An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 2/2
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Characters: Caspar von Bergliez, Linhardt von Hevring, Dorothea Arnault, Ferdinand von Aegir
Additional Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Pre-Time Skip, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Academy Era, Miscommunication, Mischief, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Romantic Fluff, Mentioned Black Eagles Students (Fire Emblem), Canon Divergence - Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, White Heron Cup (Fire Emblem), minor doropetra, Relationship Advice, Light Angst, Bittersweet Ending
Series: Part 1 of Ivy and Morning Glory (Casphardt Year of the OTP)
Summary:
Linhardt could only stare. “You’re not seriously suggesting...?”
Caspar looked at Linhardt with a grin. “Why not? Plus, you can use this as a way to take naps in peace. I could use it when I needta train. It’s perfect!”
Sometimes, Linhardt forgot that there were small nuggets of brilliance in Caspar’s mind. With his rough and tumble attitude, Caspar needed to be somewhat smart in order to survive. It doesn’t stop his rash behavior, but that was something to think about another day. “... Alright.” Linhardt held his hand out for Caspar to shake. Caspar took it, and they shook once. “Let’s pretend to date.”
You swat at a fly only to miss. The fly lands on your arm, bites, and flies away before you’re able to hit it. Looking up, you notice floating above your head a long, red, transparent bar with a sliver missing from the end. Orchestral music fills your ears as the fly charges at you again.
You swat again, only to miss yet again. The word Miss! in italics floats above your hand, taunting you. Now, the fly aims for your face, and you duck out of the way; another Miss! Thoroughly annoyed, you reach for the nearest object — a pamphlet some solicitor forced into your hand during your afternoon and swing. The moment the pamphlet connects with the fly…
SMAAAASH!
You stare in awe as the fly disintegrates in the air. It takes a moment for the flashing critical hit message to fade, and once it does, another small message pops up: +2 xp. When you look up, the red transparent bar is full. And yet, another bar has appeared: thinner, practically empty save for a bit of yellow at the end. By the empty bar is a fraction: 2/100. Do you have to kill more flies to increase the number? Or could you kill something else?
You swat at a fly only to miss. The fly lands on your arm, bites, and flies away before you’re able to hit it. Looking up, you notice floating above your head a long, red, transparent bar with a sliver missing from the end. Orchestral music fills your ears as the fly charges at you again.
You swat again, only to miss yet again. The word Miss! in italics floats above your hand, taunting you. Now, the fly aims for your face, and you duck out of the way; another Miss! Thoroughly annoyed, you reach for the nearest object — a pamphlet some solicitor forced into your hand during your afternoon and swing. The moment the pamphlet connects with the fly…
SMAAAASH!
You stare in awe as the fly disintegrates in the air. It takes a moment for the flashing critical hit message to fade, and once it does, another small message pops up: +2 xp. When you look up, the red transparent bar is full. And yet, another bar has appeared: thinner, practically empty save for a bit of yellow at the end. By the empty bar is a fraction: 2/100. Do you have to kill more flies to increase the number? Or could you kill something else?
send in a type of tea & a character & I’ll answer accordingly!! feel free to reblog & use for your own blog/s ♡
lemon tea; what are mornings like with them?
peppermint tea; what do they get excited about?
chamomile tea; what is their sleep schedule like? does it change around their s/o?
earl grey tea; how did they court their s/o?
milk tea; what are their kisses like?
coffee; do they get jealous easily? how do they show it?
rosehip tea; how romantic are they? how do they show affection?
black tea; what do they look for in a person?
pomegranate tea; at what point did they know they loved their s/o?
matcha tea; how and when do they propose to their s/o?
chai tea; how do they spice up their relationship?
hibiscus tea; what’s their favourite place to take their s/o?
green tea; how do they comfort their s/o?
russian caravan tea; how experienced are they with relationships?
english breakfast tea; would they want a family?
rooibos tea; what’s their favourite thing to do with their s/o?
hello everyone! i’ll now be accepting these as requests (as well as the angst alphabet, which is still open). you can request one character at a time, and two kind of teas for each. i look forward to your asks! 💕
Desuetude (n)- discontinuance from use or exercise
Word of the Day Challenge (August 27, 2019)
Characters: Germany, Prussia
Words: 467
Notes: I’m trying something new! Basically, I’m using an online dictionary (Merriam-Webster) and using their word of the day as a prompt! They’ll range from short drabbles or respectable oneshots, but no matter what it’ll be fun! Thanks for reading!
