Just another fic blog

Fic blog of @yuroshka and @legault. All fic can also be found on AO3 under pinksnowboots.

[legault]

If this isn't real, what is? (Ike/Soren)

Author: legault/pinksnowboots (fic blog)

Notes: Basically this is just a rewrite of Ike and Soren's conversation after Soren's paralogue. The dialogue is great already but you know, wouldn't it be even better if it was longer and even more obvious that they love each other?

Words: 1896

Summary:

The first thing Emblem Soren does when he is awakened is go to battle. The first thing he does after the battle is go to Ike.

Crossposted to AO3.

As soon as the battle ended, Soren went straight to Ike, flushed with the exertion of the recent battle, the shock of seeing Ike, and a not-insignificant amount of righteous indignation.

“You attacked me!” 

“Nice to see you too, Soren,” Ike said, unruffled as ever. “I seem to recall that you got some hits in as well.”

“In self-defense because you were hitting me with your giant sword, Ike,” Soren retorted. “And you say that I’m the one who likes making things difficult. You know I would have joined as soon as I knew you were here.” 

“Eh, that wouldn’t have been as much fun. I like seeing your strength, and we’ve never been on separate sides before.”

“And never will be again, I hope,” Soren said with the air of someone willing something into existence. 

“Of course not,” Ike said. “I would never actually fight you, Soren. You know that.” 

Soren huffed, but his overall demeanor calmed. “So we’re Emblems, then. And this is not Tellius.” 

“Elyos, it’s called.”

“Hmmm,” Soren considered. “Well, we always said that we were going to leave Tellius someday. This wasn’t what I expected, but I suppose it counts. Are there any other…Emblems from our world?”

“No. Several from other worlds, but none from Tellius other than the two of us.”

Soren considered this. “I’m sorry. I…cared for some of our companions, but not nearly as deeply as you did. You must miss them.”

Ike shrugged. “Sure I do, but I’ve always believed in making the best of a tough situation. And I feel a whole lot better now that you’re here.” 

“How long have you been here? In…Elyos, right?” Soren asked.

“A few weeks, by my reckoning,” Ike said. “It’s a little hard to tell time when you disappear into a ring rather than sleeping. Or a bracelet in your case, I guess.”

Soren hummed, considering. “Can you feel pain?” 

“Emotional pain, sure. Physical pain? I don’t think so, or at least not in the same way.” 

“Interesting,” Soren remarked, going quiet as he fell further into thought. Ike watched him fondly, comfortable in the silence. 

“It’s strange,” Soren finally said. “I feel like myself, and yet I am not the ‘real’ Soren. I know it, somehow. And you’re not the ‘real’ Ike, although you’re as identical to him as I am to my counterpart.” 

“How do you figure that?”

“It just wouldn’t make sense, otherwise. We function unlike we would if we were simply humans summoned to another world. We’re something slightly different. I have to admit it unsettles me to think that I did not exist before the Divine Dragon awakened me.”

“It is strange,” Ike agreed, “but in the end, does it really matter if we’re the real Ike and Soren? I’m not sure it does.”

“How so?” Soren asked, brow furrowed.

“You know I’m no philosopher, but what makes a person other than his memories and experiences? We have all the memories of the ‘real’ Ike and Soren and all the feelings and lessons that came with them. We act based on those memories and how they shaped us. So even if there’s another version of us back in Tellius, who’s to say we’re any less real than they are? Maybe we’re all equally real, the same people put on two different paths.”

“Are you sure?” Soren said wryly. “I don’t think the Ike I know is smart enough to come up with that idea.” 

“But the Soren I know wouldn’t miss the chance to take that shot at me, would he?” Ike smiled. “Come on, Soren. I’m no philosopher, but I’m not a meathead either.”

“Not just a meathead, anyway.” Soren’s smile would have seemed mocking to anyone else, but Ike knew there was no edge to it. “I wonder if we…branched off, so to speak, at the same time. What is the last thing you remember from Tellius?”

“Do you remember all of that business with the goddess?” Ike asked, somber.

“Yes,” Soren replied, “and a little ways past that as well.” 

Ike nodded. “We were rebuilding. The last thing I remember…it’s a little hard to recall because I have several weeks of memories here too. Oh! It was the day that Kieran tried to give himself a haircut!”

“And he ended up with a bald patch the size of an apple,” Soren continued.

Ike laughed. “Oscar ended up having to shave his whole head. He never stopped yelling, and by the end of it his face was so red you almost couldn’t see that he had no hair.” 

“And then Rolf suggested that Rhys donate some of his hair for a wig.” 

“Rhys?” Ike frowned thoughtfully. “I thought it was Shinon.”

A modicum of the tension in Soren’s body went slack. “It was Shinon. I was testing to make sure we have the same memories. It seems that we do. That is the last day I remember as well.”

“And what a day it was. I don’t think Rolf expected Shinon to be quite that mad, but he’s always been a little vain about his hair.” Ike’s fond smile dropped as he remembered where he was.

“You miss them, don’t you?” Soren said. “I do too.”

“Even Shinon?” Ike managed a half-hearted smile.

“No.” Soren’s reply was so immediate and definitive that Ike couldn’t help but laugh. The moment lightened, but they soon fell back into a somber silence.

“If we have the same memories,” Soren said, finally, “does that mean that you remember…” he trailed off.

Ike floated a stride towards Soren, close enough to touch but not touching. “That I love you?” he said, looking down to meet Soren’s gaze. “Of course I do. That’s not the kind of thing that I could ever forget.”

The relief showed so nakedly on Soren’s face that he would have been ashamed if anyone other than Ike could see it. “Ike,” he said, the name coming out like a benediction.

“Soren.” Ike’s voice was firm, solid, exactly the voice that Soren knew.

“Being Emblems, there are clearly limitations,” Soren said. “You mentioned we cannot sleep. But can we…touch?”

In answer, Ike raised his hand to Soren’s cheek. Soren leaned into it, noting that while there was a slight layer of strangeness, it came from the world, not from Ike. The hand was all Ike, all warmth and strength and rough calluses. It felt like home.

Soren’s eyes fluttered shut. He placed his hand over Ike’s much larger one and squeezed with surprising strength. “I didn’t want to live in a world without you,” he said, equal parts vulnerable and fierce.

Ike kissed the mark on Soren’s forehead and wrapped him in an embrace. “You’ll never have to,” he promised.  

[legault]

The Lump in Your Throat, The Ache in Your Bones (Shinon/Gatrie)

Author: legault/pinksnowboots (fic blog)

Notes: Set post Path of Radiance chapter 18, where you re-recruit Shinon.

Words: 1896

Summary: After rejoining the Greil Mercenaries, Shinon would rather drink and lick his wounds than talk to anyone, even Gatrie. Gatrie has something to say about that.

I listened to some Titus Andronicus songs about the horrors of war and of course I thought of maybe the most dysfunctional character in PoR/RD! Maybe now I should go finish the other Shinon/Gatrie fic that I started eight years ago...

Crossposted to AO3.

Gatrie finds him in a tavern after the battle. They’re in Daein, enemy territory, and so Gatrie really has no business being in a place where he draws so much attention as an obvious foreigner. 

Neither does Shinon, for that matter, but he’s had enough ale not to care, and besides, wasn’t he fighting with Daein not too long ago? That, his bow and arrow, and the withering glares he shoots everyone keep the other customers at bay.

All but Gatrie, who barges in and heaves himself onto the stool beside Shinon with just a little too much force, which is how Shinon knows that despite Gatrie’s perpetually amiable face, he’s angry.

Shinon doesn’t look at him, although it takes far more effort than he would like to admit to keep his gaze forward when Gatrie’s face is in his peripheral vision and Gatrie’s body is close enough that he imagines that he can almost feel its gravity. “If you’re not here to buy me another drink, then leave me alone,” Shinon snaps with all the venom he can muster. He’s not drunk enough to lose control yet, just the right level of tipsy for his emotions to feel huge and wild enough to seep through the cracks of any control he might care to exert. Which, once he gets to this stage of the evening, usually isn’t that much.

Gatrie responds by snatching the half-empty tankard out of Shinon’s hand, finishing it in a single gulp, and slamming it back on the table uncomfortably close to Shinon’s fingers.

Shinon turns toward him then. “Well done,” he says, sardonically. “Now you truly owe me another drink.” 

Gatrie is smiling, like always, but it’s the pinched kind of smile that Shinon knows from experience means that Gatrie is angry, angry enough that the smile is the only thing holding it all in.

“Were you planning to come talk to me?” Gatrie asks accusingly. “Or were you just planning to have a fresh start where you pretend you don’t know anybody but Rolf?” 

“I wasn’t planning anything,” Shinon snaps. “Least of all to rejoin the Son of Greil Mercenaries.” 

“Then why are you here, Shinon?” Gatrie’s smile has moved from twitching to simply fading, leaving a serious look on his face as he stares searchingly at Shinon. 

“Because I’m a sucker, alright? If Rolf hadn’t been there, I’d be dead on the battlefield right now, and better off for it. But I care about the kid, goddess knows why, and I couldn’t let him see me die. Especially not by Ike’s hands,” Shinon practically spits the name. 

“That’s not good enough, Shinon. You didn’t have to rejoin us for Ike to let you live. He’s young, but he’s honorable,” Gatrie pauses, “like his father. He would have let you go.”

“Ha!” Shinon laughs bitterly. “And go on living, knowing that I’m only alive through little Ikey-wikey’s generosity? No, I can’t live like that.”

“Then what would you call this? Because from where I stand, that’s exactly why you’re alive.” 

Shinon thinks about that for a moment. “And at least I’m paying for the indignity by working under him. Better to live under his shackles than go free knowing I was bested by a whelp like him. At least here I can be of some use. Maybe keep an eye on Rolf from a far enough distance that I don’t get my stink on him.” 

“And what about me?” Gatrie asks.

Shinon cocks his head, confused. “What about you?” 

“We were friends, Shinon,” Gatrie says, just a little louder and rougher than usual. “We left the Greil Mercenaries together, in case you don’t remember. I didn’t leave because I didn’t believe in Ike. I left because you left.” 

