Suu's Writblr

My writing blog! Mostly videogame fanfic, with perhaps the occasional poem tossed in there if the mood strikes me. My main fandom is Fire Emblem, but it won't be all that's posted here.

[archaneanscribe]

Heart in Two Places at Once

“Thinking hard, my friend?" 

After his...let us say, dramatic reveal, Anos had taken to calling him some variation of my friend regularly. 

It made his heart soar. 

It tore his heart in two. 

"I am. I'd hate to admit what about," he replied, sheepishly scratching at his cheek, "I fear it will make me look rather foolish for someone my internal age." 

Anos crossed his arms, "It's more foolish to work yourself up over nothing when you could let it all out to someone willing to listen." 

Aaah, Anos's unshakable confidence. Words spoken with unmatched conviction.

He'd always loved that. 

"You're right, as you always are," sighing, he gripped the edges of the window ledge he sat on, "My heart is in two places at once." 

Anos sat beside him. He was always amazed at how someone brimming with such power could have such an approachable aura, sit in a position that assured you it was fine to bear your very soul, "You are in love with two people?" 

It was a question, but Anos likely had known from the start. Damn his intellect, both analytic and emotional. 

He fisted the cloth covering his heart, "I am. You reside in the deepest parts of me, millennia spent just trying to grant you the peace you so wished for. The burning desire for your happiness propelling me forward. Even at the time, even as enemies, I had always wanted...those eyes...for you to smile" he leaned back, head thumping against the window glass, "But Misa... grants me peace. I don't feel the desire to chase, there is no burning. I simply wish to bask in her presence. I look at this necklace and feel as though I might cry." 

"That is quite the dilemma." 

Anos's tone wasn't unsympathetic, but it was distant. Unreachable. Like he always was. 

"I can't tell you how to move forward, my friend. I suppose the advice someone born in this era would give would be to move on, but I understand better than most how long two thousand years truly is. There are some things I would suggest you determine for yourself, though." 

Rather abruptly, Anos's hand reached out to grab his friend's chin, forcing their gazes to meet. His Ruin eyes weren't active, but they felt as though they might as well been. 

"Are you Kanon? Or are you Lay? Does it change depending on who you speak to? Is it Kanon who loves me, or is it Lay? Does Lay love Misa, or is it Kanon? Are they of the same opinion? Are they even the same man?" 

Anos released his chin, smiling confidently as he always did, but the expression was warm. 

It was the smile he gave the Hero as he ran a holy blade through his chest. A smile reserved for a friend, "Ponder those, and your answer will come." 

And after that, the Demon King walked away. 

And the man who watched him go, his name was...•

[archaneanscribe]

Finally Taking the Trip to Jupiter

Vague spoilers for MGS4. Also xtremely fucking sad fair warning lol

“Snake... Dave?” Hal immediately corrected himself upon entering the room. The veteran’s (finally they could use that term, with there truly being no fights left to fight) request to drop the codenames they had maintained for nearly a decade had been a little sudden, but entirely understandable, “We think we’ve found a place to stay, for the moment. A nice house, close enough to a town that Sunny can go to school in, but far enough ouy most folks will leave us alone.”

David simply nodded- taking a deep breath that would normally be an intake of smoke into his lungs, but he was sincere in his declaration of quitting. Even if it wasn’t for very long, he could do that much for Sunny and Hal, after all this time. The tech wiz stood awkwardly in the doorframe, posture so closed in on himself David would see the gangly nerd he once was before he had started spending more time eating and moving around than seated in front of a computer.

He still did plenty of that, but years on the run had shifted the ratio considerably until just recently.

“Out with it, Hal,” he croaked out in a voice that was becoming increasingly unfamiliar to both of them. This seemed to shock his companion out of his own thoughts, and he finally moved closer.

“Ah, well, you see- what do you want for your last name, Dave? You know I’ll be formalizing Sunny’s adoption, which means we’ll finally be obtaining,” emphasis was put on the word, because in reality it meant forging, “papers for her, and I thought you’d probably be in need of some too. We can use whatever is on your birth certificate, but if you want to pick something out yourself...”

A smile formed under Dave’s mustache.

“I already know what I’m using.”

Hal perked up, “You do? What is it?”

With the same simple, to the point gruffness he would never quite be rid of, the one legendary soldier answered in a single word.

“Emmerich.”

All sounds except the Nomad’s machinery working overtime on her last voyage and David’s unfortunately heavy breathing ceased for an eternally long moment, Hal’s face journeying between every emotion he possessed. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, and his attempt to stifle his sniffles failed.

He probably wouldn’t have admitted it at the beginning, but something David had always loved about Hal was his ability to keep crying. No matter the hardships he faced, the traumas, the evils and cruelties he bore witness too, he didn’t run out of tears. His compassion was a well that ran deep, and those tears were just a result of it overflowing.

“Dave...of, of course,” his expression betrayed some amusement past the waterworks, “Do you want me to list you as my brother, or-”

“You know exactly what it’s going to say, Hal.”

They both laughed now, such different sounds than it was just a year ago even. David had been sitting on the edge of the bed, and Hal had been across the room, but that distance closed as Hal kneeled on the floor, placing his hands on David’s knees. It was a gesture that David had previously classified as pitying, but he knew better, now. 

It wasn’t for his comfort at all.

“Thank you, David.”

David had half a mind to ask what it was like to kiss an old man with a mustache, but they didn’t have the time for jokes like that anymore, so he just closed his eyes and enjoyed it.

---

The eyeroll David had given when Hal told him the name of the town they’d be living in was named Jupiter was so legendary it surpassed his previous exploits with ease. But, despite how silly it was, he couldn’t deny the warmth in his chest. 

They’d gotten their trip to Jupiter, just a little late.

Jupiter, Washington, was as small as a small mountain town got. It didn’t even have an elementary school for Sunny to attend (she was bussed to the neighboring, larger town). Most residents were the descendants of the people who had first lived there, so their new faces stuck out for awhile, but they eventually concluded what was essentially the truth, albeit missing some key details, and moved on- they were just two retirees, hoping to live out what was left of the older one’s life in peace with their orphaned granddaughter, nothing exciting.

Hal laughed at how huffy David had gotten at the granddaughter comments.

For the first month, their time there was peaceful. Content. Happy.

The second month, David starting being able to spend less and less time out of bed.

In the third month, he took Hal aside.

“You should stop sleeping in the same bed as me.”

His husband was a genius, he knew exactly why, but he still asked anyway.

“Don’t make me say it.” 

That he didn’t want Hal to wake up one sunny spring morning cuddling a corpse.

Tears were shed, as they always were, but he complied nonetheless. All of David’s belongings were transferred to the guest bedroom (Hal had tried to convince him to stay in the master bedroom, it was more comfortable, but David was adamant- that was where Hal would be staying in the future, and he didn’t want his ghost lingering in the air whenever he slept).

On the first day of the fourth month, right after sending Sunny off to school, Hal told him they were getting a dog for her.

“She loves those chickens, and I thought she might like another pet.”

“Or is it to replace me?” he asked, morbid mirth nearly buried under the pure gravel that had become his voice, “Seems to fit perfectly.”

Hal’s eyes, sad and weary, seemed to want nothing to do with this conversation, but he participated for his partner’s sake, “How so?”

“It’ll bark at strangers, bite the hand that feeds, and just generally be a pain in your ass.”

Despite himself Hal did laugh, not entirely bitter, “We’ll train it better than that.”

“Don’t train it too well. Won’t remind you enough of me.”

Fifth month, they had a dog. Rex, a joke on two layers- a name so common it was funny, and a reminder of one man’s shame that he’d never quite shake off. Not a husky, because while that would please David, they’d be keeping it long term and that level of energy just wouldn’t suit their needs. Rex was an adolescent Golden Retriever. 

The dog of the American dream.

Almost like he could tell David wouldn’t be around long enough to justify getting attached, Rex mostly ignored him. The feeling was mutual. 

Sunny loved them both dearly, and that was enough.

---

They had been there half a year, and Sunny made them breakfast. Her specialty, eggs fried to methodical perfection, toast just a little browner than anyone would like, maple sausage microwaved for ten seconds more than the instructions said just to make sure they were thoroughly cooked, and a glass of pulpless orange juice tucked precariously into the crook of her arm as she carried the meal to Uncle Dave’s bedroom.

It was two minutes after Hal watched Sunny depart from the kitchen that he heard a loud crash, glass and ceramic shattering, followed by Rex’s insistent barking and whining. He was on his feet and rushed to the scene, fearing the worst and finding exactly that.

“Oh, Sunny... Sunny...”

“U-Uncle H-Hal,” she barely managed through her cries. Rex, to his credit, ignored the food on the ground and nuzzled at her face, whining, confused and upset by the noises of unparalleled distress his beloved human was emitting. Stifling his own grief, Hal went over to the young girl and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

He didn’t do a great job at holding that grief in after all.

“Sunny, Sunny, Sunny... I’m so sorry... I should have checked up on him when I woke up... It’s okay, Sunny...”

“H-He’s d-d-dead. J-Just,” her stutter was exacerbated by her choking sobs, “J-Just l-like my m-mother.”

The downside of having such a bright child was that you couldn’t shield them from life’s harsh realities that easily. There was no convincing Sunny that Uncle Dave was with the birds in the clouds, or any other such comforting tale. 

He was dead and gone, and she knew that.

---

The gravestone read:

               David Emmerich

       Beloved father and husband.

All three of those titles were ones he had only worn for six months, but he had worn them with honor.•

[archaneanscribe]

The Grassy Hill in Morioh Town

Second years Josuke and Okuyasu discuss the future

“Oi, Josuke.”

“Yeah?”

The pair were sprawled out on a hill, gazing up at the night sky. Well, Okuyasu was. Josuke had his eyes closed, so he might have been on the verge of falling asleep, but he still answered his friend. It was the beginning of summer and their second year of highschool was coming to a close, which meant that they were more than halfway through their highschool journey. Neither of them were star pupils, but with the help of Koichi and some good old fashioned dedication, they were passing well enough.

Not having a serial killer on the loose anymore did give you more time to study.

“Have ‘ya thought about the future? Like, what are you gonna do when you graduate?”

Josuke opened his eyes now, lazily lolling his head to the side to glance at his companion, who was pointedly not looking at him. He followed Okuyasu’s gaze upwards to see a little red dot moving slowly across the sky, a distant helicopter from the next city over.

“Dunno. Always thought I might follow in gramps’ footsteps, but Mom has always told me it’d be better if I experienced something different before I made that choice. After everything that happened last year, I think she’s right,” he sighed, sitting up now. Okuyasu didn’t join him, “Probably go to the college in S City for now, so I can keep living at home, or at least come home all the time.”

“Your pops could probably pay for an expensive school, like in Tokyo or somethin’.”

“Probably, but I don’t think I’m ready to go that far. Too much happened here that I don’t think I’ve really... unpacked yet, ya’ know?”

It was Okuyasu’s turn to sigh, and Josuke watched his chest rise and fall slowly in the ensuing silence. After a moment to collect his thoughts, “Did I ever tell you what Big Bro would tell me?”

Gritting his teeth, Josuke pulled his knees close to his chest, though a boy of his size would struggle to ever look small. Keicho had become a sore subject in recent times, “He said a lot of stuff.”

