#There is now a teacup shortage in my house
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Have reached the record of 10 teacups on my desk. I am truly the mvp.
#tea#teacups#A lot of teacups#There is now a teacup shortage in my house#this may or may not be my fault
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From Duty (Ch. 10?)
“Prudie? Is someone at the door?” Demelza called from the kitchen. It was the only room in the house that didn’t feel oppressively damp when it rained, compliments of the stove that remained lit most hours of the day.
She'd been waiting for the ancient oven to heat just a bit more before she put the newly formed loaves in to bake. After a few attempts--with mixed results--she felt she’d finally gotten the knack of the thing. How to time the fire so that it would be hot enough for the bread to rise and crisp but not so hot that the crust would burn. Perhaps there was a complex mathematical equation she could have used but instead she relied on trial and error. And on the days when she’d found mostly error, she solemnly chewed the dense slices of disappointment, resolved to do better the next time. She hoped the boys in Weapons Development were more methodical in their research than she was. Trial and error doesn’t cut it when you are trying to get a 5200 pound fighter plane off the ground.
Boys. Demelza always thought of the men in the armed forces as ‘boys’. Was it their merry outlooks, like lads about to go out on the football pitch against a rival school, or was it their immature aggression and unbridled recklessness?
“Prudie?” Demelza called again but when she turned around she saw the woman filling the doorway to the kitchen with such a grim expression that Demelza threw her well-floured hands in the air.
“Christ! What is it?” she gasped. Please not a telegram.
Since she’d arrived in Cornwall she’d received three telegrams--all from Ross--but those had been informational. Not coded exactly, just cryptically phrased.
Beehive is moving locations. Details to follow soon, signaling the office that had no name now had a new location, and presumably Ross did as well. Then there was Will send builders to fix roof first week in March, meaning his leave had been granted and he could finally visit her at Nampara. The most recent one was At old garden allotment. Many new vegetables. So Ross was back in London but had a new assignment.
Still for most folks, telegrams rarely brought good news.
“It’s...we’ve a caller...and…” Prudie stammered.
“Yes?”
“It’s her. The other one. Mrs. Elizabeth Poldark,” Prudie huffed. The shuffle from hallway to kitchen apparently had been enough to exhaust her oxygen supply.
“Oh?” Demelza said coolly but felt her face grow as hot as the coals in the stove. “To see me?”
Prudie swallowed hard and nodded.
“Well then. Please attend to her while I freshen myself up,” Demelza replied.
“How ‘xactly should I do that?”
“Offer her some tea, Prudie. Show her into the parlour...oh, but make sure she doesn’t sit on the green chair.” An old spring had poked its way through the upholstery and if one’s bottom wasn’t settled with precise care, an unpleasant pinch would surely follow.
“We haven’t got much left. Tea, that is,” Prudie said.
“Enough for a pot now?” Demelza questioned. This was news to her. She sensed Prudie was stalling for some other reason.
“Yes but then mebbe not for tomorrow or the day after that,” Prudie replied and looked to her feet so Demelza knew she was exaggerating the seriousness of the situation.
“Oh? Well I can try to get more,” Demelza sighed. It would mean begging for yet another ride in Sir Hugh’s automobile but might be worth it.
Perhaps she could forage for greens and herbs and make something of her own instead. She suspected Mrs. Zacky Martin might be able to teach her more about such country ways, perfected through centuries of economy. On more than one occasion the woman had mentioned her home remedies to Demelza.
“Well surely she has plenty over at her place. So why don’t you leave it for you--and me--and she can just…” Prudie huffed.
Demelza did wonder if Elizabeth Poldark even knew how to make her own cup of tea.
“Prudie, put the kettle on the stove,” Demelza said firmly and went to go look in the glass.
Her hair had been tied up in an old rust coloured scarf. She considered taking it down and tidying the whole affair but doubted she’d have time enough to do anything that would actually make a difference, so she tucked one errant curl under the band wound round her head.
Best to leave her apron on as well. It signaled--it telegraphed--benign domesticity and wasn’t that how Demelza wanted to come across? Just a simple housewife, trying her best to make do. Not as scheming--and pregnant--hussy who was actively trying to steal her visitor’s husband.
“Mrs. Carne, how do you do?” Elizabeth asked and rose to her feet. Her eyes darted up and down Demelza’s expanding frame then she demurely looked at the floor.
Demelza looked at her own swollen feet and tried not to laugh.
“Well, Mrs. Poldark, such a surprise. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Demelza said with as much cheerfulness as she could muster, then remembered she was supposed to be a war widow. She was sure her facial muscles twitched in confusion but perhaps it would pass as grief. “Prudie is making us some tea. I’m sorry it's so damp in here,” she said without offering to light the fire.
“Yes, this cottage has always been damp," Elizabeth said asserting her connection with the place. “And you are getting on well, Mrs. Carne?”
“Yes, yes I am. I have your family’s kindness to thank for that…”
“Oh? My family?”
“For letting the house?”
“Yes, the house,” Elizabeth laughed, barely disguising her disdain for the place. “It’s not mine. It’s been in my husband’s family for years. He was born here.”
I know, Demelza thought. I saw the marks on the wall measuring his growth and I found the cupboard full of his old clothes. I see the place as a monument to his family, she sees it as a nuisance and reminder of people she never loved.
“Was my husband, Mr. Poldark--was he solicitous when he visited last month?” Elizabeth asked.
“Erm…” Demelza tried not to choke.
“About any repairs that need doing. There’s a shortage of materials and good labour but if there is an urgent need I’m sure he can see that it is attended to,” Elizabeth said.
She knows.
“Yes, Mr. Poldark has been very helpful.”
“He fixed the roof!” Prudie chimed in and this time, Demelza was grateful for her assistance.
Demelza wished she could climb inside her teacup, far away from Elizabeth Poldark’s probing gaze.
So Elizabeth knew that Ross had visited Nampara--he probably told her that himself. Did she know how long he’d stayed or in whose bed? Did she guess that Ross was the father of the child Demelza carried?
She hated to admit she was jealous of Elizabeth Poldark. A woman who had all the claims to Ross--legally, socially--that she did not. And Elizabeth was a woman whose physical love he had enjoyed, presumably she'd his heart too at one point, even if it was long ago.
But mostly Demelza was jealous because she feared that, despite all she herself had shared with Ross these last four months, Elizabeth still knew him better.
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Just Us (Chapter 1: His Eyes)
Sometime before The Fall of Wall Maria
The hum of customers seemed louder that day. Normally four or five regulars were sitting in the corner, drinking coffee and sharing baguettes, but today, it seemed most of the tables were filled. Newspapers were being passed back and forth between people and if I cared much about the news, I might have taken myself away from kneading bread to glance at the pages. Just by hearing the customers, I filled myself in on the town gossip without having to be confronted by the old ladies trying to make me marry their sons.
“I can’t get married right now, Miss. Schmidt. There’s too much to do with the shop that I have no time to give my attention to anyone else.” Those excuses and a smile seemed to hold them off for a few days.
“Eva! Can we get a refill of coffee here?” I looked up to the three Garrison soldiers who were hiding away from their morning watch duties. At least they weren’t drinking whiskey. Nodding, I put the dough in the oven to prove and wiped my hands. Now, I would have to talk to some people. If it made them want to come to the café more, I guess I would sacrifice a little of my sanity.
“Here you go,” I held up my hand as they tried to slide a few more coins my way, “You already have had three, this one is on the house.” The Captain looked up and smiled at me before putting them back in his pocket. The, too, had a newspaper laid out in the center of the table.
“Have you heard about the Survey Corps recently, Eva?” I shook my head and he held up the paper.
“Apparently they’ve gained some recruits worth our tax dollars! They didn’t lose half of their people on the last expedition. It’s front-page news for some reason.” One of the subordinates pointed at the portrait on the front page of what I assumed to be the new commander of the Scouts. Last week's news was the retirement of Keith Shadis and the promotion of various Corps peoples. Perhaps with the promotion also came the recent success.
“I think anyone who goes out to fight titans on our behalf is worth my tax dollars. If I recall, soldiers only pay a fraction of our taxes. In fact, I’m paying for you to sit here in my café and drink away my coffee supply. It’s hard on me to travel to the capital markets every month.” I raised an eyebrow at them and it seems the pleasant conversation they wanted to have had ended, especially with the other customers listening in. They made it a point to stand up, leave the coins on the table, and walk out of the café.
“Finally doing their job.” I picked up the untouched pitcher of coffee and wiped down the table. They didn’t even have the decency to put their cups in the dish bin. I rolled my eyes and cleaned up after them, going back to kneading more bread dough and warming up their coffee for the next customer.
Maybe the success of the Scouts will make the Garrison and MPs care about the people inside the walls. You can only be self-serving for a little bit before it comes to bite you in the ass.
“Delivery!” Again, I’m distracted from my bread making. This is why I should have prepped last night. I wiped off my hands, noticing how dry they’d become, and turned to get what I assumed to be my portion of flour.
“Hi Jonas, just put it on the table here.”
“Eva, did you hear the news?” I poured him a cup of juice and handed it to him, nodding.
“The Survey Corps?” He nodded hard and drank it all in one big gulp.
“You should’ve seen it when the scouts came through the city a few days ago. I don’t think I’ve ever seen people cheer for them, but this time they did. Did you watch them come by?” I took his cup and put it in the sink before turning back to him.
“No, I was stuck in here. I did see the tops of some of their heads though, but the crowd around the window was pretty thick.” I decided to lean against the front counter and take a break from baking to talk to Jonas, one of the only people my age who seemed to come around here and stay. If you were young in Trost, you were always working. They would come in and right out of the café, never staying to talk or look out the windows. I only know a few of their names, but all of their drink orders by heart. The only ones who seemed to talk a bit when they came in were, in fact, Scouts who got a few days off. No conversation ever really amounted to anything and I didn’t take time to memorize their orders as they would always stop coming a few weeks after they first arrived.
“How is Reeve’s doing on orders? I heard that there might be a shortage of meat soon.” He shrugged at me and I signed his papers.
“I don’t have a clue about that. I just go where they tell me to. I mean, I haven’t been delivering a lot of meat lately. You don’t need it though, do you?”
“No, I just need flour, coffee, and sometimes tea. I go to the capital for the last two. If anything, I’d just stop being a bakery.” Jonas pouted and pointed to the croissants in the glass case.
“I’d fight to get those if there was a shortage. You have the best bread in Trost!” I smiled and waved my hand.
“No, I don’t, Jonas. I kn-”
“Tea, please.” Jonas jumped and turned around to see the man behind him. His grey eyes bore holes into Jonas who was in his way. I’d seen him before, but it was his first time into the café.
“C-Captain Levi!” Jonas even bowed to him, slightly shaking. I tilted my head, looking at the man, no taller than me. Why was this shorty making Jonas shake in his shoes? And Captain? He didn’t seem like the type to be in the Garrison.
When I was done looking at his form, I looked back up to his eyes which seemed annoyed that he was having to wait for his tea. They were a pretty grey but were almost overshadowed by the dark circles under his eyes. I’d seen those type of eyes...tired from death, not from lack of sleep. He was definitely a Scout.
I stood up and wiped my hands again, slightly wincing at their dryness.