His sentence hangs in the air between them, expectant, but Shinon says nothing. Gatrie looks away for a moment, gives a rueful chuckle. “Do you know what everyone said to me when I came back with Astrid?” He looks back, his eyes boring into Shinon’s. “They said they were proud of me for finally leaving you. For breaking free of your bad influence and walking down a better path. ‘You might finally make something of yourself now that he’s not holding you back, Gatrie. You may even find love.’”

“They were right,” Shinon says. “You are better off without me.” 

“The point is,” Gatrie continues, voice raising, “is that they’re telling me all of this assuming that I’m the one who left you. And what can I say to that, Shinon? ‘Actually, I just woke up one morning and he was gone. I was worried that he was dead in a ditch somewhere because I never thought that he would just abandon me like that until I heard rumors of a mercenary fitting your description moving towards Daein, cutting swathes through bandits and taverns alike on his way.’ Would that be better? So I smiled and laughed and said nothing. But it stung. Because even though they were complimenting me, they were praising me for abandoning you, which I didn’t even do.” Gatrie’s voice drops low. “Which I never would have done. And I still don’t know why you did it.”

Shinon looks away, reaches for his tankard to take a sip before realizing that it’s empty. He puts it down on the counter and runs his finger along the rim, staring off into the middle distance.

After some moments, he speaks. “Do you know what Soren said to me when he saw again?” 

“What did he say?” Gatrie says. “Nothing complimentary, I’m sure.” 

“He said, ‘To whatever extent that you hate yourself, it isn’t enough.’” Shinon’s finger stops its journey along the tankard’s lip, its stillness only interrupted by the faintest of trembles. He looks back at Gatrie. “And he’s right. It isn’t enough.” 

“I’m not sure I agree,” Gatrie says, “but what does that have to do with you leaving?”

“Don’t you get it, Gatrie? They’re right. Soren’s right and Titania’s right and everyone who thinks you were better off without me was right. Things got worse and worse for you after we left the Greil Mercenaries, and usually it was me and my mouth or my drink to blame. You never complained, but I saw. I saw the jobs dry up, I saw the women walk away, I saw the first lines etch themselves into your forehead. So I left.” Now that he’s begun, the words continue to pour out of Shinon’s lips almost desperately. “And now I’m back, and I’m damn sorry for it, because you’re one of the only three people I’ve ever cared about and my plan was to let you live out the rest of your life without me ruining it.”

Shinon slumps just a little, deflated. Breathing hard, he avoids meeting Gatrie’s eyes.

Gatrie bursts out laughing, the hysterical kind of laughter that signals absurdity more than humor. 

Shinon stares at him, uncomprehending. “What’s so funny?” 

Gatrie is laughing so hard that he cannot speak, which only makes Shinon’s frustration grow. Finally, Gatrie catches his breath. “You’re so stupid, Shinon. I can’t believe you thought that you could save me by leaving me.”

“Why?” asks Shinon, aiming for sardonic, but landing closer to desperation. “Because you’re too good, too pure, so you’re immune to my corrupting influence?” 

“Maybe,” Gatrie says, face suddenly serious again, all traces of laughter gone. “Or maybe it’s because the damage has already been done.”

Shinon stares.

Gatrie goes on, almost tauntingly, “Which would you prefer, Shinon? The idea that you can’t corrupt me, can’t ruin me?” Gatrie leans towards him, voice lowered. “Or the idea that you already have?” 

Shinon shivers at the intensity in Gatrie’s normally lighthearted voice. Suddenly unable to bear the eye contact, he turns away. “Do you want the truth?” he says quietly in the direction of his tankard. 

“Shinon, look at me,” Gatrie says firmly. Shinon turns to face Gatrie, body moving before his mind can catch up. Gatrie looks at him, unblinking. Shinon doesn’t blink either, though he wants desperately not only to blink but also to run away and never to make eye contact with anyone with shockingly blue eyes ever again. He tries unsuccessfully to remind himself that they’ve been in this position — sitting together in a tavern, Shinon just a little drunker than Gatrie — dozens of times before.

“I want the truth,” Gatrie breathes.

Something inside Shinon breaks. “Alright then. You want the truth?” A wretched, spiteful laugh wrenches its way out of him. “I’m a bad person, Gatrie. However much I hate myself, it truly isn’t enough. But I want the second option. You’re one of the few people in the world I can stand and I should want only the best for you, but the best for you would mean a life without me, and all I want to know that our time together has left a mark on you like a jagged, ugly scar, one that stings when it’s going to rain and reminds you that you’ve been through hell and come out alive, but worse for it. Every time you talk to a beautiful woman, I want you to hear my voice pointing out all of her flaws and then all of yours, all the reasons why you can chase love all you want but you’ll never catch it. I want to ruin you, Gatrie, and you don’t deserve that. So I left. I didn’t want to do it, but it was the one good thing I’ve ever done — first leaving the mercenaries, and then leaving you.” 

Shinon’s breathing is ragged, like he’s just sprinted off a battlefield with enemies behind him and arrows flying on either side. Gatrie’s breathing hasn’t audibly changed, but Shinon can see his eyes darken and his throat bob. “So,” Shinon says. “Did I make it? Or by the time I got the courage to leave, was it too late to save you?”

Gatrie reaches up a hand, ghosts it over Shinon’s cheek. “Far too late,” he says, voice husky as his hand curls around the nape of Shinon’s neck and squeezes, somewhere between possessive and threatening. 

Shinon can feel his pulse in his throat, his veins throbbing against the warmth of Gatrie’s hand. His mouth goes dry. “Good,” he says, lifting his own hand to grasp Gatrie’s wrist, not to pull the hand away from his neck, but to hold it there as he digs his fingernails into Gatrie’s skin, hoping that it draws blood, leaves a mark.

Shinon cannot tell if he succeeds because suddenly there is another huge hand tugging his hair tie loose and then that hand is buried in his hair, pulling hard enough to be painful but he can barely notice because now Gatrie’s lips are on his with bruising force and it’s all lips and teeth and tongue and pressure and Shinon cannot move, cannot do anything but cling to Gatrie’s arms like a drowning man.

Gatrie finally pulls back, but only an inch, still close enough that Shinon can feel his breath. He does not remove his hands from Shinon’s neck or hair, but leans in, mouth against Shinon’s ear. “Now that you’re back, you can make it up to me,” Gatrie rasps, punctuating his words with pressure from the pads of his fingers against Shinon’s scalp, “by letting me ruin you.” 

[legault]

A Friendly Proposal

Author: legault/pinksnowboots (fic blog)

Notes: A key feature of the Self-Indulgent AU: Boromir lives, Faramir is happy that Boromir is alive but also can't process his issues in Gondor so he moves to Rohan to work out his feelings by riding through the plains.

Words: 1197

Summary: Faramir asks Éowyn to marry him.

Crossposted to AO3.

“Should we get married?” Faramir asked.

It sounded sudden, and it was sudden. Nothing in the situation would indicate that a proposal was forthcoming; in fact, it was quite like many other evenings in Rohan. Éowyn and Faramir were sitting in comfortable silence in a pair of comfortable chairs arranged in front of a comfortable hearth. Faramir had, prior to asking the question, been reading a book while Éowyn was working on a piece of embroidery. Éomer had ripped yet another shirt, and after mending it, Éowyn was attempting to embroider the emblem of Rohan on it and sometimes wishing to herself that the emblem of Rohan was something less complicated than a horse.

All in all, while it was a cozy scene and could have indeed been a couple who had been married for quite some time, it was not in the least a romantic scene.

Éowyn put down her embroidery. “I beg your pardon?” She fixed Faramir with such a look of confusion mixed with a healthy dose of skepticism that he quailed under her gaze.

“I just thought…” Faramir trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

“What did you just think?” Perhaps Faramir’s obvious discomfort had softened her, and this she said much less sharply than her prior question.

Faramir laughed ruefully. “I don’t quite know, to be honest,” he said. “I suppose I thought that I’m technically a prince and you’re the sister of the king. I’m here at your invitation with no particular task to fulfill, and we get along quite well. There will be expectations and rumors of an alliance between Rohan and Gondor, and you are a far better companion than I could expect to find anywhere else.” He shook his head. “It was a silly thought, nothing more.”

Éowyn fixed him with an appraising stare and did not speak for several moments. “Do you love me?” she finally asked.

The “no” tumbled from his lips before he could stop it, but to his great relief, she did not look devastated, hurt, or even a little disappointed. If anything, she seemed to be faintly amused.

“Well, there you have it,” she said.

“I do love you, Éowyn,” Faramir insisted. “You’re one of my dearest friends and I respect you a great deal, and you are kind and fierce and beautiful. What I mean is that I am not in love with you, through no fault of your own.”

“I should hope not!” Éowyn exclaimed. “And now I feel that I should clarify that I am not in love with you either, although you are a brave, capable man who sometimes has ridiculous ideas.”

“What I meant is…” Faramir paused for a moment. “My inclinations do not run in the direction of women.”

“All the more reason that we should not get married, then!”

“Yes, I suppose it was an absurd idea. Forgive me for bringing it up. It’s just that we’ve spoken about how worried you used to be at the idea of being forced into a marriage for political reasons and weren’t sure you wanted to marry at all, so I thought—”

“That you could do me a favor by providing me a safe but loveless marriage to a friend,” Éowyn finished for him. “Faramir, I’m not angry at you. You’re a dear man and my dear friend, and I appreciate what you were offering, for me and for yourself. But my brother is a different kind of king, and I am not only his sister, but the Captain of his guard. I am quite confident that I can choose to marry for love, or not at all.”

“I’m pleased to hear that. Both that you are not angry with me and that you can marry or not as you please.” Faramir rested his head on his hand, weary. “I suppose part of the thought was that I don’t know what I’m doing here, or what I should do next. Up until now, I’ve always had a purpose, even if it was not a pleasant one. My father was never satisfied with me, which means that there was always something to strive for.” He gave a deep sigh. “I think that I am not very good at knowing what to do other than what people expect.”