“This was different. I never knew if he was serious or anythin’, but he always said-” Okuyasu paused, rolling onto his side so his back faced Josuke, “Never mind. It’s gonna make you mad.”

Josuke pouted, reaching an arm out to rock Okuyasu back and forth by his shoulder, “I won’t get mad! At you, at least. You can’t leave me hangin’ like that, man!”

“Fine, fine!” Okuyasu exclaimed, rolling back over and swatting Josuke’s arm away. He was smiling, which his friend was always glad to see, but it flattened into a tense expression as he began to speak, “He always said that once he figured out how to kill dad, he'd kill me and then himself.”

The sound of distant crickets could be heard, and little else.

“Never knew how serious he was, though, because sometimes he’d talk about how his life would begin after he killed dad. I think, really, what he was tellin’ me was ‘don’t even bother thinking about your future’.”

“That’s really shitty of him to tell his little brother, I think,” there was little hiding the rage in Josuke’s voice. After losing his grandfather, Shigechi, and coming close to losing both his own life and his best friend’s, Josuke had become more serious (when it came to matters like these, anyhow). His age probably had something else to do with it too- sixteen became seventeen, and the gap between him and adulthood grew ever shorter. And that meant less time to hear the people you like accept whatever bullshit their shitty older brothers fed them, “No matter what he said, your future is your own to decide.”

Finally Okuyasu sat up, fruitlessly smoothing out his hopelessly tousled flattop, “Yer probably right, but it still makes it hard to think about what to do eventually. Maybe I’ll do manual labor? Always hear about how they’re hirin’ down at the harbor. Don’t think I’d mind that so much.”

“You’re gonna stay in town?”

The look Okuyasu gave him was all at once scandalized and confused, “Of course! I ain’t got anywhere else to go, after all. Pops’ shitty attitude- cause he was kinda mean even before he started hittin’ us- meant the rest of our family cut us off. And besides, I gotta take care of him, and this place already has a buncha Stand users, so I don’t have to worry about lockin’ him up too tight.”

Unable to help himself, Josuke grinned wide, slinging his arm around Okuyasu’s shoulder in a way that had long been commonplace between them, and would stay so for many years, “I’ll support you in whatever you wanna do, man, so long as you don’t go forgettin’ about your ol’ pal Josuke-kun here!”

Okuyasu laughed, relaxing into the embrace with ease, “That’s my line, asshole! Don’t you go become a city slicker and leave us all behind, ya’ hear!”

“You were the one who grew up in the city!”

Their verbal jabs soon became a physical tussle, and their worries about the future faded away that night as they rolled around in the grass atop that hill in Morioh Town- the place they would always call home.•

[archaneanscribe]

Happy Endings for the Wicked

They did not live in the land of fairytales and black-and-white morality. 

When Hubert arrived back at the palace that night, he was not returning from a diplomatic mission to the former Alliance territories as was stated on all official records. No, the activity he partook in was far bloodier. Rattling around in his skull was the man's screams, cries for mercy intermingling his release of information, converging into barely intelligible gibberish. After spending weeks tracking the spy down, all in all it had been quick and dirty tonight. He hadn't even required more than a single guard attending to the door, leaving him and the victim alone, so he would have only one face to remember in his nightmares.

Yes, today he had been given his life to take with him, but often the greater mercy was to end it quickly. Hubert knew himself (for the Vestra's trained for torture through first hand experience) the ways in which it haunted you.

So when Hubert opened the door to the sight of Ferdinand, only in his loose fitting nightclothes and sitting at the vanity in their chambers, looking down at a glass of wine like he had poisoned himself, he was not surprised.

"Up rather late, aren't we?" Hubert began, teasing edge undercut by how cautiously slow he spoke. He locked the door behind him, quickly working off his gloves as he walked further into the room, "Very unlike you."

Ferdinand did not look at him, instead taking a sip of his wine. His cheeks were not the typical flushed they became after any serious amount of alcohol consumption, so Hubert supposed it must have been poured mainly to give him something to do with his hands. When his gaze did move upwards, it was not at his husband, but at his vanity mirror, staring at himself in a way not unlike how he glowered at enemies on the battlefield. When he spoke, his tone was bitter yet hollow.

"You are a bad man."

Hubert had now seated himself on the bed and was pulling off his boots. He chose not to reply until the task was done and he had moved on to unclasping his cape, "This revelation of yours is far from startling. Anyone in this palace could have told you so, myself chief among them."

The Prime Minister of Adrestia, with his autumnal hair and chilly attitude to match, slammed the delicate wine class onto the vanity top with as much force as it could take without shattering, though the Minister of Internal Affairs believed he wouldn't have cared if it did break, at least at this moment.

Ferdinand swiveled in his seat so forcefully that the stool that held up his weight groaned, "You know full well what I mean by saying that."

Patience wearing thin for this particular conversation, Hubert sat up straight, looking his spouse dead in the eye, "Do I? I walk into the room and am immediately insulted, true as it may be. You have yet to elucidate me on exactly what this is all about?"

Hands curling into tight fists, Ferdinand looked down, long hair obscuring his face like a window curtain, "I simply- I cannot understand how Edelgard- how I have allowed this. Continue to allow this to happen. I know in my heart, that it is wrong, and yet..."

Bile and sympathy rose to Hubert's throat in equal measure. He was being judged, morally dismissed by a man who had vowed to stay by his side, but he knew that the raging mire of doubt brewing inside his husband was sincere. His conflicting emotions twisted together as he took his next action, rising to walk the short distance to the hunched over man, resting an arm over his back but speaking words with a decided anger to them, "Perhaps, you are not the paragon or morality you believe yourself to be. No one is truly good, in this world."

"Cruel," Ferdinand replied quietly, but he did not shake off the embrace. He was shaking like a leaf in the wind, at odds with his normal unwavering confidence.

"While normally I would not deny it, I believe now I am simply being truthful," Hubert's tone softened, because for whatever else he was, he was still very much in love with this man, "To change the world as we did, we must accept our bloody hands. While it is my duty to keep the worst of it from you and Her Majesty's sight, I have reluctantly accepted that you both shoulder some blame for allowing it to happen at all. I loathe that as much as you."

"Hubert..." lifting his head up, there was a hardened edge to the normally gentle look in his eyes, "We are bad men. You are right. We can hope to do right by the future generations, by having this be our burden to bear."

He would never admit it, not to his Emperor, his spouse, or the deaf ears of a dead goddess, but that admission made Hubert ache. There was no lie in his mouth when he said he loathed that his dark deeds, necessary as he found them, reflected onto those he loved. 

Of course, for all he agonized, there was a trail of dead people and their mourners who would never know of his sorrows, knowing him only as a monster, and above all else, they were correct.

Dismissing those thoughts, callous as that might be (he was an expert in callous behavior), Hubert wore a cat like smile, "Admitting I am right? Perhaps I am hearing things."

Taking this obviously extended escape from his misery, Ferdinand's smile was less solid, but still decidedly present, "I think I am simply tired. Finish undressing and let us retire."

Obeying, Hubert efficiently divested himself of his clothing, brushing away any whispers in the back of his head reminding him of the fact that Ferdinand was so easily comforted this evening was not anything to be happy about. That in an ideal world, Ferdinand would not even glance at his bloody visage, much less love him.

But this was not the world of fairy tales or black-and-white morality. They were bad men, who have done bad things, and each night find solace in each in a way neither of them deserve.•

[archaneanscribe]

This Moment, Unending

Kirk’s hands were shaking as they held Spock’s cheeks between their palms, tracing those sharp features he so admired with his thumbs. Before, it had always been from a distance- a secret desire, an urge he suppressed.

But now? There was no more holding anything back.

In forty eight hours the Enterprise would dock for the final time of her maiden voyage, her crew departing for what might be forever. Most people would be relocated, positions shifted, relationships that had formed torn apart.

So Kirk was done waiting.

“Spock,” he said the name languidly, feeling like he had run out of time yet had all the time in the world, “Spock.”

When Spock spoke in return, it was soft as feather falling to the floor, “Yes, Jim?”

Titles and rank had been discarded at the door. At this moment, they were raw, tender men, bare without the shielding of their positions to hold their overwhelming feelings at bay.

“Does this make me a cruel man? Asking this of you now, of all times?” Kirk’s gaze never wavered from Spock’s, drinking in the subdued brightness of those dark eyes. He searched them for any signs of doubt, but saw only resolute will, a firm belief in... whatever this was.

“If this is cruelty, then it is such that I invited upon myself, and will bear the punishment accordingly.”

Kirk couldn’t help but laugh at that, quietly and adoringly, “Love is no punishment, Spock. At least, It shouldn’t be.”

Spock paused thoughtfully (or perhaps he too was admiring his companion, Kirk could hope) before speaking again, “I cannot say I agree or disagree, on the grand scale. But at this moment, I feel no regret.”

“That’s all I can ask of you.”

Those were the final words Kirk spoke, because speech outlived its usefulness to him at that moment- what he felt could only be conveyed through action. As their lips met, Spock brought a hand up to cover the one resting on his cheek, sending a warmth he had never felt before down Kirk’s spine.

In forty eight hours, they might part physically, but this small piece of the universe they carved out together, this brief moment, would be unending.•

[archaneanscribe]

Big Girls Cry

I wanted some MinPalla childhood sweethearts, inspired by their mini-alts in FEH. Part of the Archanea Chronicles.

When their mother died, Palla did not cry.

Est was one, but due to their mother’s illness she had seen more of the local midwife and her sisters than she ever did of their mother, so only cried as much as a baby normally cries.

Catria was five, and she cried a whole, whole lot. She gripped Palla’s skirt and wailed, snot and tears dripping down her face. She woke up and cried, and went to sleep crying.

When you’re eight like Palla, you’re a big girl- so that means no more crying. That’s what she reminded herself over and over when the tears threatened, anyway.  She knew Mother wouldn’t agree, would tell her that it’s okay for big girls to cry, that it’s okay for anyone to cry.

But Mother was gone. They had lost Father only a year ago, and now she was gone too.

It was just the three of them.

So she was going to be the best big sister ever, and be super tough. If she cried, they would know that there was a chance things wouldn’t be okay. She was going to work to be so strong that nothing could ever hurt her little sisters ever again.

The captain of the pegasus division of the Macedonian army, Mylla, had always told her she was too young to follow in her mother’s footsteps, that she had a few more years to grow.

But the day after the funeral, her mind had changed. 

First thing in the morning, training lance gripped in hand, Palla approached her again, mouth knit into a tight, determined frown.

“Lass, look-” the older woman began, as always, but now she paused, expression stricken with an emotion that Palla couldn’t yet decipher, “That’s quite the face you're making. Not the face of a young girl anymore.”

Her grip tightened.

Sighing, the captain’s shoulders slumped, “If you’re so determined, you can train with the Princess. Normally only the royal family start this young, but I suppose she wouldn’t mind a sparring partner her own age. Follow me.”

Her face perked up at the mention of Princess Minerva, “Oh, thank you!”

Of course, she had known about the first princess for some time. Her mother had been the queen’s personal vassal before both their deaths, so Palla had been told from a young age she would likely inherit a similar duty. She followed close at Mylla’s heels, into the castle walls. Another place she had visited briefly with her mother, but she had never gone through this way, into the royal guard’s training area.

