"oh yeah even if your opponent has an unexpected advantage that completely turns the tides of battle (you thought they were unarmed when they aren't) you shook totally just keep going with your current plan, otherwise you're a coward"
Whether Sun Tzu would be into girldick is completely orthogonal to whether he would give bullshit bravado advice that will get you killed. He's the "logistics win wars" guy.
His ladycock advice would be more like "The wise general chooses an adversary who uses familiar techniques."
A/n: it has been 500 years since I turned off my brain and wrote something out of pure passion lmao dimitri my beloved <333
Unreliable Synopsis: Circumstances won't allow you to be around the crown prince of Faerghus' side, and it wasn't as if you want to be near him either after allying with House Gloucester. Besides, if there was one person you want from your past back, who else would it be other than your old womanizer best friend? (Cw: yandere themes, violence, war)
commissioned by: @poptartsthings (holy sht thank you for making my first commission to be dimitri fic aaAAHHHHH--)
“You should just send them your letter– say that you’re sorry.”
"Uhuh, but what if he doesn't remember me anymore, Raph?"
"Well," Raphael placed both his hands behind his head, lolling back as he reeled a fish in. "There’s just no way. Based on your stories, I think he’s in love with you, (Y/n). You can't just ignore him forever, ya know?"
You raised an eyebrow, "yes, I can. It's not like there are tons of situations where I need to interact with the crown prince."
"Okay, true... But maaaaaybe you can try eating lunch with him!" Raphael brushed against your shoulder "There's nothing that can get people to open up like a good meal together. Maybe you can steal a seat– oh, and sneak in his favorites on his plate too."
You chuckled softly, "I think that method only works on you, Raph."
"Nonsense!" He said, shaking his head earnestly. "It also works on my baby sister!"
You snorted.
Your housemates are endearing. Truthfully, you never would have expected that it's comfortable in the Golden Deer. Your heart desired to become a Blue Lions graduate like your parents, but familial circumstances or lack-there-of forbade any opportunity. Had life been easier on you, your dorm wall would've sported your family’s blue flag.
And not Gloucester’s.
Since your parents perished in what is now known as the “Tragedy of Duscur”, Count Gloucester assumed responsibility of being your legal guardian. Your parents had always thought of Lorenz’s father as a close ally. Plus, this arrangement was better than living up the frigid north with estranged minor noble relatives who gave you an even more colder shoulder.
However, thread any less carefully around the Alliance, and you might find yourself under his conservatorship forever. You just have to thank the Blue Sea Star that you didn’t bore a crest lest you’d be engaged to Lorenz. Uncle Erwin is a wonderful father to him and he doesn’t treat you with malice either— but of course, he keeps an eye open to morally gray opportunities to exploit your title.
And that includes listing your name amongst the Golden Deers.
At first, you were hesitant in showing that you're an “outlier” in class, but it seems you fit the mold quite easily. Too easily. Not because you had been accustomed to their social norms, it is more like the fawns are oddballs themselves. The youngest was an enchantment waiting to explode, your largest was a total muscle-head, the house leader has a screw loose when it comes to strategic retreat and poisoning, and the rest are just as eccentric.
No one cares if you told them you have an affinity for theater here, and spoilers: they really did not give a damn. Except for maybe when Ignatz genuinely went "oh, that sounds wonderful, (Y/n)!" before the conversation digressed about Leonie's mismatched socks she bought on the market.
Oh, but Raphael and Claude did care when they found out that you might've had a long but faded friendship with at least four of the Blue Lions. Compared to Claude, you trust that Raphael comes from a good place whenever he brings them up. Since he and Ignatz were childhood friends who slowly grew apart, he has your best intentions whenever he suggests something that could reignite your relationship with either Sylvain, Felix, Ingrid, or Prince Dimitri.
Claude, on the other hand…
The house leader first emerged as a shadow, then he sat down and squeezed between you and Raphael, with his arm encircled around your waist. Claude's apparent lack of etiquette went unmentioned by either of you (you suspect Claude is part-Almyran), but you do intend to ignore him later like your "foster brother" does.
"Trading secrets about Prince Dimitri, are we? Won't ya invite poor me along in your little secret meeting?”
You sighed tiredly, "Claude–"
"I was just kidding. No need to give me that face," Claude raised his arms defensively. “My lips are sealed— I never heard a single word between you two, promise.”
The deers were a little leery of your prior association with the crown prince of Faerghus. Claude, who frequently pries into everyone's private affairs, persistently diverted your focus to the Lions. In fact, he once burned your favorite book to forcibly draw your attention to the library so that you'll share the same room with Dimitri. Talk about extremes, really.
But you did notice that there's something off about Claude this time.
“So what brings you here? There’s no way you’ve come here to fish.”
“Yeah, no…” He cringed. “I’d rather do the eating part.”
“Haha, you get it, Claude!” Raphael said before the two men shared a crisp high-five.
Ah, these fawns…
You sighed, “can we skip to the part where you explain why you’re sitting beside me right now?”
“Sure. Leonie wanted me to tell you that Lysithea told her that Lorenz was told by Prof—”
“Do you not know the meaning of “skip”, Riegan?”
“Nah, course I do,” Claude smirked. “It’s just fun to tease people who live in House Gloucester.”
“Sothis, have mercy.”
“As I was saying, Lorenz was told by Professor Byleth to tell you that Sylvain is now part of the Golden Deer.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“… What?”
There was no dramatic gasp. Nothing sensational or derogatory comment was elicited from impetuous lips. You simply blinked and said the words "what? as if it were a simple joke. Claude needn’t explain that those were facts. Based on how he approached with worry written on his face that he failed to hide from you, he wasn't jesting.
You're reluctant to speak with Sylvain. You last spoke to him in earnest four years ago. Don't get it twisted, you do want to get back in touch with that philanderer's good graces, but where would you even start?
Dear Sylvain, I’m sorry for ignoring your letters? Dear Sylvain, I’ll reimburse you for all the theater tickets you gifted before without my consent? Dear Sylvain, I’m a garbage best friend?
… Knowing him, he’d likely frame that letter with careful preservation while the ink from his heaps of love letters faded inside his shelf collection. If you were to send similar letters to the other two, Felix would train to become a mortal savant and burn the letter out of spite, and Ingrid would have simply torn them up.
“WOAH!!!”
Raphael's chest caught your attention for a brief moment, and you quickly avoided him, concerned that those wooden buttons will suddenly protrude into your eyes. Your housemate captured the fish without even feeling his buttons tear apart from his outfit.
Goddess Messenger.
That’s quite an expensive catch right there.
But it felt like an omen for something.
“… I’m heading back to my dorm room.”
“Want us to go with you?” Raphael offered, but he reeked of fish.
“No, I’ll head there alone.”
Claude tilted his head, “Sylvain is probably there, you know.”
“I know,” you nodded. “But I’m tired.”
“I just can’t run away from the lions anymore.”
You should’ve taken your words literally.
Instead, the phrase "I need to get over this, fast" resonated in your thoughts, and you bolted as soon as the impulse to settle everything fueled your anxiety. You should have cared if someone got in your way, but you didn't.
“Ngh—” you flinched, bumping into someone’s back. “Whoops— sorry about that—”
You froze as you looked up.
Great. Just your luck.
“… What is there to be forgiven, (Y/n)?”
And of course, he called you by your first name. Your arguments against Raphael were demonstrably false. A futile hoax. Why even try to imagine that he might have forgotten about you?
Dimitri smiled softly, his eyes crinkling in delight. You gulped shakily.
After all, how can the crown prince ever forget his first love?
Now that you took a good look, his hair was much shorter than how it used to be and he grew positively taller. It’s a haircut you took a while to get used to, especially since you recalled how his hair used to hover near his shoulder. Not that you didn’t know about any of this information already. It’s just that you had to reassess those facts after seeing him up close. Perhaps a bit too close for comfort.
