’m the scariest, am i? “

“ life is tough. but it’s worth living. “

“ i barely made it out alive... “

“ do you wish to know your fate...? “

“ blessings aren’t my thing, but curses i know well. “

“ i knew you would come. “

“ here, one must learn to survive. “

“ halt! or i’ll shoot! “

“ i’ll never kneel before anyone! “

“ only i can see your true worth! “

“ no use in hiding, my friend. “

“ everything was perfect, right? “

“ i’ll be fine. i’m not tired at all! “

“ please... don’t make anything explode... “

“ i have been alone for quite some time. “

“ certain things are best kept as secrets. “

“ if i choose you, it matters not what you did. “

“ do not attempt to sway me with petty gifts. “

“ come visit again! promise? please? “

“ i think i’m quite smart! i know everything! “

“ no two stars in the world are the same. “

“ caring for someone is truly magical. “

“ i hope this brings you much joy. “

“ i know many things, for i've seen the start and end of the stars. “

“ i am more at home at sea than i am on land. “

“ i sometimes ponder if my choices were wrong. “

“ i can fix anything! trust me! “

“ what is the matter? your problem was erased. “

“ do you desire to change your past? “

“ how was it? think it went perfect? “

“ will you be my friend? “

“ don’t worry, i won’t hurt you... maybe. “

“ don’t be afraid, i won’t hurt you... much! “

“ this is the chosen path for me. “

“ i take it you’re being sincere... “

“ even your sweet words can’t shake my will! “

“ why so serious? just enjoy the show. “

“ you called for this? i have places to be. “

“ now, don’t be jealous. “

“ oh, tell me, how do i look? “

“ staying inside is sooo dull! “

“ i’m up for anything exciting! “

“ ah, have you already fallen for my charms...? “

“ i’m afraid of nothing! including death! “

“ don’t come near! i don’t want to hurt you... “

“ stay away from me... for your own good. “

“ don’t disturb me. i need to focus. “

“ why am i always the one who's alone...? “

“ that’s not how love works! “

“ you? against me? ha! “

“ i’ll see you in my dreams. “

“ spare me your flattery! “

“ i feel the warmth of your heart. “

“ they say true love is like an eternal flame... “

#hehe cookie game go brrrrr #ask memes #rp memes #inbox memes #ask prompts #rp prompts #inbox prompts #writing memes #writing prompts #writing resources #rp resources #sentence starters

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ahankar1610 · 3 years

Text

Hello there, people of Romione. Nah, second fic. It's inspired by 'a walk to remember', the novel coz the movie did not give book the justice.🙄🙂

I hope you people will like my romione version, and thank you to everyone who gave their time to 'The Trojan Princess', update is not far away on that one 😉😉.

A Tale of Ron and Hermione.

FFNET: 👇

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13926524/1/A-Tale-of-Ron-and-Hermione

AO3: 👇

The first chapter is here 👇.

English is not my first language so I hope, you people can adjust. Coz if I didn't have my sister to help me, you all would have been suffering my disheveled English 😅😅.

Please read and review and visit it on ao3 and ffnet. Thank you. 😊😊

Chapter-1

(President Granger) Hermione Granger sighs as she sat on the bench outside the office of professor McGonagall's office. She is frustrated because of the upcoming bloody Halloween Ball. She had to be present at the ball, not because she is the Head girl, it is because she is the president of the Student Council which was officially created by the Ministry of Magic to find the best upcoming talents who are capable of leading Britain as the best magical country of the Wizarding World. She was one of the first student who was selected for the group, because of her habit of being at the top of the class in the last six academic years of her. Though it was a surprise for her when professor McGonagall called her and informed her that she wants her to be candidate from Gryffindor who will compete against the other candidates from the other three houses for the post of the president. To be honest, she never expected herself to win as she was never the popular student, but as Merlin have blessed her that she got Harry Potter as her best friend. Harry is unofficially, the most popular student of Hogwarts. His wonder of securing place in the quidditch team when he was just a firstie, and being the youngest seeker of the century was a huge endorsement for his famousness. Then in no less a time Gryffindor team became unbeatable and he was the best seeker of the Gryffindor team after Charlie Weasley left and being James Potter's son, one of the most wealthy and successful businessman of the Wizarding World, has its own perks as he was showered with high class quidditch material by his quidditch enthusiast father. Harry was one of the first ever person to befriend her. It was her first year and she had asked the way to the Platform 9¾ from the Potters and from there her friendship with Harry started and she believed that it is because of Harry, she had made friends in their year. She had Lavender and Parvati, who at first did not liked her much but warmed later and they created a great bond together. Seamus and Dean are no exception as they were there for her before she befriended any female from Gryffindor house. She had asked Harry for his help in the campaign for the voting and he had enthusiastically took part in her campaign for everyone's glee and her embarrassment as he once created a wall sized poster of her, with bold words engraved on it. VOTE FOR HERMIONE GRANGER THE FUTURE OF THE WIZARDING WORLD She still receives teasing for that incident. She surprisingly won the voting defeating the candidates of the other houses. Though it was hard work regarding the other candidates of the other houses were brilliant in themselves too. Daphne Greengrass was the Slytherin candidate, she has the honorary title of the Hogwarts' ice queen but is respected by many because of her unbiased views on everyone, even on the Gryffindors. She also received the best prefect award in their fifth year and she also beaten her to the top in the fifth class as she received one mark more than her in their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.s, though she and Greengrass never had a real conversation, there is a unspoken mutual respect between them. Terry Boot was the Ravenclaw candidate and he was also one of the best students academically in their year, but he is not much of a person of interacting and perhaps it was the reason he lost. She blessed Harry as he was the one who forced her to put her book down once and introduced her to the thing called fun or she would have faced the same fate as Boot. Zacharias Smith, she laughed as Smith came into her mind, after all Smith was one of the main causes which made her the winner of the voting. Smith, though good in the academics, is not in the good graces of many people around Hogwarts, including his own house fellows. Sweet Professor Sprout, certainly made a mistake choosing Smith as her house's candidate. Perhaps she never heard of Smith's infamousness between the students. He was disliked even in his own house by many and that is the reason they choose to vote for her as they didn't know

much about Boot and Greengrass must have faced the consequences of Professor Snape's biasness toward the other houses. "President," said a soft voice, she turned her head and a fourth year Hufflepuff girl was standing there and the door of Professor McGonagall's office is opened. "Professor McGonagall has called you inside," said the girl, Hermione nodded and stood up. She walked inside the office closing the door behind and noticed the girl has gone now. "Miss Granger," said a stern voice in greetings. Professor Minerva McGonagall is sitting behind her desk with a stern expression and her cat like eyes scanning her whole features. Professor McGonagall had given her the responsibility speech when she chosen her, the Gryffindor candidate. She had made sure Hermione fills the both responsibilities of Head Girl and President of Student Council decently. "Good afternoon professor," Hermione greeted back. Professor McGonagall nodded and motioned her to take a seat while she rummaged through some papers spread on her desk. It was something surprising to see, for Hermione at least as she had always noticed from their first year that there is no messiness you can expect from Professor McGonagall. Though Hermione don't eighter blame the old professor as there are at least fifty different sheets of papers around the table. Some of the sheets are the grading papers which are thrust into a register, and there are is a huge poster covering the whole table and everything present at the table is doing the work of hiding it. She can figure out the color of poster, it is dark blue reminiscing the color of night. "So," said Professor McGonagall a little firmly, indicating that whatever is going to discuss between them now means business. Hermione straightens her spine unconsciously. "You must be busy with the preparation of the Halloween Ball nowadays, Miss Granger?" asked Professor McGonagall. Hermione nodded stiffly, as the reminder that she, the Head Girl and the President of The Student Council, is dateless two days before the ball came into her mind. "Then you must be also informed that even after upcoming the ball, you're not going to have much free time," Professor McGonagall said, and Hermione's brows furrowed in confusion. Noticing her expression, the professor sighed and dragged a poster up, which was hidden under the mess on the table until now. The poster is large, a size of a huge television. And in the center of it, in huge bold words, there was written 'THE DRAMA FESTIVAL'. Hermione looked at the poster with a frown appearing on her face, but she suddenly turned into the expression of indifference. Professor McGonagall rolled the poster and put it on the side of the table, not very tenderly. Which told Hermione, that the professor also isn't pleased with this, whatever Drama activity it is. "The Headmaster," a frown of frustration appeared on Professor's face, "had accepted the request of Professor Lockhart's permission of hosting the Drama Festival this time at Hogwarts." Professor Lockhart? When in the hell did that man became a professor. Gilderoy Lockhart was famously known for his roles in Wizarding Dramas since he passed from Hogwarts. He was also known for the famous plays he had acted and directed himself, they were regarded as special because they were inspired from the old tales of Wizarding World. She had a stupid crush on him when she was twelve, Parvati had shown her his photo and she always blessed merlin that she soon recovered from that crush, because Harry had made her life hell when he got the wind of her crush back then. "Any questions, Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall asked, breaking her musing. She stared at her for a moment, Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrow. She blinked a little and realizing that she had been staring at the Transfiguration Professor's face for five minutes. "Uh-Ah, yes exactly," she said awkwardly and mentally slapped herself realizing how dumbly she is speaking now. "Yes, professor. I mean when will Hogwarts is going to host this event?" "It is going