When they arrived, they found a girl who couldn’t be any older than she was having her footing be critiqued by an older man.

“Oi, Odger!” Mylla called out to catch his attention. He turned to look at them, his grizzled but not unfriendly face reminding Palla of her father in many ways. The girl, who she realized must be Princess Minerva, looked at her with curiosity. Maybe she didn’t get to see a lot of other kids?

The man named Odger relaxed his posture, gesturing to Palla, who was overcome with a sudden wave of shyness and hid behind the Captain, “What’ve you got there? New recruit for the guard? A little young, ain’t she?”

Mylla stepped aside and gave the young girl a gentle push, sending her stumbling forward into focus. Mustering her courage, she stood up straight, holding her lance in the way she remembered seeing her mother do when speaking to the late queen, deferential yet confident, “I’m Palla, sir. Atheleys daughter. I want to become a pegasus knight like my mother was.”

He gazed at her impassively, “What if I said you’re not old enough? Isn’t that what Mylla has been telling ‘ya?”

She knew that she shouldn’t say what she was about to, that with the strict way the Macedonian military operated, she could ruin her chances of ever getting a position in the corps, but the repressed feelings from her mother’s passing bubbled to the surface as she replied, heatedly, “I would say that I am old enough. I watched my Mother my whole life. Give me time and I’ll surpass everyone!”

For a moment following their outburst, there was silence, but it was quickly followed by raucous laughter from Odger, who pat his belly jovially, “Careful talking to yer superiors like that, little lady! If I was anyone but a retired knight turned combat instructor, there'd be some real consequences,” he calmed down, settling his face into a soft smile, “I see you’re truly serious. It won’t be easy, and you won’t get any special treatment- just like this one here doesn’t.”

The Princess nodded gravely.

“Show up tomorrow at sun up, and be ready. I won’t be teaching you the basics.”

“Thank you, sir! I’ll do my best!”

---

He was serious when he said it wouldn’t be easy. Every evening when she came home to her sisters, it was in a state of exhaustion and ache, every muscle complaining at once.

That doesn’t mean she wasn’t enjoying herself.

Every lance swing, every knee scrape, made her feel closer to her mother, which in turn made her stomach churn less when Est looked up at her and called her “Mama!” before being corrected,

And, of course, there was her training partner.

Princess Minerva was a serious girl, in much the same way Catria seemed poised to become. There was a look on her face that Palla knew meant she planned to be a fighter her whole life, and that this training was not just exercise- but might one day keep her alive. 

But if you got her talking about her brother, baby sister, or the pegasus she had been working with, it was an entirely different story. Her eyes would light up and she would laugh and swing her arms around recounting the story of the way her little sibling finally said her name for the first time.

“She can only call me ‘Min’ right now,” she recounted as they took a break to eat some lunch, smiling as she wiped some crumbs off her face, “But the nursemaid told me that in a few months she will likely be able to say my full name.”

“I remember when Catria used to call me ‘Pal’,” Palla replied, swallowing her bite of bread, “Its’ nice that you’re a big sister too. I get lonely sometimes when I only get to see my sisters.”

Minerva nodded, “I understand. I love my brother and my sister, but I enjoy speaking to someone close to my own age. Father said it would be good for me. He wants me to be strong, but,” she leaned in conspiratorially, “He’s actually nice. Him and my brother can be scary, but they’re both very kind.”

Palla giggled, “My mother was the same way. Everyone said she was so serious, but she always played with me and read me lots of stories.”

“...do you miss your mother very much?”

Her head snapped up at this abrupt question to look at Minerva, who was turned away to hide her face, “I miss my mother.”

She sometimes forgot that the Princess had lost a parent as well, “...Yes. I miss her a whole lot. But,” she reached out to pat her companion’s knee, “I’m doing just fine! I’m going to be just as strong as she was. So you don’t have to worry about me!”

Because she was a big girl! Big girls didn’t think about their mother and cry into their pillows, or want to scream whenever they saw someone holding their mother’s hand!

Minerva moved to face her now, face twisted in confusion, looking like she had something to say but just didn’t know the right words, “Palla, I-”

“Times up, kiddos!” Odger’s voice shattered the tense atmosphere between them. So the conversation was left behind- but not forgotten.

---

It was many months later, nearing Palla’s tenth birthday, that Minerva stopped her before she headed home. The sun was setting and it’s final rays were streaming into the open area of the royal training area. Odger had already left, so it was only the two of them.

“Palla.”

“Yes, Lady Minerva?”

Minerva’s hand was on her wrist, holding her in place for the ensuing silence, before the Princess finally gathered her courage, “I was thinking about... when we get older.”

“When we get older?”

“Yes,” she took a deep breath, and spoke in that serious, assured tone she always did, “We should get married. That way, I can always make sure you’re not lonely or sad.”

Palla’s eyes widened, cheeks reddened, and jaw dropped, “Married!?”

Minerva’s face twisted like it had that day nearly a year ago, but this time, she was able to voice her thoughts, “When you leave, my heart hurts, because I know that you are sad- you always smile when you come here, but there are times I see you nearly in tears. The thought of you being lonely makes me quite angry. I want to make sure you’re always actually happy. Marriage seemed like the easiest way to do that.”

This never happened in any of her mother’s storybooks. There was usually an epic adventure and love story before the princess decided she was to defy her station and be with the knight she loved. 

And they usually weren’t nine years old, either.

However, the offer made Palla’s stomach warm. Minerva was strong, and reliable. She never expected Palla to be more than she was- just a girl her own age, a peer, a friend. Sometimes she even thought that it might be okay to share how she really feels to her, to open up, to... to cry. Even though she was a big girl. 

She thought that maybe, she didn’t have to be a big girl around Minerva.

“You mean it?”

“Yes. I want to make you happy.”

The tears started coming down, and big girl Palla was gone. All that was left was Palla- a not-quite-ten year old child who missed her mother, and just wanted to be a kid. The quiet crying quickly became hiccuping sobs, dragging her forearm across her eyes to dry the deluge as it came.

“I’m,” she sniffed loudly, “I’m lonely! I love my sisters, but I want my mother! I want my father! I want someone to take care of me sometimes too!”

In a flash, she felt a pair of arms around her, and realized slowly that she was being hugged by the taller girl. It was an awkward, unpracticed hug, but it was the first time she had been hugged by someone bigger than her in nearly a year. It wasn’t Catria or Est hugging her leg before they scurried off to play, it was a warm, enveloping hug that made her feel safe.

“I will take care of you. We can be together always. Father tells me that one day I shall get to be in charge of my own unit, and you can be in it. And we can get married. That way you’ll always know I will be there for you.”

Sniffling weakly now, she squeezed back tightly, “Thank you. I’ll do my best to get as strong as you so I can stay by your side.”

They stayed like that for a moment, the setting sun now having almost fully retreated, casting them in the cool darkness of the early night. In the back of her mind, Palla knew that Minerva was probably beholden to whatever marriage promises her father makes for her, but she couldn’t get herself to care.

Not when she could finally, finally, be herself.

---

It was thirteen years later when they were actually wed.

Of course Palla’s doubts had been correct at the time. The king had just laughed at his daughter, pat her head, and sent her on her way. He had several marriage contracts in talks with other kingdoms even at that time, so as much as he loved his daughter, one freedom he hadn’t planned to allow her was romance.

But, of course, before any of them could come to fruition, his life was snuffed out by his own son.

Over the years, Palla kept her promise, and was the first pegasus knight assigned to Minerva’s unit, later followed dutifully by her younger sisters and becoming the Whitewings that were known far and wide. Together, the two women had fought two wars, overcome adversity in all its forms, and a childhood friendship became... more.

So when Minerva renounced her claim to the throne, and wandered the land helping the war restitution with her own two hands, Palla followed suit. Their marriage was a small affair, done in the halls of Lena’s convent by the woman herself. It wasn’t for the public’s eye- it was just for them.

That night, as they curled together in bed feeling a peace that had been out of reach for months, Palla remembered her wife’s first proposal.

“You were ready to marry me at nine years old,” she reminiscenced fondly, enjoying the brief embarrassed tense up from Minerva, “I don’t think I could ever forget.”

“That seemed to me to be the only solution at the time,” she pulled Palla closer, “Everyone was always discussing marriage around me, so I believed it to be the solution to every ‘adult’ problem.”

“You turned out to be right, all these years later. I’m happily married to you, and I never feel lonely when you’re around.”

Minerva placed a kiss on her wife’s forehead, who hummed appreciatively at the gesture, “I did think about asking you again, many times, as we grew up, but by that point I had learned what it truly meant. And glad I am that I waited. I want to give you a peaceful, happy life.”

“And I want the same for you,” Palla replied, more certain than she had ever felt before. Happy tears welled in her eyes, just like they had when they exchanged vows.

And she let them fall.•

[archaneanscribe]

Somethin’ Special

You might recognize this from my ao3, but I want my writing to mainly be on this blog now. This fits into my personal canon for Archanea, so I thought it prudent to bring over. Ogma/Barst, post canon domestic fluff. Part of the Archanea Chronicles

It had been many months since the war had concluded, but each sunrise still felt like a new dawn to Ogma. Maybe it was because his life had never before been so idyllic as it was now, waking up whenever the mood struck him (even if that was usually first thing, out of habit), in the strong arms of a man he had thought he could only ever dream of being with. Crisp early fall mornings like these were especially his favorite, as the need for body heat gave him an excuse to cuddle up, but it wasn’t so cold that his zucchini’s were dying on him.

A twitch had him looking over at his sleeping partner. Barst was a heavy sleeper, likely from years of having slept on boats sailing the tumultuous seas. Not that Ogma was complaining, as it gave him time in the mornings to appreciate him. His husband’s blue hair splayed over the pillow, familiar swoop gone in favor of messy bedhead. His broad chest rising and falling slowly with each sleepy breath.

The small smile on his face when his dreams were pleasant, which was now a much more common occurrence than ever before.

Ogma only had a moment of this before Barst’s eye cracked open and he stretched out his arms, displacing the blanket that lay over them, “Goooood morning,” he said through a yawn, before rubbing some of the sleep out of his eyes. The former mercenary’s laugh came out in a low rumble, and he pecked the other’s shoulder, “Good morning.”

“We got anythin’ to do today?”

“Besides the usual? No.”

A grin started to spread over Barst’s face, “Well then I’ve got a suggestion, if you wanna hear it.”

Eyebrow raised, Ogma nodded, “Go ahead.”

“What’s say you and me just lay about all day inside? No choppin’ wood, no hunting, no gardening, no nothing. Just a cozy day in by the fire.”

“If we do that it’ll be more work tomorrow.”

“I know that! Sometimes,” Barst flushed, and he scratched his cheek sheepishly, “Sometimes a guy just wants to do something special. Even if it means breakin’ his back tomorrow.”

This brought a warmth to Ogma’s body and a smile to his face, “I didn’t say anything was wrong with it. You go get some firewood and I’ll grab breakfast.”