If only your last memories with him were as pleasant as his face.
He wanted you as his consort, but you had nothing to offer him. No land, no worthy title befitting for a king’s spouse, and no true inheritance in your arsenal at age 15. But when one has less to lose, they become more introspective. While clinging to Sothis' statue and pleading for life, they gain wisdom. Unlike the prince, you were not naive to what could befall the kingdom if you were to marry him. Instead, you sought asylum by knocking on Uncle Erwin’s door with the few loyal servants to House (L/n) left, and he accepted your offer after days of consideration.
His name will be tarnished as a young traumatized prince who copes by spoiling a love unrequited. But most of all? The loss of his friends and family would’ve developed his separation anxiety towards you more if you stayed.
The prince was something of a doormat teenager. He begged and nearly cried when you had accidentally slipped out that you’ll be allying with House Gloucester– but stopped his outburst the moment you chewed him out with hurtful phrases. Dimitri clung onto you like an affectionate pup and if his childhood self could latch on for the rest of his life, he would in a heartbeat. Perhaps it was the side-effect of being his first friend. He had always been a genuinely kind person, but he was always so caught up in whatever happened in the past.
Was it rational or heartless to leave him and the rest of your companions behind? Likely both, if you were to ask El.
That doesn't mean you don't occasionally catch a glimpse of him at the officer's academy. It's hilarious how, after Dedue performed his duties as a vassal, Dimitri now had to cope with a situation that was identical to yours. A "protector" so dependent… it was as though you were watching the prince try on your shoes. Your “you don’t have to shield me every time we go to the training grounds” line became His Highness’ catchphrase towards his retainer. And you’re not sure what to feel about that.
Was it comedy or plain karma? Likely both, if you were to ask Claude.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” you bowed. There would’ve been more eyes on you inside the cafeteria if you hadn’t. Gossips of lese-majeste would’ve stirred even Lindhart awake. “Do you require something from me?”
Formal.
Too formal for him, but not formal enough for you.
Dimitri's brows wrinkled, and you briefly saw his lip tremble. His hands were behind his back, and one of them was discreetly and firmly gripping his wrist. That man had a pained, speechless expression on his face, and you don't hold him responsible when words fall short.
But when words do fail, you wished he could just stop talking whenever he feels overwhelmed.
“I…”
I miss you. So much.
You didn’t need to hear it to know what he wanted to say.
Princess Edelgard was right, Dimitri is wholly predictable.
He cleared his throat, ears turning red.
“It had been so long since we had last spoken, has it not?”
“It has.”
“Around 4 years, so I'd say.”
“Hmm. So it has,” you doubt he noticed how your words were curt and redundant, since he's too busy trying not to melt. “So it has.”
“Are you enjoying the Golden Deer house, s-so far?” Dimitri manufactured a smile. “I’ve heard you and Lorenz made for a wonderful tag team at the last House Tournament.”
Bullshit.
He didn’t just “hear” about it.
You saw him cheer for you giddily in that tournament.
There is nothing he can conceal from you. If he were as cunning as Claude, it might take you some time to discover who was responsible for leaving sloppy, "anonymous" love letters inside your dorm. There were also petals tucked inside. Pink camellias, a sign of longing.
“It’s a feat not worthy of your praise, your Highness.”
Seriously, you don’t want to hear him flatter you anymore.
“Simply untrue,” he shook his head earnestly. “I’ve also heard that—… Y… You are fond of Raphael. As a friend— of course. It’s relieving to know that you have many companions from different walks of life— which is to say, I approve of whoever you talk to, but—”
You’re not deaf. You noticed how much his words were about your relations with others. There’s no other interpretation to this other than jealousy.
Still, his face was red. He must be too caught up in the joy of talking to you that he didn’t care for how envious his words sounded. You laughed curtly. You want to remind him the reason why you left, but you can’t explain a thing despite desperately wanting to, just like him.
Dimitri wants you back, so much so that he's stuttering in every sentence.
But you didn’t reply to his ramblings. Save for the cafeteria hall’s chatter, it was silent. You’ve long accepted in your heart that your family is dead and you ought to coast forward.
And there’s no future where you will cut through a path beside Dimitri.
Besides, House (L/n) had histories of trading tactics with Leicester, and you cannot discount how people refer to your blood as sheeple with its loyalty. It’s a double-edged sword, one you’d utilize well if you close your eyes right now and ignored the heartbreak and yearning in his eyes.
And so, you closed your eyes.
“My apologies, I’m in a hurry so I’m afraid I have to get going. Farewell, Your Highness.”
Dimitri's eyes widened, trying to reach for your arm.
“(Y/n), please wait–”
But you were already gone.
“Hey there, (N/n)!”
It was only when you heard a familiar voice did you open your eyes again.
An attractive and familiar young man lazily leaned on one hand on your door, completely blocking your dorm room. “Are you gonna talk to me now, or are you just going to ignore me for the rest of the school year?”
He’s here.
You steeled yourself.
“Gautier…” You exhaled.
“Oof, “Gautier”, they said,” he frowned. “Not a single “I miss you, Sylvain”? No “gosh, sorry I didn’t talk to you for so long, I was just too shy to admit that I was wrong!”?”
You chuckled nervously.
“Perceptive as ever, I see.” But you weren’t wrong. Becoming a Golden Deer was the right path for you.
“Not perceptive, but hopeful really,” Sylvain shrugged. “Based on that reply, I’m glad my wishful thinking was spot on. You do miss me.”
“I do, but I now just realized I’m not prepared for this conversation,” you said, surprised by your upfront and composed anxiety. That talk with Dimitri seriously drained all the energy you garnered earlier. “Can we do this later?”
“No can do. I shall allow you passage if thee speaks from the heart,” he teased with his signature ladykiller grin. “Go on, say it~”
You sighed, burlesquely exasperated.
The two of you adore theater, so talks like these were commonplace. He’d mask his flaws when confessing sins in this manner, but you prefer to hear his real justifications. In any case, this is just another conquest for him to gad off and hunt some girls in another house— and your new professor is undoubtedly a sight to behold.
“Oh, Sylvain, mine dear friend, thou art missed for nearly half a decade, but mine fear did not condone myself to reach out.”
Like two birds of a feather, you also similarly mask your sentimentality.
Funny how you can easily say you miss Sylvain, but not Dimitri.
Sylvain smiled. Genuinely, this time.
“Good.”
The resolution was surprisingly fast. You were willing to bet you both anticipated a serious confrontation– a meeting that feels like a long-awaited class reunion after a war or so. But no.
The two of you are still flawed yet perceptive idiots after 4 years of not talking.
You both laughed in unison.
What were you worrying about anyway? You knew that at this point if Sylvain was angry at you for leaving, he should have grown tired of that emotion.
His primary grudge had always been the crest system, not you.
You should've had this talk earlier, he's the only one in the Blue Lions you were sure won't blame a crestless noble like you for those circumstances.
“Now move, Gautier.”
He stepped aside smugly.
…
You opened your mouth in surprised indignation.
“Why does my room look clean?”
“I had Mercedes help me clean it up the moment I took a look inside. Seriously, I can’t believe you managed to live in a complete pigsty—”
“It’s like you want to sour our reestablished friendship in under 5 minutes, Sylvie.”
“...”
“What? Too old to be called Sylvie nowadays?”
“No, keep calling me that,”
Sylvain never stopped smiling.
“Oh, and by the way? I miss you too, (N/n).”
“… There you are.”
As soon as Sylvain left the hall to your dorm, he was greeted by the sight of the crown prince lingering in front of the stairways. Unlike Sylvain, he was not leaning on anything while waiting. The prince stood straight, dignified.
Then again, Sylvain knew his royal motivations lie in jealousy— and that’s far from “dignified.”