“What type of tea, Cap’n?” He didn’t seem to be amused at my abbreviation of his title and I lost my customer-friendly smile. Guess I didn’t have to play pretend around his negative attitude.
“Black.” I raised an eyebrow and looked at his form again. Tired, strained, busted, sad even… He needed something less… anxiety-inducing than straight black tea. He needed something soothing.
“May I make a suggestion?” He looked up again having already put the money for plain black tea on the counter. I didn’t fail to notice how when he looked up, so did everyone else in the café. Was he radiating some form of intimidating energy to everyone in this place? He didn’t look scary, just tired and stressed. I guess the darkness of his features didn’t help his cause.
“What?” Every answer was short and low. He did have an impressive voice for being short, but it also sounded like he had a scratchy throat. A mental note to add honey.
“Mint?” He looked at me for a few seconds, probably deciding whether or not I could ruin his tea routine, “No extra cost. You just seem like you don’t need any more caffeine at the moment. Perhaps a few more hours of sleep.” The last sentence was mumbled, but I’m sure he had to hear it. Hopefully, he heard it and took me up on it.
“Sure.” He waved his hand and walked over to the corner table where the Garrison was sitting, staring out the window. It seemed that he was far away enough for everyone to start gossiping about him. I stared at him for a few more seconds before taking out one of the few teacups I owned. No one wants to drink tea anymore… such old taste.
“E-Eva? How did you talk to him like that?!” I glanced over at Jonas who was crouched over the counter and whispering to me.
“What do you mean? Why is everyone so afraid of him? He’s no taller than me, Jonas.”
“He’s Captain Levi! Humanity’s strongest soldier. It’s said that he’s killed over 100 titans by himself! And, and, and he just joined the Corps this past year. He used to be a…” He leaned in even more and put a hand in front of his mouth like that was going to help block out this secret, “a famous gangster in the underground.” I looked back at him again and met his eyes. He quickly looked away, but I did notice he was still staring at me from his peripheral. It was the way he was sitting that made it possible to spy on me unsuspectingly.
“He does look a bit mean, but I don’t see danger...I think he just intimidates you and you don’t like it because he’s shorter than you.” Jonas was exasperated at my comment and looked back and forth between the Captain and me.
“But he’s from the underground! You know how dangerous those people are! Kenny the Ripper and The Sniper… he’s one of them!” I rolled my eyes again and watched the tea as it brewed.
“You forget I was born in the underground too, Jonas.” It was a low whisper to keep gossip down to a minimum and he shook his head fast, tapping on the counter.
“But you’re different, Eva. You didn’t live there for very long either and you were adopted by Mister Flynn. I know he’s murdered like so many people.” I held the honey jar up, debating how much I should put in. He didn’t seem like the type of person who would like something overly sweet, but his throat sounded like it needed a bit more honey.
“So, if I wasn’t adopted and you met me on the streets, would you be treating me like you’re treating him?” He groaned again and tried to grab my hand to get me to understand his point better. I moved my arm so he fell a bit farther on the counter.
“I’m happy that someone who knows how to kill is now killing titans. You read the newspapers. What if he’s the reason the Scouts are doing better now?” I put the teacup on the tray along with a small bowl of honey. I couldn’t decide.
Everyone in the café watched as I walked over to his table and put the tea down.
“Peppermint tea. I don’t know how you like your tea so there’s some honey. You should put it in.” I pointed to the tiny bowl and he looked down at it too, grunting. I guess that was his way of saying thank you.
Something made it so I didn’t move from standing in front of him. Maybe I was just curious why everyone was afraid to meet his eye or why they thought he was so intimidating. I mean, Jonas was shitting his pants talking about him and here I stood, not feeling anything like that. I was grateful, if anything, for his service in the Corps and just how many titans he’s rumored to have killed.
“Do you have a question?” It was harsh and it woke me out of the trance while looking at him. I had to recover quickly, or it’d be a bit embarrassing to just admit I was staring at him. He really… wasn’t so bad looking either. Just short.
“I’m waiting for you to put the honey in your tea.” A good recovery with a hard tone behind it. Hopefully, he didn’t see through it. He groaned again, taking one spoonful and making a grand gesture about putting it into the tea and stirring. I smiled when he followed my fake orders, but it was funny. The titan serial killing maniac gangster had done something that I told him. I nodded once before walking away from his table, noticing, again, everyone's eyes. It was easier to face his grey ones than it was to look at all of theirs. Annoying.
“Jonas, get off my counter! You’re making it dirty!”
Orders and people kept flowing in as the hour passed by, but as it reached lunchtime, everything slowed down. No one would want pastries until later in the day for an after-work snack and coffee and tea had lost their use as everyone was now knees deep in work. The only people left in my café were three older women gossiping, two men playing chess, and the Captain himself.
He was still in the same position, staring out the window, and he slowly sipped his tea as if he was savoring it. I noted that as a victory for my tea-making skills and also noticed that he had used up all the honey I had given him. Interesting. He did like his tea sweet. Maybe he is scary and I’m just not good at judging someone’s character.
All there was left to do was keep the bread and pastries rotating in and out of the oven and tend to the customers who came every fifteen minutes or so. When I was on downtime, I would debate on whether to go talk to him again or just let him be. Maybe me talking to him would make him more tired and a waste of the peppermint tea I gave him. Just a bag of that tea costs a fortune in the capital, but I was now glad for my decision to buy it.
Maybe he's sitting there, try to get me to notice him and go talk to him. I can feel it when he looks at me while my back is turned. Is that a call to come over? Has my wit and good looks made him interested in me? Or, my last hypothesis, he can’t read me like I can’t read him. He is a Scout, so maybe he’s surveying me as they do. I was definitely trying to study him behind the pastry glass.
Around one, almost four hours after he stepped foot into my café, he stood up and walked the teacup and plate to the counter next to me. The dish tray wasn’t empty, so he either hadn’t seen it, or my second hypothesis was right and he had finally gotten annoyed that I didn’t approach him.
“I don’t know where this goes.” His voice was still as stiff as ever, but perhaps it sounded a bit less scratchy. Up close again, I got to study his features. He was handsome, but not your average Trost brown-hair-brown-eyes boy. His eyes told stories the longer you looked at them. Stories of titans and death and the underground. I wish I could stare at them for longer, but he lowered his head again, pushing the cup forward. I got to see his side profile from the other side and it was the same. He was perfect and symmetrical. Sharp jaw and nose hide under strands of raven hair. Everything about him was so… not dark, but I guess the right word would be intimidating or... hard. He just seemed to be hard. Nothing would break his shell, not even small talk, but damn, did I want to try.
“I can take that for you, Captain.” He nodded and stood there as I put the dish in the sink. He was studying me like I had when I delivered the tea. I decided to use this against him.
“Did you have a question?” He opened his mouth to say something, probably a quick remark, but it didn’t come out. I turned, smiling, looking at his stance. He still had a blank expression, hiding any emotion, but I knew deep down that my question affected him.
“How much is that?” He pointed to the baguette in the glass display which conveniently already had the price marked. Humanity’s strongest wasn’t very perceptive if he missed two things. First, the dish tray, now the price tag. Jonas couldn’t have been right about him… it was just a mirage for people inside the walls. For someone to kill that many titans, they had to be some sort of killing machine. They needed him to fit the narrative and his past and facial expression helped him to mold into it seamlessly. The narrative I broke out of as a child.
“For Humanity’s Strongest? Free. Thank you for fighting the titans, Captain.” Without a word, I put the bread in a paper wrap and handed it to him. I had hoped he would say something back so I could talk to him more, but like every Scout, he just turned to walk out of the doors and probably back to the outside of Trost.
“How long till you don’t come back, Captain?”
Chapter Two →
Chapter Masterlist
#levi ackerman#levi x reader#levi x oc#levi ackerman x reader#levi ackerman x oc#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#attack on titan levi#original character#aot#levi aot#levi heichou
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Hey congrats on getting a vaccine shot soon!!! Can you tell us about the procedures of vaccine allotment in your country? I'm just curious because I know covid's very bad in India right now. Thank you! (Sidenote: you have the best teacups/mugs!!!!)
hi! thank you! covid is slowly getting better, but it's still more numbers than our last peak, so it's still tense. i just came home from the hospital; i thought it would be a better idea to answer this from the other side of the shot.
the vaccine is available at government centres ー hospitals, healthcare centres, schools that have been converted into vaccination centres, and private ones ー which is hospitals. the former is paid for by the state. i went to a private centre because i can afford to pay and i’d rather not burden the state machinery when i can afford the other options. it was pretty smooth, and my arm hurts a little but i have no other side effects.
so how it works is that you register on either of these three government portals, which ensures that you’re in the system. once you’re in, you again use the portal to schedule an appointment at a centre near you. you can search for centres through your postal code, or just look at the list for your district. there are a bunch of filters that let you choose the vaccine you want ー we have two vaccines on a large scale, sputnik is still only limited to very few providers ー and whether you want a free one or a paid one. if you don’t have access to or you can’t register yourself on the portal, you can go to the government vaccination centre and they’ll register you on the spot and give you an appointment. some private hospitals also allow walk-in registrations within specific times.
when vaccinations started for all adults, which was a month or two after it did for older people, registering yourself and getting an appointment online was mandatory for everyone needing their first dose, because the government wanted to avoid crowding at the centres. that raised problems, obviously, because not everyone has access to the internet to be able to book a slot, and also because a couple of states reported shortages during the time. that’s a whole other thing in the vaccine policy and i have Several Thoughts on that, which i’d love to talk about, but that’s for a different time. but since june started, walk-ins are allowed for everyone at public healthcare centres.
a bunch of districts are also working on door-to-door vaccinations; there are drive-thru centres, and also as the supply increases ー which should happen this month or by the next as imports come in as well ー housing complexes and offices are going to be allowed to vaccinate their residents/employees.
i hope that answers your question!
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FFXIV Write 2021 Prompt #16: Crane
Crane - stretch out one's body or neck in order to see something.
Kugane tended to get very warm this time of year, and Ranaa Mhigo was grateful that the casual attire she wore was so breathable. It did an excellent job of keeping the sun from her bronzed skin, but let those all-too rare cool breezes grant the full measure of their cooling relief when they did show up.
One was arriving now, and she let out an enjoyable sigh as it passed through. Unfortunately she also raised her her ever so slightly, and the movement sent a small stab of pain through her neck muscles. With a small exclamation of pain, she reached up to rub the pain away.
Makoto, who was sitting at the table of one of Kugane's smaller teahouses with her, looked over to her with concern in her eyes. "Are you well, my....friend?"
The small hesitation told Ranaa that she'd almost finished that sentence with "heart" as she often called Ranaa in private, but that she'd stopped herself from doing so. Public displays of affection were somewhat frowned on within Hingan culture, and relationships with foreigners or people of the same gender were even more so. Makoto occupied a somewhat prominent position within Kugane as captain of the Sekiseigumi, and so she had to keep their relationship private. Sometimes she went a little overboard on the caution, but Ranaa couldn't be too mad about it. After all she was very affectionate in private.
"I'm fine, just a little neck cramp." she replied. She leaned in and whispered "Between all his training we've been doing for our next performance and all the times we have to crane our neck to look up at Fearless, I think maybe it's gotten more sore than the rest of me!"