Éowyn came over and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I know how you feel. All my life, I did what was expected of me by the men who I loved and the people I loved, no matter how much I wanted to do differently. Or not differently, perhaps, but to do more. It chafes, doesn’t it? I chose to bury my anger deep inside of me, but it seems that let yours go by telling yourself that it wasn’t so bad, and perhaps what you wanted most of all was to serve your father and your kingdom. And now your father is gone, but your anger is gone too, and you’re not sure what’s left of Faramir.”

“You seem to understand me better than I understand myself,” Faramir said, “but you’re right.”

“But don’t you see? We don’t have to do that anymore, either of us. I can finally live as I please with a sword in my hand and the wind in my hair, and if someday I meet a man who loves that about me and I love him, then we will marry, but I will never let anyone’s expectations tie me down again.” Éowyn took Faramir’s face in her hands and gently lifted it. “I know what I want, and I will have it. What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” Faramir said wretchedly, voice hitching. “I don’t think I’ve ever known.”

Éowyn wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. “Now is the time for you to find out.”

Faramir returned the hug, and they held each other silently for a good while. Tears fell, and yet Faramir did not feel ashamed.

Finally they broke apart. “Thank you, Éowyn,” Faramir said. “You are a better friend than I deserve.”

“You deserve more than you think you do, Faramir,” Éowyn said firmly. “Friendship, and freedom, and love, if you want it. I know that Gondor may be more particular about such things, but here in Rohan your inclinations are not so uncommon. Even my own brother runs in both directions. There is no shame in it.”

“I will try to remember it, truly,” Faramir said. “It was not just the traditional ways of Gondor that made me feel strange, but also that I always knew I would have to marry as my father wished. I stopped thinking about what or who I desired because there was no point.”

“But there is a point now, and I will keep reminding you if you forget,” Éowyn said firmly. “I intend to always be in your life, Faramir, but as your friend, not your wife.”

A tightness dissolved in Faramir’s chest, and he couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden feeling of lightness, the sudden absence of a shame so tightly coiled around his innards for so long that he had forgotten he wasn’t born with it already there.

[legault]

Samwise Gamgee's Guide to Protecting Mr. Frodo at Parties

Author: legault/pinksnowboots (fic blog)

Notes: I am over a month late for @samfrosummer, but the prompts were so delightful that I had to write fics for them anyway. This is for the Day 1 prompt: large gatherings

Words: 2110

Summary: Frodo finds a curiously-named booklet next to the bed he shares with Sam.

Read on AO3 (there's wonky formatting and bulleted lists - Sam is very thorough when it comes to protecting Frodo! - which I cannot easily copy over directly into this post.)

[queertrekheadcanons]

“TZN: Did you know that there is speculation about Garak’s sexuality? Robinson: Oh, yeah. I started it.”

— Andrew J. Robinson, via this interview with TZN (via ofclaustrophobicsubtext)

[galpalkirk]

”I remember when I very first played Garak, I played him gay! I thought this would be great! He sees this young man, this young, very attractive doctor on the station, he is lonely, he is the only Cardassian there, this doctor is curious about him, and if you remember, this was a great moment because Sid totally went with it! When he comes up and he puts his hand on his shoulder, Sid did this great thing, it was this sort of an electrical charge that went through him and so I played him totally gay in that episode.

Of course the producers did not actually tell me not to play him gay but then they started writing him a little more macho and more like a Cardassian. But I said, “Listen, one of the great things about Garak is that he is not Gul Dukat, he is not one of those macho, militaristic guys, he is your finesse Cardassian.” So we struck a compromise but I was always very clear. I did not get into it in the book. Quite frankly, I was going to go in that direction. I had written a whole thing about Garak’s sexuality because I felt that Garak was sort of - talk about bisexual, I think that he was multisexual, essentially that anything that moves is fair game for Garak. He has a voracious sexual appetite.”

[a-stitch-in-time-and-space]

I can’t believe that Andy was so powerful they had to nerf his take on Garak’s sexuality on the show and in the book and yet Garak is still so clearly fucking queer!

[conceptadecency]

Someone needs to write a fic called ‘Finesse Cardassian’. Look, if someone else doesn’t do it I’ll have to and I’ve got a lot of WIPs.

[knivesandteeth]

I’m sorry im still having a conipption about Garak having “a voracious sexual appetite”. Andy?? Come back here and explain yourself immediately

[legault]

Hobbit Hospitality

Author: legault/pinksnowboots (fic blog)

Notes: A key feature of the Self-Indulgent AU: Boromir lives, Faramir is happy but also can't process his issues in Gondor so he moves to Rohan to work out his feelings by riding through the plains.

Words: 2260

Summary: Faramir visits the hobbits in the Shire. They talk about homesickness and the meaning of home.

Crossposted to AO3.

“Are you homesick after such a long journey?” Pippin asked Faramir.

The three of them—Faramir, Pippin and Merry—were sitting at the kitchen table at Bag End on a sunny Shire morning. Faramir’s knees knocked up against the bottom of the table and his head reached uncomfortably close to the ceiling light, but he managed to fit, both physically and metaphorically, and that’s what really matters. Size aside, he was an honored and invited guest, and Bag End is always eager to open her doors to guests.

Or in this case, Pippin is always eager to open Bag End’s doors to guests. When he wrote to Faramir to invite him to visit the Shire, one would assume that he would be inviting the man to his own place of residence at Crickhollow, but Peregrin Took, as usual, defies all assumptions. Only when he received a letter in response informing him that Faramir was traveling their way did he march up to Bag End and inform Frodo that he and Sam would soon be hosting Merry and Pippin, plus one man of Gondor.

In any case, Frodo, having inherited some of his uncle’s love of entertaining, and Sam, perhaps the most obliging hobbit to ever inhabit the Shire, accepted this good-naturedly. They had pushed two hobbit-sized beds together in the second-nicest bedroom to make a roughly man-sized bed that Faramir had collapsed into when he arrived the night before, and even now the gracious hosts were outside in the garden picking fresh produce for lunch, dinner, and supper, leaving Merry and Pippin inside chatting with Faramir as they picked at the remnants of second breakfast.

“Homesick?” Faramir said thoughtfully. “I quite enjoyed the journey, in fact. It has been a long time since I’ve traveled far without a threat hanging over my head. But now that I’ve arrived, as lovely as the Shire is, I suppose I feel a bit homesick.” He quirked his lips in a small smile. “Most of all when I knock my head into one of Bag End’s many doorways.”

“Yes, that makes sense. The doorways in Minas Tirith are much taller than this, you know,” Pippin declared to Merry with the air of someone holding forth on a topic in which they are an expert.

Merry gave him a scathing look, “Pip, I’ve been to Minas Tirith before. We were in Minas Tirith together. I know that the great city of men has man-sized doors.”

“Actually,” Faramir interjected. “I was thinking more of Rohan.”

“Rohan?” Pippin asked, confused.

“Oh, I must have neglected to mention,” Faramir said. “I’m living in Rohan now.”

As if on cue, Merry’s “What?” burst out in tandem with Pippin’s second, equally confused, “Rohan?”

“Yes, Rohan. I’ve been living there for several months now.”

“So let me get this straight,” Merry said. “You left Gondor?”

“Aye,” Faramir said evenly.

“And furthermore, left Gondor entirely, never mind that it’s where your miraculously-not-dead brother and the legendary returned king rule?”

“Aye.”

“Despite the fact that Aragorn literally made you a prince in Gondor?”

“Aye, despite that.” Faramir seemed amused at Merry’s increasing frustration at trying to absorb a new piece of information that just did not logically fit. Pippin, for his part, was truly lost.

“And, leaving that great kingdom of men, decided to relocate to Rohan, a country where you have almost no ties?”

“You seem to have the shape of it, Master Meriadoc,” Faramir said.

Just then, Sam and Frodo came into the kitchen with a basket overflowing with fruits and vegetables. Sam set them on the counter and began washing strawberries as Frodo slid into the seat beside Merry.

“What are you lot talking about that has you gaping like a fish, Merry?” Frodo asked.

“Oh, he’s just found out about my relocation to Rohan,” said Faramir.

“Oh, just that?” Frodo said as he accepted a strawberry from Sam, who had placed most of the berries in a bowl but separated out a few of the juiciest for Frodo. “That’s old news, Merry.”

Merry turned to glare at Frodo, betrayed. “You knew?”

“Course we knew,” Sam brought the rest of the berries to the table and sat down beside Frodo. “Boromir told us in one of his letters.”

“Well, leaving aside the fact that Pip and I have been thoroughly left out of the loop,” Merry huffed. “I still want to know why.” He fixed Faramir with a suspicious look. “Are you courting Éowyn?” Faramir laughed, “No, although she is a dear friend of mine, and the one who invited me to stay when we were both recovering in the Houses of Healing. She sends her best regards to you, Master Merry.”

At that, Merry flushed a pleased pink.

Faramir continued, “If I felt that I had to wed a woman, she would be a fine choice, but that would not be fair to either her or me, as my preferences do not tend in that direction, and marriage would quite limit her activities as Captain of the Rohirrim.”

Pippin, who had finally stopped gaping and seemed to have accepted the overall situation, asked, “Then why leave Gondor? You are the Prince of Ithilien.”

“Yes, it was very kind of King Elessar to create that title for me, especially as the position of Steward rightfully returned to my brother once we knew he was alive,” Faramir smiled a wistful smile. “But between the steward and the king, Gondor is run well, and while they would accept my counsel, neither Gondor nor Ithilien truly has need of a prince.” He paused to pluck a strawberry from the bowl, neatly biting off the fruit from the leaves, which he placed carefully on the plate Sam had laid out for that purpose. “These are lovely, Sam. Besides, I found after all was said and done that war, even a victorious war, can change things, and somehow my home no longer felt like the home it was before.”

Instinctively, all three hobbits turned concerned looks to Frodo. Frodo smiled reassuringly as he clasped Sam’s hand, which was inching its way towards Frodo’s almost of its own accord. “Peace, my friends,” Frodo said, giving Sam’s hand a squeeze. “I admit that I know the feeling of which he speaks, but I am not going anywhere. The Shire is not the same home that I left on that fateful day, but thanks to all of you—especially you, Sam,” at this, Frodo fixed Sam with a smile so tender that everyone else at the table had the distinct feeling that they were intriguing upon a very private moment. “—I have found that this Shire is a place where I can build a new sort of home.”