Sylvain can tell from his stiff stance that Claude was particularly touchy-feely earlier, which was exactly why he requested Lorenz to relay the message instead rather than the house leader. His Highness must’ve seen how close you sat beside Raphael and then Claude. The Golden Deer's leader knew Dimitri was obsessed with you— he probably intended to provoke him for the upcoming Battle of Eagle and Lion. It didn't help that Dimitri had his eyes on you, always. If not him, then Dedue.
Not that Claude's scheme will work. Dimitri was satisfied just to see you smile, even when it pains him to acknowledge that it wasn’t for him or because of him.
Sylvain is an exception to that rule.
Dimitri had a cold glint in his azure eyes, but his gaze all but glared at Sylvain. He had a smidgen of control, for now. But it’s not long until what Sylvain had prophesied about the crown prince quipping a remark or two about staying away from you will occur.
“Waiting for me to explain my random decision, I’m guessing?”
“Oh, I simply liked standing here but sure, Sylvain! I’d dearly love to know the rational thought behind switching houses out of the blue. It is not as if Felix and Ingrid were worried about you,” Dimitri generously gave his princely smile.
Sometimes, Sylvain forgets it was physically possible for someone so austere with himself like Dimitri to say something laced with malicious sarcasm. But Sylvain knew Dimitri stood there because he was still worried about his friend, even when he pretends to be unbothered.
Like bread and butter, Dimitri and forced positivism complement each other disastrously well. The Blue Lions often caught him murmuring things like "I'm delighted (Y/n) is making new friends" or "I hope Claude continues to treat them well" despite having a glum expression on his face, obviously bottling up his envy. Felix finds it as easy as breathing to call him out on this behavior: "Why bother stalking them when you can't handle the envy you feel when they hugged Lorenz or held hands with Marianne? ”
His Highness never answered that question. He thinks had kept his feral thoughts at bay most of the time and will continue to do so.
Still… Raphael, Claude, and then Sylvain… Dimitri can’t catch a break.
Why do all these men keep approaching you?
Will you never recognize the perpetual anguish that befall him the moment you didn't reach for his hand and took Count Gloucester's that day? Have you no sympathy for the man that promised your protection— for the boy you trained and sneaked out when you thought the king wasn't looking? Whenever he wakes up the following morning without you, do you not experience the same emptiness and loneliness that he does?
Was it because he is a "troubled prince" nowadays?
Was it because he couldn't taste anything anymore?
Why did you eat saghert and cream with Ignatz instead of him at the cafeteria?
Why did these men have to ruin the one taste he can recall?
He lies awake every night to the sound of phantom screams from fallen soldiers, friends, and family against his hand-covered ears.
But you were his solace. His “God/dess”.
And just like with the Goddess Sothis, he lacked the means to grasp your hand...
If only his cold hands could wring those men's necks as well...
“... Do you really want to know, Your Highness?”
It took Dimitri a while before he snapped out of his trance. His voice dipped low, his breathing uneasy, and his eyes lacked focus.
Sylvain looked at him with pity Dimitri wished you spared him instead.
“Yes,” he exhaled. “It shall help our friends put their minds at ease.”
“Well, well, you're sure it's not because you'll miss me?”
“Sylvain.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll tell you,” Sylvain dreamily gazed up at the sky and boldly proclaimed:
“The new professor was hot.”
“Sylvain!—”
“Calm down, Your Highness! That was just a joke.”
Unlikely.
“I joined because (Y/n) is there.”
Dimitri froze.
The meaning behind those words could either be tolerable or impermissible enough to make the prince push Sylvain to the training grounds without remorse.
Sylvain’s not going to try and suddenly woo you now, will he?
You did grow more gorgeous after four years after all…
But Sylvain can't have you— Dimitri might just lose it. Out of everyone on campus, he refuses to let an adamant skirt-chaser take you.
“… Elaborate.”
“Elaborate? What’s there to elaborate?” Sylvain crossed his arms behind his back, now back to his laissez-faire attitude in life. He cackled to himself, absolutely unrepentant. “Is it bad that I want to reunite with an old friend? You know, before they were your friend, they were mine. Don’t forget that we’re both older than you, Dimitri.”
Multiple considerations led to why Sylvain chose to frolic with the deers rather than squander the school year at the lion’s den. One of these includes avoiding Ingrid’s nagging— he can’t be bothered having a pegasus pecking around while he galavants with (unfortunate) women.
But most of it boiled down to reunite with the one platonic relationship he missed.
Sylvain became Dimitri’s ally through you. Had you not approached Sylvain and Dimitri during one of King Lambert’s birthday celebrations, they wouldn’t have initiated a friendship through a children’s version of a bergamot tea party away from drunken nobility. More opportunities to befriend the prince would’ve likely presented themselves through Ingrid and Felix, but that memory of tiny cups and tea-stained shoes was special because it had you.
Because you were smart and kind enough to drag Sylvain out of his older brother’s schemes of public humiliation under the guise of being “invited” to an audience with royalty.
You were more of a sibling than Miklan ever was.
“By two years,” Dimitri stressed. “You’re only older than me by two years.”
“Your point? Doesn’t change the fact that compared to most students this year, we’re one of the older ones.”
He bit his bottom lip.
Age was one of Dimitri’s insecurities. It cannot be helped— if he were only older, people would’ve listened to his testimony for the people of Duscur more seriously— if he were only older, he would’ve had control over his uncle—
Dimitri’s knuckles grew white underneath his gloves.
If he were only older, then maybe you would’ve stayed by his side.
“What a lark. Are you attempting to compete on who had a better relationship with (Y/n)?”
“No, Your Highness, YOU are.”
Dimitri’s eyes widened. He hadn’t realized that those pointed words he spoke aimed towards himself like a misthrown javelin.
"Let’s be honest, Your Highness. I’m saying this as a friend, but you could be a bit tone-deaf and insufferable around them,” Sylvain deadpanned. “You had some serious attachment issues and you never listen when they tell you to stop with all those creepy comments about protecting them forever.”
“Is… Is that so?”
Dimitri muttered to himself while looking at his shoes, sounding almost broken. He had doubts, but Sylvain’s words practically cemented that you’d be unwilling to spend time with him again.
“Besides, if this were a competition, you lost the moment I waited at their dorm.”
The prince’s head snapped back up like a confused puppy.
“Why is that?”
What a horrible thing to ask.
“Because (Y/n) just told me that they missed me,” Sylvain smirked.
“And if you were there, you could’ve heard them call me Sylvie too, just like the good old days.”
Since that talk with Sylvain, Dimitri wanted to make you as lonely as him.
Oh, how he badly wanted to whisk you away from that house– oh just how much he wished he could force you to wear his cape– to wear the color of the lions.
But none of that matters now.
You look prettier when doused in splattered red.
The soil sipped the blood that drained from Ignatz's head. It reminded you of the time you asked the painter if he could use blood as a dye. If he were to watch this scene, he would've waxed poetic about how he will be simply returning his life to the earth, but the beauty of death is lost on you. The gravity of war weighed far more than the theatrics of what-he-would've-spoken.
It’s been five years since the war started.
You had lost your voice two years ago the moment Dimitri kidnapped you on your expedition to Garreg Mach— you’ve mistaken him for a bandit and in a blind rage, he dealt a massive blow to your neck. Dimitri didn’t mind that you had lost your ability to speak he seemed to relish that you’re similarly deformed. He romanticized both your disabilities often. A “God/dess” who couldn’t speak and a “boar” who couldn’t quite see. What a royal pair indeed…
You can’t say your prayers now, but you hoped thinking about praying for Ignatz was enough…
Ignatz should've turned 22 this year. Based on the way he last behaved, he didn't seem prepared for this war and had been misplaced by Professor Byleth.
You’ll never be able to eat saghert and cream with him again.