—————
Every last Friday of the month, Gilbert couldn’t help waking up bright and early at six o’clock sharp. It wasn’t as if he had an alarm or anything; his body magically woke up the moment the hour turned. At this point, it was habit.
Frankly, it was rather annoying. Even Ludwig didn’t have to wake up that early to get to the meeting (although he did wake up early for other reasons, namely walking the dogs). But it wasn’t as if Gilbert could fall back asleep, no matter how late he stayed up the previous night, so he figured he might as well do something.
He cooks breakfast for himself and Ludwig. Ludwig never asks, but Gilbert can tell he appreciates the gesture. Eggs and bacon usually does the trick to wake the both of them up, and it’s filling. Gilbert knows that lunch always comes late at the meetings, and a good breakfast helps immensely.
Then, while Ludwig changes, Gilbert turns on the TV. Sometimes he teasingly turns on the Friday morning cartoons to get a rise out of Ludwig, but otherwise he turns on the morning news. As the meteorologist describes the upcoming weather patterns, it makes Gilbert wish that they had that technology back in the day. Certainly would’ve made things easier.
And soon, Ludwig is almost out the door. He’s buttoning up his coat as Gilbert comes up to greet him goodbye. Aster and Blackie whine and beg for Ludwig to stay while Berlitz gnaws on a chew toy.
“You’re gonna be fine on your own?” Ludwig asks, concern overriding his normally neutral expression.
Gilbert waves a hand. “If the robbers try to break in, I’ll kick their asses! Me and the dogs!” At Ludwig’s deepened frown, Gilbert shakes his head and laughs, “Yes, West, I’ll be fine.”
“Good.” He takes his briefcase, then, “You’re still allowed to come, if you want—“
“World meetings are your thing, not mine,” Gilbert cuts in with a grin. “Actually, I’m glad I don’t have to go to them now. You know how long it took to just get to the meeting place? I don’t envy you at all.”
A small smile lifts Ludwig’s face, then he turns to the door. “I’ll see you later.”
“See ya!” Gilbert waves Ludwig goodbye as he opens the door for Ludwig. Ludwig also waves back for a moment before focusing on his car.
He closes the door, sighing. Sure, he’s glad he doesn’t have to go to the world meetings, but it would be nice if it didn’t come with the reminder of his mortality. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers. At least Gilbert doesn’t have to do anything for the day.
With that thought in mind, he heads back — with the dogs in tow — to watch cartoons.
Send me a # (questions for OCs) or a letter (questions for creators) and I’ll answer
QUESTIONS FOR YOUR OCs
What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?
How easy is it for your character to laugh?
How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)
How easy is it to earn their trust?
How easy is it to earn their mistrust?
Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?
What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?
What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child
Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?
What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?
How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?
How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?
What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?
What animal do they fear most?
How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?
What makes their stomach turn?
Are they easily embarrassed?
What embarrasses them?
What is their favorite number?
If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?
Why do they get up in the morning?
How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?
How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)?
Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom?
What are their thoughts on marriage?
What is their preferred mode of transportation?
What causes them to feel dread?
Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth?
Do they usually live up to their own ideals?
Who do they most regret meeting?
Who are they the most glad to have met?
Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke?
Could they be considered lazy?
How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt?
How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive?
Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap?
Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)?
What memory do they revisit the most often?
How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people?
How sensitive are they to their own flaws?
How do they feel about children?
How badly do they want to reach their end goal?
If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so?
QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS
A) Why are you excited about this character?
B) What inspired you to create them?
C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?
D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?
E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?
F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?
G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?
H) What trait do you admire most?
I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe?
J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?
Notes: Yeah, I was just reading some superhero writing prompts and I got a little inspired! I saw a “hero goes to the villain for help” prompt and thought what the heck. Also lowkey ameripan because again, what the heck.
Eyes unfocused. Mask ripped off his face. Dishevelled hair. Bloody bruises and cuts lining his jaw. He could barely keep himself upright, and the moment Kiku opened the door, Alfred all but fell on top of him. Kiku could only thank the stars that he didn’t immediately drop Alfred. It’s the middle of the heckin night anyways.
“What are you--” Instead of dropping Alfred like a rock, Kiku instead lays him on the floor. He still can’t believe Alfred is here; especially in uniform, no matter how roughed up it is. It clearly breaks their agreement. “What are you doing here?!”
Alfred groans, curling in on himself. There are more jagged cuts and scrapes arcing across Alfred’s back, precise and accurate.