Not needing to be told twice, Barst hopped out of bed, quickly pulling on the clean tunic he had laid over the dresser. Some of his clothes had trouble fitting his particular...physique, so you could see almost all his muscles outlined against the fabric, a fact that Ogma appreciated day in and day out. Once ready, he saluted then blew a kiss to his husband, in that order, like he did every morning, and it never failed to put a smile on Ogma’s face.

---

Their small larder was modestly stocked, but held more than enough to two men of their age and size. Hardy, long lasting loaves of brown bread, stiff blocks of fragrant cheese, salted meats, and a variety of dried fruits and vegetables were stored in different baskets and clay containers, ensuring that they wouldn’t go hungry even in the harshest of months. For the most part what they ate was freshly grown, caught, or killed, so they hadn’t much need for fancy things that nobles had like white flour and sugar.

However, there was one thing that stood out from the rest. It was a small red box, made of fine mahogany with true gold accents, that sat next to their barrels of beer. In it were a variety of fine teas, a wedding gift from Caeda. It may have seemed strange, for two simple men like them to have a gift from the Queen herself, but in truth she was a common visitor to their humble abode.

Ogma caught himself smiling, thinking about the girl he met as simply a rough and tumble princess, who through grit and the power of love, became Queen of the united land. He couldn’t have been more proud to be at her side through the whole thing. Shaking his head fondly, he picked out a tea to brew, as this was a special occasion. He also grabbed a small loaf, one of their sweeter cheeses, and some dried apple slices, as well as an iron pot for the tea and two earthen mugs. Content with his haul, he walked out of the larder towards their main room, just in time for Barst to walk in with a bundle of logs in his arms.

“Fancy meeting’ you here,” Barst said with a grin, which is husband matched.

“Come here often?” he asked, picking up a log to toss into the fire place.

The other laughed, putting one in himself, then laying the others down on the ground beside it, “Only when there are handsome guys like you around.”

“You sure like flattery,” was Ogma’s reply, as he struck the flint a few times to get a fire started, and when he was finally content, he grabbed the put and filled it up with the jug of water they kept inside, making a mental note that it needed to be refilled. Barst took this from him, and hung it over the fire, “Not flattery, I’m just an honest man, is all, and I say what I see.”

Unable to say anything in return, Ogma just made his way over to embrace his husband, reveling in the start it gave him. The depth of his appreciation for...all this, was boundless, and he wasn’t nearly good enough with words to verbalize it. He was always a man of action instead, never really given the choice not to be really. He squeezed Barst’s waist with one arm and buried the other hand in his hair.

Patting his back, Barst returned the gesture just as tightly, smiling into the crook of his neck. Ogma had a few inches on him, not more than enough than made him need to stretch up for kisses on the mouth, but it was nice to not always be the biggest guy in the room. After a very long, warm few moments, they pulled apart at the sound of boiling water, ready to be poured into a cup of tea.

---

Once they had eaten their filling meal and drank their hot beverage, they pulled their chairs over to sit in front of the steady fire, At first, they didn’t say much, as neither of them really needed it. They’d been through thick and thin, through battles and peacetimes, through times of ache and times of joy. They knew one another like the backs of their own hands.

It felt...nice, to be understood by someone like this.

Finally, Ogma did speak, heart full of such emotion that his mouth couldn’t withstand the flood any longer, “I said most of this at the wedding, but, before I meet Caeda I didn’t expect much out of life. Still didn’t even after I started work in Talys. Thought I’d spend most of my life fighting for other people, even if I happened to like those people more than before. But...”

He reached out his hand to grab his husband’s, enjoying the feeling of their rough, calloused palms rubbing against each other’s, “Then I found you. A half dead pirate looking for work. There was a look in your eye that told me I could trust you, so I did. Best decision I ever made. You’ve always had my back, even when I asked you to fight in a war you had no stake in. Whenever I looked around, there you were.”

“You know, you don’t talk as much as most other folk, but when it comes to important things, you always beat me to the punch,” squeezing the hand in his, Barst looked into the fire, watching the flames dance around, “I wasn’t really all that happy as a pirate. I never much liked stealing from people just tryin’ to live their lives, but there wasn’t much choice for a guy like me, poor and with more brawn than brain. You showed me that even if it’s hard, there’s always a choice. When you held your hand out that day, my whole life turned around. I ain’t got the words for how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me.”

The warmth in the room rose, and it was not solely from the fireplace before them. They leaned in, eyes fluttering shut, to meet their mouths in a long and languid kiss. Ogma’s hand cupped Barst’s face, and the man groaned as his husband’s thumb rubbed small circles in his cheek. They stayed like this for a minute, enjoying the feeling of their lips moving slowly against each other’s. When they did pull away, they sported grins reserved exclusively for the consumption of the other.

“Ten years ago, when we met, I never expected this is where we would be,” Ogma confessed.

Barst nodded, “Can’t say the same for myself. Knew you’d be the guy I married the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“More flattery,” Ogma rolled his eyes as he leaned in to steal another kiss, and all the world’s troubles faded away in the face of the peace they brought each other in that small cottage in an unimportant forest in the countryside. No matter the lives they lived before, they knew that now they’d always moments like these, together.•

[archaneanscribe]

Eight Days

I tried my hand at expanding on and reimagining the detail's of Julian and Lena's first meeting. Part of the Archanea Chronicles.

The heavy iron door of the cell slammed shut with a dreadful clatter, but Julian could barely hear it over the ringing in his ears.

Hissing in pain, he rolled over onto his back on the cold, hard floor, the relief he felt at no longer lying down on his broken arm negligible at best. This is what happens when you betrayed the Soothsires, after all. You get beaten until you're black and blue, and are thrown away to rot.

"Bastards..." he growled under his breath once he had heard his former-allies-turned-captor's footsteps retreat a good distance, "I knew they were a bunch of animals, but they didn't even have the decency to kill me..."

"Are you in need of healing?"

If he were in better shape, Julian might have jumped out of skin at the sudden realization he wasn't alone. Seeing that he wasn't, he just twitched at the voice coming from his right, lolling his head in that direction with considerable effort. He couldn't get a great look at his cellmate due to the sideways angle and probable concussion he had, but he could make out a staff in their hand.

"Yeah, but why bother?" he replied, letting out a huff of air that was supposed to be a sigh, but was more of a pitiful shudder, "They'll just beat me again tomorrow."

"And I will heal you again tomorrow."

He diverted all his energy to focusing his vision in order to really see his companion. Red hair, white clothes, a staff... it was that girl! The girl who was the reason he was here in the first place.

She seemed tired of waiting for an answer, because a flash of light illuminated the grimy cell as a warm feeling washed over him. As a bandit, he was rarely on the receiving end of healing magic, so he silently marveled at the feeling of bone reconnecting and flesh pulling back together. It wasn't painful, but it was definitely... odd.

As quick as it began, it was over, and he was good as new.

Well, he felt more gently used instead of on the verge of death, which was good enough. He still ached, but he was able to sit up now. After doing that, he scooted backwards until his back rested against the wall. Feeling more human, he was finally able to see her properly. Despite having been in here for a week longer than him, the only things that seemed to be wrong with her were impressively dirty robes, and tired, tired eyes.

At the same time, she was appraising him as well, but with medical curiosity, "Are you feeling better?"

"Much," a beat, "Aren't you worried about what they'll do to you? They might be idiots, but it'd take more than an idiot to not figure out what happened here."

She shook her head, brushing some hair aside to reveal a small cut, "When this happened, your leader was quite angry with the man who did it. I am more..." her expression, which had previously been impassive, grew bitter, "...valuable, if I am undamaged."

Yeah. He knew exactly what she meant there.

"That's probably true. Never scuff up the merchandise," he said the last word with venom, "That used to just mean jewels and trinkets, not people."

Setting her staff aside, she cautiously moved closer to him, stopping an arm's length away, "Kidnapping women is not something you did before?"

"No!" he shouted defensively, forcefully snapping his jaw shut to regulate his volume, "No. We did plenty of unsavory things- we stole and we killed, sure, but we had our limits. But then Hyman took over. Bastard has been pushing those boundaries day by day. But he finally crossed the line when he," he gestured towards her, "You know."

She nodded, "Is that why you are here? You objected to your leaders actions?"

"I just couldn't let it continue. It'd have been bad enough as it is, but you're not just any woman," he pointed to her staff, "You're a cleric! A holy woman! A healer!"

Her face softened into a smile, and it softened his heart, to see something so beautiful in this setting. She closed that final distance between them, laying a hand on his forearm- her hands were small, but the skin was rougher than he expected, "You have a good heart."

While she had been on the money before, now she was as wrong as could be.

His shoulder was still tender, but he shrugged her off, "You don't know what I've done. Not being alright with selling people isn't anything special."

"You chose to stand up for what you believe in. Most sit back and watch, no matter how much they object."

"Look, lady-"

"Lena."

He looked at her like she had grown an extra arm, but her smile only grew, like a flower emerging from a crack in the cobblestone, "My name is Lena. What is your name?"

More than a little lost at the direction this interaction was headed, all he could do was blink numbly as he replied, "Uh, Julian. I'm Julian."

"Well, Julian, there is something you need to know. The other staff I have is Warp. It is very rare and valuable, worth much more than my life."

"Why-"

"If you are truly so blackhearted, you will call for one of your associates and tell them this. I'm sure they would let you go free if you did."

His eyes drifted over to where she had been sitting before, and true enough, he saw a staff that was much more ornate than what she had used on him. From there, his gaze moved back to her, a serene smile still gracing her face (which he was increasingly noticing was quite lovely).

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You stood against your comrades for my sake. I believe I owe you the honesty."

What a strange woman.

Seeming content that she had accomplished whatever her goals were, Lena moved back to the side of the cell she was originally in, sitting all too calmly for someone in her situation.

If she noticed him staring at her in bewilderment, she said nothing.

---

When their guard arrived later that night, he beat Julian within an inch of his life once more. True to her word, Lena healed him again.

He didn't utter a peep about her staff.

---

Julian really couldn't tell you why Hyman didn't decide enough was enough and just kill him properly, even as the days ticked by. Maybe he just lost interest. Maybe he thought that being in a cell next to a beautiful woman, unable to do anything with her was punishment enough (he would think that, the pig).

Or maybe, just maybe, he was smarter than Julian gave him credit for, and knew that his former subordinate was growing more attached to the cleric the longer they were imprisoned together, which would make her eventual fate hurt him worse than any torture.

It would be tough not to notice.

They never brought any food or water just for him, but Lena always offered him some of hers. He had turned her down.

On day three, his stomach had triumphed over his mind.

After that, he let the arrangement slide, so long as she agreed to eat more of it than she gave him. He was used to being hungry, after all.

On day five, they started to talk. The time before hadn't been entirely silent, but that had been most out of necessity, like asking for privacy when relieving themselves. It was the fifth day that she, almost speaking more to herself than him, began to recount her life story. The granddaughter of a nobleman who gave away all his time and money to help those who needed it, she chose to follow in his footsteps, renouncing her title and leading the life of your average cleric.

That was selling her short, actually. She walked paths hardened warriors refused to tread, such as traversing the Ghoul's Teeth to treat those who lived in the border villages, those who everyone else had abandoned as fools or unable to be saved.

"I am simply doing what I must as a cleric. I am no better than any of my sisters of the cloth."