You can't remember what tactic you used in this battle. Was it Felix who was assigned to stick ten feet away from you who had slain Ignatz? Or was it Ingrid who rode her pegasus to stab the sniper in a suicidal fashion?
This entire battle is a blur. You can no longer stand straight and aim your sword reluctantly toward anyone.
Why can't everything go back to how it was before? Why can't you just fish at the Great Bridge of Myrddin with Uncle Erwin again?
You wobbled down the grass as a wyvern obstructed your view with its proud albino scales cruising the sky. Claude sits atop, his face stony through a nearly unrecognizable expression of placid anger. His emerald eyes inevitably met yours.
You didn't stand with your sword supporting you, and he didn't draw his bow either. Instead, before leaving to find the bright red target everyone called an "Emperor", Claude mouthed words that only you two could understand. You uttered nothing in response. Even if Claude were to succeed, his scheme would be futile.
Sylvain can’t save you from Dimitri.
Like a fairytale, it begins and ends with the crown prince. It always had.
But if Dimitri was the protagonist of this story, then pray tell, what does that make you?
A damsel in distress?
The king's court jester?
All you ever wanted was for House (L/n) to survive, to preserve your family name and dwindling territory against House Charon. You desired the opportunity to emulate your father. A fearless front-liner and a skilled tactician.
However, you have not taken any real action to end this war. You moved like a weak infantry, unable to maintain balance on one leg or call out for upcoming danger.
You just can’t run away from the lions anymore.
"Get up."
You couldn't move, mortified.
His Highness is back.
"I said GET UP!!!"
His iron-like hands yanked your hair up, and you felt some of it weeded out by his sheer brute force. You wept immediately but held back tears. Despite your commitment to keeping your composure, he had torn away what little hold you had left on what you call "stability." Your knees shook as his tall figure began to drag you away. Each step felt more jagged than the last. Your heart beat erratically as you worried about toppling down– and when you inevitably did, he was there to pick you up.
For Dimitri, this situation was advantageous. Most Golden Deers are here, which meant he had opportunities to route them all. He had already stabbed Ignatz, incessantly. Each draw of his lance— each crack of the artist’s glasses and bones— rejuvenated whatever youth war had stolen from him. The future king of lions couldn’t stop grinning maniacally as his eyes lay upon a deer’s corpse. It was as if his sense of taste was coming back. All of his soldiers and classmates were too terrified to stop his senseless slaughter. If Gustave did not scold him about the oncoming army, he would’ve continued damaging the corpse senselessly.
But it’s only a matter of time until he shoots for the leader of the herd as well.
He still hasn’t forgiven him for using his beloved against him back at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. This was the perfect opportunity for revenge. Once they’re out of the picture, then it’s only Edelgard left who he had to worry about— but until then, he’ll have to take the deers’ lives for stealing his beloved away.
Shame that Lorenz had yet to be found.
"Tch. Fool."
He cradled you like a bride but gripped your jaw like a hostage. Dimitri's current appearance is much too different from what he used to be. Sweat and blood had greased up his unruly hair, and the blue cloak that was slung over his shoulders was much dirtier.
"I command you to eat."
It was almost sweet. Almost kind when his voice softened for just a millisecond. Almost touching how his one eye gazed upon your sunken features with disdain.
But your appreciation for it all vanished the moment he robbed something from Ignatz's corpse.
"Eat."
He shoved onto you Ignatz's last bloody loaf of bread. It was hard, yet soaked.
Your throat couldn't express how terrified you were upon holding it.
"Gone deaf as well, have we?"
He pushed the bread closer to your chest, effectively crushing it against you. Dimitri breathed against your ear.
"I SAID: EAT.”
Your tears and Ignatz's blood salted your food.
The bread tasted just like the ones Raphael's family had in their inn.
Ignatz… He probably got this from Raphael… Which means he's in Gronder as well…
You sobbed as you took a feeble bite.
Please… Please be safe, Raphael.
Dimitri saw your struggle. He saw your continued concern for those who were after his life and yours. Why do you spare sympathy for the bodies that got in the way between you and him? They did not warrant those tears. The weak must fall— even he too will join them someday.
And so, Dimitri closed his eye.
You’ve gone fragile in his arms, and that was not spoken in a romantic sense. He had fractured your right leg enough to make you use your sword as a cane, yet he insists on dragging you in combat. Time and time again, he forces you to witness what he is capable of and more till you’re unable to write complaints.
Dimitri wanted to reassure you that you’re on the right side of history.
That you can cut a path beside him— you just weren’t trying hard enough before.
And it was a challenge the prince can’t easily scale. You never showed your appreciation for longer than a minute. When he learned how to dance begrudgingly with El after she had poisoned him with thoughts that he could use her teachings someday to dance with you— you dared to ask Sylvain out during the White Heron Cup. When he tried to give you a more fancy dagger as well during El’s parting, you admired Sylvain’s coincidental parcel of theater tickets and tea leaves instead.
Sylvain, Sylvain, Sylvain—
It was always Sylvain.
His entire body shook from laughter. You shriveled in fear as his voice echoed throughout the battlefield.
The beast put you down underneath a tree's shade that he deemed as safe.
… and kissed your forehead.
“I can see him approaching us.”
Dimitri cooed mockingly.
“Shall I decapitate and mount that filthy rat's head on a silver plate?”
You didn’t need to hear him utter his name to know he was referring to Sylvain. It was tempting to challenge him on how he could say such a thing about someone who had once been a friend, but that inquiry wouldn't help. Dimitri cupped your face and wiped your tears away with his rough and heavy hands. You flinch so easily nowadays.
How adorable.
Five years ago, you won't move a muscle whenever he kissed your forehead good night.
Five years ago, he worried about accidentally waking you up and exposing himself for breaking into your dorm so often just to drop his unhinged love letters.
Five years ago, watching you rest allowed moments of respite.
However, it didn’t invigorate him as much as your tears did now.
“Fret not, my fellow monster, I shall fetch it for you,”
He tightened his grip on his areadbhar, scanning the right field. The lance's crest stone glowed, and there was no looking back after that.
You’re here now, and he will NEVER let you leave. He won’t have a repeat of what had occurred when Count Gloucester was present around nine years ago or so. He’ll protect you this time, and it no longer mattered to him if he were a corpse or a monster in your eyes. It mattered not that he no longer slept. He intends to keep you alive and by his side, just like what he had promised in his childhood.
You can't even begin to imagine how much being away from you ruined him.
He had reached the point where he will kill everyone that tried to touch you, and he won’t have someone else do it, too.
Was this love or obsession? Likely both, if you were to ask Lady Rhea.
But what does Rhea know about Dimitri’s mental state anyways? She’s been missing for years now, she might as well be dead to you.
Without thinking, you grabbed his cloak. He patted your head but his eyes were locked on the cavalry unit from afar, and the dark and sinister smirk on his face solidified your fears.
Sylvain approached faster, and you did your best not to cry.
If he dares to fight Dimitri in the state he is now, then he might as well be a dead man walking too.
You wished you didn’t have to join the Golden Deer house— you wished Sylvain didn’t follow suit— and you wish you didn’t leave Sylvain behind. You did not doubt that if it hadn’t been for you, Dimitri would have concentrated only on Edelgard and joined forces with Claude to eliminate her. It would have given this historical period a more coordinated scheme. History won’t have to remember you as the catalyst that made things worse.
"(N/n)!"
You heard Sylvain yell from behind Dimitri, which only made your heart ache more.
It's been years since you last heard his voice again.
Dimitri took your warm hands and brushed his cheek against it, no matter how obvious it was that your eyes yearned for someone else’s touch.
He looked at you with such a soft gaze that you nearly forgot the monster he had become.