Getting more frustrated, Kiku kneels down and scrubs off the remains of Alfred’s mask. “What are you doing here?” He repeats, glare hard.
“A-- Ambush,” Alfred mutters, the first words he has said tonight. It’s here that Kiku realizes how gauntly pale Alfred’s face is, now that his mask was gone and more lamplight shone on his face. “They… They tricked me, they…” His eyes shut tight as he recollected the events. “I-I didn’t…”
“You didn’t what?” With some effort, he pulls Alfred up to a sitting position, leaning heavily against the frame of the door. Alfred looks even more sickly.
Alfred coughs. “I went… out. The food tasted, guh, it tasted funny, but…” He coughs again, harder this time. Kiku doesn’t move to remove the dribble of blood sliding down his cheekbone. “They got me, in the bathroom.”
Kiku feels his shoulders ride up in tension. “What did they do?”
He grimaces. “I, I don’t know…”
“You have to remember,” Kiku insists. “It just happened hours ago.”
Alfred opens his eyes slightly, then smiles. “Your hands are glowing.”
Kiku blinks, confused, so he glances down. His hands are clenching his pants, balling into fists as the glow from concentrated moonlight leaks from under his palms. Kiku forcefully relaxes his hands, and the moonlight disappears. “No, they’re not,” he huffs, looking away.
Alfred lets out a quiet sigh. His face falls in exhaustion. “They must have known. They… They couldn’t have drugged me if they didn’t.”
“You can’t have revealed your identity to more people,” Kiku says, frowning. “You’re careless, but not that careless.”
He ignores the thinly-veiled insult, shaking his head. “I know,” Alfred murmurs. “But they know. And I’m in trouble.”
Kiku stares at him for a moment longer. It still didn’t explain why Alfred was in uniform. How Alfred was even beat up so easily. It was protocol to assume the worst: Alfred is lying. He is breaking their agreement, and as such, Kiku was free to release the identity of the city’s beloved superhero to the innocent public -- and to the not-so-innocent. But the longer Kiku stared at Alfred, the more he felt unsure. Alfred didn’t lie. He couldn’t lie, not with a story as complex as this.
He stands up, and then he lifts Alfred up by the shoulders. Alfred doesn’t complain, instead closing his eyes as Kiku drags him to the nearest couch. Kiku grabs the nearest unfolded blanket and tosses it at Alfred’s feet.
“I’m not going to heal you,” he says bluntly, as if it needed to be said.
My dream: get to the same status as those RusAme writers on Ao3 like GalacticInk and Jupiterra. They can churn out content like nobody’s business and it’s actually good. Except it’s Ameripan. I wanna write good ass Ameripan. Just,,,,,, churn it out. And people like it.
This event will run from May 13th - May 19th! You can participate by responding to any of the following prompts, and making one of the first 5 tags Nyotalia or NyotaliaEvent
13 Motherly / Found Family
14 Home / Travel
15 Traditions / Hobbies
16 Longevity / Change
17 Pride / Wedding
18 Sea / Stars
19 Your fave head canon / recreate an old art piece
Feel free to shoot me any questions you might have!
characters saying “let’s go home”/”I’m home” after overcoming the most perilous of predicaments, the most overwhelming of ordeals, will always be a finishing move more powerful than whatever the hell they used to actually beat the final boss just now
Notes: From this writing prompt list (#63). I'm trying to get back into my writing mojo by just...... writing. I’m attributing the drabble to @delusionalcandycane since they gave me a character to write with (France). Love ya <3
Ao3 Link
“There’s nothing much we can do for now,” Arthur said quietly, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “We’re fighting Germany on all fronts. Tactical raids, barricades, all that. America, despite his bullshit isolationist beliefs, is helping out through care packages.” He bit down on one and fumbled for a lighter. “Want a smoke?”
Francis shook his head mutely.
Arthur was equally silent as he flicked the lighter on and lit his cigarette. He deeply inhaled, held his breath, then blew out smoke. “This whole war is bullshit. I don’t like that we’re fighting.”
“It’s our fault,” Francis muttered, the first time he had said anything in five minutes.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Arthur huffed. “The Kraut got what he deserved. Not our fault he went off the deep end.”
“But don’t you think...” Francis grimaced to himself, as if thinking too deeply about matters out of his hands. “Don’t you think we pushed him? He’s just a young boy.”
Arthur shook his head with a scoff. “’Young boys’ don’t start wars and kill innocents.”