He couldn't help but see her as much, much more than that.

So moved he was, that when she asked about him, he was more honest than he ever was to himself. He told her about his father, who on his deathbed had tried to impart good values on his boy. Telling him to protect those who need it, to be kind and fair to everyone around him.

He also told her how he, an angry sixteen year old boy at the time, had disregarded those teachings when a tough looking older man had taught him how to pick locks. There was no remorse in his voice when it came to him stealing to survive, nor was there any judgement in her eyes.

The regret came later.

It came in the times when he had stolen from those who had less than he had. When he has participated in raiding the nearby villages. The nights when he heard young boys cry out for their fathers amidst the flame and he didn't sleep.

On day five, he cried. As the tears came, she placed a soothing hand on his shoulder and let it linger.

---

On day six, he asked her if she could absolve him, as a holy woman.

"You can only find absolution through your own actions, Julian. Your soul is in your own hands."

---

On day seven, he asked how exactly the Warp staff worked. She said it couldn't take the wielder with it.

Later that night, they overheard their guard mention to another brigand that they finally found a buyer for their "prized merchandise".

---

On day eight, he leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "We're getting out of here, together."

On day eight, she smiled.•

[archaneanscribe]

Special

"You know," Diana contemplatively traced the edge of her mug with her index finger, staring into the muddy depths of her mocha, "I had many partners before I even came to the world of man."

Bruce waited a moment, to see if she was planning to elaborate.

She did not.

"And if nothing kills me, Hera willing," she continued, "I will outlive most of you, and will likely take more lovers after you all die."

He furrowed his brow, taking a sip of his own straight black coffee (not how he preferred it, but he had an image to maintain), "Is there some sort of point you're trying to make?"

"Hmm, a small one," she smiled, eyes filled with mirth at having stumped him, "Just that really, you're not all that special, yet here I am anyway. Think about it, will you?"

She knocked back the rest of her drink, stood, and departed from the Commissary with a deliberate sashay of her hips.

There was a jitter in Bruce's blood, and it wasn't from the coffee.•

[archaneanscribe]

Name

"Helana, behind you."

"It's alright, Helena."

"Helena."  

"Helena-"

"Ya know, Q," Helena began, easily ducking away from a punch thrown by a third rate goon, "You're pretty cavalier with my real name, for a paranoid guy like you."

The thug seemed enraged by her nonchalance, but that barely pinged on her radar as her boyfriend responded, "I'll make sure no one finds out your identity," his voice was distracted as he downloaded the file, like her concern was not a concern at all, "So it doesn't matter."

"Constantly making sure it stays secret seems like a waste of time and effort," she retorted, growing tired of playing with her adversary and delivering a hook right under his jaw that knocked him flat. Now that all the hired muscle was out of her way, she cracked her knuckles as she approached Question.

He pulled the drive out of the computer, slipping it into his pocket. Before he spoke, he paused thoughtfully, and lifted his leg to kick the computer screen in.

"It's a trifle for me."

"Q, you're really-"

Wait. Q didn't brag about stuff like that. And he had better things to focus on than constantly monitoring his, uh, network(?) to make sure her true identity didn't reach the wrong ears. He must have a reason... oh. 

Oh, baby doll.

Quick as a flash, she fired a bolt from his crossbow that whizzed past his head to catch his attention.

"Any reason for the failed assassination attempt? You normally don't miss."

She hooked the weapon back on her belt, approaching her boyfriend with the kind of conviction in her eye that led to men being dead in every sense but the legal one, and he was smart enough to back up. Eventually, the back of his knees hit the office chair that he had risen from earlier, and he fell into sitting in it with a soft thump.

"I have a theory, Q. Humor me for a minute."

He swallowed thickly at her low tone, and nodded, clearly thankful for the impassivity of expression inherent to his mask.

She reached his spot and boxed him in by putting both hands on each arm of the chair, "I was wondering why you'd go through all the trouble of tempting fate with my identity. You don't take unnecessary risks, right? Except you do. In one circumstance."

Leaning in, her black hair framed her face like a dark halo, the effect accentuated by the flickering overhead light that had been broken by a stray bullet in the earlier brawl. His avenging angel. His heart rate increased at a concerning pace, "When you want to impress me, you can get a little reckless, huh baby doll? You get off on the thrill of protecting me. That's why you do it- you make a situation where you create and solve the problem."

She pulled his tie loose from his vest, yanking it forward so her unmasked nose bumped into his masked one, "I unraveled one of your little mysteries. How's that make you feel, baby?"

"Do you want the long answer or the short one?"

She laughed, nearly low purr, "Let's make it quick."

"Good. Very."

She let go of his tie, but not before hooking a finger under the knot and loosening it just a bit, "As much as I like putting on a show, let's head back before these idiots wake up so you can do whatever it is you need to with that data, and then I can give you your reward for being honest," her smirk grew as she whispered, "Vic."

For the first time, he found that being bested at his own game wasn't so bad at all.•

[archaneanscribe]

If You Have To Ask...

"'Ya know elf, 'm sorry."

The room was filled with the scent of beer and pizza, a common combination for the two of them after a long day of training. Kurt bought the beer of course, he was knee deep in drink debt after all their bets; a German import, not because he was truly the type of care about the origin of his alcohol, but because it was quite funny to pretend that he was. They had ordered a pizza, Kurt having scared the daylights out of the poor teenaged delivery person by 'porting in front of them when he forgot to tip. 

(The face they made would have Logan busting his gut for weeks.)

They were in the aftermaths of their feast now, lounging in the living room, bellies full and content. Logan sat on the couch, holding a bottle with only a few sips left, feet up and crossed on the coffee table, while Kurt was perched on the edge of the couch, either like a scheming gargoyle or a playful cat depending on who you asked.

"Sorry for what, mein Freund? You have done me no offense, at least not recently."

"Watch 'yer smart mouth, pal," Logan growled, but his closest companion knew the difference between anger and friendly irritation, and this was the latter, "What I mean is, I'm sorry for all the idiots who don't understand what they're lookin' at when they see you."

A warmth filled Kurt's chest at the declaration  For all Logan's bluster, and very, very sharp edges, he cared for his friends. There was no one among them quicker to defend Kurt's appearance than him, even if rarely as straightforwardly as this, "Ah, tausend dank, Logan. I am not so bothered by it now, at least when it is a stranger. The support you all have given me means far more to my heart than their fear."

Logan knocked back the last sip of his beer and placed it down on the coffee table with a thunk, "That's good ta' hear, elf, but not what I meant."

With a curious tilt of his head, Kurt climbed down from his perch to sit beside the other, tail flicking around behind him with interest, "What did you mean, then- Autsch!"

The exclamation came more from surprise than pain, as Logan had reached out abruptly to grab hold of Kurt's tail to stop its movement and ensure he had its bearer's full attention. Of course the man could just teleport away, but he was far too stunned to do anything but look at Logan with wide, golden eyes.

"No one's quite like you, elf."

"Ja, ich... Yes, I..." 

The hand on the upper part of his tail traveled downwards, and a shudder wracked through him at the sensation.

"Who needs 'normal' when you got looks like yours? I'd rather be lookin' at you than anything else."

Heart thumping a kilometer a minute under Logan's intense, unmasked gaze, Kurt swallowed thickly, "Let me make sure I'm understanding what's happening here. You are, flirting with me, yes?

The hand gripping his tail let go, but before Kurt would mourn the loss, a tender hand came up to touch his fuzzy cheek, and it's gentle caresses felt more meaningful because he was all too aware of the deadly power they were capable of, "If 'ya have to ask, I've been doing a bad job."

"Nein, nein, you were fine. More than, really. I just feared it was wishful thinking, mein Freund. Mir kommt es vor als würden wir uns schon seit Ewigkeiten kennen," the confusion on Logan's face tipped Kurt off that he had slipped into his mother tongue, "I feel like we've known each other for an eternity, but I did not want to make the assumption that you felt the same." 

"I might as well have been alive for an eternity, elf, but it woulda been a helluva lot better if you were around for it."

While the flirtation was definitely working on him, Kurt couldn't help but laugh, "You are deceptively smooth for all the prickles you possess."

Grinning, Logan's began to rub his thumb against the short fuzz if Kurt's cheek, "I'm choosin' to interpret that as you saying it's working?"

Kurt returned the expression, before leaning in so close their lips brushed, “If you have to ask, I am doing a bad job.”

Pizza and beer was perhaps not the most pleasant combination of flavors to share a first kiss with, but neither of them really cared.•

[archaneanscribe]

Birthday Cakes

Peeta makes them birthday cakes every year.

He decorates them with little flowers made of frosting, and big swooping letters that say “Happy Birthday!”. Sugar is still hard to come by, but they make an exception, just for us. They owe us, they say.

I don’t care that much, but Peeta, he cares.

I think he makes them to make up for all the birthdays his brothers, and Prim, never got to have. In the day's leading up to their birthday, he gets sad. Not the nightmares, not the flashbacks- though those do still come sometimes, but we never can really prepare for those. On the day of, he wakes up before me, before the children, before the sun, and starts preparing everything he needs for the cake. 

So I don’t care about the sugar, but I do care about the cakes. Because Peeta does.

When it’s Lily’s (we didn’t name her until she was three. People looked at us like we grew extra heads, but we just wanted to be sure to not be too attached. Just in case,) tenth birthday, I wake up with him. 

“Can I help?”

“You want to bake?” he asks me. In a way, he means it. I have always left the kitchen things up to him. But he’s also joking with me- we’ve gotten better at joking over time, now that he’s more certain that when I say something to him, I mean it.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t argue.

We don’t live in a very big house, because we discovered that big houses bring back memories we both spend most of our time running from, so the walk to the kitchen is short. Like every time, he prepared everything over the course of the last week, so he just pulls down each item from the cabinet one at a time. Cake flour, sugar, leavening, and vanilla. He asks me to get the milk, butter, (we use goat’s) and eggs from the refrigerator, so I do, placing it next to everything else. 

It took awhile to get used to the fridge, but less time than other things- being able to keep things cold year round is nice. We had one when we lived in the Victor’s Village, but that’s another time we like to forget about. I barely ate at home then, anyways.

“We have to let the eggs, milk, and butter sit for an hour. We can make the frosting in the meantime.”

Baking is a lot like making medicine with Mom and Prim. Lots of waiting and a test of my patience. 

Peeta looks peaceful as he mixes the sugar, milk, and vanilla to make the frosting, so baking isn’t so bad.

Next we preheat the oven, we get the pans out, and butter them up. After that, we mix the ingredients. Saying “we” at this point is generous, really. Peeta does it, and I just stand there awkwardly. I mostly wanted to see him do it, not help, and I think he knows that, because he explains each step like he was talking to Lily or Benjamin.

“Bring the pans over here and hold one of them steady for me.”

“Got it.”

He tips the bowl and the batter slowly drips inside, filling it up to just before it gets full. We repeat this four more times, then put them in the oven. Now it’s time to wait again. By now, the sun has started to rise, filling the kitchen with much warmer light than the lamps had been doing. I lean into his side and he puts his hand on my waist and we’re quiet for a while.

“Peeta?”

“Yeah?”

Before following up on my question, I kiss him, quick and soft, and very much real.