Makoto giggled quietly, smiling even as she cast her eyes around, confirming that no one else was within earshot. "You might jest, but honestly mine has been hurting me more than usual lately as well! But I don't think I can ever really complain about it. Seeing her look down back at me with all of that love in her gaze....it is very much a worthwhile trade."
Ranaa smiled back at her. "It really does. Hey, I'm curious, actually. What was your reaction the first time you ever saw her?"
She thought back to those days when she had traveled to Eorzea, seeking the legendary samurai Musosai, hoping he might be willing to rejoin them in bringing the insurgent who wanted to burn the city they all now called home to the ground.
"I will honestly never forget the sight. I was right outside the tavern known as the 'Quicksand' in Ul'dah, hoping to catch sight of Musosai, when this absolutely massive woman approaches me. I remember being equally terrified and entranced, my very breath taken away by how beautiful she was, to the point where it took me a few moments to realize that she was both wearing a katana at her hip and addressing me by name. I remember keeping my eyes absolutely fixed on her own, but my mind was practically begging me to allow myself to admire just how well her armor fit her!"
She looks down at her teacup. "Of course, it was then that I had learned that the man I had pinned my hopes on was no longer among the living, so that did put somewhat of a damper on my traitorous mind."
Makoto shook her head and looked back to Ranaa, smiling. "No. I'm not getting lost back there because it has led me here, and here, in my greatest happiness, is where I wish to be. So, now you must tell me, my dearest Ranaa. What was your own reaction to meeting "our girl" as you are fond of calling her?
Ranaa laughs. "Well, I'll be honest, I don't quite remember the first real time I laid eyes upon her. She was just another member of my first audience in Eorzea. Said audience was quite large, as a Thavnairian dancing troupe performing is hardly a common occurrence in Limsa Lominsa and there was no shortage of beautiful girls watching, both Roegadyn and otherwise. I make it a habit of catching as many eyes as possible when I dance, if only for a brief few seconds. I remember seeing her in the crowd, mostly cause of her axe. She was carrying a real big one"
"But then afterwards, Mistress Nashmeira brought her over to the Troupe and introduced her as her new protege and my new dance partner." Ranaa blushed a little. "I tried so hard to come off all smooth and confident when I talked to her, but inside, I had two conflicting thoughts going through my head. The first was 'How is this mountain of muscles and tits ever going to have the grade needed to learn the Kriegstanz?' The other was 'Oh, Twelve, I'm going to get to look up at this gorgeous mountain of muscles in a dancer's costume...a lot...'"
Both of them erupted in laughter. Makoto managed to regain control of herself first. "We should make our way home, dearest. Perhaps we can convince our 'gorgeous mountain of muscles' to put them to good use in giving us a shoulder massage"
Ranaa smiled coyly at her. "I love you and your brilliant mind. Let's go!"
A short walk to the ferry and a ride across the river later, the pair arrived in their neighborhood, walking hand in hand. Unlike Kugane, Shirogane was reserved exclusively for foreign inhabitants, as well as any citizens who were invited to live with them. The pair were known to a few of their neighbors, but no one else even bothered the pair. Makoto thoroughly enjoyed being able to let her guard down at the end of the day. No one here knew she was a part of the Sekiseigumi, and unlike most Hingashi natives, the residents were not bothered in the least by "less traditional" romantic arrangements.
Ranaa had stopped to speak with a Lalafell neighbor of theirs, a man employed by the East Aldenard Trading Company in the city, and was just catching back up to Makoto when she noticed a familiar person walking up the road. "Wait....why is Franks here?"
Sure enough, the "Old Man" as he preferred to be called, was indeed walking up the road, away from their home. He was carrying a large satchel which Makoto could see held all manner of tools. "Franks, is that you?" Makoto called. "What brings you here?"
Franks waved. "Ah, ladies! Well met. You're just in time, I just finished the addition!"
Ranaa and Makoto exchanged glances. "Addition? What addition?" Ranaa inquired.
He smirked "Ooooh, she didn't tell you! Well, I'll say nothing more, lest I let the rest of the metaphorical couerl out of the bag! Enjoy it!" With that, he gave them a wave goodbye and sauntered onward,
"What in the star was THAT about?" Ranaa wondered as they watched Franks head for the ferry.
Makoto took her hand again. "I suspect we shall find out when we get home, love."
A few less eventful minutes later, they arrived at the home they shared with Fearless to find her waiting for them at the gate. "Oh, good, you're home!" she said, kneeling down to embrace the pair, one under each arm. "I have a surprise for you, come on!"
Fearless stood and spun around, grabbing one of their hands each as she did, and quickly walked around to the house, Both Ranaa and Makoto stumbled as Fearless almost dragged them behind her, but they quickly adjusted their pace and caught up to her.
Around the back of the house, up against a small rocky cliff that gave them some privacy, Makoto spotted a feature that had not been there that morning. It was a large rectangular wooden structure built onto a series of carefully sculpted rocks that gave an illusion of being naturally shaped. On the far end, a taller wooden structure rose, topped by a black tiled roof. Steam rose from the structure.
Ranaa gasped. "Is...is that a personal hot spring? Do we have a HOT SPRING in our backyard??"
Fearless smiled at her. "We do! I've wanted to take you both to one for so long, but the only ones I know of are in Eorzea, and we haven't had time for an extended sojourn there. I haven't been able to find one in Doma, and I know going to any of the ones in Kugane would be too risky. I mentioned it to the others, and Franks came up with this wonderful idea. He crafted it entirely himself. Fire crystals keep it heated, water crystals continuously replenish the supply and keep it clean. Now we can enjoy it whenever we like!
Ranaa lept up into her fellow dancer's arms. "And I'm sure getting to see us in swimwear a lot didn't factor into your decision at all" she teased.
Fearless kissed her. "Well, I see you in minimal clothing a lot as it is, sweetling. Makoto on the other hand? Yeah, totally did all this just to see her wear swimsuits more often
Makoto blushed and smacked her on the arm. "Do you want to tease, or shall we go inside and change and see how nice it is?"
A few minutes later, Makoto found herself loving the addition to their home as she leaned back against Fearless' legs while strong but gentle hands massaged all the aches out of her neck and shoulders as Ranaa sat next to her, awaiting her turn with her usual amount of patience. Which was to say, none at all. She continuously tried to distract her with kisses and teasing touches, waiting for the moment she could slip into her spot and begin receiving Fearless' ministrations.
Though it had not ended as she hoped, Makoto was very glad she'd made that first trip to Eorzea. It had changed her life in ways she never could have imagined, all for the better.
#Final Fantasy XIV#FFXIV 2021 Writing Challenge#Fearless Willow#Ranaa Mhigo#Makoto#oldmanfranks#Girlfriends bein girlfriends
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[ 𝖑𝖔𝖌 ] - 07. 𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖌𝖚𝖊.
Although it still ran rampant, oftentimes it seemed like the plague had reached a more manageable point- at least within what Faerghus considered manageable. The country had always struggled with diseases and outbreaks- its bustling capital, Fhirdiad, was nothing more than a dirty nest of rats and illness with raw filth in its streets before Cornelia was admitted as the new court mage and began aiding King Lambert in improving the city’s sanitary problems. Yet this one felt different than the ailments that disturbed the north country of Fódlan, it felt like a product of magic rather than nature’s punishment for living in filth. One much similar to the country’s last documented plague that killed its queen.
Needless to say, the air was one of pure grief and fear. Entire families wiped, widows and orphans raising in numbers, homeless searching for shelter after theirs were destroyed, the injured and elderly on the brink of death from the shortage of available healers.
It was “manageable”, but the prince couldn’t help but feel like he failed spectacularly at his own job. Helping and aiding his people, ensuring their safety and wellbeing- no matter what he did, nothing worked. He didn’t want to kill those infected in hopes that there may be a way to save them, yet he didn’t want to leave the healthy and innocent to perish. All in all, he felt like he disappointed much more than just his friends or family- rather, he disappointed his country. He wouldn’t be surprised if his own friends and allies began to turn their backs on him after witnessing such poor performance as a ruler-to-be. Such failure from a prince and house leader.
He wanted to be left alone for a bit. It wasn’t the best action, he was well aware- being alone with nothing but his own thoughts was an invitation to unwelcome ideas and voices, but at the same time he felt too ashamed to face others. Icy eyes that usually scouted the area from above were now directed to the found, instead. The blue cape that often blazed brightly under the sunlight was droopy and hidden in the shadows, close to the walls. The confident and mildly fast pace of his boots were now quiet and slow.
The blond hair that was compared to the sun’s mighty rays was obscured by clouds, his posture akin to a withering flower.
Fate had it out for him however, when one of the monastery’s messengers approached. Someone came to visit.
At first Dimitri frowned in confusion, after all who would want to visit him like that? Perhaps Rodrigue, to check in on him? Margrave Gautier? But the plague hadn’t reached the north. Count Galatea? Maybe to report losses and request aid. Maybe Cornelia, to give a detailed report of the disease and discuss what could be done to avoid this type of thing from happening in the future. Of course, all diplomatic matters- although usually directed to the Regent King rather than to him.
What he wasn’t expecting however, was to be sitting inside his room, a tray with boiling hot chamomile tea on the wooden table, two cups, right in front of his uncle- who eyed the room with an arched brow.
He hadn’t seen any signs in the monastery that would suggest the arrival of his uncle. No trumpets, no kingdom soldiers roaming the area, not even the flying units that always accompanied the royal carriages. It was quiet and simple, almost as if his uncle himself didn’t want it to be known that he was here. Maybe that was done on purpose- Rufus was unpredictable as ever. Sometimes he wanted to be received with parties and glamour, other times he’d much rather sneak around the halls like a weasel. He ever chose to meet Dimitri in the prince’s own quarters, rather than reserve a proper meeting room.
“Not bad. Nice non-existent decoration, by the way. Heheh.” A joke that didn’t land, received with silence. Dimitri’s gaze never really met his uncle’s eyes, instead focusing on his cravat, his beard, the teacups or his own hands sitting atop his lap, fiddling nervously with the hem of his jacket.
Dimitri wasn’t sure what to expect from this- it was the first time Rufus had visited him in the monastery ever since the prince left Faerghus for his studies. Did the man come here to scold him? Lecture him? Just hang out? It was hard to tell. Shouldn’t Rufus be at Fhirdiad, acting on his duties and helping to make sure the city was still safe? The prince’s memories went to the response letter Rufus sent after the Church’s complaints about Dimitri’s behaviour in the ball- and the Regent King actively supported his nephew. But now, looking at the older man’s face, Dimitri wasn’t so sure if he came here to support and comfort him...or to yell at him for his incompetence. Or both, or neither.
Another moment of silence, nothing but their quiet breaths and idle noise from outside the room to fill up the void. Old blues lines the details on the room’s stone and wood walls, before stopping at the sight of Dimitri’s form.
“So? How are you holding up?” Rufus tried to strike conversation again, still not touching the steaming cup of tea, nor the sweet buns on a nearby plate. They were all brought from the Kingdom, all things done exactly the way Dimitri would like. The chamomile tea from the palace’s storehouse- the same kind that Lambert would drink in his afternoons, the buns prepared by the royal bakery- with marshmallow fillings, chewy and soft. Their smell was familiar enough for the prince’s own poor nose to catch on their scents, the smell of nostalgia dulled but present.