“But they do retaliate at unfair things.” Francis rubbed his forehead tiredly. “Besides, it really isn’t his fault. His boss is the one behind it all.”
Arthur only grunted in response.
They sat in silence for a few moments longer. Just outside their tent, they could hear the sound of splashing footsteps, with soldiers and orderlies running as fast as they could in the safety of the trenches to where they needed to go. It still smelled like the rain that had passed ten minutes ago, magnifying the smell of dirt. And then, of course, came the underlying smell of smoke from Arthur’s cigarette.
“Are you sure you don’t want a smoke?” Arthur asked, sliding the box in Francis’ direction.
Again, Francis shook his head no. “I’m not in the mood.” He suddenly grimaced, clutching his side. “Nngh, they’re in the streets again...”
Arthur sat up straighter in surprise. “Are they, now?”
Francis nodded quickly. He leaned his head down on the table for a solid minute, sighing heavily.
“I’ll get something for the pain,” Arthur said as he stood up.
Francis looked up to see Arthur walk across the tent to their medicine chest. Arthur flipped it open to take out a bottle of pills.
“I’ll take it dry,” Francis groaned as Arthur took out a canteen.
“No. You’ll take it with water.” Arthur crossed back to their table, placing the bottle and the canteen on the table. “I can afford to lose some water. I can’t afford to lose my friend.”
“I’m not going to die of pain,” he laughed as he unscrewed the bottle, shaking the white pills out of the bottle. He put the pills in his mouth, then opened the canteen to drink the smallest amounts of water.
Arthur sat down across from Francis, watching. He sighed. “If... If he does anything...”
“Arthur, stop.”
“If he does anything to you, just tell me. Whether indirectly,” he motioned to Francis’ aching side, “or directly.”
Francis was silent, slowly twisting the cap of the canteen on. He glanced up to see Arthur’s eyes, which were as green as they were exhausted. He put a hand on Arthur’s, smiling weakly. “He will not do anything to me, Arthur.”
Arthur looked away guiltily. “I know, it’s just...” He pursed his lips in thought. “I just want to know it's okay. It will be okay.” He took Francis’ hand and squeezed it. “Is that too much to ask?”
The lovely @italiancherrybombs wrote me a beautiful ficlet for the Ameripan Secret Santa and I immediately envisioned one particular scene in @peachzin’s style so through the power of money I made it reality!
Thank you so much for the fic and thanks again for the art! You were a pleasure to work with ^^
Notes: For the ameripan Secret Santa! Just some silly, drunk fluff from these two dorks! Hope you guys enjoy!
Was night the perfect time to have a picnic?
America, after drinking a couple cans of beer, seemed to think so.
“Y’know, it’ll be like camping,” America explained as he packed various goodies into a wicker basket as Japan looked on. They were both sober enough to walk, apparently, but tipsy enough to think this was the best idea since the Gamecube. “We’ll eat under the moon, then we’ll watch the stars, and then we’ll fall asleep on the picnic blanket. It’s gonna be epic.”
Japan couldn’t help but smile. A healthy flush had settled on his cheeks. “And how long have you been planning this?”
America grinned back. “A long frickin’ time! Seriously, Keeks, it’s gonna be the best picnic you’ve ever had! Now where’s that...” He grabbed a large bag of chips and stuffed it halfway into the basket. “Aha! Now we have everything!”
They were still giggling as they entered America’s backyard, Japan hugging the picnic blanket like his life depended on it while America nearly tripped with the picnic basket. It took a few tries to unfold the blanket, but eventually they were laying on the ground, a half-unfolded blanket underneath them and the bright expanse of stars above.
It was a good thing that they were in one of America’s more rural homes. The shining stars glittered above them for as far as the eye can see, nearly outshining the moon. They wouldn’t be the same if they were in the city. Japan reached a finger up to trace what felt like familiar lines of the constellations. (He was doing them completely wrong, but America was none the wiser.)
“It’s pretty,” Japan breathed, arm falling back to his side.
“Just like you,” America replied without missing a beat. Japan let out a snort (that he definitely wouldn’t have done when sober, even in a private setting) and rolled over to America’s side.
“I’m not pretty.”
America rolled over to his side so that he and Japan were face-to-face. “Sure you are. You’re very pretty, like—” He flung his arm out, reaching out for the sky. “Like the bajillion stars up there.”
Humming, Japan sidled up to America so that they were practically flushed together. “You really think so?” He whispered.
