There were multiple good reasons he struggled to overpower the other, but Hubert von Vestra wasn’t brought up to make excuses. He wasn’t raised to panic either, and so he did not. His thoughts didn’t race, and his hands didn’t shake when he yanked at the hair in his grasp and poured the toxin down the unwilling throat.
He tossed the empty vial aside, and quickly covered the other’s mouth, to prevent him from spitting. More fight than Hubert was used to in similar situations, but that was, perhaps, to be expected.
Finally, the other slumped on the sofa. Hubert counted till thirty, then stepped away, rubbing his hands together, as though to wipe away the things they’d done.
He sat down in an armchair, pulled out his pocket watch, and waited, unmoving, eyes fixed on the limp body across from him. Seven minutes later, the first convulsions started. Hubert got up and rang for a servant.
A maid appeared at once, but froze mid-curtsy when she saw the prime minister collapsed on the cushions.
“Bring a medic immediately,” Hubert said calmly, pretending not to notice how she recoiled from him. “The prime minister has been poisoned.”
Earlier this year I got to participate in an Oracle Deck Zine created around FE3H characters. I had the honour of writing some of my ultimate darlings in Ferdinand (The Paragon), Constance (The Eclipse), and Caspar (The Mighty), as well as the introduction.
You can find the art HERE and mine and other people's writing over at AO3.
And, for a taste, here's my introduction:
Sunlight seeping through the darkness after a sleepless night. Pages whispering in a novel opened for the first time. A voice that cracks on a greeting. A moment of clarity on an unremarkable Thursday afternoon. A familiar smile, suddenly new. Change in its innumerable transmutations.
This is not the beginning.
This is not the beginning, but it could be.
Time flows, unbothered by the plans of mortals. What is there except for happy surrender and the comfort of knowing there is nothing to be done? In short - everything. Time cannot be stopped, but its waters can be charted, even if their intrepid navigators remain vulnerable to finding themselves stranded or seized by the currents.
May this deck be a friend and a companion on the journey through the tides of change, however tempestuous.
Each card is a buoy, designed to guide, inspire and encourage reflection. More than that, it represents the combined efforts of everyone who participated in the creative process. That process is, at its core, human - it echoes the conversation between personal tastes, intentions, and countless little idiosyncrasies that make up art. Whenever the stars seem too distant, think of the people.
happy birthday, @phantomdoodler, I will always treat crack seriously. for you.
Hubert von Vestra wasn't eavesdropping. Though he'd been accused of such acts more than once, doing so would in reality be beneath the minister of the imperial household - besides, how effective could it possibly be as a method of surveillance compared to a well-concealed sigil?
No. He simply stopped in front of Ferdinand's office, taking longer than usual to check the time on his pocket watch. Right about now, the prime minister was to have yet another informal meeting with count Mateus, even if Hubert couldn't fathom why would those two require more than one of those. Despite the fact that Mateus had made no real overtures to act as opposition, the man was a traditionalist to the core, and - with his charisma and good looks - more trouble than he was worth.
Ferdinand insisted the meetings were mostly social, and, true, whenever Hubert happened to pass by that door, more often than not he'd overhear them exalt a recent opera production, a particular breed of horses, or the weather. They'd even made dinner plans a handful of times, but they always fell through. Due to. Reasons. That couldn't be directly tied to Hubert.
That time, however, the office was silent. Hubert lingered on the doorstep, waiting for any sign that would indicate whether anyone was there, or whether they'd moved somewhere… more private.
After a couple of minutes, he knocked, and upon receiving no response, entered.
The office was empty, save for count Mateus' corpse, half collapsed on the sofa. He took note of the cup dangling from his limp hand, and the discolouration around his mouth. Hubert blinked. Well. That was certainly a development. With excessive care, he closed the door, put a chair in front of it, then walked over to the window and shut the curtains too.
He raised an eyebrow and although - well, because - nobody was watching, his lips twitched in a smile. Wonders never ceased with Ferdinand. Of course, he'd have a few stern words with him regarding cleanup, but since he got there first, he could deal with that himself. Just this once.
Five minutes later, the office was filled with sunlight, the corpse safely stored in the palace underground to be disposed of later, and Hubert was seated on the sofa, waiting for Ferdinand to return.
No sooner had he made himself comfortable than the door flew open, knocking over the chair. Ferdinand marched in, two people in healers' uniforms in tow. He pointed to the sofa but froze when he saw not his victim, but Hubert.
"Where is-"
Ah. Was that the play Ferdinand had in mind? He'd have to give him a primer on poisons too if he wished to get away with "natural causes". They could spend quite a few pleasant evenings that way.
Hubert stood up and straightened his jacket, serene as ever. "The count recovered quite quickly. He asked me to pass on his apologies, as he had another engagement and had to leave."
A strange expression passed over Ferdinand's face, but he only turned to the healers and said sheepishly: "I am sorry, I raised alarm for nothing. Please, do not let me take up more of your time."
The healers exchanged glances, but retreated as quietly as they'd appeared. The door closed behind them, leaving the two ministers staring at each other.