to be held this December. On 19th of December before the start of Christmas holidays," McGonagall said with her voice a little softer as she is going to inform her everything about the upcoming event. "The Drama as I have informed is based on the famous 'Tales of Beedle and Bard'," said Professor McGonagall. "There will be five plays, which are based on the five stories of the book and the five stories will be played by the students of different years." "The third year students will start with the first play and other plays will be played by the students of following years in the chronological order," McGonagall sighed a little which made Hermione feel that something horrible is coming. "And," the professor drawled a little, "all the arrangement of the festivals are the responsibility of The Student Council." "What? Why!?" she asked a little loudly and flinched when McGonagall sent a pierce glare on her volume. "I mean, why!?" she asked softly. "Because," said Professor McGonagall softly, "Student Council's work is to help students in increasing their skills, and by skill we didn't only meant their academic skill but also their extracurricular skills which not only includes sports but other activities like drama too." Though the points her head of the house gave her are reasonable and adequate, but it still did not take the ridiculousness from the situation she's stuck in. "I know you are not pleased with the events but you must realize that it all is your responsibility as the President of the Council and I don't want the Boards of Directors feel disappointed from the choice of the Hogwarts, now please go and rest Miss Granger. The ball is day after the tomorrow and might need some rest because the tomorrow is going to be a hectic day for you." Professor's words indicated that she's not in a mood of a debate and is really tired. "You're dismissed." Hermione stood up and after wishing the professor a good night she turned and left the professor's office and strolled directly towards Gryffindor common room, where she thinks she might find her friends. She nearly ran towards the seventh floor. Her mind is full of thoughts of the stupid Drama Festival which she had to prepare for nearly two months. Wasn't the bloody Halloween Ball enough!? Her mind is screaming to itself and with the thought of Ball she got the reminder of the absence of a date and it will be pretty embarrassing if the president of the Council turned up alone for the Ball. She huffed, she didn't sign up for any stupid ball and drama fests. "Hippogriffe feathers!" she said the password rather loudly as the portraits around the entrance startled on the loud voice of hers. Entering the common room, she noticed that there are not many students present but the group of her friends was still present on the couches near the fireplace. Dean was the one to notice her, "Hiya President!" he said cheerfully and everyone's head turned towards her. They repeated Dean's words as chipperly, "HIYA PRESIDENT!", umm well too chipperly. She walked and collapsed at the empty space beside Lavender and leaned on her, "Hectic day, I guess," Lavender mused. "Don't even ask," she muttered. "Why does your voice sound so dull, deary?" asked Seamus teasingly, "Is it because our dear President still doesn't have a date?" he laughed. Hermione flipped the small cushion on Seamus's face. Bullseye. "You still didn't find a date?" Lavender asked, a little disappointed as Hermione promised her that she will find a date by evening. "I was so busy, first the preparation and all of the arrangement of the food which I had to arranged with the elves," she closed her eyes and said tiredly, "I really didn't got the time." "Too bad, because nearly everyone is booked now and you're going to turn up alone," Harry chipped in. "Even Neville?" she asked. "Yup! Didn't we told you, Mister Longbottom is getting pretty cozy with certain Hufflepuff name Hannah Abbott." Parvati said. "Arrgh! What in the name of Merlin am I going to do now?" she asked desperately to her friends. "You

can spend the whole night talking to Luna though. She'll be delighted to spend the Halloween night with you," Harry sniggered, Hermione's closed eyes shot wide open at the aspect of spending a whole night in the party with Luna. Everyone laughed at her expression and she started to run her mind to at least find one date, so she will be spared having a night just of controlling the students and conversing about Luna's antique. "Well Hermione," said Seamus loudly. "I would not have done it for someone else but after all you had a special place in my heart." He forwarded a thick book to her which she is encountering for the first time. "What's this?" she asked. "It's the yearbook, I stole it from McGonagall's office," she gasped and Harry shushed her, "So you might get some ideas from it." Seamus said smugly, looking proud of himself on stealing the book from the office of keen-eyed Professor McGonagall. The subject quickly diverted to the quidditch matches, leaving her and the yearbook alone. Though she was little uncomfortable as after all her 'great' friend had to steal it for her. She closed her eyes and started rummaging through pages and after a great search her eyes landed on one name, she knew who probably not had a date by now, Ronald Weasley.

#romione #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #ron weasley #hermione granger #ron x hermione #a walk to remember #au fic #no voldemort au #jily lives

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hasmerlindoneanythingwrong · 3 years

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Because @hasbedidoneanythingbad inspired me to do so, I am going to have a go at my take for the Lady of the Lake as a Fanservant. While most servants are pretty accurate representations of their mythological or historical self (or whatever their source might be, who am I to discriminate?), I tend to take it more easy and consider the source a kind of inspiration, at best. That said.... eat up the mess I made!!!

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Fanservant #1:

Caster - Vivian

Vivian, the Lady of the Lake of Arthurian legends, was an important benefactor to King Arthur of Britain, granting him the legendary sword Excalibur after the Sword of Selection Caliburn was damaged in combat. She is also known under the names of Nimuë and Ninianne. Once the unfortunate lover and pupil of the great Merlin, she became the one to seal him away for all eternity, after they parted their ways in an event that is still shrouded in mystery. For her to become an independent entity that is inscribed as a spirit in the Throne of Heroes, the circumstances about her disappearance short after imprisoning Merlin on Avalon must be solved first.

Appearance:

Though obviously not a human herself, she appears as a humanoid entity, but seems to be at least partially made out of clear and self-illuminating water. Sometimes she‘s completely made out of water, sometimes she does have a normal body, this woman can‘t make up her mind. At least not when it‘s about appearances. No matter what her body consists of, Vivian is a rather shy and petite appearing woman with sky-blue hair that covers her whole back and even the ground behind her, as well as almost emotionless grey eyes. Her mature and pure body is concealed by a shroud of pale light and a waterlike veil, that she wears like a dress. Even though she appears kinda on the revealing side, she has in now way on Earth a revealing personality.

Personality:

As a fairy born on the Reverse Side of the World from the soul of the World itself, possessing divinity as a Divided Spirit, Vivian embodies pure and undisrupted kindness and appears as the mother figure of many heroes throughout history. Those include King Arthur, whom she was the selfproclaimed protector of after deeming him worthy to receive Excalibur, the divine sword she was tasked to protect. She did also raise Lancelot as her son after the death of his father and prepared him to be a knight on the Kings side. But even though she has a kind and forgiving nature, a troublesome past with a certain Flower Mage has left her cautious of her surroundings. She tends to keep to herself, even after being summoned, and doesn‘t engage in conversation much, but answers to those who seem troubled by consoling them thorougly and providing advise and wisdom. While doing her best to avert the lustful eyes directed at her body, sometimes her past self takes over her kind soul, punishing indecent behavior with motherly force. This turns into extreme overprotective and somewhat aggressive motherly love, especially for the Child Servants and everyone she claims as her family. Which wouldn‘t be too many. In short, she has a very calming presence, that radiates peace and serenity, as long as it is certain she does not need to punish anyone for their horny thoughts.

FGO Skillset:

Active Skills:

Skill 1 – Kindhearted Charisma A+

Just another Charisma skill, buffing all allies attack by 20% for three turns and applying an one-time evade status on everyone. This one does not expire until it‘s used up.

Skill 2 – Llyn Ogwen Sealing Technique A

A special and unique sealing method incapable to hold anyone hostage but the strongest of mages. Vivian developed this spell out of spite and fear to imprison Merlin on Avalon for all eternity, until one day she may forgive him and release him from the hell of eternal life. If only she hadn't disappeared before his salvation.

Used in combat this skill heals the party for up to 3000 HP and seals the enemies NP for one turn.

Skill 3 – Lake of Chalk and Legends EX

Once born in the warm embrace of the World itself, Vivian found herself burdened. Fate ruled her as the one carrying Excalibur to the godless side of the World in order to choose who would be worthy enough to change history, only for her to hide behind the illusion of a lake as white as chalk, waiting for the worthy hero to appear.