“We’re always a bit afraid that Frodo is going to up and bolt one of these days,” Pippin said to Faramir in a sotto voice.

“You’re not getting rid of Sam and me that easily, Pippin!” Frodo said with a smile, effectively breaking the tension that had fallen upon the group. “And we’ve gotten off topic. We were discussing our honored guest.”

Faramir returned Frodo’s nod, admiring the way that he elegantly steered the conversation. “Going back to your earliest question, Master Peregrin, I find myself a bit homesick, but strangely enough it is for Rohan more than Gondor.”

“What’s Rohan like?” Pippin asked eagerly, earlier tension all but forgotten in light of his curiosity and the strawberries he’d been steadily popping into his mouth. “I’ve never seen it.”

“That’s right, you were whisked off by Gandalf straight to Minas Tirith because of all that business with the palantir—” Merry started, before being interrupted.

“You know I don’t like to be reminded of that!” said Pippin, indignant. “It was a moment of weakness, and could have happened to anyone.”

Merry gave his cousin a look, but let it pass.

“I’d love to hear about Rohan too, Master Faramir,” Sam said, speaking for the first time since the thought of Frodo leaving had struck them all. He was still gripping Frodo’s hand tightly and had scooted his chair a smidge closer to the other hobbit to where their sides were pressed together, but his voice reflected only the eager curiosity of a young hobbit who loved stories. “Mr. Frodo and I never made it out that way neither.”

“It’s beautiful, Sam.” Faramir said. “Just as Minas Tirith could not be known as anything but The White City, Meduseld truly is The Golden Hall. And all of Rohan is golden, Meduseld and Edoras and the wide plains it overlooks, where the grass is more yellow than green and in the wind blowing across its stalks you can always feel the vibrations of hoofbeats. Minas Tirith with all its walls and towers is a place that invites you in and bids you stay, but Edoras calls for you to come out and revel in Rohan’s expanses, knowing that there will always be a place for you to return no matter how far your horses roam.”

“It sounds a little intimidating at that,” said Sam, who had never been comfortable in wide open spaces where almost all the plants were the same height and species and there was no convenient hole or rock to dunk into or behind if needed, a tendency that had only become more pronounced over the course of their quest.

“Some find it so, aye,” Faramir said. “But I always felt stifled in Gondor, by the walls, by my father, by all the expectations I could never really reach. As soon as I learned to ride, I started to have dreams of galloping away from Minas Tirith and not stopping until the city disappeared behind me so thoroughly I couldn’t find it if I tried. On the plains of Rohan, I can ride until I forget my own name, and yet I always find my way back to Edoras in time.” He paused and then added, softly, “and Minas Tirith is always there for me to find. I could never truly lose it.”

Faramir shook his head gently, turning his attention back outward as he continued, “But perhaps you would prefer Edoras itself, Master Sam. The gardens are not quite so rich as they are here in The Shire, but there are some plants I’d wager you haven’t seen before, and the people of Rohan are clever in growing plants that can be eaten by both human and horse, although the humans tend to prefer meat. And they have the most beautiful music! The sound of the fiddles of Rohan pull across your chest like a sudden breeze of crisp autumn air, equal parts yearning and pride and then yearning again. The people of Rohan know how to yearn! But they also know how to celebrate, even if all there is to celebrate is that in their harshly beautiful land they have carved out a space with music to be played and beer to be drunk among trusted companions, both two-legged and four-legged.”

“It sounds like it suits you well,” Frodo observed.

“So far, it does,” Faramir said. “I’ve always had a bit of a knack for yearning, it seems.”

“You’re not the only one,” Sam said, speaking to Faramir but exchanging a smile with Frodo.

“You are all invited to visit, of course!” Faramir addressed all the hobbits now. “Rohan is still rebuilding after the great losses at Helm’s Deep and Pelennor Fields, but the people love and trust the king and his sister, and rebuilding need not all be hard labor and yearning for a lost generation. And I’m sure Éowyn would be thrilled to see you again, Merry.”

“Would you teach me to ride, Faramir?” Pippin asked. “When we come to Rohan, I mean?”

Faramir laughed at the hobbit’s eagerness. “Perhaps if we can find a small enough horse, or a pony, but you can ride with me at any rate. Truly the one who should teach you is Éomer. I’ve been riding horses since I was a lad, and yet I have become ten times the rider I once was since riding with him!”

“You’re rather familiar with the king,” Merry observed. “On a first name basis, even. What would Éomer-king think about that?”

“Would I ask you to address me as Prince Faramir, Merry?” Faramir responded quickly enough, although a faint blush rose to his cheeks. “We are friends and companions, just as Éomer and I are.” He pushed himself to his feet, narrowly avoiding knocking his head quite hard into the ceiling lamp. “While I must thank you for a wonderful conversation and two delightful breakfasts, I seem to recall Pippin mentioning taking me on a tour through Buckland. Put me to work clearing these dishes so that we can be on our way. After such a long trip, I am eager to see more of The Shire.”

So Bag End once again echoed with the cozy clinking noises of too many people attempting to tidy up a rather large breakfast, and then with cheerful song as Frodo and Sam taught Faramir an old Dwarfish song about chipping and cracking all the plates and cups that they had learned from Bilbo when they were children, and Faramir reflected briefly that as the wistful music of Rohan held both pride and yearning, this ditty also coaxed twin emotions out of his chest—both contentment and deep pangs of homesickness, for Rohan and all it encompassed, and for his brother, living (Living! Sometimes that was still hard to remember.) far away in a land that was and was not home.

[legault]

Sons and Daughters of Rohan

Author: legault/pinksnowboots (fic blog)

Words: 593

Summary: Éomer and Éowyn discuss the weight of leading Rohan forward.

Crossposted to AO3.

In the days following Éomer’s coronation, it had become harder for Éomer and Éowyn to find time to simply talk as siblings. There was always so much work to be done and numbers of people who needed the king or his sister, but occasionally they were able to slip away and share their troubles.

On one such occasion, they were in Éomer’s quarters in the late evening, sitting and looking at the stars outside the window. While Éowyn tucked herself neatly into her chair, Éomer sprawled across his, wearily taking off the crown and dropping it onto the floor beside him.

“The crown is heavy, sister,” Éomer said. “Our uncle taught us well, but I was never prepared to rebuild our kingdom from a state like this.”

“It is a challenging time for Rohan, to be sure,” Éowyn agreed. “In a way we are lucky that you were sent away with the Rohirrim loyal to you, else we may have lost all of our men rather than just most.”

“A poor consolation,” Éomer heaved a sigh. “I often feel the shame of not dying with them at Helm’s Deep. Every day, I see girls without fathers, women without sons. A generation of Rohan’s boys, gone before we could save them.”

“Éomer,” Éowyn said gently. “You did all that you could. When our uncle sent you away in his madness, you could not resist. When we needed you, you came as fast as you could. It is not your fault.”

“The battlefield is no place for a boy.”

“Nor a woman, nor a hobbit, as I’ve been told many a time,” Éowyn said, with the tone of someone referencing a well-trod argument. “And yet were we not there, the Witch-King of Angmar would still be alive. Sometimes we are called to fight beyond our station. If it were not for the heroic sacrifice of those young boys, we would never have held Helm’s Deep until your arrival.”

“You are wise, sister. Sometimes I think that you should have been king instead of me.”

“If it were me, wouldn’t I be the queen?”

“The king is the one who takes care of all of his people. A queen supports her king. You would deserve to be recognized as the one holding the burden, not just another woman in a supporting role.” Éomer said. “I know you have been pushed into that role far too much in your life.”

“You flatter me, brother. And yet I would not have the crown, king or queen. I love our people, but I have spent my whole life caring for them and those who protect them, and I am ready to be the one doing the protecting.” Éowyn’s mouth quirked into a small smile. “I would much rather have the Captaincy of the Rohirrim, a position so conveniently left empty by your ascension. ”

“Then you shall have it. Éowyn, daughter of Éomund and Theodwyn, slayer of the Witch-King of Angmar, Shieldmaiden of Rohan and Captain of the Rohirrim.” Éomer pushed himself to his feet only to kneel before his sister. “It is no less than what you deserve.”

Eyes shining, Éowyn stood and grabbed the crown from where it lay on the floor, kneeling as she placed it on her brother’s head. “It will be my honor to protect and serve you, Éomer King. My brother.”

The siblings fell into a tight embrace and let themselves lean against one another, exhausted but grateful to move forward into the new age of Rohan with someone to share the weight.

[legault]

Part of Your Story (Sam/Frodo)

Author: legault/pinksnowboots (fic blog)

Notes: I play fast and loose with canon because I love happy hobbits. Other than that it's just pure fluff.

Words: 670

Summary: The first time Frodo finds true joy in anything other than Sam is when he tells his stories to the children of Hobbiton. Eventually, he starts to write some of his own.

Crossposted to AO3.

Sam was elbow deep in dirt in the garden when he heard Frodo call his name. He couldn’t help starting at the sound; old habits die hard, and although it sounded like a happy call, he couldn’t fully relax until he saw Frodo bounding out the door with a sheaf of paper in his hand and the kind of joyful smile on his face that for so long, Sam had feared was gone forever.

“What is it, Mr. Frodo?” Sam pushed himself to his feet and brushed the dirt extra off his hands before walking over to Frodo. He felt himself smiling reflexively and marveled again for the millionth time at how his connection with Frodo could tug at his heart with worry or pure affection so hard that he was afraid it might snap, but at the same time gave him the purest sense of calm he’d ever known.

“I told another story to the children,” Frodo said excitedly as they walked into the kitchen. “But this time, instead of one of Bilbo’s stories, or a piece of our stories, it was one that I wrote myself. And Sam, they loved it!”

“That’s wonderful!” Sam said. “Ever since I was a wee lad, I loved to hear your stories. You’ve got a knack for storytelling, and apparently story writing too.”

Frodo smiled at the compliment. “I’d like you to read it, Sam.” A slight blush rose on his cheeks. “I would read it aloud to you, but for some reason I’m nervous.”