"Where is count Mateus?" Ferdinand asked sharply. "When he collapsed, I thought… saints, I do not even know. What exactly did he-"
Hubert silenced him with a gesture. "Have no fear, he is quite dead. I took the liberty of disposing of the evidence, though next time I would appreciate a note in advance."
Ferdinand gasped. "Dead? How?"
Hubert's smirk widened."You don't need to pretend that you don't know. I have to say, I'm impressed, I did not expect you to reach for poison and choose such an effective one. Beginners often select poorly." He paused. "Unless… this was not your first time? Oh my."
"Hubert, I did not poison anyone," he said, his colour an exquisite match for the Adrestian flag. Then, just as suddenly, he turned sheet white. "Oh. The cup."
It was Hubert's turn to not understand. "The cup?"
Ferdinand began pacing around the room, running his hands through his hair. "I noticed my guest's cup was chipped, so when he was not looking, I exchanged it for my own."
No Silence spell could be more effective than those words. After what could be a few seconds or an hour, Hubert said carefully: "Are you telling me that the tea he drank-"
"-was mine, yes."
Hubert swore under his breath. Were it not for Ferdinand's manners and quick action, they'd have a corpse on their hands. Correction - a corpse Hubert actually cared about.
"I cannot believe your first thought was that I meant to kill him!" Ferdinand exclaimed, entirely too indignant considering the circumstances.
"You killed a lot of people, Ferdinand," Hubert pointed out.
"Well, you can hardly compare war and-" He waved his hand around, for once in his life at a loss for words. "Do you genuinely think me that sort of man?"
Hubert looked at him. Ferdinand truly was a marvel, a force of nature, golden in the sunlight, striking and bold. No. In truth, he wasn't one for secrecy and that, too, was a virtue. He would never understand Hubert's veiled suggestions and hints. How troublesome.
He crossed the room and, almost shyly, reached for Ferdinand's hand. The golden eyes that haunted him widened in surprise, but Ferdinand didn't pull away. They were so close he could see him swallow, the movement barely perceptible above the top of his cravat.
"Ferdinand," he started quietly, "you can do anything you set your mind to. It's frustrating, but it's also a quality that is difficult not to admire. And if that 'anything' would benefit from my assistance, know that it is yours."
Ferdinand licked his lips and hesitated before saying: "Anything? Very well."
With that, he closed the distance between them and kissed him. The kiss was careful at first, tentative, but the shyness quickly melted away in the enthusiasm of Hubert's response. They tumbled through the office, unwilling to part even when Hubert ended up sitting on the desk, his legs wrapped around Ferdinand's waist.
Clumsily grinding against Fódlan's prime minister wasn't on Hubert's agenda for the day, but he'd make sure to add that to his rotation of regular meetings.
Since Ferdinand's social calendar cleared up somewhat.
is Tatiana letter actually fedinands letter and he got renamed??
Right! It is Ferdinand's Letter. The work title is Tatiana's Letter, because that's...
Uhhh, spoilers for Eugene Onegin book/opera. While my fic doesn't really follow its plot, there's an important point in which Tatiana writes a letter to her crush who turns her down (only to hopelessly fall for her years later, when she's married to another).
The "letter scene" is, in my opinion, an incredibly beautiful moment both in the book (it's a novel in verse) and the opera - the letter is all doubt and hope and I found it very inspiring when writing.
here, you can observe the writer in their natural habitat: not writing their wip. and ah [checks notes] only a few hours before, they were so excited to write said wip. [takes a note] interesting, interesting.
the number 1 rule of fanfic is have fun and be yourself. the number 2 rule is the average healthy adult male can lose roughly 2 liters of blood before dying.
One of the best things about being a writer is thinking of something small you can add to your work that’s just. Devastating. Like you’re sitting there going. Oh. That would be diabolical. People would get really riled up about that. Exquisite. Let’s do it.
my regular WIPs are on a bit of a break as I'm preparing three fresh entries for the Gothic ferdibert week over at bsky
1. Hubert poisons Ferdinand and that's like, the least of their problems
2. monsterloving
3. Hubert is dead and Ferdinand is trying to keep it together at least until the funeral:
Ferdinand woke up slumped in the armchair, stiff, dishevelled, with his neck bent at an angle that should've been incompatible with sleep. Chill was beginning to creep in, the fireplace glowing with a few last embers. He stretched, holding back a yawn, a half-formed remark on his lips - then the words crumbled as memory returned.
Poetry, he used to believe, had a remarkable vocabulary for grief. But it was all just shorthand, no more expressive than the list of tasks yet awaiting him. He was grateful for the work. It carried him through the stupor of the past days.
He got up and stumbled to their bedroom without bothering to light the lamps, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed on his side of the bed. Messages were sent to their friends, though not all of them would be able to make it to the funeral on time. He groped about for a pillow for a moment and pulled it into a hug, in lieu of…
… and, of course, there was his regular work in his capacity as prime minister, though he'd delegated what he could in order to… his scent lingered on the pillow, naturally, it would be strange if it didn't, and it wasn't just his soap or aftershave, no, there was a hint of ozone from his magic, and another note Ferdinand could only love and never identify, but it would fade away, and… should they have music?
blakekathryn
germansingergirl
prguitarman
romaincrisis
janainaart
vaporwave
turnnoffyourmind
dailybridgerton