The intention behind these was still gray to the prince, however.. He reached out for his teacup, gauntlets long discarded, sitting atop his bed. “I feel well.”
The regent’s expression was neutral, unconvinced. With slow blinks, one would think he’s much older than his early fifties. His long blond mane was clearly messier than usual, some white hairs poking out. The blue of his eyes was lined by dark circles, his posture looked both at ease and crumbling down. Stress, perhaps. Exhaustion, unhappiness. Things that seemed alien for the king that would throw feasts and extravagant parties nearly every month- at least from others’ point of view. The Rufus people saw occupying the throne, the Rufus people used to suspect had a hand in the late king’s murder, the Rufus called sleazy and useless.
Dimitri’s silly, rebel uncle and his only family. Two completely different people.
“I…” The prince started again, unsure. “...I feel like I did a poor job.”
“Poor job at what?” The older man’s brows furrowed slightly, confused. “Got bad grades?”
“No, my grades are fine.” At least for now, they looked good enough. “I performed poorly in aiding the people in the Kingdom. So much was happening, there was so much to be done and I could not-”
“You’re not a mage, boy. Not a healer, either.” And you’re not king yet. “There was nothing for you to do there.” Rufus’ words were quick and sharp, spoken seemingly without a care.
As if they didn’t hurt at all, a simple fact. Dimitri deflated, visibly. Noticing that his words were perhaps too harsh, Rufus scratched his bearded cheek, suddenly uncomfortable. “You- train to be a knight, don’t you? So. Unless you walked out there to kill those diseased people, then there wasn’t anything you could do. Maybe stand there and grant the people comfort, but just that.” The more the regent king tried to do damage control, the more salt was added to the prince’s wounds.
Rufus frowned, huffing. Uncle was always horrible at this, Dimitri thought. After a pause that seemed infinite, the older man tried to speak once more.
“What I mean is that-...ugh, sorry boy but there’s no other way to put it. I’d much rather have you doing nothing and being healthy than you running around the diseased and ending up like one too.” Typical of the older Blaiddyd. Dance around the issue in hopes of sugarcoating or changing the subject, only to drop a bucket of cold water- of truth, unceremoniously like that. Dimitri, unamused, finally met Rufus’ own.
“You want me to just stand aside and watch them fall one by one? You want me to watch them die and do nothing about it? What kind of ruler does that to his people?” Icy eyes grew a flame of their own.
“That’s not it at all- listen to my words, Dimitri. It is dangerous out there, even now. As much as I hate this damned building it’ll be better for literally everyone if you stay here.” Both voices were quickly rising in volume- once a quiet and controlled argument, now a potential shouting match.
The prince’s hands were flat against the table, as if he were close to abruptly standing up- to prove a point. Or to just leave the room and be by himself, even though he knew well that Rufus would follow. “I will not sit on my hands and watch the people of Faerghus sink in a sea of torment! Even if I cannot perform healing spells, I wish to at the very least be there for them! So that they know they have someone to rely on!”
“You’ll die out there if you do that! Leave that task to me-”
“-You’re doing nothing about it! Nothing!”
Although slightly taken aback by the shout, it was unclear if the prince’s words hurt Rufus. “Dimitri, think. I’m not telling you to sit and eat imported steak from Almyra next to a dying villager, what I’m saying is that there’s no use for you to roam around in a situation that’s unsafe and that you cannot directly interfere in! Lances and swords can only do so much, you know that better than me!” Rufus’ voice wasn’t a shout of anger, but rather a steady- and loud, command. He was defining an ultimatum for Dimitri to back down and obey. “It’s unfortunate that you had no means or ways to have a say in what happened but there’s no use in moping about it all day.”
The prince seemed to be stuck between curling in on himself and glaring back at his uncle with defiance.
Rufus glared back with a similar fire in his eyes. “Don’t make that face at me.” The regent leaned in the chair, sighing. He finally reached for the tea- still warm, but not as much as before. Dimitri was still silent, immobile in the opposing chair. His emotions were a swirl of anger, grief, outrage and sadness- he felt justified in his points, yet felt that his outburst was horribly childish. Also unfit for a prince, as well as for someone his age.
Old, greyed azures roamed the room once more before focusing on one of the lances leaning against the wall. The lance Dimitri took with him when he left for Garreg Mach, a steel so smooth and clear that the lance was almost white in color with a charming blue decorating its hilt and the middle of its blade.
His vision wasn’t great as it used to be, but he could make out stains around its blade. Blood was a stubborn little thing, sometimes. The hilt was straight and seemed intact, save for subtle indents from what could only be Dimitri’s hands grasping it. Rufus had always supported having the prince learn how to fight, but he couldn’t help but get a grim feeling from seeing the weapon. From knowing that Dimitri was training to kill. It was all expected, but never easy to swallow.
“Fhirdiad was a little nightmare. No disease, but the people were scared. Panicking.” The regent started casually, slightly tired. He took a sip of the tea, then finally grabbed one of the buns and took a bite.
“Did you do something about it, at least? Did you talk to them?” With words sharper than a knife, Dimitri reached out for his own teacup but stopped midway. Depending on Rufus’ answer, the cup could shatter in his hold- which would be quite unfortunate.
“Me? Dimitri, they hate me. If I stepped out of that balcony to say a ‘good morning’ Goddess knows what they’d throw at me in rage.” The older man stated with similar, ominous indifference. It filled the prince with a dull anger, but not enough to justify another fit.
Always avoiding anything that could prove to be inconvenient to you, uncle. The prince wanted to find it disgusting, outrageous, but his heart didn’t allow it. This was family.
Dimitri decided to fully reach for his cup, despite unfavorable feelings brewing in his chest. “I could have gone to Fhirdiad and offered moral support to its citizens, in that case. The lack of my presence is unforgivable. I will be perceived as unreliable-”
Rufus’ hand came down on the chair’s wooden handle, not hard enough to shatter it but enough for the furniture to audibly creak. “The roads to Fhirdiad were crawling with the diseased! Our pegasus and wyvern knights were tasked with transporting medical equipment and food, and the mages skilled enough to cast a Warp spell were too busy trying to find a cure! Even that pink haired witch was too busy! There was no safe way for you to return, Dimitri!” The regent’s gaze was piercing, making full contact with Dimitri’s icy blues- which still burned in defiance, but the flame was weak. “Can’t you see that as much as the people need their ruler, no level headed person in Faerghus wants another royal funeral? You doing nothing and staying alive- nobody will hold this against you, dammit! Nobody here wants you dead!”
Rufus ran his hands through his hair, an ashy golden mane naturally messy that went past his shoulders. “Me included. So stop having those stupid ideas already.” The outburst from before was reduced to a meek, shaky mumble. With his face obscured from view, it was hard to make out his gaze- if it was one of anger, of exhaustion, or one of tears.
It tore a shuddered breath out of the prince. “...my apologies.” If this answer was genuine or performative, it was unclear. “But I...have to disagree with you.”
The regent simply shook his head and leaned back on the chair again, frowning at how one of the wooden handles was now slightly crooked from his fit. It seemed like another moment of silence, except Rufus knew that any time now Dimitri would say something. From the trembling of his lips and how his gaze zipped around aimlessly. Working up the courage to speak, rehearsing words in his brain.
It came out with an audible sob and a wobbly voice that the regent was most definitely not expecting.
“I just don’t want to be like this…” Helpless, useless. “To stand there...with nothing to do- while people-” Die around me. “I-”
“I don’t want it again.” The sentence was slightly mangled. “To have no control on the- the situation and-”
“Dimitri.”
“People keep dying around me and I can’t do anything about it!”
“Dimitri-”
“I’m ne- ever enough to make it stop! It's unfair! Unfair that I get to breathe all day doing nothing and they-”
“Silence!” The prince yielded, but his sorrow blazed on.
“...Sometimes it happens. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Call it fate or the Goddess throwing a fit or whatever, but there’s...there are things we can’t stop.” At first unsure, Rufus reached for the prince’s forearm, rubbing it gently.
“Being royalty, having a crest- none of these things matter sometimes. You’re just a person. And some things are just out of your power for...being a person like any other. Doesn’t make you weak, but...well, it happens. You’re helpless as I am.”
Dimitri replied with silence.
“And if any of your friends give you crap for it, then guess what? They’re not friends.” Rufus still didn’t know who Dimitri was friends with- except from the ones he’d spot on the palace sometimes. The youngest boy from Duke Fraldarius, the one from Margrave Gautier, and one of Count Galatea’s little girls. They seemed like good kids, at least. “And if that happens then- whatever! I’m here! It’s not much but I’m here!”
What could only be interpreted as a meek chuckle was all Dimitri reacted with. A funny thing for Rufus to say, considering how sometimes he didn’t bother to read his letters and never came to visit. He was too tired to confront the man about it however- so he let it pass. Rufus would probably forget about it later, anyway.
“Also can you- ugh, wait.” The regent produced a handkerchief and handed it out. “I know it’s rough and you’re sad but wipe your face? It’s three quarters water at this point. Gross as hell.” The Blaiddyds never looked pretty while crying. Always a red-faced wet mess, yet the redness and the tears made the blue of their eyes jump out exponentially.
“Language, uncle.” Dimitri grabbed the offered handkerchief- it held the emblem of Itha, not of the Royal banner- and pressed it against his face. He didn’t care, blew his nose on it despite an audible sound of disgust from the regent and handed it back.
“...you can keep it.” Rufus’ grimace was enough to finally make the prince laugh softly. A real laugh.
Dimitri sighed, feeling a headache coming in- one of exhaustion, the typical ones after a cry. Instead of looking down, however, he stared at the now cold cup of tea and the mostly untouched buns. “I just do not wish for my people, allies and friends to perceive me as… weak and unreliable. That is all.” I don’t want to be abandoned again.
The older man chuckled. “It’s funny to hear you speaking all fancy after all of that.” Dimitri simply huffed.
“Prince or not, you’re still a kid. Kids aren’t perfect, I bet that princess from Adrestia also has her slip ups as well as the little guy from Leicester you threw hands with. If people cast you aside for a mistake out of your power, then they’re the ones in the wrong for putting on impossible expectations.” Dimitri noddled idly, although he didn’t seem to be fully on board. Stubborn little thing, just like his dad, Rufus thought.
“...I wish to support Faerghus still, however. Even if I could not do much when the disease was out of control...now that everything has reached a more stable point, I would like to help the people in every way I can.”
“And that’s alright. Just don’t skip school and be a good boy.”
“Uncle.”
“What? You can’t be in two places at the same time, Mitya.” That baby nickname was enough to calm the prince down slightly. It was only ever used by his family nowadays- as his friends have all but stopped calling him anything other than Your Highness. It felt a bit embarrassing at times, as if Rufus were babying him, but it also brought comfort.
“I- okay, I yield!” The prince crossed his arms, huffing out. “You are impossible, truly. Quite frustrating, at times.”
“Yadda yadda.” Rufus smirked, sipping on the now cold tea. ”Sheesh, this thing tastes like leaf water when it’s cold. Bad leaf water.”