This skill grants the party a 50% damage resist status for three turns, as well as applying a three turn 20% defense buff on Servants that are hit by enemy attacks. These defense buffs can stack up indefinitely, theoretically.

Passive Skills:

Territory Creation B+

Item Construction EX

Divinity C

Fae Eyes EX

Noble Phantasm:

Protected from Gods and Demons alike by the True Pillar of Light - Brocéliande Rhongomyniad

„Stranded between the border of worlds, chosen by fate to be envied by heaven and hell alike. Light and dark reunited, for a moment in eternity. Listen to my voice, as it is the voice of the World, and thou shall bear witness to the birth of a new hero. Tonight, the moon will shine upon us from the sky above and the ocean hidden on the far end of the world.“

Born from within the Soul of the World and tasked to witness both Humanity and the mysterious Reverse Side of the World, Vivian draws her power directly from the authority over Rhongomyniad, the pillar of light that seperates both sides to keep the world stable. While being able to harness this authority to not only grant the destructive power of the nearly indestructible anchor of the planet in form of the Holy Lance, by using her Noble Phantasm she decides to use the immense powerhouse of an overpowered Deus Ex Machina weapon directly from the tower between worlds itself. By concentrating her magical circuits to open a gateway between worlds, she summons a fraction of Rhongomyniad's power as a blinding image of the pillar itself to cast a protective veil as some kind of blessing over herself and her allies. Makes you wonder if a Divine Construct is needed to break through a veil created by a Divine Construct...

Using the Noble Phantasm grants her allies debuff immunity and buff removal immunity for three turns, as well as immunity to all incoming damage from three enemy attacks except for enemies with the Threat to Humanity trait. It also removes all debuffs and status ailments, and with each removed debuff/ailment the corresponding ally receives 50% NP generation, 100% star generation, 1000 max HP and 1000 additional flat damage for three turns, as well as 20% NP gauge.

Sword of Promised Victory - Excalibur

„Awaken again and rain down light from far beyond eternity. My heart beats together with the world.“

Just like Arturia, Vivian is able to harness the power of the Sword of Promised Victory by channeling a fraction of the power imbued in the Pillar of Light into the sword and the beam it produces from its tip, cutting through everything in its way in the process. If she were to use this Noble Phantasm, it would be much stronger and more destructive as when it is used by Arturia. Luckily she is not in possession of the sword right now, so no firing her laser anytime soon.

But if she would, it would have the exact same effect and strength as Arturias Noble Phantasm in FGO, just to balance things out. In another context than FGO it would be even more devastating than we‘re used to.

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Tags:

@justchibistuff @hasbedidoneanythingbad @has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong @hasquetzdoneanythingwrong @hasishtardoneanythingwrong

#fgo #fate series #fate grand order #fanservant #arthurian fantasy #arthurian literature #matter of britain #fate #lady of the lake #nimue #oc #my ocs #fan servant #servant #ocs on tumblr #original character #my writing #vivian

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grailfinders · 3 years

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Fate and Phantasms #142: Ishtar

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making Best Goddess and, according to @hasishtardoneanythingwrong, a servant who has done absolutely nothing very little wrong, Ishtar!

In this build, Ishtar is a Divine Soul Sorcerer to balance her blasting abilities with her divine nature and a Zeal Cleric to push her explosive capabilities and godhood to the max.

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: The second part of the oldest bromance in human history.

Race and Background

Unfortunately WotC hasn’t figured out how to balance literal god PCs yet, but since Ishtar is a demiservant we can still technically call her a Protector Aasimar, giving her +1 Wisdom, +2 Charisma, Darkvision, Celestial Resistance to radiant and necrotic damage, Healing Hands to heal some hands, and the Light cantrip.

Since she protects Uruk in her own special way, we’ll call her a Goddess Alliance Anarch. This gives you Animal Handling and Religion proficiencies, as well as some bonus spells as you level up!

Ability Scores

As the goddess of love and also blowing up mountains, your Charisma needs to be as high as possible. Follow that up with Dexterity, you can literally fly, that’s pretty fast. After that will be Constitution, you can take a lot of abuse, especially if it’s coming from the writers. Your Wisdom has to be next so we can multiclass, keep that in mind if you’re rolling. Your Strength isn’t amazing, but it’s not like you’re using it anyway. Finally, dump Intelligence. Not gonna dwell on that one, let’s just move on.

Class Levels

1. Sorcerer 1: Honestly I think “Divine Soul” is kinda selling yourself short, but we’ll work in the framework we’re given. You can cast Spells now, including your Divine Magic from the cleric spell list, using your Charisma. You’re also Favored by the Gods, giving you the option of adding 2d4 to a failed save or attack roll once per short rest.

For cantrips you get Thunderclap and True Strike for offensive options (I mean you do aim. Even if your target’s a mountain, aiming is important.) You also get Minor Illusion and Friends to manipulate people into doing what you want. Finally, your stand against the Three Goddess Alliance grants you the cantrips Fire Bolt and Produce Flame to make the battlefield a little bit spicier.

For first level spells, you get Bless from being a divine soul, as well as Compelled Duel, Speak with Animals, and Thunderwave from being an Anarch. For your actually chosen spells, Mage Armor makes your outfit feasible, and Feather Fall will be very helpful once you start flying.

2. Sorcerer 2: Second level sorcerers become a Font of Magic, giving you sorcerer points equal to your sorcerer level. Right now you can turn points into spell slots or vice versa, but it’ll get more interesting later.

You can also cast Disguise Self, in case you have to, I don’t know, organize a servant-based wacky races kind of event? Idk, whatever.

3. Sorcerer 3: Third level sorcerers get Metamagic, letting you alter your spells to suit your mood by using sorcery points. A Transmuted spell lets you swap out its acid, cold, fire, lightning, poison, or thunder damage for another option on that list. Meanwhile, you can use a Distant spell to double a spell’s range, making your archery much more effective.

You also become a Radiant Soul, spending an action to transform yourself and gaining a flying speed for up to a minute. You can also deal extra radiant damage to a creature you hit with an attack or spell once per turn. You can do this once per long rest. It’s not a long trip, but it’s free.

On top of that, you get second level spells this turn. Distort Value lets you halve or double an object’s apparent value for the duration, perfect for haggling with a certain someone. You also get Beast Sense and Shatter from your Anarch spell list. The former isn’t that in-character, but the latter is a good start to taking down that mountain.

4. Sorcerer 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to round up your Constitution and Charisma, giving you more health, better concentration, and stronger spells. What a glow up!

You can also cast the cantrip Resistance to add 1d4 to a creature’s next save, or use Find Traps to make sneaking into Gilgamesh’s many treasure vaults slightly easier. If it works.

5. Sorcerer 5: You’re a god, so you probably shouldn’t be messing up that often. To help with that, Magical Guidance lets you spend a sorcery point to re-roll a failed skill check. Maybe it’ll help.

You can also cast Fly this level, giving you more frequent flying miles at the cost of your concentration. You can also Conjure Animals if you want to show up that gazelle-loving sister of yours. More on-target, however, is your other Anarch spell, Conjure Barrage. Gosh, it’s almost like you’re an archer or something.

6. Cleric 1: This whole flying around exploding things is great, but I think we can put more pizazz on it. Or, as they say down in Amonkhet, let’s add some Zeal. That’s right, we’re stealing from two MTG planes this build! As a Priest of Zeal, you can attack as a bonus action if you attack as an action a number of times per long rest equal to your wisdom modifier. That sounds kind of useless, but as a Zeal Cleric you also get proficiency with martial weapons, meaning that yes, you can use a bow and arrow. The archer class really is made up of archers!

You can also cast and prepare Spells using your Wisdom, but we got the really good ones in your sorcerer list, so don’t worry too much here. You do get some more cantrips, though! Thaumaturgy lets you throw your godly weight around, Light lets you cast light again using a worse casting modifier, and Guidance gives a creature some helpful advice from their favorite goddess, adding 1d4 to their next check.

You also get some domain spells, but they’re both smites and you’re an archer, so...

7. Cleric 2: The real reason we’re dipping is for your Channel Divinity option, which you can use once per short rest. You could use it for Turn Undead, forcing a wisdom save against all undead near you (with a dc of 8 + proficiency + wisdom modifier), but the much more fun option is Consuming Fervor. This turns one fire or thunder damage roll into its maximum instead of rolling. That will be very scary later.

