pretty make

It draws quite the commotion, and though he feels as if he wasn’t supposed to hear, Ferdinand still does. He doesn’t need anymore reason to run to the ballroom of the palace after hearing a few simple words:

Hubert has challenged a young noble to a duel.

It isn’t entirely impossible to believe, no; Hubert would do anything for Edelgard’s honor. But this would not be the first time somebody has challenged her, far from it--there’s no reason for him to suddenly make a public display out of it when he has spent years carrying out revenge and examples in the shadows. For Hubert to make a display of something, with something so formal as a duel--with witnesses!-it could only be a matter of utmost importance.

When Ferdinand arrives at the hall, pushing other important figures and curious eyes out of the way, he’s stunned to find the gossip is no mere rumor. The hall is filled with the metallic clanging of swords, and in the middle of the room, surrounded by a ring of onlookers, Hubert is engaged in close combat with the same nobleman they had met with this very morning. Ferdinand is shocked to see the same man here; he had been quite rude to Ferdinand in particular, but had he been so forward as to insult her majesty as well?

The duel does not last very long. For as much as Hubert focuses on his magic and hexes, it isn’t as if he didn’t have the same combat training with a sword as the others at the officer academy. Ferdinand knows he trains in secret, at least enough to keep up with sparring with the Prime Minister whenever Ferdinand asks it of him. Although Ferdinand will always be superior in the blade, Hubert has just enough tricks to keep him coming back to ask again.

The rapier flies out of the nobleman’s hand, and in his surprise, he lands on his backside, not anticipating the sharp tip of another sword to be pointed at his neck. For one moment, the scene does not appear like one of a duel, and Ferdinand fears for a good few seconds that this is an execution. It would at the very least be in line with Hubert’s way of doing things, he thinks, and then the dark clothed man is pulling the blade away.

The nobleman scrambles to collect himself and stands, and only once everyone is sure that it’s actually over, the crowd gathered around begins to applaud politely. It isn’t very often that the Minister of the Imperial Household ever displayed his skills so blatantly, as aware everyone was that he held them. Without waiting another moment, Ferdinand hurries out onto the floor as Hubert passes the sheathed rapier to a servant to be carried away.

“Hubert!” he’s quick to demand. “What is the meaning of this? I have never heard of you taking such... brazen approaches to opposition to Edelgard before!”

Once they see the excitement is over, the servants and other important figures gathered in the hall begin to disperse. It only takes a few moments for the hall to clear, and Hubert leads Ferdinand in the opposite direction of the population flow back to the throne room. On their walk, he doesn’t meet Ferdinand’s eye. “It was not for her majesty. You know such methods would not reflect well on her.”

“Yes, that is why I was so surprised--Hubert, would it kill you to look at me?”

Hubert stops immediately, and Ferdinand nearly bumps into him as he turns to do exactly as he asked. The minister’s face is twisted in a scowl that Ferdinand hasn’t seen in a long time, though having known Hubert for so long, he can tell that his anger isn’t directed at him. In fact, when his eyes fall on Ferdinand’s face, they almost seem... gentle. Not that anyone else would be able to see it, though.

“That man,” Hubert begins slowly, venom dripping from each word, “spoke indecently of you.”

Ferdinand blinks slowly, the words not quite processing as quickly as they should. The answer is... far from anything he expected, and his face shuffles through a number of expressions before landing on confusion. “People have said much worse of the Prime Minister’s seat, I am sure. My father had many detractors--”

Hubert cuts him off. “Not the Prime Minister--of you, Ferdinand. I was not willing to sit back while some trifling accessory to an estate spoke of my lover as if he were no more than a--” His lips curl up at the end, unable to repeat what words Ferdinand never even said. It would be defeating the purpose of challenging him to a duel if they made their way back to Ferdinand, after all.

His mouth fallen open in a surprised ‘o’, Ferdinand gawks, unsure of how he should even respond. “This... was for me?”

Hubert scoffs, and Ferdinand thinks the noise may be directed more at himself. “Does it displease you to see me act so brazenly? You said you would walk this path with me, in spite of the bloody trail that follows my every step. I could have done worse, would have preferred to do much worse, but if you after all cannot condone even this much of a mon--”

Ferdinand doesn’t give him the chance to finish any self-aggrandizing or deprecating lecture he’s sure Hubert has rehearsed long before, simply waiting for the moment Ferdinand ‘inevitably’ grew disgusted with him. He lurches forward, able to grab the back of Hubert’s neck in his surprise and pull him down into a hard, hungry kiss. He hears (feels) Hubert make a noise of shock into his mouth, and it only takes a second for a pair of gloved hands to cover either side of his face, holding Ferdinand even closer.

i DID finish sv and i LOVE bingqiu!!