“Would you make me a cake for my birthday?”

He kisses me too.

“I can do that.”•

[archaneanscribe]

Pawns In the Game of Fate

The day after Alm and Celica’s wedding was filled with an atmosphere more tense than the most taut bowstring an archer could muster. Having managed to get through the night of with a mix of exhaustion from all that moving around and the residual joy they felt after an evening of merrymaking with their companions, they had fallen into their lavish bed laughing, sharing their ideals for the new Valentia, dreaming of peace and happiness for all.

But the next morning, much, if not all, of that good will had vanished.

------

When Alm awoke after their wedding he, still groggy from the single tankard of mead and glass of wine Mycen had allowed him to have, rolled on his side to feel the bed empty. Taking a moment to allow his thoughts to assemble themselves, he rose on his elbow to see Celica methodically brushing her hair, staring in the mirror like it housed a secret she desperately wished to know rather than her own reflection. The room was silent, save for the soft sound of a brush running through already silky smooth hair and the birds chirping outside their window. 

Finally, this tense peace grew too much for him.

"Good morning, Celica."

"Alm!" she started when he spoke, and he rather disliked the look she wore when she whipped around to face him. It was brief, quickly replaced with her normal, serene expression, but it was tainted by what came before it; dread. A special kind of dread that accompanied the acceptance of a harsh reality.

What was worse was that he perfectly understood it himself.

"Good morning, Alm."

"Mhm," he responded with a soft noise, rising with a stretch. His ease was feigned, he knew that, knew hers was as well. But what else could they do? This was fate. They had to do it. Even if they hadn't really spoken since they were children. Even if, after all the dust settled, they barely knew each other.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, beginning to take off the shirt he had forgotten to the night before, but quickly found reason to pause, "Do you mind if I get changed?"

Her answer was clear as day in her eyes, We're just going to have to get used to it.

"Not at all," her mouth replied, treacherous to her own obvious desires. 

"Alright then." 

He knew he should bring up the obvious stiffness in her shoulders as he turned around, address the general air of misery that hung in the room like a thick, suffocating fog.

But he didn't. 

Call him selfish and a coward, but he thought that if he made it clear now, only a day in, how unfulfilled they would end up, that it would make their upcoming lifetimes even more miserable. He made sure to get changed quickly, sparing only a moment to brush his hair and put his circlet on at the vanity on his side of the room.

"I will see you at breakfast, then?" he asked, hand hovering over the ornate doorknob. It's intricate patterns still felt foreign on his calloused hands.

"Yes. See you then," she replied, voice as sweet and melodious as ever.

As he heard her words as he shut the door behind him, he hoped one day someone would appreciate that voice in a way he could not.

------

On the day after their wedding, Celica awoke before the sun. It was abrupt and anything but joyous, far from what was traditionally told the morning after would feel like. Occasionally, thankfully less often these days, she would dream of that brief moment she was a witch under Duma's control. The horror or having her body puppeted by an unseen force, pulled along by the strings of magic, limbs moving totally against her control. 

Like the blood running through her veins was not her own.

It took a moment of slow, steady breathing to remind herself that she was free, that she was her own woman. A human of free will and thought.

Just as she planned to shut her eyes and demand her body continue to slumber, the soft snore of someone sleeping beside her quickly roused her once more. Her tired eyes fall onto Alm, looking all too peaceful, breath reeking of the alcohol he had been allowed to drink at the previous day's celebration. 

Perhaps she had only passed those invisible shackles off to another to hold.

Sighing, she rose from the bed, careful not to wake the man beside her. It was not Alm's fault that they were trapped in this lavish prison called marriage. They were simply sacrificed pawns in the game of fate, their union a necessity to ensure that Valentia could become united without opposition. It was a harsh duty, but she had refused to shirk her responsibilities before no matter the cost, and now was no different.

She would rise above this. She had to.

She decided that she would spend her extra hours brushing her hair, because a queen must look presentable to her people of course. It also helped that she found it a soothing action; taking care of one's body was taking care of the blessings the Mother delivered, after all. Picking up the ornate brush, which felt odd in her hands after all these years of living simply, she began to pull it through her tangled curls, slowly and deliberately. She spared only a glance at Alm, who she could admit looked objectively handsome under the dawn's pale light.

She hoped one day, there would be someone who could fully appreciate that fact.

[archaneanscribe]

Any Moment With You

During the period of time Marth is staying in Talys before Shadow Dragon starts proper, Caeda and Marth take a walk, get caught in the rain, and something momentous happens ;) Part of the Archanea Chronicles.

"If we seek aide from-"

"Pardon me?"

Marth, Jagen, Cain, and Abel looked up from the map they were examining, each turning to face the familiar voice speaking from the doorframe. Posture uncharacteristically shy, Caeda nodded at the acknowledgment of her presence.

"I am sorry to interrupt, but if you would not mind terribly, might I borrow Marth for an hour or two? It won't be very long."

"What exactly will you be doing?" Jagen asked, face stern but not unyielding. The discussion was important, yes, but they were in Talys only because of the good will of it's royal family after all. Caeda's gaze turned to her feet, yet again at odds with her normal behavior, "It is... a secret? If it is too great of an imposition..."

The prince and his advisors shared a look.

Marth spoke before anyone else could, eyes pleading at his eldest advisor, "I would gladly accompany you, Caeda. Surely I could be spared...?"

Jagen shook his head with a resigned fondness, "Very well. We will debrief you on the results tomorrow. Enjoy yourself for the day, my liege."

"Thank you!" the prince and princess said nearly simultaneously, cheeks red and smiles wide. Confidence seemingly renewed, Caeda grabbed Marth's sleeve and pulled him out the door with considerable haste, leaving the three cavaliers to watch their retreating forms with fond looks.

"Do not think I do not enjoy to spend time with you," Marth began, looking around at the surrounding trees. The sky above them was also a worrying grey, but he chose not to comment, more distracted by the other circumstances surrounding this adventure, "Because you know I do, very much. But is this all you needed me for? A walk?"

Caeda tugged at the hem of her skirt, looking bashful, "Yes- but that's not everything! There is something I wished to show you a ways in. You will not regret it, I promise!"

He smiled softly, placing a hand on her shoulder, "It is as I said, do not mistake my curiosity for disinterest. Any time spent with you is worthwhile time."

She tried smiling as well, though it was far weaker, smoothing the back of her hair over with a sigh, "Thank you, Marth. I know how difficult this time is for you, and I noticed how the stress has been weighing on you. I just... wanted to share something that I care for with you, to lessen your burden in any way I can."

Walking on for several seconds more, she stopped upon realizing that her companion was no longer moving with her. When she turned to see why, she found him with an expression that found an impossible middle ground between joy and sorrow, "I am very sorry, Caeda."

"Whatever for?"

"We have been imposing upon you and your father all this time, and now I am causing you to worry over me. It makes me happy to know you care, but I cannot help but find myself pained to have troubled you in this way."

"Marth, no!" she cried, rushing to stand before him, gripping his arms as tightly as she could, "Do not say such things! I am doing this because I- because I care for you, I would care for you even if circumstances were different."

His head had been hanging low, but he let it rise, nodding at her words, "...thank you, Caeda. I should not have let myself fall to despair like that. You are so kind and fair, of course you do this from the goodness of your heart with pure intent."

"You flatter me."

"I speak only the truth. It is only the presence of my comrades that allows me to face each day, and your support is chief among them. You bring me the light I need to move forward."

"Marth..."

With all her hesitance dispelled, she offered him her hand to take, and he did just that.

However, before they continued walking, like the boom of a war drum, thunder cracked, startling them just long enough to make them unprepared for the downpour that soon followed. 

Thinking as quickly as he could, Marth draped his cape over his arm, and then held it over Caeda's head to shield her, "Is there somewhere we could take shelter!?" he asked, struggling to be heard over the sound of the pounding rain. 

"Yes, a few minutes up ahead there is a shallow cave where hunters often rest!" she replied at equal volume, and with that, the pair took off at top speed in the direction she had pointed.

-----

"I am so sorry, Marth. I was trying to cheer you up, yet this happened!" Caeda lamented, futilely trying to wring the water out of her hair, seated against the wall of the hunter's refuge. The both of them were as wet and cold as could be, and at least one of them was just as miserable, "I was warned of the weather, but did it anyway,"

Taking off his cape, Marth laid it flat to dry more quickly, then made his way over to sit by her side, shaking his head, "I noticed as well, yet also said nothing. There is no one to blame here."

"If you say so... at least we will be able to avoid the worst of it in here. It does not seem to be as bad as it could be, thankfully."

"Yes," Marth said, smiling fondly despite the circumstances, "I remember my first island storm on Talys quite vividly, when we visited many years ago."

"You were so frightened," she said with amusement, the mood of the small cave lightening considerably, "I remember you rushing into my room in terror!"

He shifted closer to her so their shoulder's bumped, the heat of their bodies felt by the other despite their wet clothes, "I thought we were under ballista fire, and you told me it was simply the waves crashing against the rocks! Of course, I had never heard either before, so I could not tell the difference."

"It was not so easy to convince you of that at the time," she said, leaning into him, "We had to go out onto my balcony so I could show you. Our fathers were so upset that we ruined our clothes and let the rain in!"

They shared a laugh, suddenly not so bothered by the weather outside. 

"I think your plan has worked despite everything," Marth commented, feeling bold enough to place his hand on Caeda's waist to pull her against him even closer, "When I am with you, no matter the circumstances, my mood cannot help but improve. I only hope I can do the same for you."

She smiled, "Oh Marth, you do. You have always treated me as more than my father's daughter, and you are always willing to listen and help whenever I have troubles, no matter how insignificant. I find just being with you calming."

"I am overjoyed to hear that. Once Altea retaken... would you consent to a visit?" he looked away in embarrassment, scratching his nose, words trailing off, "Of course, because Elice would like to see you again. And... I would like to continue spending time with you..."

"I would be glad to."

Joy overtaking all other emotions, Caeda let her instinct take over, and placed a kiss on Marth's cheek, just shy of the corner of his mouth. In his surprise, he snapped his head to face her, their noses brushing.

All it would take for them to-

"Caeda... may I...?"

"Yes... Marth..."

With the sound of pouring rain pelting the leaves and the damp earth in the background, they shared their first kiss, individually and together. 

Their lips were still tinged with cold, they could taste rain water, and in truth it was nothing more than a press of lips, but for the pair, it was magical.

When they found it in themselves to pull away, they locked eyes, pupils dilated and cheeks flushed.

"I... Marth, did we..."

"Yes..." he reached his free hand up to brush his knuckles against her cheek, "Caeda. Right now, I am not in a position to give you everything you need. Retaking Altea must be my main priority. But every free moment I have, and the very day our flag once more flies over my homeland, I am yours."

"I do not want or expect more than you are able to give, Marth. We are young yet, and there is much to do. So long as I get small moments such as these," she caught his hand in her own, interlacing their fingers, "I am beyond contentment."

"And I am beyond lucky to have met you."

In the world outside, the rain had begun to wane, and they could hear the thundering of hooves as well as several familiar voices calling their names.

"That sounds like Jagen," Caeda removed herself from Marth's embrace, something that they both mourned, "He will surely be cross with us."