8. Sorcerer 6: Sixth level divine souls get Empowered Healing. You might not have any healing spells, but just being around people makes them feel a bit better. This lets you spend a sorcery point to re-roll any dice being used in a healing roll near you once per turn.

Speaking of healing, we’re still not doing that! You can now Bestow Curses onto people. Serves them right, calling you a “useless goddess”. This is one of those creative spells, so have fun with it!

9. Sorcerer 7: Seventh level sorcerers get fourth level spells! Anarchs get Dominate Beast and Stoneskin, and while neither are technically in character the latter could be very useful given your less than stellar AC. Also, literally turning yourself into gemstones is a real power move.

Your spell of choice this level is Ice Storm, letting you pummel a 20′ radius area with plenty of hail (or fiery debris, or just pure force), enough to turn the area into difficult terrain for a round.

10. Sorcerer 8: Use this ASI to grab the Spell Sniper feat, letting your spells ignore most cover, and spells you cast that require an attack roll have two times their normal range. You also learn Eldritch Blast to further flex on those dumb warlocks. They have to sell their soul and waste an invocation to get 300′ range blasts, and here you are with 480′ range and your soul’s intact! Hah!

You can also exude an Aura of Purity now, preventing disease, weakening poison damage, and granting advantage on a ton of status effect saves.

11. Sorcerer 9: Ninth level sorcerers get fifth level spells, including your final Anarch spell, Destructive Wave. It’s only got a range of thirty feet, but it never hurts to prepare for an ambush. For longer range attacks, Flame Strike will do nicely. We’re still not quite at “blasting a mountain to smithereens” level power, but we’re getting there.

12. Sorcerer 10: Tenth level sorcerers can get the most out of their spells by making them Empowered, letting them re-roll a number of dice on their damage roll, up to their charisma modifier.

You can also cast Dancing Lights for a bit of a dramatic flair, or Creation to make gemstones out of thin air. Heck, you could even make a proper Boat of Heaven with this!

13. Sorcerer 11: Another two levels have passed, that means you get another spell level. Sunbeam gives you a reusable sunlight blast, dealing radiant damage and blinding creatures that fail their constitution save. You can use this attack again as your action each turn for up to a minute. Sadly this isn’t affected by either of your range enhancements, but you’ve still got plenty of airspace to work with.

14. Sorcerer 12: If we’re going to blast a mountain apart we’ve got to get serious. Use this ASI to get the Elemental Adept feat, focusing on Thunder damage. Once you take this feat, all dice on thunder damage rolls coming from spells always count as at least a 2, and they ignore thunder resistances.

15. Sorcerer 13: The first step to launching the literal planet Venus at somebody is actually getting the damn thing, and that means we need to leave the atmosphere at a moment’s notice. The closest we can come to that here is Plane Shift. You can also use this on enemy creatures as a melee attack

16. Sorcerer 14: Fourteenth level Divine Souls get an Angelic Form you can transform into as a bonus action. This gives you a flying speed of 30′ that is basically permanent until you’re incapacitated or you just get rid of them on your own. Have fun with those orbital bombardments!

17. Sorcerer 15: Sunburst sounds like a good pick for your eighth level spell. This one actually does get a range boost, which is good because it deals damage in a 60′ radius. Creatures within that radius get a constitution save, and failing that means a lot of radiant damage and being blind until it makes the save on the end of its turn. Sadly, it’s stuck on radiant damage, but it’s still an effective blasting spell.

18. Sorcerer 16: Use your last ASI to max out your Charisma so that whole “making the save” thing from last level never happens.

19. Sorcerer 17: To make those saves even less likely, our final metamagic option is Heightened Spell, causing one creature’s first save of the spell in question to be made at disadvantage. Basically you’re saying “like you had a choice in the matter”.

Speaking of spells though, we can finally pull Venus through for a charged shot, thanks to the ninth level spell Meteor Swarm. With a max range of 1-2 miles this truly is nuking the planet from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.

Here’s a step by step guide for removing a mountain. 1. Hang out in the Troposphere. 2. Cast Meteor Swarm, swapping out Fire for Thunder damage. 3. Channel Divinity, maxing out the thunder damage for extra fun. 4. Deal 120 Thunder damage that ignores resistances, on top of 20d6 bludgeoning damage. 5. Enjoy your new crater.

20. Sorcerer 18: Your capstone level of sorcerer gives you an Unearthly Recovery. When you’re bloodied, you can spend a bonus action to heal yourself for half your HP, once per long rest. You had enough trouble in the underworld as it is, no point in going back again.

Pros:

As I just mentioned in level 19, you can deal a lot of damage. Like, Sanson level damage, without all the nonsense attached to it. You’ve got big booms, and multiple ways to make those booms hurt even more than they should.

Flying on a spellcaster is just. Really, really good. Especially on one built for range. There’s almost literally nothing they can do to you up here. Like, arrows, maybe, but you can just retaliate with the literal wrath of god. Plus, you’re probably out of counterspell range, so there’s nothing the DM can do to you!

A lot of your spells are focused on damage, but you do still have plenty of variety in your spell list, just in case. And on the off chance you’re fighting someone in a silence bubble, you can just change your thunder spells to acid or something.

Cons:

For most of this build we’re relying on the Flight spell to get off the ground, which eats up your Concentration and has a chance of failure when you take damage. It’s not ideal.

Those Cleric Levels are very useful, but they still push back your spell progression by 2 levels, which means you’ll have even less time with your An Gal Ta Ki Gal Se than you would normally.

You can’t fly everywhere. Caves exist. Buildings exist. I mean you totally can blast holes to get where you need to, just don’t expect to be that popular with whoever owns the building. Also, fighting in cramped areas plays to your biggest weakness: squishiness. Your AC is only 15, and you’ve got barely over 120 HP, which as we just discussed, someone built like you can take out very easily.

#Fate Grand Order #FGO #Ishtar #d&d 5th edition #Fate and Phantasms #Sorcerer #Cleric

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thaiamulet-us · 1 year

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Ya Wasana Jinda Manee Thai Amulet By Ajarn Sitthichai and mystic experts from Samnak Khao Aor

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philliamwrites · 3 years

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The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.3]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 7.7k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

Chapter 03: Ties That Bind

Where war, and joy, and terror Have all at times held away; Where both delight and horror Have had their fitful day.

The happiest under heaven A king of powerful mind; A company so proven Would now be hard to find

Gawain put on a good cheer. ‘Why should I hesitate?’ He said. ‘Kind or severe, We must engage our Fate.’

[Sir Gawain and the Green Knight]

„Breathe,“ Hanneman says for the third time. At every tap of his pen against the table, you flinch as if someone is knocking right against the inside of your skull. “You have to feel the Crest, become one with it. Don’t think of it as an addition; see it as an extension of your very self.”

You exhale but it’s hard to focus after you’ve been sitting in the same position for nearly two hours and your legs keep falling asleep.

“Focus on it,” Hanneman continues. He starts to gesture with his free hand, an indicator that he’s just as frustrated with your lack of progress as you are. “Focus on the feeling that took hold of you when you fought the bandits. Imagine what you want. Ask yourself what it is you really want, and take hold of that picture.”

Well, first of all, you really want a sandwich.

For the past few weeks, you’ve been waking up before sunrise to attend private lessons with Hanneman to get a hold of your Crest’s power. Now the end of the month approaches, and still your body refuses to get accustomed to work at such an early hour, and more importantly without eating first. An hour ago, your stomach started growling, but Professor Hanneman has proved again and again to be very successful in ignoring factors that disturb his lessons. You continue breathing through what you consider hunger pains instead of the raise of new powers, but with the sound of screaming students outside and the occasional flapping of wings as Pegasus Knights fly by on their patrol, it’s anything but successful.

“Focus!” Hanneman chides again as if he can read your mind and knows exactly you’re thinking of the pheasant roast with berry sauce on the menu today.

“I’m trying,” you groan and slump into the chair, defeated. “But I don’t feel anything.”

“Hmm hmmm,” Hanneman hums and looks at you like you were supposed to understand what he’s conveying with that sound. “Maybe we’re looking at it the wrong way,” he says once you don’t follow up on his inexplicable sound. “Maybe we should stop thinking of it as a common Crest, but approach it like it is something entirely different.” He quickly notes something on his paper, then proceeds to flip through the open books he’s splayed out on his desk. “There is so little we know about the Crest of the Herald. I am much frustrated no one thought of studying it a thousand years ago!”

“I don’t understand. How can it be different?” Your first lesson solely focused on Crests. How they are thought to be power incarnate, bestowed upon humans by the Goddess countless ages ago. Today those who are descendants of Fódlan’s Ten Elites and Four Saints, who fought during the War of Heroes beside Saint Seiros, wear Crests, a sign of wealth and nobility.