“You have nothing to be nervous about, Frodo. I would never judge you.” Sam went over to the sink to wash and dry his hands before taking the papers from Frodo. “But I’m happy to read it to myself.”

Sam settled in one of Bag End’s oversized and incredibly plush armchairs to read. Frodo hovered over his shoulder before finally perching on the arm of the chair, although as soon as he did so Sam absentmindedly looped an arm around Frodo’s waist as he read and soon enough Frodo was halfway squished between Sam and the chair’s arm and halfway on Sam’s lap. He settled there with the ease of someone who found himself in that position often, but kept fidgeting with his fingers until Sam finished reading and placed the papers gently on the side table.

“Well?” Frodo prompted.

“Mr. Frodo, it’s a wonderful story.” Sam turned to him, eyes wide. “But you flatter me too much. I mean, Samwise the Brave? No one will believe that kind of hero.”

“But they did, Sam! The children loved Samwise the Brave.” Frodo adjusted his shoulders to face Sam and take his hands. “And so do I.”

“I don’t deserve it, Mr. Frodo.”

“Sam!” Frodo squeezed his hands to punctuate his statement. “You deserve all this and more. You’re the bravest person I know, hobbit or man or elf. The real challenge was choosing only one name for the character. It could be Samwise the Brave, or Samwise the Steadfast, Samwise the Wise, Samwise the Strong. I could never capture all that you are in just one story, but you will always be my hero.”

Sam reached up a hand to cup Frodo’s cheek, staring awestruck at the other hobbit. “Frodo…”

Frodo caught Sam’s larger hand in both of his as he leaned into the touch. “Samwise who has hands which are strong and broad and gentle.” He turned his hand to kiss Sam’s palm. “Samwise who loves me too earnestly and too well.” Finally, he turned to face Sam again. “Samwise who has and will always have my whole heart.”

Sam pulled Frodo in for a proper kiss. “I could never love you too well, but I will never stop trying.”

Frodo broke away smiling another true smile. “So I can write more stories about Samwise the Brave?”

“As long as I get to read them,” Sam said, pulling Frodo fully into his arms. “Being part of your story is the best thing I have ever done.

[legault]

Honor (Ranulf-centric, 1/2)

Author: legault/pinksnowboots (fic blog)

Warnings: None that I can think of? Canon divergence, potential liberal interpretations of characters, incredibly rare rarepairs involving Ranulf (not to give anything away because it’s not in this part yet, but there may be Ranulf/Stefan involved in part 2)

Words: 2266

Summary: Ranulf gets burnt out on war, and on Skrimir, and heads to the desert to find his definition of honor.

It’s a day (almost two days) late and only the first part of what should be a two-parter, BUT this is for Day 2 of @telliusweek2017, for the prompts: Gallia/Instinct/Honor/Passion.

Crossposted to AO3

Ranulf had never thought that anyone would call him the voice of reason in a group, but somehow, after the Mad King’s War he ends up becoming a professional Voice of Reason for the one and only heir to the Gallian throne.

Well, technically he’s a sub-commander in the Gallian army, but everyone knows what his real job is.

Keep reading

[pinksnowboots]

Sour Grapes, Chapter 3/?

Fandom: Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn

Pairings: Shinon/Gatrie

Summary: Shinon runs away from all his problems, but, as problems tend to do, they all come back to find him.

This one is very Shinon-centric, so if you were hoping for more Gatrie...I apologize, BUT this is getting me one step closer to the end, which I promise has plenty of Gatrie!

(Also I meant to post this in time for @telliusweek2017, but as usual, I’m a little late. Whoops.)

Also read on AO3

Shinon wakes up the next morning, hair tangled, breath stale, and head pounding.

And more importantly, he wakes up in an alleyway, alone.

It’s been a long time since he’s been able to consistently drink enough to forget what happens while he’s drunk, so the previous night bursts behind his eyes in full technicolor.

“Shit.” Shinon curses as he flings an arm over his eyes, trying to pretend for just five more minutes that things are ok.

He only makes it two minutes before getting restless, so he mentally squares his shoulder and pushes himself up.

“Well, this has got to be a new record for rock bottom.” He mumbles to himself, as he sets off, with no idea where he’s going. 

Looking for work as a pair of guildless mercenaries is hard enough, but it’s nothing compared to looking for work as a single guildless mercenary who just happens to have no money, no possessions, and a terrible tendency to alienate the people around him.

Still, after dragging himself from tavern to tavern and loitering in the hopes of getting a lead on a job, he finally finds someone who needs hands quickly, and doesn’t look twice at the fact that Shinon is a mess. The pay is terrible, and the bow they give him is worthless compared to what he’s used to, but it gives him something to do.

It turns out that he’s basically getting paid to get involved in a turf war between two groups of small-time bandits. It’s exactly the kind of job he would have passed over when traveling with Gatrie, because it’s messy and dangerous and not all that moral, but one of Shinon’s strengths and weaknesses is his lax moral standards. Morals don’t pay for a room and a pint of ale, but roughing it with bandits pays for at least a bed, and they give him disgusting home-brewed mead for free after it becomes clear that he’s the most talented of the bunch.

They run the other group of bandits off fairly quickly, but the fact that Shinon is a tier above the rest of the bandits ensures that he gets another job. And another, and another, and eventually he’s able to jump from bandits to slightly more professional mercenary groups. Their morals are just as loose as bandits, but they dress better and their booze is much more palatable.

The jobs start getting better paid too, and Shinon is able to buy a bow that’s at least slightly better. More importantly, he’s able to buy strong enough alcohol to distract him from his occasional pangs of loneliness, to banish his visions: of Gatrie, mostly, but also of Greil, of Rhys and Titania, even of little Rolf.

But those visions are useless, and he chases them away with alcohol while also chasing away anyone who might have thought to befriend him.

Eventually his jobs shift from acting as extra manpower for bandit turf wars to things that seem a little bigger, more well-funded, and more politically motivated. Shinon’s policy is that as long as he’s getting paid, he doesn’t ask questions, but he can’t help but wonder idly what exactly is happening to Tellius.

The strangest is when he gets hired by a crew that is half Daein soldiers and half Ravens. It’s something that he would have never guessed he’d see, Daein and Kilvas working together, especially since the average citizen of Daein tended to hate laguz as much as Shinon did, or more.

Still, who he was working with and why fell under the “Don’t ask questions as long as you get paid” category, even if it involved laguz. At the very least they were birds, and Shinon felt a little bit of comfort knowing that if it came down to him against the ravens, the odds were in his favor as long as he could get the first shot off.

Or at least that’s what he thought before seeing them in action. Sure, if he got the first shot off, he could take most of them down, but if they got to him first, he was toast. In a one-on-one battle, the odds would be about even, depending on who was faster. Unfortunately, of all the laguz, the birds were some of the fastest.

If Gatrie were still here, there’d be no question of who would win.

The thought pops uninvited into his head, and he tries to shoo it away with a twinge of annoyance. It was frustrating enough already that he missed the big oaf, and he didn’t need to be reminded that from a purely strategic standpoint, it was better to have Gatrie around than not.

Luckily, the battle started, and as soon as the first enemy moved into range, Shinon shifted into the altered headspace that he only found during a battle, with all other irrelevant thoughts-of laguz, of feelings, of Gatie-drifting easily away.

Was it ironic to feel most at peace in the middle of war? Probably, but that was just another irrelevant thought that didn’t last long, quickly subsumed by the rhythmic sequence of aim, pull, fire, reload, aim...

Right in the midst of reloading his bow, Shinon’s focus became momentarily and violently shaken when he saw a familiar looking figure coming into view, a little behind the stumbling soldier who he had just clipped with his arrow.

Just like Ike, charging into battle first, with no thought of how fucked his little band would be if he was cut down.

The thought, and the accompanying spike of disdain were so automatic that it took Shinon’s mind a second to pause and catch on.

Wait, Ike?

Goddess damnit.

It made sense, in a karmic way. He’d abandoned Ike’s mercenaries, and run away from Gatrie, and now at least one of the people he’d left was coming back to get him.

It made sense logically too. If the continent was really getting embroiled in a proper war, Ike was just stupid and noble enough to get himself at the center of it.

Practically speaking, nothing changed. Ike was there, but he was on the other side, and well, this is what he’d always idly imagined would happen anyway, wasn’t it? One of them would end up dying, maybe by the other’s hand.

As satisfying as it would be to be the one to put an arrow in the kid, Shinon valued self-preservation over self-satisfaction, and fighting Ike would probably be more skewed in Ike’s favor than Shinon would like to deal with, especially with his concentration already shot to hell.

So when Ike headed away from him, still oblivious to Shinon’s presence on the battlefield, Shinon breathed a sigh of relief

It didn’t last long though, because behind Ike came the rest of the motley crew; almost everyone he recognized, and some people he didn’t. It figured that Ike would keep picking up strays along the way.

But among the unfamiliar faces, Shinon picked out a flash of familiar armor.

Gatrie.

Gatrie wasn’t supposed to be with them. He’d left the group when Shinon had, following him without question, but now here he was, and the sight struck Shinon dumb, unable to move.

Shinon had known what being a mercenary was about, and had embraced it. With the exception of a few of the younger members, he had considered the possibility that he would have to fight against every one of his comrades, and had found that if it came down to it, he would have very little trouble choosing his life over any of theirs.

Except Gatrie. No matter how hard he had though, he had never truly considered that he and Gatrie might someday be on opposite sides. It was simply inconceivable, as much of a violation of the way the world worked as a river flowing upstream.

Luckily, Gatrie didn’t appear to see Shinon, and for the first time, Shinon thanked the goddess for the fact that Gatrie’s armor severely limited his peripheral vision.

Unluckily, as he was standing there gaping, the little cluster of healers and archers at the back seem to have noticed him, and before he knew it two broke away from the group and made a beeline straight for him. A redhaired man in priest’s robes-Rhys, Shinon deduced-tried to call them back. The girl, who was almost certainly Mist, hesitated for a moment before eventually returning when Shinon raised his bow in her direction, but the boy ignored his calls and continued heading towards Shinon.

Shinon didn’t need to wait until he came closer to know that it had to be Rolf.