“’Course I do! Prettier than the stars, prettier than the moon...” America sat up so that he could reach the stars better. Japan leaned on his elbows as America continued pointing. “Even the— Even the satellites up there. Even those.”
Japan let out another snort. “Satellites aren’t pretty.”
America looked down at Japan, astounded. “Of course they’re pretty! They’re... They’re blinky, and they’re... um...”
Japan sat up with a wobble, having to hold onto America to properly sit up, and kissed him on the cheek. “Okay. I’m prettier than a satellite,” he said, a wide smile on his face.
He yelped when America picked him up and placed him on his lap. They nuzzled foreheads, then America went in for the kiss. They were rocking back and forth, so immersed in the kissing that they didn’t realize that America was leaning too far to the left—
“Oh, shit!” One moment they were rocking, the next moment they were on their sides, slightly dizzy. Japan inhaled sharply when he fell on something, and they heard a loud crunch. Confused, he sat up a little—
They had completely forgotten about the picnic basket!
“Those chips are pointy,” Japan muttered as America inspected the basket for any damage. It didn’t look broken. Worse case scenario, the chips were slightly mushed. With a shrug, America pushed the basket away from the blanket.
“We don’t need a picnic basket.” They sat back up on the blanket, but Japan didn’t get on America again. When America pointed up to the sky, Japan followed his gaze. “We have those stars. And, uhh, each other?” That sounded about right. He glanced at Japan with a weak smile. “Y’know?”
Japan nodded slowly. He leaned onto America’s shoulder, sighing through his nose. “We do have each other,” he agreed, exhaling a chuckle. “Forever and ever.”
He looked up at America when the nation hugged him tightly with one arm. “Yeah,” America breathed. He then looked serious, motioning for Japan to sit up properly. “Keeks, I’m gonna love you every day. For all of our days. Until the day we die. But we’re not gonna die, ‘cause we’re immortal and stuff, and—”
“I know.” Japan clasped America’s hands and squeezed them, smiling wide. “I love you too.”
America gave a goofy grin himself, then flopped backward on the picnic blanket. “C’mon, we should watch the stars some more.”
With a laugh, Japan joined him, laying side-by-side.
They stayed up all night, staring up at the stars and having a grand old time with each other.
Ukraine x Hungary; You don't smile anymore, silence, "dark days have come to the banks of sweet rivers"
Recipient: @whoamitojudgelove
Characters: [Hungary, Ukraine], Russia (mentioned), Belarus (mentioned)
Notes: Part of @aphsecretsanta ‘s rarepair Secret Santa! I’m so glad that I was able to incorporate three of the prompts! Unfortunately, I couldn’t do the fourth (happy ending), and you’ll soon see why...
Erzsébet missed Katya’s smile.
That wide, bashful smile that used to light up her days. The one she used to reserve only for her darling younger siblings, but then eventually graced Erzsébet’s life as well. Months — no, weeks ago — that smile charmed their small home whenever they got back home from a long day. While Erzsébet would put away their gear and weapons, Katya would collect her siblings up in a hug and asked what they did today. The siblings, of course, would beg Katya to tell the stories of today’s work, how two female mercenaries faced the dark world outside.
Those were good times. Erzsébet missed those peaceful times. Back then, all she had to worry about was turning a profit and getting the food and supplies to support what was basically a family of four. But that didn’t matter, because Erzsébet had Katya and her smiles.
Now, no smiles lit up the dark interior of their home.
Before, Erzsébet always had to nudge Katya out of slumber every morning. Now, she woke up to see Katya already awake and dressed, staring out the living room window, shotgun tight in her hands. Trying to start a conversation was futile; as much as Erzsébet tried, Katya wasn’t up for speaking any more than she had to.
After returning home, Katya was always too tired to do anything else other than sleep. No matter what Erzsébet did, she would always retire quietly to their shared bedroom with a soft “good night.” When Erzsébet eventually joined her in bed, Katya was already fast asleep.
Day in, day out. Life was gray. Erzsébet didn’t know how long this was going to last. Somewhere, down in her heart, she hoped that she would see Katya smile again. But as the days kept passing by, that hope became smaller and quieter.
All Erzsébet knew was that, no matter what, she would be there for Katya.
The sky was overcast today.
Erzsébet strapped her arm bracers on as she glanced out the window. “Do you think it’s going to rain?” She wondered aloud, sitting on a stool beside Katya. “The locals won’t post many requests.”
Katya said nothing. The grip on her shotgun tightened somewhat.