“Well, one possible explanation could be that for whatever reason, the first Herald was different from his fellow warriors, the Ten Elites,” Hanneman offers, leaning back into his chair and looking a lot more interested in the conversation now. “The Goddess must have found him worthy of her power just as she found Saint Seiros worthy.”

“Then why wasn’t he a Saint?” you wonder. From your understanding, the Four Saints were special comrades of Saint Seiros, just as guided by the Goddess as their leader. What had made the Herald from back then different? “According to everything you told me, he sounds a lot like this Macuil person. Focusing on strategy and all that.”

“Saint Macuil,” Hanneman corrects you, but there’s no bite in his voice. “And yes, perhaps he was akin to the Saints, but that clearly wasn’t what determined the final decision to name him Herald.”

“Well, that’s just my kind of luck,” you mumble, but when Hanneman makes a puzzled sound, you ask instead, “And you’re sure I’m a descendant of him?”

“Most likely! You bear a Major Crest, which means the Herald’s blood runs strong in your body. After he disappeared, he might have settled down and started a family. Unfortunately, nothing is recorded about him after the War of Heroes concluded.”

“Then how come there was no one else in a thousand years who bore the same Crest?” You aren’t sure you fully understand how they work. Apparently, Crests grant special powers to those who hold them such as high aptitude for magic or enhanced strength. But you know better than anyone that the Crest of the Herald is special. It doesn’t simply give you a boon, it allows you to command the flow of battle. But is it really a blessing bestowed by the Goddess? You don’t remember a divine revelation or talking to a Goddess. Or did that maybe occur even before you were found by the Officers Academy’s students? Before your memory loss? You certainly don’t feel chosen by a deity.

“Trying to explain the Goddess’ whims would wield about the same result as asking this question,” Hanneman says. “Sometimes a Crest may skip generations. No one can say with certainty who will be chosen. If it will be the first or third born. That is why we must further study Crests! For example, why, unlike other Crests, has your appeared physically visible?” Hanneman mutters more questions under his breath and notes them quickly on his paper. It’s remarkable how enthusiastic he approaches the topic if it only didn’t make you feel like an experiment lying on a dissection table.

“I want to know so much more about the first Herald,” you mumble. “What was his name? Where was he from?” Why did he disappear and what were the costs he had paid for such a title. Only one month in and Lady Rhea already granted you an impressive room to reside. People treat you with respect and admiration even though you aren’t doing much besides wave at them on the streets or hold some conversations. If being the Herald only encompasses these tasks, you’ll gladly take on the role and speak to people. But that would be a dream too good to be true.

“We can only speculate,” Hanneman says. “Some believe the Herald came when Seiros needed him most. Our Goddess’ answer to her cry of help. Others believe he was simply a general who originated form a farmer’s family. Other, smaller sources talk about a prince from a far off land who passed through Fódlan and decided to stay. But in all cases, the Herald was a great asset to win the War of Heroes and save Fódlan from the tyranny of the Fell King.”

“Yeah, no pressure there,” you mumble, sinking further into your seat. Hopefully no one expects you to save Fódlan from evil monarchs. If yes, it certainly won’t happen on an empty stomach. When Hanneman releases you, there’s only one place for you to be. The Dining Hall is crowded at this time of hour. Students and faculty bustle everywhere, eager to get their favourite meal on a plate. Just like them, you are drawn in by the amazing smell of roasted meet and freshly baked pastries.

The only thing you can live without is how once you enter the room several heads turn in your direction, and a ripple of “Look, it’s the Herald” goes through the crowd, spreading like a wave. Or a disease, you think with a sour taste in your mouth as you move through the parting sea. They want you to acknowledge them but Goddess forbid you actually engage in conversation with them and they flee like you’re the Herald of Pest.

“Herald!” Well, not everyone escapes. Some seem to like living dangerous.

Edelgard looks straight at you from between the other students from the Eagle class sitting at a table, removing any doubt she means anyone else but you. Running from her would be a sign of defeat, so you drag yourself over to the Eagle table and give the round an uncertain smile. “Hello.”

“Herald, if you have time, please sit with us,” Edelgard offers but the look she pins on you doesn't give you any choice. The silence of her classmates speaks louder than words, and a quick glance to Hubert tells you that he very much would like for you to notsit with them.

“Sure,” you say lamely and sit opposite from her where Bernadetta quickly shuffles to the side to make room, and then further down the bench until she jumps to her feet and flees from the hall. It’s a miracle she’s out of her chambers in the first place, undoubtedly Byleth’s work.

“Did you manage any progress with Professor Hanneman?” Edelgard asks, carefully cutting her pheasant roast into small bite-sized pieces. She looks the complete opposite from someone capable of hacking away their enemies but you wouldn’t dare to underestimate her.

“It’s slow,” you admit, solely focusing on shoving potatoes from one side of your plate to the other so you don’t have to look at anyone. “I’ve only grasped the basics of how Crests work and the Herald’s is so different.”

“Research might prove more fruitful if you’d be called into action,” she says, and it’s difficult to determine if that statement is a simple observation or underlying critique towards Rhea’s decision to leave you out of the major education system. At least that’s something you’re sure of. Edelgard is difficult.

“Maybe. But chances are higher I get myself killed somehow on the battlefield.” You’re already dreading the approaching noon hours. Byleth has worked out a special training programme for you and the house leaders. So far there hasn’t been a day without aching muscles and bruises for you. Thinking of Byleth, you can’t help but ask, “So how’s Byleth as a Professor?”

Edelgard considers her plate with mild interest, but her index fingers start tapping against her cutlery. She has small, delicate hands. Cute hands. You gawk at them for two seconds before noticing Hubert starring daggers at you, and quickly avert your eyes to your cup of ginger tea like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Our professor shows knowledge in the most curious things,” he says, surprising you by joining the conversation. “I think the Adrestian Empire will benefit greatly from that.”

You aren’t sure how leading the class correlates directly to joining the Empire, but you don’t want to point that out. Hubert is still too much of a puzzle you’re adamant on not piecing together because whatever picture waits for you after the assembly might be one of horror.

“She really is one to look up to,” Edelgard agrees, but she isn’t looking at anyone, so it seems she’s saying it more to herself. You want to try and read more out of her expression, but distraction comes quickly in form of more students from the Eagle class. Caspar is the first bouncing excitedly towards the table, and still he somehow miraculously manages to keep his food from flying everywhere. “Herald!” he calls and slides right on the seat right next to you. “How’s the head situation going?”

“Caspar,” Linhardt chides and gives his friend the disappointed look of a parent that can’t bring his child to use a fork to eat. “Would you stop pestering the Herald with the same question every day?”

Linhardt hits the mark. It was nice in the beginning to have someone show so much interest in your wellbeing, but now you don’t know if the daily reminder how you fail to regain pieces of your past is rude or just Caspar’s naive politeness.

“Yeah well.” You try to stuff as much potatoes in your mouth as possible just to avoid talking about it. “Nothin’ yeff.”

“Herald, please try to keep your manners in check, will you?” Ferdinand comments because of course he catches you with your mouth full and sauce dripping from the corners. Unlucky for him, you don’t really care.

“Well, sorry.” Caspar frowns and scratches the remains from his plate. The two minutes you needed to finish your potatoes, he’s cleared his whole plate. “I just thought it might help.”

“Help to be reminded what’s missing?” Linhardt doesn’t look convinced. “I think the Herald knows so better than anyone.”

“Guys, drop the subject,” Edelgard intervenes. “Let us finish our meals now. Classes resume presently and I don’t want to hear any stomachs growling, understood?” The last part goes with a pointed look towards Linhardt, who answers with a lazy shrug while continuing to poke at his food, looking bored out of his mind. It lasts about three seconds before he brightens up and turns towards you while rummaging through his school bag. From that, he pulls out notes and a pen, and unceremoniously shoves them into your hands. “I have a question, Herald. Would you be so kind and look over these strategic proposals I’ve developed from the last lesson? I understand what you taught us were basics as we find them in the library. I simply took the time and applied those to the strengths and abilities of my classmates.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You did?” Up until now, you didn’t know Linhardt was paying attention whenever you gave the students your sorry excuses of lessons. You feel like you’ve seen him asleep far more than actually looking at the board or writing, so him presenting his notes to you now is more than a surprise. He has a clean handwriting, small letters that curl into themselves and forget to take a break between words. You squint at the sentences, trying to make them out. It sure doesn’t help that half of it is crossed out by what looks like a strategy sketch with little circles and everyone’s names filling out the space.