“Shinon?” The boy called out in disbelief, completely oblivious to the fact that yelling on a battlefield when you’ve just broken away from the main body of your allies is an incredibly stupid thing to do.

“Rolf...” Shinon began, a lecture automatically forming in his head.

“Shinon!” Rolf yelled, cutting him off as he reached Shinon. “It really is you!”

The lecture died behind Shinon’s lips at the genuine happiness in Rolf’s voice.

“Look at you. You’ve grown so much.” Shinon found himself saying, noting that Rolf had grown a few inches in the months that he’d left. “You actually look like an archer.”

“Really?” Rolf says, as bashful and delighted as he always was at receiving a compliment from Shinon.

“ You always did have what it takes.” Shinon tells him. “It's just like I told you--you train the right way, and you'll surpass both your brothers.”

Not that your brothers set a particularly high bar. He add silently.

“I had a good teacher.” Rolf says, still beaming.

“Yeah, you did.” Shinon says, unable to suppress a little smile. He never planned on teaching anyone, but Rolf had a raw talent that deserved to be nurtured, and more importantly, an enthusiasm that wore even Shinon down eventually.

“You haven’t told anyone else about that, have you?” Shinon adds. Just because Rolf’s childish joy turned him into a little bit of a sap didn’t mean he was ok with anyone else knowing about it.

“Nope. Never said a word.” Rolf shakes his head, earnestly. “I keep my promises.”

“Good man.”

Rolf laughs, caught off-guard at being addressed as a man, before his delight changes to worry. “Um...Shinon?”

“What?”

“Are you...” Rolf hesitates. “With the enemy?”

Shinon answers quickly, because it’s the only way he can get it out without revealing any of the pesky emotions he feels poking at him. “Yep.”

Rolf’s face falls, a complete contrast to his delight at first seeing Shinon, and Shinon sees his lip start to tremble.

“Stop that.” Shinon tells him. “I told you that things like this happen.” Did you forget?”

“But...it’s not...” Rolf is full-on blubbering on the battlefield now, and Shinon is torn between annoyance and discomfort. “It’s...not...fair...”

If he keeps carrying on like this, the kid’s going to get both of them killed, so Shinon hardens his voice to the one that makes the nice girls that Gatrie likes glare at him.

“Ready your bow. It's time for the pupil to face his master.”

Rolf looks at him, uncomprehending.

“I mean it kid.” Shinon raises his bow for emphasis, but doesn’t truly draw it yet. “You better fight me or get out of here, and you have about ten seconds to choose.”

Rolf looks at Shinon, then looks at his own bow, and finally heads back towards the army. He glances back at Shinon every few seconds as if expecting to be shot in the back, but he doesn’t need to worry. Rolf may very well die today, but Shinon would rather not be the one to deal the blow.

The battle is a hard one for both sides, and although most of Ike’s company must know that he’s here by now, for the most part he’s shooting at people he doesn’t know.

But then eventually, Ike comes into view.

Shinon gets off two arrows before Ike gets close enough to counterattack, but he’s been off the whole battle, and neither of them are lethal blows. Although, Shinon notes with vindictive pleasure, they force Ike to start favoring his left leg.

Shinon’s played this battle out in his head dozens of times, and he knows that in close quarters Ike always wins. Ike’s probably going to win this time, if it’s a fair fight.

“Look, it’s little Ike!” Shinon calls, taunting. The only way he’s going to win is by throwing Ike off his game, and the two arrows helped, but it can’t hurt to try to shake him mentally too.

The best method would be to put an arrow or two in Soren, but unfortunately, for once Soren is not trailing behind Ike like a shadow.

“I always knew it would come to this, Ike.” Shinon says as Ike comes into range, drawing another arrow as he speaks.

“Shinon...” Ike says, and Shinon sees that despite everything, Ike would like to forgive him, and the fact fills him with anger.

“Watch yourself!” He snaps, and fires, this time hitting Ike in the arm.

The pain snaps Ike out of whatever sappy fantasy he had of convincing Shinon to join Ike’s little fanclub mercenary band, and he charges.

Shinon does his best, but he’s not good in close quarters, and it’s over embarrassingly quickly as Ike, who at the very least is bleeding from several arrow wounds, lands a solid blow on Shinon’s left side that brings him to the ground.

“Curses...” Shinon grits out, instinctively clutching at the wound.

“Don’t move.” Ike is standing over him, but he doesn’t deliver the final blow. “You’ll tear the wound wide open.”

“What...” Shinon grunts. “Are you planning? Do it now. Finish me.”

Ike says nothing, just looks at him in...contemplation? Pity? Disgust?

“Ha,” Shinon barks out a laugh, which sends a wave of pain through his side. “Idiot...”

Shinon isn’t sure what happens after that, because he starts to drift in and out of consciousness, and in his half-conscious state, he registers that Ike is no longer there.

His thoughts are drifting in and out of coherence as well, half-formed thoughts meshing with wordless pain and slivers of emotions he couldn’t identify if he tried.

...stupid...stupid way to live...stupider way to die...

...fuckup. just like...

...hope Rolf...didn’t...

...at least...wasn’t...Gatrie...

Shinon comes completely back to consciousness some time later, surprised to see Rhys and Ike standing over him rather than...whatever might happen to good-for-nothing snipers who get themselves killed in battle.

“Shinon.” Ike starts.

“Ha!” Shinon cuts him off, still half-delirious. “I can't believe that the one who defeats me is little lord Ikie. Looks like I've lost my edge. I'm ready, boy. Go on. Finish what you started.”

Rhys looks at Ike, who nods, signalling that Rhys can leave, taking what looks like a mend staff and an empty vulnerary with him.

Ike turns back to Shinon. “Come back to the company.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You've never liked me. As far back as I can remember, you have never liked me.” Ike says, and it’s not a question, just a fact.

"That’s right.” Shinon confirms, because he’s already almost dead, so there’s no harm in digging his own grave when he’s already lying in it. “Still don’t.”

“You called me a weakling.” Ike continues. “Said I was nothing without the help of my father. That's what you said, right? That's why you hated me.”

Honestly, at this point Shinon doesn’t even remember why he started to hate Ike, but the fact that Ike seems to want his approval even now isn’t helping his case. Gatrie and Rolf aside, Shinon finds earnest people distasteful.

“Sounds like me.” Shinon hedges, because it’s a lot easier to say than I was half-way in love with your father and I resented you for having his love and living when he died and not being the failure that I wanted you to be. “Don't you get it?” Ike says, looking at Shinon like he’s stupid. “I just beat you. So your reasons don't hold water anymore, do they?”

Shinon’s reasons never really held water, but Ike doesn’t need to know that.

“Pah! It's enough you beat me, now you gotta talk me to death?”

Ike sighs. “I'll say it once more. Come back to the company. I acknowledge your abilities. As commander, I want you with us.”

Honestly, it’s starting to look like a tempting prospect, especially considering the other choice is bleeding to death on the battlefield.

Well, maybe not quite bleeding to death, because it seems like Rhys might have healed the worst of his wounds. But still, it would involve laying around with corpses and then starting again from scratch as a lone mercenary, and the Greil Mercenaries (or had they officially become the Ike Mercenaries by this point?) had tents and food and probably booze, and even though most of them surely hated his guts, at least Gatrie and Rolf would probably forgive him. Eventually.

“Let's have another go around.” Shinon says, wincing as he pushes himself to his feet. “I win, and I'm commander. Agreed?”

Ike looks at him, incredulous.

“Agreed?” Shinon repeats. Of course he’s going to lose, and he wouldn’t even want to be commander if there were a chance of it. But he’ll be damned if he admits that he’s crawling back to the Ike Fan Club Mercenaries with his tail between his legs, so he’s got to put up at least a token fight.

Finally Ike gets with the program, nodding. “I win, and you fall in line. Agreed?”

Shinon nods. He has no intention of docilely ‘falling in line,’ but at the very least he won’t storm off or try to kill Ike again, and that’s pretty much what Ike wants anyway.

“Don’t worry.” Shinon says, cocky to the last. “I’ll make it quick.”

Shinon does make it quick, landing few token arrows on Ike’s armor and then going down immediately as soon as Ike’s sword makes contact with his armor. Sure, Shinon hates losing, but he hates flesh wounds even more.

“I yield.” Shinon holds his hands up, and Ike takes one of them, pulling him to his feet.

“Welcome back.” Ike says, and he seems to mean it.

“Yeah yeah.” Shinon says. “Now, where can I find the booze?”

Coming back to the Greil Mercenaries (turns out they hadn’t changed the name to Ike’s Massive Fucking Fanclub. Yet.) was not the most pleasant experience Shinon had ever had. But that was to be expected, especially considering he’d basically stormed out in a hissy fit and taken their best knight with him.

Actually, it was refreshing how little had changed. He still didn’t like most of the people there, and they still didn’t like him. Just like it was supposed to be.

Some people expressed happiness at his return, and some of them, like Titania and Rhys, actually meant it. Rolf started crying again and despite his best efforts, Shinon couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty. Being a dick to adults was one thing, but the kid was another.

“Hey,” Shinon told him, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’m back now kid, quit crying.”

Rolf just sniffled harder and, to Shinon’s surprise, hugged him.

“Hey now, Rolf.” Shinon said, unsure what exactly was happening but uncomfortable with it nonetheless. “Hey, it’s ok.”

When nothing appeared to be working, Shinon leaned down and hissed in Rolf’s ear. “Quite crying and let go of me and I’ll make you a new bow.”

Immediately, Rolf jumped off of him and smiled. “Thank you Uncle Shinon!”

“Yeah yeah, now scram. You don’t want to be hanging around bad influences like me.”

Rolf headed back towards his brothers’ tent, still smiling.

“And don’t call me Uncle!” Shinon called after him.

Some people were not quite as happy to see him again, like Boyd, who pulled a face as soon as he saw Shinon walk into camp. Or Soren, who seemed personally offended that Ike had let Shinon back into the fold.

“Thought you got rid of me, did you?” Shinon taunted after being glared at by Soren. Soren glaring was not a rare occurrence, but neither was Shinon being needlessly rude, and picking at Soren was a habit that had been suppressed for far too long.