“That is more or less what tea is composed of.” Dimitri grabbed one of the sweet buns, taking a bit and munching with visible glee once he noticed that the pastries were bakes to fit his preferences.
“Finally, dammit! I thought you wouldn’t eat any of these! Well, you could at least spare one to give to a pretty girl you like.” Rufus winked and grabbed another pastry, powdered sugar lining his golden beard.
Dimitri made noises of disapproval, but preferred to just continue eating. Although his heart was still heavy with uncertainty and disappointment in himself, he felt that at least at that very moment, he could afford to occupy himself with something- or someone else. Other than death and suffering, other than despair.
He’d brace himself for a difficult path, now. One of painful recovery and unfortunate difficulties.
#[ ah this takes me back… ] (drabbles)#[[ yo this got LONG ]]#[[ but now that the month's ending have a lil drabble for dimitri @ the plague in faerghus ]]#[[ and uncle hours? uncle hours ]]
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— our movie night. [01282021]
movie:
miss peregrine’s home for peculiar children
https://www.netflix.com/title/80079257
date: 01/30/2021
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the setup: [ living room ]
projector: mini portable LED video projector / full colour - with screen & remote control
as soon as baekhyun emerges from the room after 'getting ready', which consisted more of kunhang locking his boyfriend in their shared bedroom as he scuttles around the house preparing for the whole day they have planned, he leads the elder out to the living room, finally revealing his setup. the dimmed surroundings glow golden with the fairy lights strung corner to corner, framing the projector screen sitting diligently in the middle of one of the empty walls. baekhyun’s favourite candles are flickering in one corner, the dancing flames emitting toasty scents of bergamot and pear wafting throughout the spacious room.
the portable projector he purchased recently is sitting out of the way, completely controllable via remote from where they’ll be sitting. the television is nice, but not quite as expansive as the way the screen perfectly resembles the stretched view from a theatre. no movie night this important is complete without a blanket fort, exactly like the one they shared their very first kiss in. some ways away from the enlarged movie screen, he set up two chairs adjacent to the sofa, and a makeshift “tentpole” he fashioned out of one of baekhyun’s coatracks to prop up the lightweight blankets draped across them to resemble a tent. more fairy lights hang inside, illuminating the pillows and cushions he pulled from the rest of the house, lining the one side from which they could lay back and get comfortable, even making room to lay down with each other if they wanted to later.
after a moment kunhang pauses, waits just a beat for his boyfriend’s reaction, before showing him the rest he has prepared.
the popcorn / fruit platters:
just in front of their fort opening (but not obstructing their view of the screen), he had pulled the coffee table over to the centre where various platters lie waiting. on one end, a small plate of fruit, loaded with apple slices, wedges of peach, and of course, their favourite — glistening red gems of strawberries. next to it is a bowl of popcorn, complete with cheese and butter powdered seasonings, and plenty of wet napkins for the guaranteed mess they are about to do to their fingers.
the meal / savory selection:
knowing they’ll be lounging around all day, kunhang made sure to plan for all of it — freshly delivered meals from their favourite restaurant specializing in korean street foods, luckily having arrived in time earlier this morning. he’s definitely most excited about the fried mozzarella corn dogs, each slathered in ketchup and mustard or extra crunchy corn kernels and shredded cheese. he’d seen some in baekhyun’s freezer from time to time, and what better way to celebrate their special day than with the freshly deep fried kind, right?
another carefully packaged tray is filled to the brim with sweet, sticky fried chicken, one spicy and one not, with extra cheese for them to melt on top when serving hot. and simply just because, skewers of fried tteokbokki drenched in its own sauce, mouth-watering enough even for kunhang’s aversion to spice. all this with a nice, healthy side of rice and fresh salads, more than enough to keep them satiated for days.
the sweets + mini hawaiian pizza flatbreads:
where snacks are concerned, he certainly can’t forget about the classic favourites; homerun balls, for example, cookies and cream pepero sticks, chocopies, and assorted packets of chips, never at a shortage at home as proven by the neat little box he’d packed them into this morning. pizza as always has to join their menu as well, perfect rolls of ham and pineapple goodness for any lingering hunger later on. he knows there is way too much for just one day but he wants to spoil them both, and after the month they had, they deserve to enjoy this together.
the beverages:
last but not least, he made sure to prepare two beverage options, the dalgona coffee ‘lattes’ still resting in the fridge after he nearly broke his muscles whisking up to firm peaks. baekhyun made it look so easy — 400 times was certainly no walk in the park, even if the end result was worth it. the other, the oolong tea leaves already in the teapot and water kettle just awaiting the press of a button, joins the last empty space on the coffee table along with his boyfriend’s ceremonial tea set and tiny teacups that kunhang had always found so adorable.
finally they can sit down, and now they’re ready: bare feet warm in their matching slippers, the morning sun still peeking dutifully through the blinds, chopsticks in hand and stomachs ready for battle. his heart is so full just knowing how happy he can make his boyfriend, who deserves the whole world and more.
“happy anniversary to us, baobei.”
so I’ll hold you tight, fingers wound around yours like i’m afraid to let go. we’ll bask in each other’s arms, wasting the day away... your feet slip between my thighs and my lips will find your neck, whispering sweet nothings until we fall asleep with happiness on our minds.
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24. Unctuous
A look all veiled in blue
For @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast’s FFXIVWrite 2019.
[Title]
[AO3 mirror]
She could at least walk to the tea room under her own power. That was a mercy, though Odette still favored the ankle she had twisted some few days before. Still, she dared not wear white as she was accustomed to, dressed instead in a wine-red gown that might not show so obviously if her wounds reopened. As was their wont.
Perhaps instead it was her wont to reopen them.
The servant who announced her was too obsequious for her liking—but then everyone in the house was either unctuous or callous, sometimes by turns. Maman’s influence, she did not doubt. Besides, there was no need to bow and scrape; Odette knew who her caller was. She had only had the one visitor throughout all of her convalescence. Guillaume had written, and a few had sent flowers, but none of them came in person, though she had briefly allowed herself to entertain such hopes about Rielle.
Aymeric de Borel stood, hands clasped gently behind his back, always attentive but somehow more alive when he looked upon her. “Odette,” he said, with such warmth that it could have melted the frost from windowpanes even in Halone’s own moon.
“Lord Speaker,” she greeted him in turn, and if he was stung by her formality he did not show it.
Instead he merely crossed to pull out her chair, offering a hand she refused to take as she settled into it. Odette dismissed the servant with a wave. Winter sunlight streamed in through the windows, glittering on his earring and the pin in his cravat. For a moment she was abashed; the fullness of her splendor was too much to endure getting on with while she was yet recovering, but he had seen her with sweat upon her brow and poppy’s milk in her veins. The thought was less comfort than she hoped, reflecting on it.
“I am pleased to see your recovery progressing,” he said.
“Not as swiftly as I’d hoped,” she admitted. “Nor the rest of the world, I imagine.”
His smile was pained, and for a moment Odette thought he would ask her to come and stay with him again. She had considered the offer—not the first time he made it, but the second or third, when she remembered what troubled her in this house. She even had the sense that in some fevered state she had said yes, but perhaps that was only a dream. If she had, he had waited for her to acknowledge it first, and it bore no mention for her. He spoke not, in the end. Instead his fingers brushed a small box on the table, wrapped in glossy blue paper.
The maid came then with the tea service, and laid saucer, cup, and spoon before them. Aymeric smiled gently at her. “I’ll pour,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” she said, her tone syrupy. She curtsied to him, and then to Odette. “My lady.” Then she withdrew, never turning away, and Odette found herself annoyed all over again.
“Why do they do that?” she wondered. Aymeric chuckled a little to himself, and it was only then she realized the thought had escaped her lips.
He took the teapot in his hands, and tipped it to pour a measure into her cup. As he poured for himself, he said, “You are a hero a hundred times over, and nearly gave your life in the defense of Ishgard and her allies. Why would they not?”
“It’s not as though they’re sincere,” Odette noted with dismay, stirring a lump of sugar into her tea.
“Why wouldn’t they be?” he asked, drizzling birch syrup into his cup.
Odette rolled her eyes. “Maman is not happy,” she said. “She’s concerned about the scar, of course.”
“So she would rather a picturesque daughter than a valiant one?”
She could not help but laugh at that. “Always. Don’t you recall how unhappy she was when I chose to pursue service with the Temple Knights?”
“I had hoped that might have changed, given everything else that has.” Aymeric frowned.
“Estellise de Dzemael does not change,” Odette said; “she merely waits for the world to conform to her expectations.”
She could feel his concern, and the resignation that challenged it, though it would not yield. That was her gift, and her curse; she wanted to flee the room rather than abide one moment more in his pity. But she swallowed the impulse with her next sip of tea, and with it went her own reactions. It was unseemly for her to be afraid. She could not be angry instead, nor cold—it would never be winter in her heart for him, whatsoever she might wish—and so she elected instead to be greedy.
“But what’s this you’ve brought me?” she prompted, gesturing to the package beside his hand.
“Ah,” he said. “A gift.” He offered it up to her, and she set her cup and saucer aside a moment to set it before her. She picked open the white ribbons and carefully unfolded the blue paper, laying it aside—whole but creased—to look upon his gift.
In one small box she found a lacquered wooden pen and a half-dozen replacement nibs; another held a triad of small bottles of ink and a block of sealing wax. The last wooden box was large enough to hold letters, and it nearly did—envelopes and stationary folded to nest neatly. Letters in waiting. Atop them was a small silver charm. It looked like an envelope, and would fit neatly on her chatelaine. She opened it to find stamps, printed with etchings of flora from the Churning Mists. She laid them out in front of her. There she espied the Seventh Heaven blossom, and there a kupo nut, and a cloud mallow. Iceheart’s Tears, too, and for a moment Odette longed to stand once more in the shadow of Zenith. Anywhere but here.
“What is this?” she asked, looking from it to him, then back down again as she folded the stamps back up into their accordion and tucked them away in the envelope charm once more.
“It seems to me,” Aymeric said, “that your convalescence is drawing toward its end and you will soon resume your adventures. When I consulted your sister on the matter, she told me that you possessed no implements to write letters on your journeys, and it was my hope that in providing that which is needful, you might be encouraged to send word now and then.”
Her sister. Of course. Her younger twin had said this to him. It was not a shortage of paper that had stayed her hand; she kept a logbook, after all. But it seemed far too cruel to tell him outright that she did not write because she simply did not wish to. Not when he had made his yearnings plain with this gift. Odette considered what she might say in reply, taking up her tea to sip it. She looked across the table and found Aymeric’s blue eyes intent upon her own. She came to no conclusion even as she stretched out her arm once more, teacup delicately in hand.
She dropped it. The sound of porcelain shattering echoed in the room. She never looked away from Aymeric’s face.
Footsteps out the door presaged someone’s coming, and only then did she remember to dread her mother’s displeasure. Surely she would not be happy to find the family china in shards, and Odette knew a pang of fearful regret.
Aymeric reached across the table, setting his cup on her vacant saucer, and knelt beside the table. He was there when the maid came in, looking concerned.
“What happened?” she asked. “Is everything alright?”
“Merely an accident,” Aymeric said, in that even way of his. “Please forgive my clumsiness.”