“This looks … elaborate,” you comment, unsure if you’ll ever be able to solve this enigma.

“No worries.” Linhardt gives a little smile. “Please give me your answer report until tomorrow. And feel free to correct me on anything I’ve done wrong.”

He’s probably done a much better job than you on your lesson notes, but you nod with a lopsided smile. “I will.”

“Oh, and while we’re at strategy talk,” Caspar jumps right in, “any good ideas how to take on a taller opponent?”

“A good kick to their shins?” you suggest.

“A dagger to their liver?” Edelgard says.

“Poison in their cup?” Hubert offers.

“You’re all animals,” Ferdinand says.

Linhardt groans. “I toldyou how to win in a fight like that, Caspar. Why won’t you listen to me?”

You don’t want to be part of the argument breaking out between them, so you turn away and try to see what the other students are doing in the dining hall. At the opposite end, Claude catches your eyes and waves like he’s been waiting way too long to finally get your attention. He points at Edelgard and flaps his arms like a chicken. He points at you and spreads his hands behind his head, forming antlers with his fingers. When Edelgard follows your eyes, his head whips around and he pretends to agree with whatever Lysithea just said.

“I hope you forgive Caspar’s enquiries,” she says, steering your focus back to her. She’s gently tapping the corners of her mouth with an embroidered napkin, and oh there they are again, her delicate fingers. You look away before Hubert catches you staring again and decides to put poison in your cup7. “I speak on behalf of everyone in the Black Eagle House when I say we wish for your full recovery to be soon.”

“If wishing would only get the job done, I might have something to work with by now.”

Edelgard doesn’t blink, her expression frozen. “Meaning?”

“I thought I'd come here and one of the Church's healers would just wave their hands to return my memories,” you mumble, scribbling a tiny Claude with little, evil horns on his head in the corner of Linhardt’s notes.

Edelgard looks at you like you've just insulted her whole noble lineage. “That isn't how magic works.”

You throw your arms up in frustration to emphasise that yes, that's the point. You don't know how anything works in this place, and you doubt Byleth's four pages of lesson plans are going to help.

“If no one comes to your aid, maybe it is time you take matters into your own hands.” You flinch at the scornful sound in Edelgard’s voice. Judging the expression on her face, she seems just as surprised about her outburst. She gets up abruptly and bids farewell with a curt nod, followed closely by Hubert as always. Her classmates look after her, each more puzzled than the next.

“Didn’t she seem … angry to you?” Linhardt thinks aloud, blinking into the empty space.

Ferdinand harrumphes. “She’s always like this. Please excuse her, Herald.”

You don’t think she’s done anything wrong, and yet she certainly doesn’t appear as always. Something about her last words strikes you as especially sharp; reproachful. Those weren’t meaningless words, but you don’t have any ways to decipher the message. A little voice tells you she isn’t wrong either. So far nothing has helped returning your memories—Manuela’s medicine, herbs from the Greenhouse, Hanneman’s spells. It seems like your brain has built defencive walls to repel any probing, which begs the answer to the question what is hiding in secret even more. But can you really do it on your own, like Edelgard suggests? It seems impossible.

With newfound doubt you finish your meal, saying your goodbyes to the now scattering Eagle students as they scurry off to their next lesson. Two hours are left before you’re meeting with Byleth and the house leaders, and since you agreed to look over Linhardt’s notes, the library seems a good next stop. You still want to go over the seven classical manoeuvres of war, especially since the students didn’t really grasp the remaining two last time, and it gives you a good excuse to look over them again as well. At the beginning, you thought there was nothing you could teach those children, not with experienced colleagues at your side who have participated in countless battles themselves. Who could have thought that talking about tactics and strategies came as natural to you as breathing. Well, Rhea did for certain, and even the students drink up your every word like it is a message from the Goddess herself and you her chosen herald. The irony of it.

But it isn’t only the students accepting your guidance. Something inside you changed in the last couple of weeks as well. When you started going through the books in the library, it was more stumbling and slipping on foreign terrain, but just in a couple of days, you moved through the matter like a fish following smoothly the currents of its native waters. It felt like home. Like building the foundation of a house from thousand variables, the result different each time but still the same: art. You build the art of battle, the last decision that will bring victory or death. You love every second of it. Which opens the possibility that it really isn’t your first time, but also more questions: Who taught you? What battles have you fought? How many of them did you win? Since those aren’t as simple to answer, you focus on fulfilling the first purpose, and hope that it will some day be enough for the students to survive battles.

If only it would end there. Your second duty isn’t as easy or pleasant, and it lies in wait for you everywhere, stalking you like a dark shadow with monstrous fangs.

“Herald.” A soldier gives a courteous bow, intercepting you in the Great Hall on your way to the library. “Pilgrims ask for you near the Entrance Hall. Please allow me to escort you.”

Immediately, your nerves tingle with nervous anticipation. This is the scary part. Meeting the people, seeing the hope in their eyes. You’d gladly send them back where they’ve come from, but some have travelled for multiple days, and denying them audience would be cruel.

“Don’t let me stop you from your duties,” you say, unconsciously tugging your clothes in order to appear presentable. “I will welcome them on my own.”

The soldier nods and bows again, his expression barely readable under the helmet before he disappears as quickly as he came.

Planning lessons is easy. You can find whatever you need in the library and work out the flow with the students. But nothing can prepare or teach you how to act like the Herald people wish for. Nowhere is anything written on the old Herald, how he talked to them and what promises he’d whispered when day broke. That is where you are on your own. Not even Rhea could answer that question. She only instructed that you see them, and remind them about their devotion to the Goddess—for she was the one who made it possible in the first place.

The Entrance Hall is emptier than usual. Most of the students are in class, and a handful of knights and soldiers might be at the advanced training camp Jeralt and Alois hold in honour of the Blade Breaker’s return. So spotting the pilgrims isn’t difficult. Especially with the Gatekeeper waving his arms in wide arcs as if fearing you might overlook him.

“Greetings, Herald!” His grin is blinding. “The pilgrims are waiting for you just at the at the foot of the stairs.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I can see them.”

“Oh, yes, of course! If anyone causes problems, count on me to help!”

“Thanks.” You answer his thumbs up with one of your own before moving downstairs. What a refreshing young man. Certainly good looking under his helmet. Byleth seems to like talking to him a lot as well.

Today’s pilgrims aren’t much different from other days. Old people are supported by their family members, who have brought baskets with sweets and flowers, presenting them at your feet.

“Herald,” they breathe in awe, bowing. No matter how often you’ve seen it by now, it still feels incredibly wrong.

“Raise your heads,” you tell them, helping an elderly woman up to hrer feet. She gasps at your touch, then clings to your hands. You try to swallow past the lump in your throat. “The Archbishop and I bid you welcome. The Goddess will smile upon your devotion.” Your cringe slightly when echoing Rhea’s words and wonder if any second the goddess might punish you by throwing lightning your way.

“We are blessed to finally meet you,” a younger woman says, taking the old woman from your hands—mother and daughter maybe? “Please accept our gifts, and may the Goddess guide you on your path to light.”

“She will answer your prayers and guide me so I can bring you peace,” you reply just so you can say something they might want to hear. Judging their delighted expressions this wasn’t the worst you could have said. Dorothea would probably be proud looking at your acting skills. Or point out your bad posture and how you’re avoiding their eyes. Dorothea would probably tell you how much you have to polish your acting skills.

“Bring us peace?” someone from the last row spits, pushing to the front. “You know nothing, the Herald will bring chaos and ruin!” A man in his forties looms above you, an ugly, padded scar crossing his face from one temple to his chin. A war veteran? They way he holds himself looks like he’s been beaten up once too much to get up again.

“You heathen, don’t you dare speak to our Herald like that,” the old woman barks, immediately doubling over in a coughing fit. Her daughter supports her, glaring at the man. “Go in peace, but go if you only came to talk ill about our Herald,” she says, clearly upset. "Doubting them is doubting our Goddess. How dare you."

“First I want to see the Herald do something! What if … if this one is an impostor.” The man turns towards the others, throwing his arms in the air. “Bring forward proof that you are not here to ruin our lands, but to actually serve in the Goddess’ name!”

This time his demand meets less resistance. Until now people were fine with seeing you and the Crest, but to want actual prove? You could easily threaten them and ask if they doubt the Goddess’ decision, but you’d rather leave that method to Rhea. You don’t want to sound like her. You don’t want to scare people. Yet admitting that you don’t really have a clue how to really use the Crest would surely support the man’s accusation. Diminishing the people’s trust in the Herald is the last thing you want, especially if it means facing Rhea’s scorn.