“Once we hang his head on our bedroom wall, you have no right to complain about missing “Sylvie” ever again, my beloved.”
this pic always comes to mind when an anime girl has her titties bursting out of her outfit but theyre like 90% out with not even some areolae in sight
Ok but what do we think about Bakugo baking his pup's birthday cake? I know he would rather cook than bake but for his pups 🥺 at least I think he would, but only for the first few years lol or what omegas do you think would enjoy baking their pups birthday cake? =D
Bakugou 1000000% bakes his pup's birthday cake!!!!
And not just for the first few years, every year until they tell him to stop.
And if they don't like cake, he learns to make a crepe stack.
If they don't like sweets, he fastens one out of cheese.
He WILL make something vaguely circular to shove candles in, and NO ONE can stop him! 😤
He may be a professional hero, but he's also got the spirit of an ultra competitive PTA mum. He can do better than the supermarket, the bakery, and all the other parents put together!
Alpha is just watching as Bakugou furiously whips up cake testers in the kitchen the days before his pup's birthday party, muttering about icing colours and swearing as he cuts the piping bag end too big.
He's grinning so proudly at his pup's birthday party, and it's partly because of the cake turned out perfectly, but mainly because he provided something worthy for his pup on their big day.
And once they blow out the candles, Bakugou has to surreptitiously wipe his eyes so that no one can tell he's tearing up.
(He definitely has an officially branded cookbook, and once his pup is a teenager he publishes his first baking recipe book hehe)
In terms of other omegas that bake their pups' birthday cakes:
Midoriya will try for a year or two, but he's kind of mediocre at baking and it's sooooo stressful every year. He'll put a lot of money into a nice bakery cake though. Shinsou also tries once but it goes badly so he has to rush out to buy a cake at the last minute because even box mix hates him.
Todoroki and Iida don't even consider making it on their own. When you need a birthday cake, you buy it from a nice bakery or cake shop??? Obviously???
Kirishima does!! And he's pretty good! The cake always tastes better than it looks, but it's delicious and that's all most pups care about anyway.
Sato obviously is up there with Bakugou, even higher, I'd say. His cakes are to die for and he has so much practice. His pups brag whenever they take baked goods in to school or have professional standard cakes at their birthdays.
Mirio would probably attempt to make the cake with the pup in question. They want more chocolate chips and sprinkles? Then they get more chocolate chips and sprinkles. It's their birthday after all!! Mic probably does that too lol
Tamaki buys one or gets a friend to bake it because no thanks.
Aizawa delegates if he can. It's up to the other parent to order or bake one, as long as there's a cake at the end of the day, he doesn't care. Shiggy also delegates. Or maybe he blackmails or threatens someone into doing it if he's invested enough lol.
Dabi bakes a simple cake by himself. If he's got a pup, then he's committed to giving them the love he was never shown. And he probably can't afford a professional cake unless his alpha makes a lot more money than him.
Hello! Could I request a pregnant reader running away from the Dark ending characters to protect their unborn baby? Sort of an alternative scenario where the dark characters don’t know their darling is pregnant and they successfully manage to run away and hide with their child for a few years before they’re both found again by their yandere?
It had taken every ounce of strength you possessed to leave Minthara, but your pregnancy had propelled you forward. Each moment of your escape was a dangerous gamble, every step a silent prayer, relying on old allies and, for the first time, even the enemies of the Baenre estate to help you vanish into the world above. You'd known the risks, the chance that Minthara’s dark reach might find you anywhere, but when you finally stepped into the light of the surface world, the chill of fear faded, replaced by something warmer, something you hadn’t felt in years. Freedom.
In that quiet, sunlit village, you built a new life. It wasn’t grand or luxurious, but it was wholly yours, unburdened by the constant dread of Minthara’s ambition and possessive cruelty. It was a simple existence, but peace had always been elusive for you, and here, you had finally grasped it.
And when your daughter was born, small and soft and untainted by any darkness, you felt a strength bloom within you that was fiercer than any resolve you had known before. She was innocent, untouched by Minthara’s world, a part of you that you would fiercely protect. In her small face, you saw the promise of a life unshadowed by fear. She became your joy, your purpose, and the villagers who took you in became a family, treating her as a precious miracle. For the first time, you felt safe.
Life became a quiet rhythm: tending to her, letting her laugh at the birds that flew outside your window, and feeling her small fingers tug at your hair as she babbled with wonder at every new thing. In the peaceful warmth of the village, the sounds of morning birds and evening lullabies replaced the echo of Baenre’s cold vicious halls. It felt safe enough, at times, that you dared let yourself relax. You would take small naps in the afternoons, letting sleep claim you while she lay in her cradle.
It was on one of those afternoons, feeling content and unburdened, that you allowed yourself to truly sleep. It was a mistake.
You awoke, not to the warmth of your small bed, but to the touch of silk sheets. No longer were you wrapped up in the knitted jumper your elderly neighbour had made you but the finest robes the Underdark could offer. The comforting scent of home had been replaced by the stale, heavy air you had left behind. Your eyes flew open in panic, and terror surged through your veins as the truth settled over you. The bed, the cottage, the life you had built—it was all gone. You were back within the Baenre estate, its dark silence pressing down on you like a nightmare.
You staggered to your feet, the terror clawing at your chest, but only one thought filled your mind: your daughter. You tore through the familiar, hated halls, shouting her name, your heart pounding as you passed door after door, corridor after corridor, each one empty and devoid of life. No warmth, no gentle light from the village. Only darkness and the cold.
Then, in the dim light of Minthara’s chambers, you saw her.
Your daughter, barely a few months old, sat on Minthara’s lap, her small hands reaching out, curious, to touch the dark fabric of Minthara’s robes. Minthara’s face held a strange gentleness—a softness you once trusted, now contorted into something twisted and terrifying. She murmured to the child, her tone almost affectionate, the sound catching in your ears like broken glass.
"Your mama had a little… lapse. She thought she could leave us,” Minthara cooed, her words soft, her gaze never leaving your child. “But it’s alright now. She’s returned to where she belongs, where you belong, my love."
Her eyes lifted, meeting yours, a cold gleam in them. She gave you a pitying, patronizing smile, as though you were nothing more than a child caught in a foolish game. Your legs felt like lead, each step heavy as you stumbled into the room, desperate and helpless.
“Minthara…please,” you choked, reaching out, your voice thin and trembling. “Give her back to me.”
Minthara’s smile grew sharper, and she shifted your daughter on her lap, as though she were cradling a prize, a possession that was irrevocably hers.
“You weren’t well, darling. Call it pre-partum delusions, if you will. Motherhood…does things to the mind.” Her voice was calm, patronizing, almost soothing, and each word sank into you like a blade. “But rest assured, I’ll make sure this never happens again. You’ll be protected, watched over.”
A heavy, cold weight settled over you as she dismissed everything you had fought for as if it were nothing but a passing illness. She was rewriting your escape as nothing more than a fit of irrationality, a lapse in judgment, the precious life you’d built reduced to a fevered dream. She continued, her tone sharp, each word a stone that buried your resolve.
“Rest assured that I’ve forgiven you. I understand what might have driven you to this… lapse.” She reached down, brushing a strand of hair from the child’s forehead with a delicate hand as though you weren’t standing there, each word diminishing you. "But worry not, you two will never leave again. I’ll see to it myself.”
You took a step forward, trembling, your gaze shifting from Minthara’s possessive hand on your child to her eyes, which held no warmth, only an unyielding, terrible love. “Minthara… please, I was only trying to protect her from—”
“Protect?” she interrupted, her voice slicing through the air like a whip. “You were confused. You were delusional.” Her voice softened, taking on a chilling gentleness. “But I know it was only fear that drove you to such… irrational behavior. Now, our family is whole again. Our baby will grow up in both of her mothers' embrace."
Her voice left no room for protest, and when you tried to step forward again, she shifted your daughter further away, holding her closer, her gaze hardening with an unspoken threat. Your protests died on your lips as you curled in on yourself.