"Let him be cross."

"Marth!" 

He grinned as he gazed at her faux scandalized expression, leaning in for one more kiss before they had to return to reality.

Independently of one another, they made a promise to themselves: they would do whatever it takes to ensure that one day, they could share as many kisses and moments of happiness as they like, no matter the cost.•

[archaneanscribe]

A Firefly In The Hand

Some pre-canon/pre-relationship Forsython, Forsyth trains at night, remembers a local tradition, and Python reminds him that he'll never be alone.

The moment Forsyth’s plans set into motion was after he heard his parents exchange goodnights the room over. He kept his eyes shut, but began reciting one of the old veteran’s war stories in his head to keep him awake for the next thirty minutes, listening closely for any noises in the house. When the only sounds he could hear was the distant bleating of his neighbor’s goats, he shrugged his blankets off and hopped out of bed.

Moving as quietly as his feet would allow, he made his way over to the window and pulled it open, climbing up and out into the quiet darkness.

Sneaking through the village late at night wasn’t a new activity for him by any means, nor was it for any of the local youth. During the summer, a mass of fireflies would light up the sky every year, and it was regional tradition to catch one in your hands and make a wish that was certain to come true, but the younger children were sent to bed long before they appeared. This, of course, began a long standing and unspoken custom to sneak out after everyone else had gone to bed. Forsyth remembered those evenings fondly, catching one for both him and Python (who couldn’t be bothered to do it himself) and gleefully refusing to share their wishes.

Usually, he would wish to become a knight one day, but there were other, even more secret things he hoped for too.

Tonight, however, he wasn’t off to hunt for fireflies, but train. If Father wouldn’t let him do it during the day, he would just have to do it when he was asleep.

It wasn’t long before he had made his way out to his favorite clearing in the nearby woods. It was a fairly open area surrounded by a ring of tall, hardwood trees, with many bushes scattered around for him to hide his training lances, lantern, and bandages for worse case scenarios (he often had to forcibly enlist Python to help him come up with reasonable excuses for the injuries). He never put his things in the same spot to avoid detection, effort that his best friend told him was unnecessary as no one was even looking for them, but that was Python, who told him any effort was unnecessary. 

At the moment, his stash was nestled into a wild blackberry bush which will lay dormant for another month or so, where they had spent many a summer afternoon ruining their dinner. He pulled out the crude wooden lance, which only looked anything at all like a weapon because the blacksmith from the next town over had taken pity on him when he was in the village for a horseshoe delivery and helped him carve it.

That was how most of the adult’s saw his aspirations. Just a child’s fantasy to indulge in, even as he grew into teenhood.

He gripped his lance tighter. 

After lighting the lantern with his flint and stone to give the night some small illumination, he took the frustration of never being taken seriously out on the invisible enemies laid out before him, swiping at them in his best mimicry of the forms in his book on combat. His father tried to take it away from him, but his mother had always felt bad and returned to him later on.

More pity.

“Haaaah!” he let out a huff of exertion as he lost his footing, sliding forward an inch further than he had meant to and nearly falling.

“Really? This again?”

As he righted himself, a familiar voice emerged from the darkness, and Python came into the dim lantern light, arms behind his head in judgemental nonchalance, “Yer pop is gonna be mad.”

“I know that. And you should know by now that won’t stop me,” he replied, swinging once more, “I do everything he asks of me all day, so I can do what I want at night.”

Python shrugged, taking a seat against one of the thick tree trunks. it was a common enough occurrence for his friend to join him, as he would often be up anyway, choosing to instead nap throughout the day like a cat. His parents weren’t all too fond of the behavior, but unlike Forsyth’s family, they had long given up on changing him.

“You know I’m all for doing whatever it is ‘ya want,” he said with a dismissive wave, “I just thought you might need the reminder. You actually seem to care when he yells at you.”

Forsyth paused, glaring down at the dirt like it had wronged him, “I don’t care about his opinion so much as it’s suffocating to be there when he’s angry. We just aren’t going to see eye to eye, which I’m fine with, but he refuses to accept it.”

A jab, and a snicker from Python.

“Are you picturing an enemy soldier, or your old man?”

“Both.”

They shared a laugh at that. Despite their differences, and how often they would get on each other’s nerves, if there was one thing he could never be in Python’s presence, it was dour.

“Any success with hunting lately? he asked conversationally as he resumed, now focusing more on his footwork than his lancework. It may have been hard to believe, but out of all the teenagers and the village, Python easily had the best bow arm, and thus the hunters always forced him to tag along. Forsyth suspected the only reason he gave in is because hunting had significant down time compared to carpentry.

"I guess. Been seeing a lot of wild boar lately, but I don't think I'll tag along for that. A lot of work I'm not willing to put in."

Forsyth scoffed, "Two boar could feed the village for a week and a half! If you helped, it would save you a lot of work in the long run."

Python hummed in consideration, snuggling into his relaxed position even more like he was barely listening, but Forsyth knew he was actually thinking hard on his words. One of the few things he would put effort into was the saving of effort, after all.

"We'll see. It's a problem for tomorrow."

"If you," step, jab, "Always," step back, block, "Put off," downward swing, "Your problems," upwards swing, "Until 'tomorrow', then you'll never get to enjoy 'tomorrow'."

"Your form was off in the middle there, more shoulder, less arm," Python pointed out, and Forsyth adjusted accordingly, "That might be true, but if yer always doin' everything today, then you can't enjoy the moment. Either way you lose something, and I'd prefer to reap my benefits before I'm old and wizened."

Shaking his head, it was Forsyth’s turn to shrug, "I will never understand you as long as I live."

"Feeling's mutual, pal."

And for the next few minutes, there was silence between them. When they were younger, their time was almost always filled with antics, arguments, and mutually prodding, and there was still plenty of that, but they were now able to enjoy long periods of quiet together. 

Of course, nothing lasts forever.

"Python, look!" Forsyth called out, letting his lance arm relax, "Fireflies!"

True to his word, a group of fireflies formed a small bundle of light that was hovering near and on the bushes.

"They're a little early, but it is getting to be that time," Python supplied, getting up and brushing the dirt off his posterior, "Reminds me of when we were kids, staying up too late to see the lightning bugs."

"You're right..." he put his training lance aside, Forsyth reached out to trap two in his hands, a much easier task as a sixteen year old than a nine year old.

Python walked over to him, smiling in a soft way Forsyth thought might exclusively be for him, but didn't dare be so bold as to be sure of that, "Caught one for me too, just to finish the trip down memory lane?"

"Maybe I just want two wishes for myself."

"Ha!" Python gave him a friendly jab in the ribs, "You'd never be that selfish, it'd give you a stomach ache. Though your lofty dreams need as many wishes as they can get."

Forsyth’s heart fell. He often forgot that even his best and longest friend also saw his dreams as silly.

He did his best to sound chipper, "I think I'll just let them go this time. No need to rely on some bugs when I've got hard work!"

As he opened his hands to release them, he felt something, or rather someone, force them shut, "Hey now, what's all this about? That ain't like you."

"It's nothing."

"Don't give me that. Nothin, is ever just nothin' with you."

"You're being awfully pushy about this. Why do you even care?"

Even in the low lighting, Forsyth could see a unique flavor or anger flare in Python's eyes at that, making a feeling bubble in his gut he couldn't name. The look was gone as soon as he saw it, but it wasn't something he would soon forget.

"Dealing with you normally is already more work than I feel like doin', and it's double that when you're mopey. Better put the work in now than be forced to deal with it later, right?"

That's what Forsyth always said to him.

"It's- No one takes me seriously. Not my parents, not anyone else in the village, not even you. I won't give up no matter what anyone thinks of me, but I would rather not be dismissed anytime I open my mouth. My dreams aren't just some joke!"

"Forsyth," Python tightened his grip on his friend's hand, making Forsyth worry he was killing the poor torchbugs, "Listen. I do think what you're tryin' to do is impossible. But I know you're serious about it. I take everything you do seriously, even if they're wastes of time. Have I ever tried stopping you?"

"...no."

"And have I been there for all the nonsense?"

"...yes."

"Am I here, keepin' you company because I know that you get unto yer own head on nights like these, when I could be in my comfy bed back home?"

"Yes."

Python released him, so he could in turn release the fireflies, thankfully alive, though likely quite annoyed, "Then that's that. I would love it if you learned to settle for a little less, but I'm never gonna get in the way of your big dreams. Yer gonna need someone with a good head on their shoulders to keep your big old noggin' from floating away anyhow."

"Python..." Forsyth grinned, much more like his normal self, "I'm sorry for doubting you. Lazy layabout you might be, bad friend you are not."

"Glad to see your common sense came back. While we're here," he smiled mischievously, "Why don't you tell me what you wished for?"

"It won't come true if I do!"

And like that, they argued amicably until their exhaustion finally caught up to them (and Forsyth’s father was an early riser, so he had to return soon), and they walked back to the village together. 

Forsyth hadn't come out here to find fireflies, but he had, and even better, rediscovered that no matter what he might feel in the moment, he'll never be truly alone.•

[archaneanscribe]

Through Your Eyes

"When I look at the world through Lady Edelgard's eyes, I see a vision for the future, which should and will come to fruition. I see an ideal. But through your eyes," Hubert's hand was anything but steady as he tucked a lock of autumnal hair behind Ferdinand's ear, "I see the present in all its glory. The good and ill, all painted in the glow of a sunset."

Face scarlet as a rose, Ferdinand laughed nervously, but didn't pull away from the hand that had drifted down from his ear to rest upon his warm cheek, "Who could have known you possessed such a silver tongue when you wished it?"

A smirk grew on Hubert's face, its usual sinister edge tempered by something softer and unspoken, "It embarrasses you, so I find it to be worth the indignity."

"You horrible man!"

"I have been called that, yes," he inched forward so their noses bumped.

It was Ferdinand's turn to smile, unabashed as always, leaning in closer as well, the heat of one other's breath felt by them both, "You are wretched, horrid, and I could not love you more if I tried."

The distance between them shortened yet again, and for a length of time neither cared to calculate, no further words were spoken.•

[archaneanscribe]

A Fresh Brew Shared with You

(So I’ve been getting really into Trio of Towns, and spent about one in-game month throwing coffee at Wayne until he loved me, and I had a lot of time to imagine what was happening in game while I did sp, so enjoy the byproduct of that. I use my farmer’s name, farm name (Aime, and Bloom Farm) plus some animal names, but it’s pretty generic otherwise, as it’s focused on Wayne’s POV mostly.).

-------------------------------

Bloom Farm hadn't always been the last stop on Wayne's postal route every morning.

When Aime had first moved in, she was solidly in the middle- he would work his way through the more local Westown residents, then mosey on down to Bloom, before taking the long way around to reach Tsuyukusa and Lulukoko. Back in those days, he would often catch a glimpse of her toiling away in her fields, maybe even snagging her attention long enough for them to exchange a wave. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Then the main bridges reopened, and during the ensuing reshuffling, he and Ethan had worked out that it would be best for him to stop at her farm at the very end to complete his loop of the crossroads.

And he stopped seeing her.

Well, that wasn't nearly accurate- he saw her throughout the day, running about like the busy bee she always was, and they might pass each other by at his other stops. But he no longer ran into her on her own property. By the time he arrived, she was inside her barns, milking the cows.