They knelt there on the floor, picking white shards from grey stone, and Odette looked on dispassionately. Aymeric glanced at her once or twice, but she gave him nothing. She had nothing to give. He had secured her escape from consequences with his lie, perhaps, and yet something still ached in her heart. She dared say nothing, lest she confess her crimes.
Soon the mess was gone, and the maid too, and the rest of the tea service. They sat there at an empty table, his wishes laid out between them.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. It was barely a question, a gentle entreaty to unburden herself. “What could have possessed you to do that?”
She had an answer, but could not give it—certainly not while she looked into his eyes. “What would you do,” she wondered, “if you returned to Saint Finnea’s cloisters and set all the swans free, but one swan insisted upon remaining? She would eat of your table, should you offer, and shelter beneath the eaves there, and swim in the lake, but she would always peck at you every time you came near?” She stacked the wooden boxes in front of her, looking down at her hands as she worked. “She doesn’t know why, and you have done nothing wrong, but whenever you see her, she pecks you. Wouldn’t you give up, eventually?”
Aymeric said nothing for a long time. Then he said, “Well—does she love me?”
“Her love for you is an agony.”
His brow knit; his face crumpled. “Why should love ever be agony?”
It seemed a naive question coming from him—had he never suffered for love of her? “Do you love me still?”
“Yes,” he said at once.
She shook her head. “It is torment enough that you love me, and torment twice over that I love you. I wish I did not; these feelings are unwelcome to me. But it is not because you are not a good man—rather you are the best of all men, and should be free to choose someone better suited to your happiness.”
He looked upon her then with perplexity, though beneath it she could feel his joy. “You have not spoken of this before,” he said. “What moves you to speak now?”
“I have been reminded much of late of my own deficiencies,” she said.
“In what way?”
Odette considered a long moment. When she spoke, it was bluntly: “Fray and I chanced to meet again. And Gaius van Baelsar is in love with my twin sister.”
Aymeric pressed his lips into a thin line. “I knew that the Black Wolf lived, having been briefed on the subject, but I remain uncertain what connects these two matters.”
“It was not a happy reunion,” Odette said. “Neither of them were happy reunions. Knowing me seems to have done Fray Myste more harm than good, and I cannot see how it would be otherwise for you. And the legatus of the XIVth—though he claims to have shed that mantle; as soon part a wolf from his pelt, I think; it would go more easily.” She cleared her throat. “Van Baelsar is in love with my twin sister. We shared him once, more than gladly. Did you know this? Did I ever deign to tell you? Well, see me now for what I am.” She shook her head. Aymeric seemed on the verge of speech, but she could brook no forebearance lest she lose her nerve. So she continued, “I no longer feel comfortable with that. When last he was made to endure my affections, it felt like an intrusion where I am no longer invited. It is, though I wish it not, an affront to me. But in truth it is only the most natural consequence. Colette is a far more comforting person than I. So far as I know she has left no wounds in her wake like the ones I dealt Fray Myste, who loved me once and no longer.
“But on due reflection,” Odette continued, “what would I do, really, if he were in love with me? If either of them were in love with me? Would it be welcome to me in the least? I was forced to admit that it would not, and my envy of the love they bore others was simplest foolishness. After all, was I not tormented enough by the knowledge of the love you bore me—that you bear for me still? Why should I compound that unhappiness, or wish it upon any other person?” She turned her gaze from his face; from those blue eyes and his moue of concern. Outside the window she watched the sleet drive from the heavens into the city, and longed to feel its sting against her skin. “It gave me no great joy to consider it, and I decided that my feelings, unwholesome and unwelcome as they are, should be conveyed to you nevertheless.”
His hand brushed hers; covered it. She stared out the window. “Of course,” he said. “That all sounds very much like nothing.”
“Oh, do not comfort me now!” Her gaze snapped back toward him. “This is nothing; you have agreed, and it is beneath you to debase yourself by taking my hand!”
Aymeric winced, and lowered his eyes. He lifted his hand and instantly she missed its weight and warmth. “’Twas a poorly considered jest,” he said, but did not reach for her again. “I do not think it is nothing, for nothing you feel is insignificant to me. Least of all this. If my attentions are a torment to you, I will at your word withdraw and never mention my feelings again.” His throat bobbed, as though he too sought to swallow his sorrows as she had done so often. Aymeric looked upon her face once more, and said, “It has been my greatest hope that I might one day prove worthy of your love, but if that love does you harm, then I cannot wish for it. Your happiness and comfort are much more dear to me.”
Odette looked down at their hands, ilms and an entire world apart. “The swan will not leave the monastery of her own will,” she said. “It falls to you to turn her out.”
Aymeric said, “If your affections are elsewhere laid, of course I shall not interfere. My greatest wish for you then would be that you might be recognized for the extraordinary woman you are.”
“I don’t love him!” Odette said, balling her hand into a fist. “I have never loved Gaius van Baelsar, and I am not certain I ever loved Fray Myste! Gaius is in love with my sister—and there is no part of me that wishes for his love, even were I worthy of it.”
Aymeric began, “I see—”
“She is a better match for him,” Odette said. “And Sidurgu a better match for Fray, and Lucia a better match for you. Even Estinien—I sought so tirelessly to save Estinien not simply for my sister’s sake but for yours. Meager though his comforts are, they would certainly serve you better than mine.”
“Lucia is a fine woman,” Aymeric said. “And Estinien is a dear friend. Still, I do not love them as I love you.”
Odette let her hand fall to the table, disarmed of her anger. Of every shield she could conjure to mask her true feelings. What was left? Sorrow, and longing, and uncertainty—none of them becoming on a lady. “Why not?” she said. Her voice was plaintive. “It has been two years since we said goodbye, and since I revealed to you the unworthiness of my heart. Of my behavior. Why not lay your affections elsewhere? I had thought perhaps you would … stop, someday. I still think you will.”
He looked upon her with naked wonder, innocent as a child’s, and as all-enduring. “What could ever persuade me to stop?”
“Your peers will not be kind to you,” Odette said. It was the first of the old arguments. “I know my own reputation.”
“You are a hero of the realm, and people love you more than you can know.” Aymeric lowered his gaze to their hands once more. “And those that do not make no difference to me. I was a bastard adopted by a dowager, and now I am as much a patricide as a hero. But shame has never come to live under my roof.”
It seemed inconceivable to her, an alien world to her own. What came next? “I would not make a good wife to you.”
“We need not marry,” he said, “if that is not your wish. I would gladly forego that honor for the greater one of having you by my side.” That was what he always said, but as with the last answer he had more to add that was new to her: “What makes a good wife?”
She looked at him, frowning as she considered the question. “Composure,” she said; a lady could never be allowed to be as angry nor as sad as she had proven herself before him. “And deference, and all those qualities I lack.”
He smiled a little, though the expression was rueful. “Composure you have,” he told her. “You have shown it in far greater trials than Ishgardian society can conceive of, much less offer. And I do not want your deference anyway; I never have. What I have admired all my life in you is how unafraid you are to speak for your convictions. To knock me back when I am being foolish.”
“You are never foolish,” Odette said.
“I am more a fool than you imagine,” he said. “But I want you for an equal.”
“Even if we were to wed, I am far too old and much too busy to give you children,” Odette told him, the last of all her arguments—and the one she never won.
He laughed. The sound was gentle, warm, as though it was a comfort to him to return at last to the end of this road. “Should you want them, we can adopt. How could I ever object to such a thing?”
He looked at her then, and turned his hand over to offer it up to her. “Do you know why the swan always wants to peck me?”
It was such a sudden change of topics that it took her a moment to recall her own earlier metaphor. “No,” she said.
“It is because she’s afraid,” Aymeric said. “And there is much to fear, especially in a life as perilous as yours. But I want you to feel—and to know—that you are safe with me.”
She looked at that gentle hand, waiting for her to take it. “Why?” she asked. “Why not put the swan out of the monastery? If you would but chase her away, she would never trouble you with her presence again.”
He shook his head, the motion just barely visible in the periphery of her vision. “I faced once the reality of a world bereft of you,” he said. “I would never choose it.”
There was so much being offered to her with that waiting hand. It seemed impossible, thinking on it. And yet … as much as it would betray her innermost feelings—a cardinal sin, her mother had taught her at a young age—didn’t she want to take it?
Odette laid her hand across his palm. “I can’t stay in Ishgard all the time,” she said. “I can’t put this life before my duties.”
“I know. And I would never ask,” Aymeric said. “But if you can spare a moment, you are always welcome.” He folded his fingers over hers, and sat there, hand-in-hand with her.
#ff14#FFXIVWrite2019#odette#wol/aymeric#temple nights#i do love them#since i declared that this year was 'let your ocs find happiness 2k19' i'm being told i should comply#sometimes growth is painful odette#original content#starcunning writes
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I IMPLORE YOU FOR THAT CLAUDE/ANNETTE ESSAY! P-Please senpai~ uwu
*kicks down door* IS THAT SOMEONE ASKING FOR THE CLAUNETTE ESSAY I SEE??
WELL THEN, LET’S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD
warning: this is long. this is really, really long. like 3.5k words long. i don’t have a proper tl;dr for it because there’s too much going on, so it’s fine if you don’t want to read it! it just talks about why i think claude and annette click super well together
edit: aaaand the read more doesn’t work again;; yikes i’m so sorry about all these long posts, everyone!
edit2: read more works again!! it’s now under the cut
first, we’ll take a look at their profiles as a refresher (many thanks to vincent and the serenes gang!)
annette’s japanese profile talks about how she’s chipper, diligent, and very smart. she seems sweet and friendly, thanking byleth for their advice and calling mercedes by a cute nickname. plus, she’s lively and energetic because she speaks with a lot of exclamation marks!