“Now,” she continued, her voice soft, almost soothing, “you will stay here with us, and in time, you will understand that this—this is the only place you need to be.” Her eyes softened with a chilling, twisted affection. “You and our daughter, bound together in this family. You’ll see it’s what’s best.”
A shudder of helplessness ran through you as you realized there was no escape. Not now, not ever. Minthara’s control was unbreakable, her possession over you, over your daughter, as absolute as the stone walls that surrounded you. She had taken everything and redefined it under her own iron will, trapping you within a nightmare disguised as love.
Your daughter gurgled, reaching for you, her small, trusting eyes unaware of the darkness that loomed. As Minthara held her close, her fingers brushing the child’s cheek with a cruel tenderness, you felt the weight of her claim settle over you—a cage you could never escape. And as you looked into Minthara’s eyes, you knew she would never let you go.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Mother Superior Shadowheart:
The news had settled within you like a quiet revelation, a blooming certainty despite the fog of your fractured memories. You were pregnant, carrying Shadowheart's child. It was surreal and daunting, your memories of her a shattered mirror, fragments of affection and fear intertwined. But as soon as you felt the life stirring within you, something undeniable broke free—a fierce, protective instinct you hadn’t felt before. Whatever your past held, this future, this child, needed something else—somewhere safer than the Sharran cloister’s shadowed halls.
Days turned to weeks as you hid the truth from Shadowheart, burying your own memories further, blending into the routines she expected of you. Finally, in the dead of night, you slipped away, cradling your belly and the life within it, guided only by that need to protect, even as your own mind’s certainty waned. Exhaustion and the pain of fleeing left you breathless, but you pressed on, slipping past the cloister’s walls and through the wilderness, seeking the solace you knew lay elsewhere.
It was through sheer resilience that you found the Selunite community—a hidden sanctuary of gentle souls who embraced you without question, taking you in like the family you barely remembered. Their kindness was a balm, a healing force that soothed you as you neared the end of your pregnancy. And when the time came, their hands and prayers guided you through childbirth, their soft words of encouragement weaving through your pain. Finally, you held your daughter, her small face serene, a spark of light in the world that had been so dark.
Those first few days passed in a haze of wonder and exhaustion, their gentle care enveloping you as you recovered. You felt a faint glimmer of hope as you watched your daughter sleep in your arms, her little face peaceful, untouched by the fear that had followed you for so long. For the first time, you thought you might truly be free.
But then, the peace broke, the night pierced by screams and the clash of steel. Panic surged within you as you heard footsteps rushing through the halls, the murmur of prayers abruptly silenced. Sharran chants echoed against stone walls, a sound you knew too well. Shadows poured through the sanctuary, cutting down the Selunites one by one, the scent of blood thickening in the air. You held your child closer, frantically searching for a way to flee, but it was too late.
A familiar, chilling voice sounded behind you, and your blood froze.
“There you are,” Shadowheart murmured, her voice like silk, threaded with a dark satisfaction. She moved closer, her gaze fixed on your daughter with a haunting reverence, as if drawn by the innocent life you held. “Oh, look at her… what a beauty you’ve brought into the world.”
Her tone was deceptively soft, the twisted affection almost comforting if not for the malice that laced it. She extended a gloved hand, her fingertips grazing your daughter’s cheek with a gentleness that felt all wrong.
Instinctively, you pulled your child closer, your grip tightening, and Shadowheart’s gaze flicked to you. There was no anger, only an unsettling calm, her expression laced with twisted forgiveness.
“You ran,” she continued, her voice almost reproachful, as if she were scolding a disobedient child. “But it’s alright now. You’ve returned to me, to Shar’s embrace, and you’ve brought with you this… gift.”
Your heart pounded as you struggled to muster any courage to speak, but the words choked in your throat. Around you, the once-peaceful sanctuary was littered with the fallen, the Selunites lying motionless, their sanctuary now desecrated. Shadowheart’s followers moved silently, clearing away what remained of the Selunite resistance, their faces cold, their hands stained with blood. This was their version of mercy—Shar’s mercy, as Shadowheart would call it.
“All is forgiven,” she whispered, her lips curving into a smile that was both tender and terrible. “You see, even the Selunites now lie within Shar’s embrace. They fought so hard, didn’t they?” She reached out, her fingers gently touching your cheek, her gaze softening as if this massacre were an offering just for you. “But now, you and our child are home.”
“Shadowheart… please,” you finally managed to whisper, desperation fraying your voice as you held your daughter close. “We don’t… we don’t belong here. She deserves a life free of this darkness.”
Her smile faltered only for a heartbeat before she let out a soft, almost sympathetic laugh.
“No, my love. This is the only life we deserve—Shar has granted us purpose, blessed us with a future. And you were simply lost for a while, caught up in the false comforts of the light.” Her hand moved to cup the back of your head, her thumb tracing a slow, comforting path along your temple. “But I’ve forgiven you. And now, you willl be home again, and we can forget all about this.”
Your stomach lurched, though you couldn't place why, you just had an instinctual feeling that it had something to do with your broken mind. The remnants of your defiance withered under her touch, your heart heavy with dread as you realized there was no escape. You will return to the shadows, with your child, where Shar reigned, and would serve as your babe's twisted godmother. And there was nothing you could do about it.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
God of Ambition Gale:
The realization of your pregnancy struck you like a fever. Gale’s child—the product of the god of ambition’s indomitable will and your own caged heart—was growing within you. In that moment, you knew with certainty that whatever this child’s fate was meant to be, it would not unfold within Gale’s far-reaching grasp. The image of your child, bound by his ambition, molded into his vision of perfection, was enough to fuel your resolve. Determined to give your child a life beyond Gale's expectations, you tapped into your powers, cloaking yourself from his omniscient gaze and retreating into the mortal plane.
You found refuge within a hidden sect of your most devout followers, a sanctuary devoted to you in secret, where your faithful tended to your every need. You shielded them from Gale's prying eyes, weaving spells of concealment and drawing from your diminishing godly strength to protect them. You could feel Gale’s influence faintly brushing against your barriers, but for once, it was within your control. Your powers fortified with the growing life inside of you.
Months passed in tense quietude, but at last, your child was born, a tiny, fragile spark of life cradled in your arms. Your followers revered the newborn daughter, honoring the life that defied a god’s ambition and revered you for your defiance, vowing to protect this small, unknowing child. Yet as the days passed, you felt the dread looming over you—Gale’s influence was inescapable. The sense of his presence prickled at the edges of your consciousness, as if he were a shadow waiting to fall.
One evening, as you sat within the dim light of your sanctuary, you looked at your newborn, heart heavy with the choice that lay before you. You would entrust your daughter to your followers, let them raise them in secret and keep them far from the ambitions of her father. It was for her own protection, her only chance at freedom. Yet, as you gazed into your child’s innocent eyes, a new realization crept into your heart: you couldn't bear the thought of letting go.
Tears filled your eyes as the weight of your decision crushed you. How could you abandon her? The life you wanted her to live—untouched by divinity, free from expectation—seemed just out of reach. Sobs wracked your body as you clutched her closer, your resolve dissolving beneath the tidal wave of grief. You wanted to protect her, but giving her up felt like losing a part of yourself.
A gentle touch brushed your shoulder, and you turned, expecting to see your high priestess. But as your tear-filled gaze met familiar eyes, your breath hitched in horror.
Gale stood before you, his expression one of sympathy, yet his eyes shone with a satisfaction that was chilling. Clad in your priestess’s robes, his disguise melted away, revealing the truth you had dreaded. He had been here all along, watching, waiting for you to come to your senses.
"My love," he murmured, his voice like honeyed silk, soothing even as it constricted around your freedom, "you didn’t think I would let you face this alone, did you?"