"I had hoped so.” Soren responded, icily. “But I suppose Ike knows best.”

“Ike knows best.” Shinon mimicked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Shinon had expected the reunion with Gatrie but be the hardest given the circumstances of their parting. He had even steeled himself to try to attempt an apology, although he probably wouldn’t be able to actually explain what exactly he was apologizing for.

As it turned out, he hadn’t needed to worry, because as soon as he sees Shinon, Gatrie pulls him into a tight hug.

“You’re back.” Gatrie says, sounding like he still can’t dare to believe it. “Thank the goddess.”

“You’re not mad?” Shinon asks, confused.

“I was mad.” Gatrie says. “I was furious, and sad, and then mad again. But I got over that while you were gone. Now I’m just glad that you’re back.”

Gatrie held Shinon at arms length, looking him up and down as if to make sure that he was all in one piece, eyes catching on the bandages covering the wounds Ike had inflicted on him during the last battle. Shinon, suddenly uncomfortable under the scrutiny, batted Gatrie’s hands away.

Gatrie, seemingly unflappable as always, just laughed giddily and pulled him into another embrace.

“Just...don’t do it again.” Gatrie says quietly, the vibrations of his voice seeming to echo in Shinon’s chest. “If you disappear again, I will be mad. And I won’t get over it.”

“I won’t.” Shinon accidentally promises, overwhelmed by the fact that he’s suddenly surrounded by Gatrie’s scent, and by the realization that the smell he always associated with the Greil Mercenaries, with the closest thing to family and home he’s ever had, was actually the smell of Gatrie.

Well, when he was with the Greil Mercenaries, Gatrie was almost always by his side, so it was reasonable that he would get the smell of home and the smell of Gatrie a little mixed up sometimes.

Or perhaps they weren’t two different things at all. But that was a thought Shinon was definitely not ready to examine yet.

Just like that, things returned to normal, or as normal as things could be with the fact that they had in fact kissed hanging in the air between them, conspicuously ignored by both parties involved.

But it was fine, really. Sure, there was a war going, and Shinon was on, if not the right side, at least on the side that was comfortable and familiar, with Gatrie beside him again. For now, it was enough.

It was enough, because it had to be. Shinon did not deserve even this much, and he did not dare ask for more, even in the privacy of his own head, because people like Shinon rarely get what they deserve, and even more rarely get what they want. So it was enough.

[legault]

Redemption (Sephiran/Zelgius)

Title: Redemption

Author: legault/pinksnowboots (fic blog)

Warnings: Mentions of violence, canonical character death, Radiant Dawn spoilers

Words: 2658

Summary: “If I join you, will I be redeemed?”

“That I cannot say, but at the very least, you will not be alone. And neither will I.”

Written for Day 1 of @telliusweek2017 for the prompts Begnion and truth/lies.

Also on AO3

“When the time comes for you to leave, will you come to me, perhaps?”

“My lord?”

“We share a…similar condition. I see something familiar within you. I can…understand your pain and isolation.”

This was the first of many half-truths that Sephiran would tell Zelgius throughout the years.

Keep reading

[legault]

Galdrar (FE Rarepair Week Day 1: Blessed/Curse, Tibarn/Reyson)

Title: Galdrar

Author: legault/pinksnowboots (fic blog)

Warnings: Mentions of violence, non-explicit sexual content

Words: 3306

Summary: Most beorc and laguz are under the incorrect impression that because herons are beings of order, and beautiful to boot, they cannot harbor darkness inside of them. Tibarn used to labor under that same misapprehension, but that was before he met Reyson.

AKA a more serious take on the infamous “ I had to tie him [Reyson] down to a bed to keep him there” line.

Written for Day 1 of @ferarepair-week2k17 for the prompts blessed/curse. Thanks so much to the mods for holding this event and to everyone contributing to it, I’m incredibly pumped about participating!

Also read on AO3!

Most beorc and laguz are under the incorrect impression that because herons are beings of order, and beautiful to boot, they cannot harbor darkness inside of them. Tibarn used to labor under that same misapprehension, but that was before he met Reyson.

Reyson is so beautiful that sometimes it hurts to look at him, but even that pain is only the merest shadow of what Reyson can truly do.

Keep reading

[legault]

Perfect (Rarepair Week Day 3, Azama/Subaki, Curious)

Title: Perfect

Author: legault/pinksnowboots (fic blog)

Warnings: Brief mentions of blood, vague kink-related content, intentional self-injury (but not in the way that self-harm typically implies), generally unhealthy relationship, non-explicit mentions of sex

Words: 4,665

Summary: Every time Azama catches so much as a glimpse of Subaki, his fingers itch with the desire to take him apart, piece by camellia-scented piece.

An incredibly late contribution for Day 3 of @ferarepair-week2k17-I’m very glad to see that y’all are going to keep reblogging for a week or so because I still am trying to finish out all 7 days but I’m several days behind…whoops.

AO3 Link

Whenever people ask Azama why he decided to become a monk and devote his life to healing others, he tells them it’s because people say the most fascinating things when they think they’re about to die. Most people think it’s a dark joke and laugh uncomfortably, not realizing til much later that he’s entirely serious.

繼續閱讀

[thegeminisage]

ETA: additions to this post (and fic recs!) are in this tag!

YOU KNOW WHAT THE BEST THING EVER IS? IT’S SOULMATE AUS LIKE GOD DAMN I HAVE SEEN SO MANY ON FFN/LJ/AO3/TUMBLR OVER THE YEARS LIKE:

the one where you only see color once you meet your soulmate(s) (so you don’t know them until you see them), and it goes away when they die

the one where you don’t know your soulmate(s) until you touch them

the one where you don'y know your soulmate(s) until you hear them speak, or hear them speak a certain word; your name, for example

the one where you get the name of the person in their handwriting on your body somewhere at a certain age

the one where the first thing they say to you appears instead

the one where you get each others’ fingerprints

the one where you get matching marks/symbols/tattoos

the one where your marks or words that change depending on what’s going on with your soulmate(s)

the one with the clock that counts down the time until you meet your soulmate(s) (multiple clock for multiple soulmates? one click until you meet them both? unexpected third soulmate showing up after the clocks drop?)

the one where when you sleep you dream of whatever they’re experiencing from their point of view until you find them, or AFTER you find them

the one where you can straight up talk to them in dreams until/after you find them

the one where you form a telepathic/empathetic link until/after you find them

the one where you share extreme physical sensation until/after you find them; if one of you hurts the other one hurts, if one of you is getting lucky the other one gets a little hot and bothered

the one where the closer you are to them the more aware of them you become, and you find them playing a hot/cold game; for instance, colors get brighter and brighter the closer you are and fade into gray when they’re too far away

the one where once you turn a certain age/one night a year you swap bodies with them for one night and you have a limited amount of time to leave/collect clues to their identity

the one where being next to your soulmate(s) can heal you from things people don’t normally heal from

the one where only your soulmate(s) can kill you (maybe you can still be killed by age/disease, maybe not, maybe you become vulnerable only after you lose your soulmate(s))

the one where reincarnation is also a thing and meeting your soulmate(s) either unlocks or erases memories or your past lives until the next one

the one where in universes with magic meeting your soulmate(s) activates your powers/unlocks more powerful magic

SOULMATE AUS WITH COMPLICATIONS:

blind characters who can’t see if the world’s in color or black and white

characters like x-men’s rogue who literally can’t touch people; characters who have been through trauma who don’t want to touch people

hard of hearing characters like clint barton who can’t hear their soulmate speak without hearing aids/at all or on the flipside characters who can’t speak; maybe it still works in sign language, or maybe it doesn’t

people who can’t read/can’t read the language the words on their body are in

characters like bucky barnes who’ve lost hands and/or had their fingerprints removed

soulmate clocks that time out in the middle of the crowd; there’s an entire craigslist category for finding who else was there that day with a clock that timed out too

famous characters speaking to or performing for a crowd and suddenly their world is in color/their clock times out/etc and every member of the audience pretends to be this celebrity’s soulmate and a cinderella type situation ensues with the finding

soulmates playing the hot/cold game and they kEEP MISSING EACH OTHER

insomniacs who rarely sleep, much less at the same time/different time than their soulmates

soulmate ot3s/ot4s/otmores where you dream in varying people’s povs every time you sleep and get super confused

people who get sick or injured and frantically search for their soulmates so they can survive

people who need to be in medically induced comas and their soulmates have to stay away so they don’t accidentally wake them up

the one where soulbonding is actually a choice and someone chooses to bond with someone they may not know or like to save their lives and have to figure out if they can unbond or if they have to live with the situation (and of course learn to love one another either romantically or not)

new souls who don’t get memories of past lives because they don’t have one and panic

muggles/people without powers who of course CAN’T get them upgraded or unlocked

COMBINATION AUS:

the one where you one or both of you have to do all three (see your soulmate(s), touch your soulmate(s), hear your soulmate(s)), or all three have to happen at least once between the 2+ of you

or it’s completely random how you find your soulmate(s): one of you gets a name and the other gets a fingerprint, one of you has to hear your soulmate and one of you has to see them, etc; particularly useful if you happen to be blind or deaf

same for characters with other disabilities/who have “complications”: they get or find a different way of finding their soulmates, not better or worse, just different

THEN THERE’S SOULMATE AUS THAT DON’T HAVE TO CONFORM TO LIFELONG MONOGAMY:

the ones where you have more than one romantic soulmate at the same time or you get a new soulmate after the first dies

the ones where people have multiple soulmates of different types and it’s color coded; a red name/mark/etc for love, a blue one for friendship, etc; for the ones where you start seeing color you get a new one for each soulmate

the ones where some people have romantic soulmates and some don’t, and those that don’t are still perfectly happy anyway, maybe in a relationship anyway, maybe not

the ones where some people have multiple romantic soulmates who may or may not also be soulmates with each other

aromantic or asexual people who have soulmates who are not and they manage to work it out

romantic and sexual people who don’t have soulmates but find happiness anyway, either with someone like them or someone not like them