Erzsébet knelt down to lace up her boots. “I don’t know, Kat. Maybe we should take the day off.” She felt awkward speaking to empty space, but she couldn’t stand silence. “Maybe we can just... hunt. Sell materials. Come back in before the storm hits. What do you want?”
She glanced up when she heard a sigh. Katya’s posture had relaxed somewhat, and while she was still looking through the window, Erzsébet knew she had gotten her attention. She paused in her lacing to wait for Katya’s answer.
“... Perhaps,” Katya muttered. “But we need to work.”
Erzsébet felt her spirits fall. “But we’ve been working every day for the past two weeks. Don’t you want a break?” She hurriedly finished her laces and stood up. “Come on. How about we take a walk first?”
For the first time in what seemed like forever, Katya met Erzsébet’s eyes. And Erzsébet’s heart broke; this was not the Katya she met years ago when they were both fresh, fledgling mercenaries unsure about the world. When Erzsébet had left her home for a new adventure, and Katya stayed home to care for her siblings. They met by a stroke of luck, and when they looked each other in the eye for the first time, Erzsébet saw and fell in love with the vibrant passion Katya had to protect and staying vigilant in the toughest situations.
A passion that, Erzsébet quietly realized, wasn’t in Katya’s eyes anymore.
“Come on,” Erzsébet prompted, a weak smile on her face. She helped Katya off her stool, strapped her iron sword to her hip, and opened the door for the both of them.
It even smelled of rain outside. Erzsébet gently held Katya’s hand, and to her surprise, Katya held her hand back. They took the dirt path away from the village, which led into an airy forest.
The forest was silent. Not even their footsteps made a noise.
They slowed when they heard running water in the distance. Katya seemed to tense up, but Erzsébet squeezed Katya’s hand in reassurance. Still, they continued onward.
Katya abruptly froze when the river came into view.
“... I don’t want to be here,” Katya whispered.
“They’ll appreciate it,” Erzsébet whispered back, holding onto Katya tightly. Katya wasn’t the type to bolt, but still, Erzsébet wanted to make sure.
“Erzsi—” Erzsébet glanced up in surprise. It had been a long time since Katya had called her by that pet name. “I... I can’t.” Katya looked down shamefully. “I can’t visit them.”
Erzsébet quietly sighed. Maybe she should have seen this coming. But she had to cling onto hope, she had to. “They’re not that far away. Just a few more steps,” she said, lightly tugging Katya with her.
Erzsébet relaxed a bit when Katya continued to walk with her. It was slow going, but perhaps that was appropriate. Just a few more steps.
They both stopped in front of the graves by the river.
Katya fell on her knees. Erzsébet joined her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulders. The sky seemed to get darker with the oncoming storm.
Erzsébet felt Katya’s shoulders rise from a sob.
“This is my fault,” she whispered. Her voice seemed choked, and yet, no tears fell. Perhaps she had run out of them. “I should’ve seen the signs.”
“You can’t stop scarlet fever,” Erzsébet tried to console, but Katya shook her head.
“I could’ve stopped it.” She stifled another sob. “Natalya and Ivan don’t deserve this.”
Erzsébet continued to rub Katya’s back, then leaned over to hug her. She felt Katya’s shoulders jump in surprise, then felt a pair of arms wrap loosely around her.
They stayed there for a long time, reminiscing about the past and missing smiles.
Notes: For the Secret Spectres with @hetaliawritersdiscord ! This was my first time writing for Romerica, and I thoroughly enjoyed it! Hope you like it too!
It was such a bummer that Halloween fell on a Wednesday this year.
Lovino didn’t agree with trick-or-treating (“How would the parents react when they see two grown-ass adults begging for candy, Alfred? Right on their doorstep?”), but he did agree to the costumes. Alfred was surprised when Lovino asked if there were any Halloween parties in the area that weren’t aimed towards to kids, and unfortunately, there weren’t any. All of the parties, if any, were on the weekends, and both of them agreed that dressing outside of Halloween would be weird.
They would just have to make do with their circumstances.
“I really don’t think our first Halloween together is such a special thing,” Lovino sighed, on the night of the 30th. They were on Alfred’s bed together, staring up at the ceiling. Alfred had his cute pumpkin pajamas on, while Lovino had relented when Alfred asked if he could wear those pajama pants with black cats.
“You don’t think so?” Alfred asked, and Lovino could just hear the smile in his voice.