You shrank back, clutching your daughter protectively, your mind racing with fear not for yourself, but for her. His gaze drifted to the child, and you could feel his mind already shaping her future, his plans and ambitions seeping into the air around you. He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, eyes gleaming with pride.
"Look at what you’ve created," he said softly, though his words held a dark undercurrent. "Our daughter. You were merely testing my resolve, weren't you? Testing my devotion to you and to our legacy. My ambition."
The air grew thick with his presence, oppressive and unyielding, as his hand tightened ever so slightly, rooting you in place. It wasn’t a request—it was an assertion, an unyielding truth in Gale’s mind that could not be challenged. He saw your devotion wavering and offered his own hand as a reminder, his grip unbreakable. You saw in his gaze the merciless edge of his ambition, a refusal to let anything—anyone—be outside of his control.
Stricken by fear, you forced yourself to nod, murmuring broken assurances.
"Yes, Gale," you whispered, voice trembling, "it was just… a test. I… I needed to be sure."
Satisfied, Gale smiled, his hand brushing your hair gently.
"Then all is well," he said, his tone rich with the contentment of victory. "Now, return to my realm, and let me help you raise our child as she’s meant to be—she is ours, after all."
Bound by his grip, by the weight of your followers’ lives and the fragile life of your daughter, you surrendered. He led you back, your daughter cradled against you, and you walked in silence, already haunted by the future that awaited her. You had once dreamed of freedom for her, but under Gale’s ambition, you knew that dream had faded into shadows.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Ascended Astarion:
The discovery of your pregnancy had shaken you to your core. The idea of raising a child under Astarion's rule—within his twisted, blood-soaked world—was more terrifying than any threat you’d ever faced. Quietly, with every ounce of resolve you had left, you’d slipped away from him, vanishing into the shadows of the Underdark, determined to keep your child safe from his corrupted influence. Away from Astarion, you’d managed to carve out a small, hidden life for yourself, filled with the quiet joys of early motherhood. You nourished your child, watched over them, and, for a few precious months, knew peace. You allowed yourself to believe that, maybe, you’d succeeded in keeping them safe.
But that dream shattered the day you returned from gathering food, your child nestled in your arms, only to find Astarion sitting casually at the worn kitchen table, a ghostly figure of elegance against the dimly lit and modest surroundings. His crimson gaze fixed on you as he toyed with an empty goblet, his fingers tracing its rim with a nonchalant menace.
"Darling," he purred, voice dripping with amusement as he looked up at you, eyes flashing with a possessive intensity, "did you truly think I wouldn’t find you?"
He laughed, a soft, dangerous sound that filled the silence. You held your child closer, feeling your heart thunder beneath your ribs as you took in the sight of him, seated in the home you had desperately tried to keep hidden. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to escape, but you knew Astarion far too well. Running now would be useless. With no other choice, you drew a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.
"What do you want?" you managed, voice barely above a whisper. He laughed again, standing and brushing down his pristine attire as though your question was absurd.
"What do I want?" he echoed, approaching with that chilling, gliding grace. "Isn't it obvious, my love? I came to retrieve what’s mine." His eyes glinted with a terrible amusement as he drew closer, his gaze drifting to the child in your arms. "Now, let me see them."
When he reached out, you instinctively tightened your hold, taking a step back, your body tensing at the idea of his touch on your child. The defiance only made him smile, a mockery of indulgence flashing across his face. With a small, irritated sigh, he rolled his eyes.
"Please, my dear," he said, his tone carrying an edge of impatience. "I’m not here to harm my heir… or the mother of my heir. I’d expect a little trust."
Unwilling but with no other options, you reluctantly loosened your hold, feeling your stomach twist as he gently lifted the child from your arms. He held them with surprising care, the barest hint of a smile gracing his face as he looked down at the small bundle. A strange light entered his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, there was an almost genuine affection there, albeit twisted by his possessive pride.
"Ah," he murmured softly to the child, his voice low and soft. "Such a marvelous life awaits you, little one. An entire world, ripe for the taking… as soon as your mother," he glanced at you with a smirk, "comes to her senses."
You felt a prickle of fear at his words, understanding the layered meaning beneath them. You took a cautious step toward him, trying to keep your tone steady. "Astarion… please, they deserve a chance at a real life. Not… this."
His smile hardened, his gaze cutting.
"Don’t be foolish," he replied, his voice like a caress tainted with steel. "A 'real life?' You were trying to raise my heir in squalor and shadows." He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, the patronizing look in his eyes making your heart sink. "I’ll forgive your little rebellion, darling, but don't presume to know what's best."
Before you could speak, you felt something, some spell overtake you, and your vision began to swim. Your legs went weak, your world turning fuzzy at the edges as you felt your consciousness slipping away. The last thing you saw was Astarion’s mocking smile, and the last thing you heard was his cool voice murmuring, "Shh, it’ll all be over soon."
Darkness closed in, and when you awoke, you were back in Astarion’s palace, in his chambers, the opulence surrounding you an all-too-familiar prison. The air was thick with a sense of foreboding, of inescapable control, as though you’d never left. Disoriented, you pushed yourself up, your mind racing.
The sound of a soft coo drew your attention, and your heart leapt as you saw your child in a gilded crib nearby, eyes wide with innocent curiosity. Relief washed over you—but only for a moment. The door creaked open, and Astarion stepped in, his gaze sweeping over you with a mixture of satisfaction and delight. He watched you for a beat, savoring the moment as you looked up at him, your eyes filled with quiet despair.
“See?” he murmured, gesturing to the luxurious room, to the crib. “Isn’t this a better life for our heir?”
You knew better than to argue, seeing the unyielding determination in his eyes. He wouldn’t be swayed by your pleas or logic. Any trace of freedom you’d tasted had evaporated, replaced by a chilling realization: this was your life now, and your child’s.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Naturist Halsin:
Discovering you were carrying Halsin’s child had ignited a fierce urgency within you, a determination to protect them from the dark path Halsin had fallen into. You’d once loved him deeply, but as his views became increasingly extreme, his disdain for humankind palpable, you could no longer bear the thought of raising a child under his fervent ideology. With a heavy heart, you fled, finding refuge in a small druidic grove whose members welcomed you and promised to shield you from Halsin’s reach.
Months passed, and there, surrounded by trees and healing herbs, you gave birth. The grove offered peace, and you cherished the tranquil days, breathing in the clean air as you held your child close. You’d finally begun to believe you were safe, that your child might actually have a chance at a balanced life, away from Halsin's dominating influence. In this secluded grove, hidden away, life settled into a gentle rhythm, each day weaving hope and new beginnings.
But that illusion shattered in the dark hours of one quiet night.
The scent of smoke drifted through the air, thick and suffocating. You woke with a jolt, alarm shooting through you. Heart racing, you turned to the cot beside you, only to find it empty. A pang of panic sliced through your chest as you frantically searched the room, praying you’d somehow missed them in the dim light. But the cot remained empty, and dread clawed at your throat.
Barefoot and disheveled, you tore through the grove, ignoring the flames licking at branches, the heat scorching your skin. The acrid smell of burning wood and flesh choked you, but all that mattered was your child. You screamed their name into the chaos, your voice breaking with desperation as you stumbled over the fallen bodies of your new druid family, their lifeless forms strewn across the sacred earth.
The world around you blurred, reduced to a single, primal purpose—find your child.
At the grove’s edge, just past the smoldering ruins of what had been your sanctuary, you saw him. Halsin stood there, towering and blood-streaked, his face framed by the firelight. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight before you. In his arms, nestled against his chest, was your child, unharmed and gazing up at him in quiet wonder.
Halsin looked down at them with a serene expression, cooing softly as he rocked them gently, whispering words you couldn’t make out over the roar of the flames. His hands, still stained with the blood of those who had offered you refuge, held your child as if they were the most precious treasure in the world.
Without thinking, you stumbled toward him, heart shattering as you reached for your child. He looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a strange mix of affection and pity.