SOULMATE AUS THAT EXPLORE THE RAMIFICATIONS OF SOULMATES BEING A THING:

the ones where soulmates are for everyone and get legal aid to help stay together, like if their in-laws try to keep them apart/someone risks getting deported/someone gets drafted/whatever

the ones where soulmates are super super rare and TECHNICALLY get exempted from shitty things like “people of different races/the same sex/etc can’t get married/have relations/etc” but maybe still face a lot of prejudice and they fight to get those types of awful laws lifted for everyone

agencies that exist to help you find your soulmate(s) or figure out which soulmate thing you have but some of them are just shams, bonus points for this being in a verse where the thing is exceedingly rare to begin with

people pretending to be soulmates to take advantage of the laws, for good or ill; the couple who loves just as fiercely as a soulmates who will do anything to stay together, or the shitty people who try to claim they’re mated to people who’ve rejected them so they “have” to stay together

tabloid mags photoshopping matching soulmate marks or following big legal cases where someone tries to prove or disprove that they are soulmates with someone else

soulmates in universes where they’re a rarity or rare soulmate types like ot3s/ot4s/otmores in dodging government officials because they don’t want to become lab rats

people who don’t believe in soulmates until it happens to them, or people who believe hardcore and want to find theirs but they don’t necessarily have one, or don’t have a romantic one

little rituals that make finding your soulmate more likely, like shaking hands with people as often as possible even with the cashier ringing up your groceries, repeating each other’s names after you’re introduced, etc

just give me alllll the soulmate aus ok, give me people finding each other in spite of complications, give me all the delightful plot twists, give me detailed worlds where this changes the norms, give me it working out in the end whether romantically or not, bonded or not

feel free to reblog with sources! (or MORE AUS.) a little over half of these are things i’ve seen elsewhere over time and i cannot remember where they are all from

haha or if you’re into this sorta thing you could just take pity on me and reblog it anyway this took an embarrassingly long time to type up oh my god ;;;;;;;;;

[pinksnowboots]

I Spread My Roots Across Three Universes

Chapters: 1/1 Wordcount: 1,151 Fandom: Fire Emblem Fates Rating: Gen Warnings: None Relationships: Xanlow (Xander/Laslow) Characters: Xander, Laslow,

Summary: Laslow is pulled in many different directions.

Completely self-indulgent take on Laslow's decision on whether to stay in Nohr or return to the Awakening universe. Basic set-up is that somehow Laslow has told Xander the truth, and now that all the in-game events are over, he’s trying to figure out whether to stay or go.

Also read on AO3

Laslow is nowhere to be found.

For a moment Xander panics, irrationally afraid that Laslow has been spirited away to another world, back to his home world, despite the fact that Laslow has assured him that he doesn't know what he's going to do and when he does make his decision, Xander will be the first to know.

The moment passes and the panic fades, joining the dull ache in his chest that pangs every time he remembers Laslow saying, "If, after the war, I were to go somewhere..."

But Xander is a man of action, and he pushes the thoughts away while he goes searching for his retainer.

  Somewhere far away...

 He’s not in his room or in the kitchens, attempting to flirt with the maids. He’s not in the spot at the edge of the gardens that he things Xander does not know about where he goes to dance when he is stressed or troubled.

  If you never saw me again...

 He is not with Odin, who he finds in Niles’ quarters, looking unusually on edge. Concerned, Xander tries to inquire if he is also looking for Laslow and is met with a response that is both uncharacteristically plain spoken and unacceptably terse given that he’s speaking to the soon-to-be-King of Nohr. Niles is not known for being someone who de-escalates situations, but he pulls Odin away before he can do any irredeemable damage.

  Would you be angry?

 Xander even goes down to the local tavern to ask the incredibly starstruck bartender if they’ve seen his infamous retainer clumsily flirting with local women recently. He receives an offer of a free drink and the distinct sense that he’s being hit on, but no more information on the Laslow front.

  Would you be able to forgive me for abandoning you?

 Eventually, Xander finds him in the last place he expected: the practice grounds. Laslow rarely practices swordplay or axeplay, which is a problem because that is not the way a royal retainer should act, but not a huge problem because Laslow is inexplicably skillful despite never practicing, and his loafing has never endangered Xander’s life or his own. Besides, Xander has had discussions with him several times about this behavior and they never seem to stick.

It is funny the way that little things, like scolding Laslow about his lackluster training regimen, pop into his head at the strangest of times.

  ...Yes. I would.

 “Laslow,” Xander says, as he approaches, and Laslow pauses from decimating a practice dummy with vigor he would have expected more from Peri.

 “Milord.” Laslow replies, uncharacteristically lackluster.

 “Is something troubling you?” Xander asks, although he already knows the answer.

 He pauses, then forges on, reluctant to broach the subject himself, “Perhaps your...situation with your home world?”

 “It’s just,” Laslow laughs bitterly. “A no-win situation, and it’s my own damn fault for thinking this would somehow work out.”

 “Laslow,” Xander says, gentle. “It’s not your fault.”

 “But it is.” Laslow insists. “It’s selfish of me. I should go back, I promised I would go back. If I stay, it would break my mothers heart. But if I go…”

 “You would break mine.” Xander finishes, quietly.

 Laslow looks up to meet his eyes, shocked.

 “I’m sorry.” Xander says. “That was out of line. I had resolved not to say anything so as not to bias your decision, but I failed. I suppose I am a bit selfish too.”

 “I was going to say that leaving would break my own heart. Milord, are you saying that you wish for me to stay?”

 “If I did, would it keep you here?” Xander looks almost ashamed.

 “Perhaps.” Laslow breathes, afraid to say yes.

 “Then I must not say it. Even if it pains me, if you must return, I do not want to be the tie that binds you to a world that is not your own.”

 “Milord,” Laslow says, eyes wide, hands shaking. “You already are.”

 Xander closes his eyes, in guilt or in resignation.

 “I told you before that I do not require you to be at my side, only that you continue to draw breathe, be it in this world or any other.” Xander opens his eyes, catches Laslow’s gaze and holds it tightly. “I stand by that statement. If you must return home to your world, I will not oppose it, and I will wish you the happiest of lives wherever you may be.”

 “But if I can be so bold as to speak frankly,” he continues. “Although I do not require your presence by my side, I have come to realize that I desire it, now and always.”

 “Laslow,” Xander steps forward, gently grasps Laslow’s hands. “I do not wish to keep you from your home, but I want you to know that you always have a place by my side. That is, if you so desire.”

 Laslow stands in silence for several moments, lost in thought but not releasing Xander’s hand. Xander becomes nervous, is just about to pull away, berating himself for his inappropriate behavior, when Laslow squeezes his hand.

 “Perhaps it is my turn to speak too boldly.” Laslow says, firm grip belying his nervousness. “Milord, I fear that this may make you angry, but you cannot possibly keep me from my home, for over the past years, you have become my home.”

 Xander hears the words before he understands them, and Laslow tenses up just before Xander processes what he has heard and pulls Laslow into his arms.

 “Rather than being angry,” Xander says into Laslow’s hair, suddenly realizing that he can feel Laslow’s heartbeat in his own chest. “I am honored.”

   “Laslow, are you crying?” Xander asks, minutes or hours later; he is not sure exactly how long they have been there, but even though Laslow is not leaving he cannot bear to let him go in case he changes his mind.

 “No,” Laslow says, blinking away what he claims are not tears. “I just have something in my eye”

 “We haven’t moved for ages, what could you have gotten in your eye?” More specifically, Laslow has been standing in Xander’s arms for who knows how long, feeling as is Xander was the only thing holding him together.

 “Tears.” Laslow, never a good liar, finally admits.

[legault]

Collateral Damage

Chapters: 1/1 Wordcount: 15,217 Fandom: Fire Emblem Fates Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: Temporary Character Death, Mild Violence Relationships: Xanlow (Xander/Laslow), various background relationships Characters: Xander, Laslow, Odin, various other members of the Nohrian royalty with cameos by Ryoma and Saizo Additional Tags: Mild Canon Divergence, Grief, Revelations Route, Near Future, Post-Canon, Character Study

Summary: Xander does not realize the depths of his feelings for Laslow until it is too late.

Fill for @dorkpatroller​ for the @xanlow-exchange​ for the prompt “I thought you were dead”

Also read on AO3!

“If, after the war, I were to go somewhere. Somewhere far away… If you never saw me again… Would you be angry? Would you be able to forgive me for abandoning you?”

“…Yes. I would.”

Xander had never expected Laslow to stay with him forever, had been prepared to lose him someday.

“Oh? Truly?”

“It is not your company I require. Only that you continue to draw breath. I just want you to ensure you live. Whatever your true name or appearance.”

What he had not prepared for was losing Laslow, not to a happy life in another world, but to a lonely death of the fields of battle.

Keep reading

[legault]

Y’all, so idk if anyone remembers when I wrote this fic for the Xanlow exchange, but it involves Laslow in a dancer’s costume and thanks for FE Heroes that is actually a REAL THING THAT EXISTS! I am so happy right now (esp since I summoned him the other day, because for once fate is working in my favor)

But anyway if anyone ever reads/has read this fic, this is what Laslow looks like during that one part in it.

[legault]

Galdrar (FE Rarepair Week Day 1: Blessed/Curse, Tibarn/Reyson)

Title: Galdrar

Author: legault/pinksnowboots (fic blog)

Warnings: Mentions of violence, non-explicit sexual content

Words: 3306

Summary: Most beorc and laguz are under the incorrect impression that because herons are beings of order, and beautiful to boot, they cannot harbor darkness inside of them. Tibarn used to labor under that same misapprehension, but that was before he met Reyson.

AKA a more serious take on the infamous “ I had to tie him [Reyson] down to a bed to keep him there” line.

Written for Day 1 of @ferarepair-week2k17 for the prompts blessed/curse. Thanks so much to the mods for holding this event and to everyone contributing to it, I’m incredibly pumped about participating!

Also read on AO3!

Most beorc and laguz are under the incorrect impression that because herons are beings of order, and beautiful to boot, they cannot harbor darkness inside of them. Tibarn used to labor under that same misapprehension, but that was before he met Reyson.

Reyson is so beautiful that sometimes it hurts to look at him, but even that pain is only the merest shadow of what Reyson can truly do.

Keep reading