Lovino shook his head. “The only difference between tomorrow and any other day is that we’ll be handing out candy to kids. Oh, and we’ll be in costume. That’s about it. We’ll still be going to work, and we’ll still be together.”
“Yeah, but that’s exactly it!” Alfred reached over to wrap his arms around Lovino’s waist, which earned him a surprised squawk. “We’ll be celebrating it together! And you’ll be making those sweets!”
Lovino huffed. “Only because I’m not eating cheap crap,” he mumbled, squeezing Alfred’s arms close to himself. Alfred grinned.
“Whatever you say, man,” he laughed, nuzzling a kiss between the crook of Lovino’s neck. And, despite himself, Lovino snorted and pinched Alfred at the side to get him back. From there, it quickly devolved into a cuddle-fight.
October 31st started out pretty boring, actually. They departed for their jobs -- Lovino at the daycare and Alfred at the high school gym -- and other than gaudy plastic pumpkins and pictures of spiders and cauldrons taped on the walls, it was a mostly regular workday for them. Lovino still had to pull two quarreling children apart (even though, in this situation, the little brat wanted to pull a kid’s tiara off), politely argue with parents (“No, ma’am, we don’t know if the caramel apples are gluten-free, yes, we promise not to feed any sort of candy to your child.”), and already wishing to get home by noon. Alfred, on the other hand, had to deal with a teen who wanted to do laps with a gorilla mask on and had to send them to the dean’s office to take care of. It wasn’t as if dealing with kids breaking dress code was anything new. This time was just... weird.
Lovino arrived home first. He always arrived home first at three, since that was when a majority of the parents picked up their little tots from the daycare (and he refused to stay until seven waiting for those parents that nearly forget to pick up their children, how in the world do they do that?). Only bothering to put an apron on top of his work clothes, he went straight into the kitchen to make the sweets.
Alfred arrived home an hour and a half later. It smelled so damn good. Lovino was hunched over the stovetop, stirring something with a large wooden spoon. Alfred wanted to surprise him with a hug, but he remembered the last time he did that when Lovino was handling something hot. (They were out making s’mores over a campfire with Alfred’s family, and when Alfred suddenly hugged Lovino, Lovino almost whacked him with his marshmallow -- which was on fire. it was a crazy night.)
So instead, he just announced his presence with small banter.
“Whatcha cooking now?” Alfred asked, peeking over Lovino’s shoulder. The chocolate chips were half-melted in the saucepan, Lovino deftly folding the chocolate over.
“I’m just melting chocolate,” Lovino mumbled, poking the saucepan. “Cupcakes finished baking, though. They’re over there.”
At that, Alfred perked up. “Really?” He glanced to the kitchen counter, and lo and behold, a tray of chocolate cupcakes were cooling on the metal rack. So that the source of the smell. He sneakily sidestepped and tried to pluck a cupcake from the rack.
“If you burn your fingers on that, I’m not taking you to the hospital.”
Alfred snorted. “They’re not that hot,” he insisted, but he backed away nonetheless. “Anything I can do to help you?”
Lovino shrugged, motioning towards the cabinet. “Sprinkles and white chocolate are in the cabinet.”
With a mock gasp, Alfred opened the wooden cabinet and grabbed the bag of white chocolate chips and various bottles of sprinkles. “You? A cooking connoisseur? Using the forbidden white chocolate?” He teased, placing the bag right beside his love.
Lovino rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who wanted mummy cupcakes.” He turned off the stovetop, then removed the saucepan. “Pour it into a bowl, please?”
They spent the rest of the afternoon decorating cupcakes into cutesy monsters, including bats, mummies, jack-o-lanterns, and even a rainbow zombie -- white chocolate with all the leftover sprinkles on top. The idea was Alfred’s, and Lovino honestly couldn’t believe the sprinkles would stick.
“It’s gonna be the tastiest one and you know it,” Alfred grinned, rubbing his hands with a napkin.
“With all that crap on it?” Lovino asked as he placed dishes into the sink. “... Yeah, probably.”
That earned him a messy kiss on the cheek, and Lovino half-heartedly complained about the chocolate Alfred hadn’t wiped from his mouth yet.
They had just finished cleaning the kitchen when the doorbell rang.
“... Craaaaap,” Alfred hissed. “We’re not in costume yet!”
Lovino leaned back to glance through the window. Already, there were three kids and a parent crowded around their door; one kid reached up to ring the doorbell again, but an older kid smacked the hand away.