“she can often waste her energy and end up nowhere” comes from karamawari (空回り), which loosely translates to the idiom “spinning one’s wheels”. in other words, she’s a genius oddball. i don’t think it’s in the sense that she’s ditzy and all over the place so she makes mistakes all the time, but that she’s wickedly creative and her ideas fail because they’re so left-field. like she thinks so far out of the box that she ends up in a completely different neighbourhood
the uk one (here) says she has “a reputation for being a bit oblivious at times”. it’s…pretty vague bc we don’t know what exactly she’s oblivious to, but it implies that she either a) has a one-tracked mind, b) can’t read the room, c) is unaware of herself, d) comes up with weird conclusions, or e) all of the above
i also think she’s pretty transparent, if this exaggerated expression of hers is any indication that she wears her heart on her sleeve
now onto claude! he’s also nice!! fun, easygoing, and always equipped with a smile. but, as i always like to call him, he’s a smart cookie and is very cunning! it’s hard to say if “someone unable to trust” means he has a hard time trusting others or if others shouldn’t trust him, but either way, it seems apt to call him crafty, clever, and ingenious. his uk profile (here) also mentions that “he sometimes shows a side that you can’t let your guard down around”. a lot of his quotes thus far make him sound carefree and witty (“my family’s the head of the leicester alliance, but eh, no need to worry about that"—thanks for the translation, satsuma!—and the class reunion bit in the latest e3 trailer), which supports his personality quite nicely
at first glance, they have a lot of similarities. they’re both outgoing, peppy, and smart. so they’re not really an ‘opposites attract’ pair, but birds of a feather do flock together. their friendly personalities make it much more likely for them to interact despite being in different houses, and it would surely help them get along. i can imagine them greeting each other as they pass by the hallways it also means i don’t have to make up a contrived situation of how these two meet because as much as i’d love to come up with a case for bernadetta/dedue, they would probably never talk to each other unless they have to
so it looks like they can be friends! or at least, cordial acquaintances. their personalities don’t clash too violently that they would hate each other, which is the fundamental basis of every good relationship
but then why do i think they’d be good for each other?? why can’t i just say it’s a nice broship and call it a day?? why do i feel the need to make this my game otp (and it’s slowly inching there) despite the high chance that they won’t have supports together?????
to answer that question, we’ll have to delve into the few opposites that they do have:
annette’s oddball-ness + claude’s intuition
let’s be real here, claude could probably cold read you like a pro. one glance is all he needs to get a sense of who you are, what you’re thinking, and what you’re going to do. this would be especially obvious with consistent, rational people like edelgard or dimitri; he can predict their moves because they’re meticulous and routine-based folks
annette, on the other hand, is a curveball
now don’t get me wrong—her thoughts are easy. her emotions? child’s play. the real question is what she’s going to do
…because what is she doing?
he’d be able to get a sense of what she’s planning, sure, but annette is weird. and unexpected. and unconventional
her actions aren’t going to be surprising; after all, it’s clear to see what she’s thinking. for example, if she somehow broke ingrid’s favourite teacup, the guilt would be obvious to anyone around. the shifty eyes, the shuffling of her feet, the panic that sets in once she sees ingrid in the distance. what would she do about it? probably fix it. she’s a nice girl who doesn’t want her friends to be sad. reasonably, she might try to piece the broken bits together or buy something from town that looks similar
so when he catches her asking around if there’s anyone who could teach her the art of glassmaking, he almost bursts out laughing and gives away his hiding spot
he lets his presence be known anyway because this looks hilarious
when he walks into the room, annette—and byleth, who she’d been talking with—gives him a surprised look, but he holds his hands up in defense and says he’s here to help
byleth will try to get him to convince her not to make the teacup herself
annette will insist she has to do it in order to make up for her mistakes
and if claude asks why she believes she has to—to show her full sincerity? was the teacup that unique? does she want to learn because it seems fun?—she’ll tilt her head and say, “if i learn how to do it, then i won’t have to bother anyone if i break ingrid’s cups again”
that wasn’t the answer he was expecting, but that makes it all the more amusing bc he was wrong (plus, she fully expects herself to break the cups a second time instead of being more careful in the future?? annette why—)
and while her failed attempts in glassmaking are also pretty funny, watching her do her best despite the setbacks is a bit endearing
this goes on constantly—annette getting into trouble and claude being entertained by her antics. in other words, claude would think she’s fun to be around because he can never truly guess what’s going on in annette’s head (he’ll get better at it eventually, but she’ll still catch him off guard every so often and keep him on his toes), and annette faces a dilemma like every other day so there’s no shortage of good times when he’s with her
on the other hand, annette would appreciate having a translator. she already has one in mercie, but another one wouldn’t hurt! especially since mercedes is more of the encouraging type while claude just seems to know what she’s trying to say
she’ll flounder about, trying to explain whatever ‘thing’ she’s describing this time because her words run quicker than her thoughts
“magical overuse makes me keel over because it feels like i can’t breathe anymore and the pain just concentrates at your core and i don’t know the term but i know i know it because it’s on the tip of my tongue and—”
mercie will say, “take a deep breath, ann. parse it slowly”
and claude chips in to help: “it’s like a punch to the gut”
“yes!! that!!!”
so while mercie is patient with her weirdness, claude always seems to know the right thing to say and do, making conversations with him much more smoother than with most people
she makes a vague statement like “it was pretty good today. i kinda wonder how they did it”
and without missing a beat, he’ll reply, “you mean the meatloaf we had for dinner? yeah, i thought dorothea and professor did a great job. you should ask them for the recipe”
“i should! great idea”
he still gets it wrong a lot of the time though
“he’s really prickly,” annette will say. “i wonder if he hates me”
“felix?”
“oh! no, no, i was talking about the cat that hangs around near the gardens. but what you said is true too. do you think he does?”
“the cat—no, he’s like that to everyone. felix—maybe. the stableboy who ignored you just now as you tried to wave at him—he didn’t notice so don’t feel bad about it”
other people listening in will get lost about thirty seconds into the conversation because it feels all over the place and random, but mercie is delighted that there’s someone else that understands annette
so yay! now they seem like good friends instead of having a casual ‘hey, i know you. i see you around sometimes’ relationship, which we can only keep building up the more they get to know each other!
their levels of trust
okay, i know this sounds cheesy but hear me out
we’ve already established that annette looks like a bad liar. the type that’s diddly darn horrible at poker. when she’s happy, you can tell she’s happy. sad? sad. angry? well, she isn’t angry often but you get the idea
so if something is troubling her, it’ll show on her face
and claude, being the curious boy he is, will ask her what’s wrong
her eyes will widen and she’ll say, “was it that obvious??”, but she won’t actually need any prompting and tells him her problems right away bc a) “i can’t hide anything from you”, b) “you give great advice”, and c) “you really get me!”
the last one’s important
you see, claude gets everyone. he doesn’t even have to ask what’s wrong—he probably already knows. but he asks anyway because you can’t have a conversation without two people talking (and maybe he could glean some more information about it that he isn’t aware of, who knows)
however, from the get go, sweet little annette was always truthful. was always sincere. she’s not the type who’ll say “i’m okay”, all the while plastering a fake smile on their face. annette is consistent. what she says she’s feeling is the same as what her expressions show
in other words, she doesn’t hide secrets. that’s what makes her special
claude is an expert in secrets. he snuffs them out in others so he can figure out their real intentions, and he hides some secrets himself. annette though? annette’s genuine. it’s straightforward with her
if it’s like this, it doesn’t even matter what the “someone unable to trust” in claude’s profile means. distrust doesn’t exist when he’s with annette. she’s unambiguous. she isn’t two-faced. there’s no need for him to figure out the underlying meaning in her words because there are none. and claude, for all intents and purposes, has the confidence that he can trust her even if he doesn’t
her guard when she’s around him is down
he doesn’t have to wonder if she’s trying to gain his favour or wants something in return. annette doesn’t want any of that. she just talks because claude asked her a question and she wants to answer it
she hangs out with him just because she likes to hang out with him
she’s his friend just because she wants to be
she has no ulterior motives
for claude, it’s a breath of fresh air
on annette’s side, it’s hard to pry about claude’s private life. whenever he asks, he gives her a vague answer and deflects it with a question. he never lies to her, but he never tells her the full truth
if she says she’s not curious about it, she’d be lying (and claude would know; he’d see it in her eyes). so whenever he avoids the question, she’ll be a bit dejected, but she won’t pry and move on to something else. they never linger on the subject too long
the curiosity is still there though. whenever he gives the slightest hint of any of his preferences (“i think the orange flowers suit your hair”), she perks up and smiles. she never asks him to divulge any more than he wants to because she’s not going to force him to overshare, so the little things that she does find out makes her happy enough. there’s no need to know his backstory—she trusts him now. as long as she does, whatever happened in his past or history won’t change who he is
after all, claude doesn’t lie to her. sure he’s not entirely honest, but she knows that whatever he says comes from the heart—even if it withholds quite a lot of information
here, at this point, annette is really good for claude. she makes him feel simple. like he doesn’t have to hide anything. it’s a rather nice feeling
but currently, the dynamics in their relationship are skewed, with annette giving more than she takes. claude doesn’t reciprocate the trust and continues to keep his cards close, while annette lays them all on the table. the only way their relationship can reach an equilibrium is if claude becomes honest with annette
i think in any claude relationship, that’s the end point: claude being honest. and not in the way that he already is—that is, his vague but truthful answers—but that he can say what he hasn’t
i remember there was one theory that claude’s character arc involves him learning to trust people. can annette get him to do this? i think so! she only wants what’s best for her friends so she wouldn’t force claude to tell her anything he doesn’t want to. she’ll still be there for him, talking and listening and having fun together until he’s ready. the question then becomes: would he ever be willing to tell her?
claude works hard but annette works harder
i do have a basis for why i think annette can somehow get over claude’s high trust hurdle, and that’s her perseverance
despite her constant mishaps and misfortunes, annette still passed the mage academy with excellent grades. why? because she never gave up. because despite the setbacks, she continued to try and try and try. and yay! her hard work paid off!
if we translate that to her relationships, it means she’d never give up on her friends. even if they try to push her away, try to make her hate them, try to stop being her friend—she won’t
so no matter what claude does, she’ll stick by his side. he’s not getting rid of her, that’s for sure. if he refuses to tell her everything—if he never tells her at all—annette will still be there, being annette, and being on his side even if he doesn’t trust her as much as she trusts him
i can see that faith of hers eventually wearing down his defenses. it’s just so freeing being with her; claude doesn’t have to pretend
and it becomes a nice conclusion to his character arc. he doesn’t bury the hatchet, doesn’t hide his skeletons in the closet. he gets catharsis and closure, and during all of his confessions, annette holds his hand and listens intently. she doesn’t run away afterwards. she doesn’t shy away from disgust
all she says is: “can i hug you?”
and when she does, it’s like all of his worries melt away
once this is all said and done, claude becomes much, much more open with her. he tells her everything and doesn’t have to fear being judged for it. like this, their relationship becomes balanced again
claude becomes good for her because he helps her improve herself. he doesn’t limit her weird thinking—in fact, he encourages it. by supporting her in all of her endeavours and being able to understand it, making sure her ideas run smoothly, he allows annette to discover even more ingenious solutions and lets her creativity have free rein. they’d be really good partners on a research team; annette comes up with the plans/a new scope to focus their field of study on as well as doing the literature search and reading up on a lot of journals in order to synthesize new ideas, claude irons them out and implements them all the while checking up on annette to make sure if she’s got any new input, rinse, repeat, they get an a+ on their graduate thesis
so here are my final remarks! this pairing doesn’t even have to be romantic to me (i just like romance because i’m a weakling). they just mesh together perfectly that i think they’re soul mates—if they have each other in their lives, they can develop themselves to new heights and eventually reach self-actualization. i don’t know?? i just think they cover each others strengths and weaknesses so well that they’ll be…happy with each other. and if they’re happy, i’m happy
to end off this post with a bang, here are some claunette au fic ideas i have for the soul:
'help i’m in love with my next door neighbour because whenever i take out the trash they’re there as well and they have the prettiest smile so i can’t help but swoon every time i see them but whenever i tell everyone that my favourite day is garbage day they look at me weirdly and they just don’t understand’ au
'you lost your dog and found him running around me in circles and apologized profusely but when you tried to get him to leave he whined and sat on my feet and i don’t know why but i think he likes me??’ au
'you left your usb plugged into one of the computers in the library and i was looking through some of the documents to find out your personal information and i realized that you took a class that i previously did and your ta is the same stupid one that marked mine way too low so when i came to give it back to you i offered to tutor you for free so i could be avenged’ au
'out of the one hundred and fifty students in this course you were the only one that bothered to answer my desperate plea of needing lecture notes on the classroom discussion board so thank you i owe you my life can i buy you a coffee?’ au
'you’re the barista of some cafe that i frequently go to and i have a crush on you because you’re super cute so my friends are embarrassing me by asking you all sorts of personal questions and i don’t know what to think about you flirting with me over the counter whenever i order cheesecake’ au
'i got lost from my tour group while sightseeing but you seem like a nice and friendly native so do you mind if i tag along with you to visit the nooks and crannies of the city while i wait for my friends to come get me?’ au
'i have to get off the bus because it’s my stop but you’re sleeping on my shoulder right now even though i don’t know who you are so i’m not sure if i should wake you up or just keep letting you sleep and—welp, there goes my house i guess i’ll just get off at the terminal station’ au
'i’m a human being hunted down by an elder vampire for who knows what and you just so happen to be a vampire hunter so please let me stay with you i don’t want to die’ au
'i’m a magician that has to fill their daily curse quota of the year and you just so happened to stumble into my line of sight in my time of need but i don’t want to curse you because you seem really nice but my job is on the line here so i’m sorry but i’ll find your true love so you can stop being a frog’ au
#fire emblem three houses#fe16#fe3h#claude von riegan#annette fantine dominic#asks#headcanons#user#prerelease
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of teacups and teleportation circles
When your fiance sends you a 3 am text about his idea for a Clayleb fic, you write that fic for him. Set a few years after the Nein are done adventuring. Caduceus breaks his favorite teacup and Nott and Caleb are on the case.