“I—”

“Herald!” A voice calls from the top of the stairs. When you turn around, Sylvain waves and jogs downstairs, looking like he’s been running for some time. “There you are. The Archbishop wants to see you.”

Oh no, has she heard of your failure already? Giving the choice of facing a group of doubting people or Rhea, you’d immediately go to the people. You give him a curt nod, unable to speak because you don’t trust your voice.

“I apologise,” you say to the pilgrims, clearing your throat when it comes out as a croak. “I will have something prepared for another time.”

“No, you do not need to prove anything to us,” the elderly woman says. “We will always believe in you. Please tell Her Grace we are constantly praying to our Goddess and thank her for sending you to us.”

“I will.” You squeeze her hand a last time. “Save travels.”

The man still glares at you, but without a chance to keep you present any longer, he turns away and follows the rest. You can’t wait to leave all that behind, and as you steel your nerves for what’s waiting for you in the Audience Chambers, you look up to Sylvain and ask, “Did Lady Rhea say what it is about?”

He looks over at you and blinks a couple of times, then seems to remember. “Ah ... yeah, about that. I lied.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “You lied?”

“Yup. I don’t know what Lady Rhea’s doing. But you looked like you were about to puke at those poor pilgrim’s shoes. As hilarious as that would have been, I wanted to spare you the embarrassment.” He stops now as well and smiles a boyish crooked grin. Sylvain knows exactly what to do with his face so girls fall over themselves to do him a favour, and boys grow jealous of all the attention he gets. Two weeks in, and you’ve figured out his game, keeping a respectable distance that wouldn’t birth the thought you’re avoiding him. In fact, this could be the very first time you’re actually holding a real conversation.

“Well, I … thank you? But I had everything under control.”

He looks like he doesn’t believe you. The gatekeeper you’re just passing looks like he doesn’t believe you. You press your lips into a thin line and dare any of them to disagree.

“Okay.” Sylvain shrugs. “But now we’re here.”

“Sylvain, what do you want?”

“Cutting to the chase, huh?” He crosses his arms behind his head. “Why do you think I want something?” Your raised eyebrows seem to be answer enough. Sylvain laughs a little helplessly and returns his hands back to his front, raised as an offer of peace. “I promise, I want nothing. Just a little talking. A little talking hasn’t hurt anyone.”

Something inside you wants to argue against it, but without a solid argument in hand, you follow him silently, wondering where his destination and intention lies. He belongs to the many students you can’t really read, nothing about his ambitions or goals. Sometimes he gives you this strange look through half lidded eyes, his gaze focused on your right eye—his interest in your Crest undeniable, and yet he’s been one of the few not to talk about it with you. It’s strange because whenever you come together, he looks like there’s something he’s dying to say. This time is no different.

He leads you to the wooden pavilion in the gardens, but instead of offering you a seat, Sylvain leans his slim hips against the table, half sitting on it. Seteth would be furious seeing this.

“How’s the Herald business doing for you?” he asks the one question you wouldn't expect from him. “Other than you having ‘everything under control.’” He has the audacity to air-quote. This isn’t a conversation you want to hold right now, leastwise with him. Sylvain must discern that you’re ready to bold from whatever your body is showing. With a quick step, he’s standing between you and the escape route, lazily leaning one arm against a column to uphold the illusion that you’re only having a pleasant talk when in reality his body stands between you and your freedom.

“Do you talk to the other faculty members like that as well?” you say through gritted teeth, crossing your arms. Sylvain blinks like he doesn’t understand, but you’ve seen this act before, followed by an eerily precise repetition of a subject to one of his classmates when he thinks none of the teachers pay attention. Sylvain is playing dumb and deliberately hiding a sharp mind.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to offend,” he quickly says, nothing about this crooked smile appearing apologetic whatsoever. “I’m generously curious. You’re holding up really good.”

“In comparison to what?” you demand, your heartbeat picking up. Is he trying to call you out on something? That you aren’t heraldy enough? But to your surprise, Sylvain looks genuinely surprised by your reaction.

“To nothing. In general?” He shrugs. “Back on the ceremony day, you didn’t look so good standing up there, and His Highness told us everything happened really uh … ‘suddenly.’’ More air-quotes, whatever they mean this time.

“If you mean I wasn’t really asked to become the Herald, then yes.” Your arms drop back to your side. “It was suddenly.”

Sylvain watches you for a moment, and again, there’s this look in his eyes; the need to say something he can’t. He kneads the back of his nape, avoiding your eyes. “All I’m trying to say is … having that Crest out of nothing is cool. Probably. And maybe terrifying? And just—”

You grow impatient. “Come on, get the words out, Sylvain.”

“A Crest isn’t just this nice letter of invitation to a privileged life. Just take care, is all I’m saying.”

And there’s another page to the book of surprises with Sylvain’s name on it. The immediate lack of response catches him off guard; it’s like he only notices now that the vital part to understand this conversation is missing: The source of his doubt towards Crests.

Sylvain’s body turns in a split second, his feet facing the direction he’s ready to bold towards, but this time you stand in his way and block him off. “Sylvain, are you okay?”

He blinks in confusion, then furrows his eyebrows in deep thought like you demanded he recites the Ten Heroes from memory or else fails classes. His face contorts with the effort of looking fine. “Why, yes! Just peachy. Why would you think something is off?”

“Because I have eyes in my skull.”

“Very pretty eyes, if I dare say.” His answer comes out like a fire spell, hard and fast, seemingly more instinct than anything else. He clears his throat and scratches his chin, loosing momentum. “Goddess, I am bad at this.”

“You are.” No need to sugar coat it. “If something happened, just say it.”

“Nothing really happened, I just—” He exhales audibly and stares into space for a long minute, before side stepping you without difficulty. “Actually, I remembered Professor wanted to see me after class. Something about extra lessons about eh. Horse riding. Yeah. I’ll catch you later, Herald.” He winks and bolds away, darting under your outstretched arm before you can catch him. For someone this tall, he’s surprisingly agile and fast, already disappearing behind a tall hedge towards the main building.

If that wasn’t the strangest conversation you’ve held with anyone, you don’t know what might excel that. Maybe it’s time you stop avoiding Sylvain.

The Training Grounds smells of sweat and oil. Many students and knights train, which is surprising at this kind of hour, the short break between afternoon and evening classes. You’d like to know what they’re working on, but Byleth doesn’t tolerate inattention in a classroom or on the battle field, and demands you do push-ups each time your eyes wander somewhere off. You hate her a little for that. For whatever reason, Claude has taken on the role of your partner in crime, and does whatever necessary to make Byleth punish him as well.

“What can I say, I like a good workout,” he said when you asked. He didn’t even try to hide his lie, looking as miserable as you felt. Probably hating Byleth a little as well.

It’s the fourth week of private training with her and the house leaders, and so far you can definitely say that you were not meant to fight on the field. You see how your opponent moves, you can somehow predict what they’re going to do next—but your body simply protests to act accordingly. You stumble, you fall, you need a second too long to get up and before you can do anything, a training sword is at your throat. Byleth always looks like she wants to facepalm her fist through her forehead. Or yours.

“Herald, this is not how you disarm someone,” she says, as always, and demonstrates it in one smooth, swift movement, as always. You blow hair out of your eyes, knowing you’re about to fail again. At least that gave Claude a reason to give you a new nickname, though if it’s better than the last is debatable.

“You gotta twist your wrist, duckling!” he calls from the other side of the hall, immediately drawing Byleth’s attention to him. He and Dimitri are facing off, both wielding a spear which should give Dimitri the upper hand. So far, he hasn’t landed a single hit on Claude.

“Keep your elbows in!” Byleth berates Claude. “Stop flapping them like some kind of chicken.”

Claude lets out a disturbingly convincing cluck.

You raise an eyebrow. “At least someone’s having fun.”

Byleth sighs. “He’s going to get himself killed sooner than later.”

“I don’t know. He’s managed so far, hasn’t he?”

“I’m not sure if it’s a talent or a fault.” She turns back to you and nods her chin towards the side. “Take a break. I’m going to see how the boys are doing.”

You nod, tensing all over because that’s where Edelgard is currently standing and picking out a training axe. You haven’t talked to her since lunch, and you can do without it for a couple more hours. She barely glances at you when you walk over, and instead checks out the edge of the wooden blade, turning it left and right.

“Is she as strict in the classroom as in here?” you ask, unable to go on in awkward silence. Edelgard hums, throwing a quick glance towards Byleth from under her long, white lashes. “She’s systematic and consistent. Capable in both fields. I have no reason to raise any kind of complaint.”