(He still remembers the taste of that glass of milk, so sweet, but not nearly as sweet as his host.)

It was simply how it panned out, but he couldn't help but feel a little pang of regret at losing those glimpses of her in her element, working the land like she dreamed for half her life.

And then Aime had to surprise him, as she always did.

It was an ordinary fall morning, the red dawn melting away to make room for the blue midday sky while he crunched fiery leaves beneath his boots. She only had one letter that day, which looked like nothing more than a materials invoice from Ludus. In and out, easy as pie. But when he got to her mailbox, he found a curious sight sitting right on it's flat wooden top.

A cup of steaming hot coffee.

He looked to both his sides, then around the box, then behind him, and finally at every which angle he could, resulting in him spinning around like a fool. Shrugging, he dismissed it as her forgetting her beverage in a rush. He pulled open the hatch-

-to find a note, with his name in large letters at the top.

DEAR WAYNE,

I know you walk your whole route and my farm is pretty out of the way. That made me start feeling badly about how much mail I get everyday, which gave me an idea: Since you like coffee, I'd start leaving you a cup! Please write on the bottom of this note how it tastes, and how you most like your coffee so I can try and make that for you.

LOVE, AIME

I'll be darned, he thought, unable to suppress a wide smile, Does that gal ever run out of ways to make my day?

He shook his head, gently placing the note back down like it was made of priceless crystal instead of hastily written on a torn piece of journal paper, and picked up the mug, still hot as all get out. That means he probably only misses her by a few minutes at most... Sniffing it, he took a tentative sip, smile instantly morphing into an ecstatic grin the moment his throat finished the first swallow.

"Delicious..." he said to no one in particular, punctuating it with another sip. It was your standard black coffee, straight from a packet, but this was brewed by Aime, for him, and she planned to do it every morning. There was no way it was going to be anything less than the best cup he ever had. Before he knew it, he had downed the whole thing, uncaring of the temperature, and was licking his lips to make sure he got every last drop.

Westown's famous playboy slobbering over his own face for any splashes of his crush's coffee. If only the town's gossip hounds could see him at that moment.

After his euphoria passed, he finally realized he was just standing outside her mailbox, letter in one hand and empty mug in the other. With no better solution in mind, he placed the cup back where he found it, before pulling a pencil out from his bag.

DEAR AIME,

Thank you kindly for the coffee, it was divine. My favorite has got to be mocha, but it's hard to get a hold of in these parts, so no need to trouble yourself. It's more than enough for me to know you're thinking of me.

- WAYNE

Content with his reply, he placed the note back in the box, covering it with her letter. He was mighty tempted to stay and wait for her, but his grumbling stomach had other plans. Oh well, he'd simply have to be satisfied with her coffee for now. 

As he made his way back to his room at the Postio, the grin on his face was enough to make the birds in the treetops swoon.

----

Despite what he had written, the very next day, he found a mug full of Cafe Mocha sitting on top of the mailbox. This time, the note was held down by the mug itself, penned on much nicer stationary.

DEAR WAYNE

I know you said don't worry about it, but Caolila recently had a large shipment of cocoa, so I couldn't help myself! Especially after remembering how much you enjoyed Vivi's milk. I have a cup myself every morning, so I don't mind doing it at all. I hope you have a great day today.

LOVE AIME

One again he was no match for this lass' tenacity, it seemed. He was going to be on the receiving end of her kindness no matter what he said.

Well, there was no use resisting now. Fully reconciled with the idea of this being a daily occurance (not that he needed much convincing), he decided to savor the beverage today, taking slow, luxurious sips. It would have been a good cup 'o Joe, even if he wasn't steadily falling for the woman who made it. Smooth and creamy, it was the perfect intersection of sweet and bitter. 

Despite trying to take his time with it, the experience was over before he knew it. He always enjoyed a good coffee, but he had never felt such a pain when it was over before.

...maybe he had it worse than he thought.

----

Two weeks into their caffeinated ritual, Miranda asked him a question that stopped him in his tracks.

"Thanks for the package as always, Wayne!" she paused, looking down at the box in her hands, before back up at the mailman, "Say... you never come by to buy coffee these days. Is somethin' the matter?"

"W-What? There's- Nothin's wrong, don't you worry."

Unfortunately, the fact that Wayne the Suave Postman tripped over his words was enough to tip just about anyone off that something was up.

She put her hands on her hips, and spoke in a tone that he was certain Noel had heard many a time in her short life, "Well I don't believe that for one hot second mister! Tell me what's eatin' you right now or I won't stop hounding you for the next week."

He knew she meant it.

"I've jus' been having coffee with Aime lately, is all. She makes too much, so she offers me a cup every mornin'," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn't particularly fond of lying, but if you told Miranda something worthy of gossip, it'd make the rounds by sundown, so he couldn't risk exposing his true feelings quite yet. Amie had to be the first to hear about them.

"Oh, is that so?"

...she seemed to know already, but at least had the decency not to make any accusations.

"I see now, but remember we've always got some in stock! Aime buys in bulk, so I always make sure I've got enough," she punctuated her statement with a wink. She definitely knew.

"...I'll keep it in mind, ma'am. See ya' later."

"Bye bye!"

Even if he wasn't totally convinced she was onto him from her words, by this point she definitely had to be, considering his face was as red as a rose right about now.

----

Another week after that, as he made his way down the slope that led into Bloom Farm, ready and eager for that day's mocha, it wasn't only a mug that he found sitting by the mailbox- it was Aime herself.

"Heya, Wayne!" she greeted him cheerfully, waving her arm in a large arc. He managed to successfully stifle his shock, though not so much his joy.

"Well, howdy there Aime. Shouldn't you be in that there barn by now?"

She smiled bashfully, "Normally I would, but Betsy the sheep is pregnant, so I've started doing it earlier in the day when I go to check up on her. Which means I've got some free time in the morning for awhile," she held up her own half empty mug, "So I thought I'd wait up for you. A hot drink is best shared with a good friend, after all."

"My grandma used to say the same thing," he replied, expression soft. Deciding to make himself comfortable, he pulled his bag over his head to place off to the side, laid his hat on a nearby fence post, grabbed the mug, and sat beside her on the porch steps. At first, not much was said, the pair instead choosing to mutually enjoy the warmth of the coffee in the crisp, chilly morning air.

"You talk about your grandparents a lot," she asked, cracking the silence like an egg, "What were they like?"

This took him aback briefly- it was his own fault, really, for keeping his past so close to his chest, but that was a rare question for him to hear.

"What were they like...?" he pondered aloud, blowing away the last wisps of steam from the steadily cooling mocha, "Well I'd reckon as nice as you could imagine. They weren't perfect people, nobody is, but they always tried their best to do right by each other, and everyone around 'em. Can't remember anyone ever having an unkind word to say when they were involved."

She giggled into the lip of her cup, shaking her head as she did so, "That sounds a lot like someone I know. You really take after them, if they were really like that."

"Shucks, that's mighty kind of you to say. I try and live like they taught me as best I can. Seems the only way I can repay 'em for all those years takin' care of me."

"Hmmm..." she brought her mug down to her lap, face pensive, "I'm sorry if this is too far, but... do you ever wonder if your life would have been different? If your parents stuck around, or even took you with them?"

He blinked blankly at her for a moment, at a rare loss for words, before quickly regaining his composure and shaking his head, "I can't lie and say I never have, but not for a very, very long time. I made my peace with it years ago. Maybe it wasn't the 'right' choice to leave me with grandad and grandma, but I couldn't imagine being very happy relocatin' all the time either."

That statement made her go quiet, and sent her gaze down to her feet, "It isn't very fun, you've got that right."

Shoot.

"I'm real sorry for being insensitive like that," he pulled the brim of his hat down in embarrassment, "I should have chosen my words more carefully."

"No no! You're fine!" she denied, frantically waving her free hand, "Our circumstances are totally different. We only moved every couple years, it wasn't constant travel or anything."

"Still, it couldn't have been easy on ya' if it was enough to make you decide striking out on your own was better than movin' again."

"That wasn't the only reason," she corrected, "It was just... what really spurred me to take to plunge. I figured the longer I was used to never settling down, the harder it would be when I was eventually able to follow my dreams. I was finally given my 'now or never' moment."

"Well," he knocked back his final sip of coffee, wiping his lips with his sleeve in exaggerated satisfaction, "Pardon me for sayin' so, but I'm glad it happened. You were the breath of fresh air these here towns needed."

She breathed out a quiet laugh, bumping her shoulder into his, the warmth of the contact even through cloth sending a pleasant tingle down his body, "You really are quite the charmer, Wayne. I'll admit to being a little slow on the uptake, so I didn't really get what everyone was tittering about you at first. But I definitely get it now."

If he were a lesser man, he would have tossed his hat into the air and hollered at that statement, but managed to resist.

But it was a close battle with himself.

"That so? Funny thing is, I feel like I'm at my clumsiest talkin' to you. You don't want pretty words or flattery like most folk. There's nothin' wrong with any of that, mind you, it's just easier than deep conversation."

"That's what I mean, silly," she replied with a dazzling smile, "Smooth talking Wayne is nice and all, you can't get to know everyone on a deeper level, but I definitely like the Wayne I know a lot better."

"What's this Wayne like?" he asked, dropping how voice down to his real flirtatious octave, "I'm mighty curious."

"He's earnest, very sweet, just a little bit silly, aaaaaand..." she dragged out the word, smiling growing to face splitting levels, before quick as a flash poking the tip of his nose, "...very cute."

Before he could reply, a nearly ear splitting BAAAAAAA arose from the nearby barn.

"Betsy!" she cried out, rising to her feet immediately, taking off in a run towards the sound, tossing only a single glance back at him, "Just leave the mugs there, I'll clean them up later! Goodbye!"

And with that, she was gone.

His hand rose to cover his nose like he hoped to trap the sensation there forever. His heart had thumped in his chest plenty of times for his other paramours, but it had never raced like a thoroughbred horse before he met her.

"Well I'll be," he said quietly to himself, "I'm in love with her."

----

The next time he was making his way to Bloom Farm, he had a very precious pendant hanging down from his neck which he could barely keep himself from fiddling with every few seconds.

Maybe it had been pretty obvious that their trajectories were in line for a crash, but he still felt like a million bucks knowing that she felt the same, enough so that it was her who had reached out to him.

The familiar fields came into view, and he immediately started searching the horizon for a glimpse of her, finally finding her dusting off her porch.

"Aime!" he called out, ditching any pretense of composure and sprinting towards her at full speed, which was worth it to see the joy on her face as he approached, "Mornin', darlin'."

"G'morning, Wayne," her grin had an edge of mischief, "Any mail today, or is this just a social call?"

"The only thing I have to deliver is myself today, I'm afraid to say."

"I think I'll be quite alright," her face softened, putting the broom aside and gesturing for him to come up with her, "Come on in, coffee's already brewing, and I tried my hand at making some cookies with Vivi's milk and Patty's eggs."

He nodded, following her with an expression he knew must have been downright lovesick. 

Maybe Bloom Farm hadn't always been the last stop on Wayne's postal route, but from now on, it would always be the last stop for his heart.•