“I’ll go give them candy,” Lovino sighed. “You go change in your costume.” With a quick kiss, Lovino ducked under Alfred to get the bowl.
“You’re the best!” Alfred sang as he bolted up the stairs, grin still on his face as he went into the bedroom.
Lovino only clicked his tongue as he grabbed the creepy ceramic bowl with the hand sticking out. Alfred apparently got it from a thrift store a while ago, and when he showed it to Lovino, Lovino could only stare.
“We can’t use that,” Lovino muttered at the time.
“Why not?” Alfred grinned, shaking the bowl so the hand tilted towards Lovino. “You scared of it~?”
Now, Lovino supposed it made a fine bowl, even with the weird lifelike hand. He grabbed the huge bag of assorted candies and dumped in half. The kids could get the crappy chocolate and caramels. They, on the other hand, were going to feast on quality treats.
No sooner did Lovino close the door behind him, the happy costumed kids stepping onto the sidewalk with their plastic bags a little fuller than before, Alfred emerged from the bathroom fully dressed.
“You think I look white enough?” Alfred asked, still rubbing white chalk on his face. It was a miracle his midnight blue Dracula suit wasn’t getting lighter in the process.
“White as a ghost,” Lovino said, climbing up the stairs to meet him. He fixed Alfred’s collar, then frowned at Alfred’s neck. “No blood this time?”
Alfred groaned. “I don’t want to scare the kids.”
“Oh, believe me, they’ve seen scarier.” The doorbell rang again as Lovino shifted the collar to a satisfactory position, and he sighed. “I’ll go change now.” He took another step, then turned behind him. “And I don’t want you touching the cupcakes with those chalky hands!”
Alfred just sent him a wide grin before greeting the door.
Lovino’s costume took longer. So long, in fact, that it was only after the third family that Lovino called Alfred up.
Alfred barely suppressed a snort. “Didn’t we agree on only two toilet paper rolls?”
Lovino rolled his eyes, wrapping more toilet paper around his arm. “I have to make sure it doesn’t rip, you jerk,” he huffed. “And plus, if I can pay for the toilet paper, I can use however much I want.”
Unlike Alfred’s simple chalk-to-the-face, Lovino went full out with an ashy-gray face and penned-in red scars. If Alfred didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought his boyfriend turned into a zombie-mummy.
“Anyways...” Lovino snapped Alfred out of his thoughts with a toilet paper roll shoved into his chest. “Could you wrap that around my chest? Please?”
Alfred complied, wrapping the paper around as Lovino stuck in as many pieces of medical tape as he could to secure it. The process, while time-consuming (and frustrating, especially when the tape itself ripped the paper), was easy enough. Soon, a mummy in tatters was stiffly walking out of the bathroom and down the stairs with bespectacled Dracula.
"You okay there?" Alfred laughed as Lovino tried to move his arms as little as possible. "Do you need help sitting down?" His smile only widened when Lovino sent an annoyed look his way.
They spent the night hanging out on the kitchen table eating cupcakes and answering the door to give away candy. The two of them commented on other kids' and sometimes parents' costumes behind their closed door, with mostly admiration for a child's costume and embarrassment for a grownup's. They received a few comments about their costumes, and they returned the favor with compliments of their own. It was a very relaxing night overall.
Soon enough, it was about nine o'clock, their refilled bowl whittling down to none and only two cupcakes left. Alfred's chalky face had diminished a bit, especially around the mouth area. Lovino had to pull off some of the toilet paper to get rid of stray frosting bits and sprinkles.
"We should do this next year," Alfred mused, taking Lovino's hand and squeezing.
Lovino squeezed back. "Mm. I suppose."
"Do bigger and better costumes. And hey, it'll be on a Thursday! More parties, probably!"
He only nodded, lacing Alfred's fingers into his own. "Spending time with you is enough," he muttered, resting his head on his hand. "I really liked spending the night with just you."
Alfred, miraculously, blushed through the chalk. It wasn't often Lovino got sappy.
"And I like making cupcakes too. They're fun." Lovino groaned, shifting in his seat. "Ugh, I wanna get out of this. I feel naked."
"Even with all that toilet paper?" Alfred teased, then helped Lovino up. "I feel over-dressed. This suit's gonna make me melt."
Lovino rolled his eyes. Their hands were still joined as they climbed up the stairs to the bedroom. "It was cold outside. You were fine. Me, on the other, hand, I almost froze my ass off--"
The bedroom door closed behind them, their light banter continuing through the night.