“That’s impressive.” You sure as heck still wouldn’t want her as a teacher. “Even though she’s been pushed into all this, she handles it like she’s never done anything else.”

“I think as a mercenary, she is used to changing approaches depending on the employer.” Edelgard is still looking at Byleth. Reading her expression is impossible, and you don’t want to point out that sticking a sword into thieves and bandits is not the same as teaching kids how to fight in a battle. Her head whips to you suddenly, and she considers the training sword in your hand. “Speaking of different approaches,” she continues, “have you considered that your field of combat might be magic?”

You have, so the answer comes immediately. “Chances are higher I set myself on fire.” You stare at her. “I didn’t mean it to rhyme.”

Edelgard ignores your last comment. “But you haven’t really tried it out, have you?” Your lack of response is answer enough for her, and she nods like that proves a point.

It’s complicated. You haven’t really tried it out because … the simple answer is, you’re afraid. It gets tricky once you try to search for the answer to that. There’s just a strange sensation when you try to use magic, like there’s a vast sea of possibilities and one step inside is enough to get you lost. It isn’t as bad with wind spells or white magic. You haven’t touched Fire spells because a crippling fear chills you to the bones every time you manage to nourish a small flame inside your palm—the complete opposite to Dark magic. When you tried a MiasmaΔ for the first time it felt strangely … secure. The rope tying you to a shore, it had felt like—

There’s a loud crash when the spears collide and Claude knocks Dimitri off his feet. The whole room is silent as everyone watches how Claude taps the blunt end of his practice spear against Dimitri’s chin. “Steady on there, darling,” he says with a smug grin. Dimitri flushes bright red, and pushes with more force than necessary the spear away, quickly climbing to his feet.

“That wasn’t bad.” Byleth quickly steps in before Dimitri can throttle Claude. “Dimitri, you rely too much on your brute strength. That’s a big disadvantage against someone like Claude. And you, young man,” she turns to Claude who’s been smiling victoriously, “are scheming too much and lose time to take action. In a serious battle, you won’t be as lucky as today.”

“Noted.” Claude whirls his spear from left to right, almost dropping it when Dimitri drills his elbow into his side. “But in a serious battle, I won’t be upfront. I’ll be hanging back nicely, and skewing my enemies with a myriad of arrows.”

“You can barely shoot three at the same time,” Dimitri grumbles, his cheeks still splotched with red specks.

“You wanna bet—”

“That’s enough, guys, save it for then next round.” Byleth ignores their sulky expressions and turns to you, raising a single eyebrow. The message is clear. What are you waiting for?

Your feet feel like they’re glued to the ground. Edelgard doesn’t hesitate at all. “Let’s go.”

She strides in the middle, training axe raised. It’s made out of wood, but you don’t doubt that she’s able to severe a limb from your body if she only tries hard enough—and what you know of Edelgard is that she alwaysexceeds even her own expectations. You grip your sword tighter. It’s a clear disadvantage, but better than anything else you can handle. Maybe it won’t be as bad.

The fight lasts for about seven seconds. The moment you raise the blade, Edelgard is on you and unleashes fierce strike after strike, the power behind each hit forcing you back. She doesn’t bat an eyelash when she easily disarms you, the wooden sword flying over your heads and the edge of her axe on your throat. Somewhere behind her, you hear Byleth sigh. “Again.”

The next hour is torture. Edelgard throws you to the ground, again and again. Byleth keeps telling you to get up, again and again. One might think they would cut you some slack, being the Herald and all, but it feels like Edelgard is so much more aggressive today because you’re the Herald. Or maybe it’s personal. Maybe she’s appointed you to be her sworn enemy, and won’t miss out any chance to make it as hard as possible for you.

This isn’t fun. Being watched by Dimitri and Claude, who whisper conspiratorially to each other isn’t fun. Luckily, Byleth notices them gawking and bellows them to focus on working on their stances. Right now, you’re thankful nothing escapes her eyes and she calls her students out on their bullshit. It doesn’t make your current situation easier though. Every muscle burns, just raising the sword is exhausting and your feet feel like they’re about to give out any second. This must be hell.

When Byleth finally ends lessons, you ignore everything and crumble to the ground, splaying your limbs out in all directions. Surely they can clean up without you, two hands less will barely make any difference.

A shadow settles over you. You know who it is, and don’t bother to open your eyes. “Go away, Byleth. I don’t want to hear how bad I am.”

“Personally, I think you have improved, Herald.” Your eyes snap open. Dimitri looks down at you, his forehead still glistening from perspiration. “But facing Edelgard as an opponent usually wields those results. Don’t let it bother you.”

You want to point out that he and Claude don’t seem to have as much problems as you, even though yes, none of them have defeated her yet in practice. He goes down to your level and sits beside you, and you hate how this all barely made him breath hard, like it’s just a stroll around the monastery whereas you’re trying to climb the mountains surrounding it.

“I think she hates me,” you blurt out. Luckily, most students have already left the hall, Edelgard included. Dimitri considers this a moment, and you don’t know what to make of his lack of immediate response.

“I doubt she hates you,” he finally says.

“But?”

“But she has a hard time warming up to people. Give her time. Once the ice is broken, you will see that her personality is one you’d like to have around.”

“Oh?” You watch him for a moment, but Dimitri doesn’t blush or look away. It was a heartfelt, sincere statement, which flusters you for some reason. No one should be that honest.

“Talking about breaking ice. Do you know if something happened to Sylvain?”

“Sylvain?” Dimitri raises both eyebrows. “Please don’t tell me he harassed you in some kind of way.”

“No, no, he just—” You finally get up from lying on your back, and try to explain it by frantically moving your hands. Dimitri still looks puzzled. “He said some weird things about Crests in general?”

“Hm.” Dimitri stares at your hands for a moment, then quickly raises his eyes back to your face. “It’s complicated.” Well, that answer is as good as none. “And I won’t go into details without his consent. I can only say that if he talked about Crests, in whichever way, his brother must have upset him again.”

“He has a brother?” Now you’re wide awake. Many students have siblings. You know of Hilda’s brother and Raphael’s sister. It shouldn’t surprise you Sylvain has one as well even though he’s never mentioned it before.

“Do you have siblings?” you ask, generously curious. As heir to a kingdom, it’s hard to imagine his parents would have settled with one child. But he hasn’t mentioned any sisters or brothers as well.

“Hmm, I have a step-sister,” he says, although very hesitant and you can see if someone doesn’t want to talk about a specific topic. He doesn’t return the question, which is kind of him and makes you wonder … maybe you have a sibling as well. Somewhere. Maybe somewhere in Adrestia or Leicester a younger brother or an older sister is currently looking for you, unrelenting in their journey to be reunited at last. The thought alone brings a flicker of hope alive. Maybe they'll come once word of the Herald’s return travels far enough.

“I guess as long as Sylvain doesn’t disturb classes or acts out of order, I would leave him to his brooding. I can tell out of experience, only Felix is capable of cheering him up.”

“Felix?” Your eyebrows rise to your hairline. “Are we talking about the same Felix?”

A smile forms on Dimitri’s mouth. “I understand why imagining that might prove difficult, but I assure you, Felix is one of the view exceeding in handling the mess Sylvain is from time to time.”

“Felix and Ingrid?” you guess, earning a nod from Dimitri. “Ingrid is a very nice girl,” you continue, picking at a loose thread from your uniform. “But Felix seems detests me. Every time he sees me, he looks like he wants to throw his sword at me.”

“That is—” Dimitri stops mid-sentence. “That might be not so far off from his true intentions.”

You groan.

“But I assure you it is for a different reason than you think. Felix is simply … difficult with people holding a commanding position.”

“He doesn’t seem to have the same problem with Byleth,” you point out. No, whenever he trains with her, he manages something close to a smile and accepts her guidance. Then again, she isn’t his teacher.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to make him consider his opinion on you during the Mock Battle. I as well am looking forward to how you will guide us.” Dimitri beams. You stare at him like he’s just lost his head.

“What?”

“The Mock Battle three nights from today?” Dimitri’s smile falters a little. “Have the Professor and Lady Rhea not told you yet? You are to participate in the Mock Battle as the commanding unit of the Blue Lions.” Now he’s pulling his eyebrows together in worry. “Herald?”

“I—” You jump to your feet. “I have to go.” Go far far away. Just yesterday you introduced the students to the tactic called Feigned Withdrawal, which involves staging a retreat in order to induce the enemy to abandon its position and plunge ahead in an attack. Dimitri abandons his position, getting up to go after you, but instead of turning back to surprise him with an ambush, you flee the battle and hope the enemy doesn’t pursue.

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