---
Things were finally good for Caleb Widogast. He lived happily in the Blooming Grove with his husband Caduceus Clay. Their romance had been slow, almost painfully slow at times, but when the day finally came that the Mighty Nein were ready to go their separate ways, Caduceus simply took Caleb’s hand and told him, “You’re coming home with me. You are my family.” And he did.
The Grove was finally healthy and thriving again, and there was never a shortage of dead people tea to drink and strange mushrooms to eat. Their friends visited the two men occasionally, and every few months Nila would come to watch the Grove so Caduceus and Caleb could go visit their friends, who had spread across the continent - Beau had returned to Zadash, where she reunited with Keg, Fjord and Jester had found themselves back on the Menagerie Coast. Nott and Yeza returned to their home near the river, and Yasha took herself wherever the Stormlord led her. She was their most frequent visitor, stopping by for a few days to a few weeks, quiet and serene.
One sunny morning, Caleb sat peacefully at their kitchen table, absentmindedly rubbing Frumpkin’s head as his husband prepared breakfast - heating the tea kettle, chopping mushrooms and potatoes, lightly toasting the homemade bread that Caleb loved the most, the mundane household sounds that he had learned to love - when he heard a sudden crack.
Caleb looked over with a start to see a look of distress on his husband’s face, his gaze caught on something on the ground. “Liebling, what is wrong?” Caleb asked, before discovering what had caused his husband’s sadness - shattered on the floor was Caduceus’ favorite teacup.
Caleb remembered the day he gave Caduceus the small, pale pink cup, dotted with the tiniest of flowers. He and Nott had taken a day to themselves in Zadash, a few weeks before the wedding, to figure out what Caleb would wear for the special day. Nott, naturally, was excited to force Caleb to try on as many ridiculous ensembles as she could, and Caleb complied, if only to see the joy on his best friend’s face.
After a few hours and a few shops, Caleb and Nott were exhausted, and stopped at a tiny shop near The Invulnerable Vagrant to grab a pastry and perhaps a hot drink. The first thing that caught Caleb’s eye, however, was a tiny pale pink cup, dotted with grey flowers. It ended up being the only purchase of the day - in the end, Jester made Caleb’s wedding apparel, and Caleb was so excited about the cup that reminded him of his husband-to-be that he wanted to return home immediately. The shopkeeper had wrapped up the cup and the two parted ways, Caleb using the Teleportation Circle he had convinced Pumat to let them set up in the back of The Invulnerable Vagrant to head home.
He kept the cup in his Bag of Holding until the next morning, when Caleb snuck out of bed early to attempt to make breakfast for Caduceus and bestow upon him his new teacup. Naturally, it went poorly, with smoke pouring out of the small cottage’s kitchen. The burning smell woke Caduceus, who laughed for nearly an hour at his fiancé’s mishap. The cup, of course, was perfect, and the day was saved by the two men cleaning up the kitchen and going back to bed to try again later.
“My love, I’m so sorry about your cup,” Caleb whispered in his husband’s ear, throwing his arms around his waist.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just a cup,” Caduceus answered, in a tone that clearly conveyed “It’s not okay.”
The two finished preparing and eating their breakfast in a somber silence, broken occasionally by Caleb’s unsuccessful attempts at humor. Caleb even debated casting Tasha’s Hideous Laughter, desperate for the firbolg’s smile or laugh.
Caleb wrestled with himself about what to do for a few hours, watching his husband mope around the house. Eventually, he knew the correct solution to his problem.
“Liebling, I’ll be gone for a few hours, but I’ll be back soon,” Caleb promised Caduceus, kissing him on the cheek and grabbing his cloak. He had a few trips to make before the day was done.
First, to Nott’s. The goblin was unsurprised at Caleb’s appearance, as she had grown accustomed to the human showing up randomly at the house where she lived with her husband and son. Once she heard the reason for her best friend’s trip, she was ready to head to Zadash, “for true love, of course.”
Next, to Zadash. Caleb and Nott both resolved to never tell Beau that they had been in town and not come to visit her, because they both knew she would never stop complaining about it. But Beau was known to talk, and talk, and talk, and if they stayed with her too long, they’d never finish their mission, and Caleb knew he could not come back empty handed.
Of course, transporting directly into the back room of The Invulnerable Vagrant without warning the Pumats first caused a bit of a stir, but once the firbolgs learned of Caleb and Nott’s mission, all stresses were calmed, and the two went on their way, promising to come back soon for a longer visit on a day when they were not in a time crunch.
---
“I swear the shop was this way,” Nott grumbled after twenty minutes of wandering the few blocks around The Invulnerable Vagrant, searching for the pastry shop from nearly five years ago. “Have you considered, Caleb, that… maybe… the shop is closed?”
“Nein, Nott, Pumat would have told us. These roads don’t even look familiar any more… but The Invulnerable Vagrant has been here for years, and I’ve been here hundreds of times. I should remember the area better.”
“Let’s just ask someone,” Nott decided, wandering up to the first person she saw. The dark-skinned halfling man she found directed them to a shop a few blocks to the east, Beans and Brew.
Beans and Brew had excellent animal-product-free scones (Caleb purchased a few for Caduceus) and passable tea, but was definitely not the shop they were looking for. As they exchanged silver for pastries, they asked the young elven woman running the till if she knew of any other tea shops in the area, explaining the mission they were on. She suggested a shop a ten minute walk to the south, only a few blocks away from Beau’s house, called The Warm Oven.
The Warm Oven smelled of savory herbs and sweet sugar, and Caleb immediately missed his husband, wondering if he was feeling any better. When he had left, Caduceus had been staring forlornly at the broken porcelain on the counter, since neither of them had been willing to part with it yet. However, there were no teacups for sale, and the elderly gnome proprietor was huffy when asked if there were any other tea shops close by, so the two left without purchasing anything or even any other leads.
“This is hopeless!” Nott complained as she and Caleb stood outside of The Warm Oven, hands in their cloaks to protect them from the cold. “We’re never going to find this stupid tea shop! We should just go ask Pumat.”
For once, Caleb had no response. His only goal for the day had been to replace his lover’s teacup, and he couldn’t even do that correctly. “Ja, Nott, we should go talk to Pumat. Maybe he can make a custom one. A bit out of his wheelhouse, but perhaps.”
---
“Uh, Caleb, you are a transmutation wizard, am I correct?” Pumat Prime asked Caleb a few minutes later, after Caleb and Nott fully explained the scenario that had brought them to Pumat’s doorstep.
“Ja, I am, why?”
“Give me just a moment,” the firbolg told them, laughing to himself as he wandered into the workroom. Nott and Caleb stared at each other, bemused, as they waited for Pumat to return. A few moments later, he came back, and handed a scroll to Caleb.
“I’ve been working on this for a while - have you ever heard of the cantrip Mending?” Pumat asked. At Caleb and Nott’s nods, he continued, “This scroll would allow you to use a spell I created myself. I call it Higher Mending. It’s similar to the cantrip, but you can, uh, use it on slightly larger objects. It uses a third level spell slot, and, uh, you would have to copy it, but, I think it would be able to help solve your problem.”
“Pumat Sol, I could kiss you,” Nott blurted out as soon as the firbolg finished his sentence. “You are an angel, a god among men - uh, firbolgs - a saver of love, a king-” she continued, before being cut off by Caleb.
“Pumat… this is perfect. How much do I owe you?” Caleb asked quietly, heart swelling with excitement.
Pumat just laughed and answered, “This one is on the house. You know I am a sucker for love stories. Now head home to Caduceus and try it out, I’d love to hear how it works. Pumat Two can run the shop for a bit, I’ll take Nott home. I wanted to ask Yeza about some potions we need restocked anyways.”
Nodding, and wiping off a single small tear - was it excitement? Sadness? Anticipation? Joy? He couldn’t figure out what it was from - Caleb stepped into the teleportation circle and muttered the arcane words that would bring him home to his husband, his cat, and his graveyard.
---
Caleb smiled as he walked into his home, glad he had decided against casting Message to warn Caduceus that he was on his way home, as he saw his husband curled up on the sitting room couch fast asleep with Frumpkin loafed on his chest. He paused to kiss his husband on the forehead - quietly, as not to wake him - before settling himself in to the desk a few feet away from the couch with his spellbook, the scroll, and his ink. He spent the next hour copying over the spell while his husband slept peacefully, finishing just as Caduceus began to stir from the couch.
“Hello liebling, I have a special surprise for you,” Caleb said excitedly when he was certain Caduceus was awake enough to fully comprehend what a conversation was. He pulled the scones, slightly crushed, out of his bag and handed them to his husband. “Look, I got pastries.”
“That’s great, love,” Caduceus said, smiling as he smelled the spicy cinnamon of the scones. “We shouldn’t eat them now, though, it would ruin our supper.”
“Liebling, I think tonight we should have sweets for supper! Sweets and tea!” Caleb exclaimed, pulling Caduceus off the couch and into the kitchen.
“Caleb, I’m not sure I’m in the mood for tea, after earlier,” Caduceus said, a slight tone of sadness in his voice.
“I have something to do about that too! Pumat gave me this spell. Here, sit down for a second, let me show you.” Pulling his spellbook out of its holster and placing the shattered porcelain onto the table, he focused his energy into the arcane words Pumat’s scroll taught him, and watched with excitement as the teacup slowly began to reform, pulled together by a shimmering purple light.
“There. All better. Even the most breakable of things can be saved by love, and maybe a little magic, mein liebling,” Caleb whispered into his husband’s ear. Both men knew that the teacup was not the only thing in their home that had been saved by love.
That night they had tea and sweets, and there was laughter and joy. A life neither man had dreamed of, held together by love. Things were good for Caleb Widogast, and he finally believed he deserved it.
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