“Our little one was waiting for me,” he murmured, his voice calm, almost soothing. “You must know by now—this was always meant to be.”
You were shaking, your fingers numb as you took the baby from his arms, clutching them desperately to your chest as if they were your lifeline. Tears spilled from your eyes, your body wracked with silent sobs as you stared at Halsin, the man you once loved and now feared beyond measure.
“Why, Halsin?” you choked out, voice barely a whisper. “Why would you do this?”
His gaze softened, and he reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder with the same tenderness that had once comforted you.
“You lost your way, my love,” he said, as if explaining something simple to a child. “But it’s all forgiven now. You and our child are where you’re meant to be. Under my protection, with nature’s blessing. I had to save you from the lies they fed you here.”
You felt his grip tighten ever so slightly, a possessive strength beneath the facade of tenderness. His touch, once reassuring, now felt like a shackle, holding you firmly in place.
“For the greater good,” he murmured, his voice a low, almost reverent whisper. “You’ll understand, in time.”
Your mind felt trapped, your body frozen as you held your child, and all you could manage was a shaky nod. Because deep down, you knew: there was no escaping him now. As Halsin guided you back through the charred remains of the grove, his arm wrapped protectively around you, you realized you had no choice but to submit—to the man who believed he was saving you, even as he bound you to his twisted vision of the world.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Grand Duke Wyll:
You’d felt a bittersweet sense of liberation the day you’d finally made it out of the Grand Duke’s clutches, a freedom carved out of sheer determination and love for the life growing within you. After months of moving cautiously, you had finally managed to reach Waterdeep, a sprawling city where you could blend into the crowds, creating a new identity for yourself and your child. You’d found a small home, modest yet cozy, and the months after the birth of your baby were a blissful exhaustion—nights spent rocking them to sleep, days filled with laughter and quiet joy. Here, Wyll’s shadow couldn’t reach you, or so you thought.
One lazy afternoon, while your baby napped, exhaustion overtook you, and you drifted off on the sofa. The next thing you knew, soft cries from the nursery roused you. You sat up quickly, your heart lurching in that familiar pang of maternal worry mixed with relief; your child’s cries were already softening, and you thought perhaps they’d just drift off again.
But as you approached the nursery, a strange, cold feeling gripped your heart. The quiet that greeted you felt unnatural, too calm, too steady. You pushed open the door and froze.
Wyll was sitting in the rocking chair, cradling your child with a gentle sway, his gaze wholly absorbed by the small bundle in his arms. He looked so at ease, as if he had always been here, always part of this quiet life you had so carefully built away from him. He was murmuring softly, his deep voice filled with adoration.
“You’re as pretty as your mother, you know that?” he cooed, his thumb gently brushing your baby’s tiny fingers. “Just as lovely… just as perfect.”
A chill ran through you, dread settling in the pit of your stomach. Taking a steadying breath, you stepped forward, keeping your voice as calm as you could manage.
“Wyll,” you said, your voice just above a whisper, “you need to leave. You don’t belong here.”
But Wyll didn’t look up, his attention solely on the child, his child. He didn’t acknowledge your words—only continued to rock, a faint smile gracing his lips as he murmured to the baby.
“We need to leave soon, darling,” he said, his tone light, almost cheerful. “We have a carriage waiting for us, for our family.” His gaze finally drifted to you, and his eyes softened. “I know these past months have been difficult, darling. Pregnancy, childbirth… it’s exhausting, and sometimes it clouds the mind.” His voice was soothing, patronizing in its gentleness. “But that’s why I’m here now.”
You tried again, fighting to keep your voice calm, though each word came with a barely restrained tremor.
“No, Wyll. I’m not going back with you. This is my home now. Our home,” you emphasized, your hand protectively reaching out for your baby. “You need to understand that we’re not returning to your city, to your… rule.”
For the briefest moment, a flicker of something dark crossed his face, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a sympathetic smile. He shifted the baby gently in his arms and rose from the chair, stepping toward you.
“You poor thing,” he murmured, voice thick with faux sympathy. “Sleepless nights, the overwhelming worry… it’s clouded your judgment. But that’s all right. That’s why I came myself, to bring you home, where you belong.”
Each word cut deeper as he dismissed your pleas. He walked toward you, and you tensed, stepping back on instinct. But as you moved, the quiet rustle of armor drew your attention to the door, where two of Wyll’s royal guards stood, their stoic gazes fixed on you, blocking any hope of escape. Wyll stepped closer, his eyes warm but resolute.
“We’ve missed you. I’ve missed you.” His arms closed around you and the baby, his touch firm, unyielding, as he held both of you close. “It’s time to go home.”
You felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you glanced down at your child, nestled contentedly in his arms, unaware of the tension in the room, of the silent battle being waged.
“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking as you looked up at Wyll. “Please let us stay. This is what’s best for our child. Can’t you see that?”
But Wyll only smiled, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “It’s all right. We’ll have you feeling yourself again in no time. You just need rest, stability… me.” He lifted your chin, his gaze steady and calm. “Now, enough of these dramatics. Your carriage awaits.”
Helplessly, you watched as he signaled to his guards, his arm protectively around you as they escorted you both out. Each step away from the life you had built felt like a surrender, the world you had carved out of hope and freedom slipping further and further away.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Oooh this was delicious to write, I love this dynamic and this request was just *chef's kiss* - so thank you so much and I hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
okay look theyre extremely right but i cant stop laughing at the last second
they beat him up for a while and then went 'ok thats enough' and sat down. then remembered it again and did it again. the image is so fucking funny to me
Oh gods, alright. Of course Livraria Lello would be the one to have it. I wonder if they were trying to get rid of it?
I actually would like to talk about Lello and their relationship with Harry Potter and also just ask you to visit the bookstore.
So, anyway, Lello opened in 1906 in Porto, North of Portugal.
JK. Rowling lived in Porto for a bit in the 90’s, where she first started writing the Harry Potter series. It was said she might have frequented it and some important stairs from the book were based on Lello’s stairs. In fact: The book release of Harry Potter and The Cursed Child happened in Lello.
What this meant is that this bookstore ended up having to fight to remain a bookstore. There are so many tourists, a lot of them that only wanted to look at it because it was Harry Potter related somehow and buy nothing. There were (and still are) insane queues to enter the bookstore.
Lello, who wasn’t particularly interested in becoming a Harry Potter museum, ended up having to make a system where people have to pay to enter. If you buy a book that goes above the price you paid for the ticket, the money you paid will be deducted from the book price.
I can tell from going there fairly frequently that they try to be less connected to Harry Potter as possible if they can manage. Yeah they have the books for sale but they also have a plethora of books and their own merchandise to choose from.
Despite JK. Rowling’s involvement with the bookstore, in the Portuguese Wikipedia page, even in the part about the famous writers that went there, there isn’t a single mention of her. Zero. Not in the history nor anywhere else. It’s beautiful.
Last time I went they had an exhibition about José Saramago’s work (portuguese author who won the Nobel Prize) and on the upper side of the stairs had an enormous collection of winners of the Nobel Prize and authors Lello concidered had the quality to also have won (it the Nobel Prize existed when they were alive) and authors that might win.
It’s quite interesting because all was very thought out and you had a whole reason as to why those books were there. Me and my mother ended up chatting for a long while with one of the bookshop employees (they have a lot of young employees btw) and we even ended up chatting with other foreigners that went there shopping.
Also, did I mentionthe bookshop is gorgeous?
As are their book editions (my English edition of Tom Sawyer I bought there)
Have also a photo of the bookstore from 1906 :)
So, if you go there, please don’t go because of Harry Potter. And please don’t shit on it because of Harry Potter too. It’s a very good bookstore and it deserves recognition, but not from there.
areudirty
germansingergirl
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romaincrisis
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origamiaround