“Binghe, one of your servants came by earlier,” Shen Qingqiu says while stepping into the kitchen. Luo Binghe looks up before he even enters the room, standing in front of a large pot that’s just beginning to bubble with smells that make Shen Qingqiu want to grab himself a bowl right then and there. But his husband would never let him eat anything that wasn’t completely finished and perfect.

He holds out the letter in question for Luo Binghe to take and stands in the doorway as he reads, watching his eyes flit back and forth over the page as the ever-present smile on Luo Binghe’s face falls into a serious look. The only noise he makes is a low hum of acknowledgement before he’s folding the letter back up and tucking it into his robes.

Shen Qingqiu can’t help but be curious. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, it’s nothing to worry about--just an issue with a minor demon clan,” Luo Binghe quickly answers with a casual wave of his hand. “It’s nothing Shizun must worry over!”

And yet he’d seen the way his face fell while reading it. He decides to press further. “Shang Qinghua mentioned something similar last time we spoke--that the heirs to some clan were suddenly wiped out, leaving a void in the lineage?”

As he turns to continue cooking, Luo Binghe’s face falls back into a neutral expression. “Hm, not quite. I wouldn’t expect that servant to understand well. It’s more like this...”

There it is. Shen Qingqiu leans against the door frame and opens his fan, clearing some of the warm air in the room around his face. He’s noticed a few times now that whenever the topic of conversation comes to anything serious, the bright and bubbly Luo Binghe he married would slowly morph into the more mature, distinguished lord that others feared. Of course, he would never turn those icy eyes towards Shen Qingqiu, but even just the absence of tears in his eyes or the smile on his face did... something.

He’s so used to a few specific flavors of Binghe, after all. He knows Binghe the doting husband who sees happily to his every whim and need, the clingy child who cries if he is teased so much, and the intense combination of the two in their bedroom--but these faces of his husband are all ones that nobody else ever gets to see. The standard Luo Binghe shown to the rest of the world hardly exists within their bamboo house, and it leaves Shen Qingqiu with an odd craving to see more of it.

It can’t be helped; after being married this long, a simple shift in his husband’s expressions is all it takes to make Shen Qingqiu’s heart beat a little faster. Watching his brow furrow, the sweat on his face from the fumes rising from the pot, how his eyes are half lidded and nonchalant as he speaks of such serious, political matters as if they truly mean nothing. Even his shoulders square differently when he speaks of the demonic world or the other sects, and it’s just different enough from how he usually acts to have Shen Qingqiu aware of him.

Of course Luo Binghe is attractive--he’s the protagonist! But in times like this... well, maybe Shen Qingqiu is just a little more aware, and he hides the lower half of his face behind his fan. Would it be shameful to admit to his husband how much he enjoys listening to him talk about politics just for the look on his face? That he finds the hard line of his jaw that much more attractive, or the knuckles that clench harder on the edge of a spoon while he speaks, the rise of his chest when he has to take a deep breath between explanations?

Yes, Shen Qingqiu thinks. It would be very shameful. Almost as much as being caught staring by his husband in silence after he’s finished talking.

Shen Qingqiu blinks, startled, at the confused eyes staring back at him. “Shizun?” Luo Binghe asks.

He quickly fans himself and turns to the side. “Ah, this master apologizes. I was merely absorbing what you had said.”

A small smile comes to Luo Binghe’s face, obviously noticing the pink dusting his husband’s cheeks and ears. Without saying a word for Shen Qingqiu’s pride, he simply retrieves the spoon he was using from the pot and offers up the stew inside to Shen Qingqiu’s face.

“Now, say, ahhh~”

Shen Qingqiu wordlessly leans forward to take a bite of the soup before retreating back behind his fan with a pleased nod. It only takes a moment for Luo Binghe to beam, shoulders hunching again, face soft and youthful at the small praise he’s received. He happily turns back to the pot and dips the spoon back in to offer to Shen Qingqiu once more, practically begging to feed him again.

(This is the anon from the previous message that started with "Hi!!") Shoot, sorry, I think I forgot to mention that I was referring to FE Three Houses! Anyways, that's all, sry for the confusion!             

o ur good!!! i get requests for things i don’t care for all the time, i kind of just skim over them. but if i had to say anything from fe3h that i dislike. dimitri/edelgard for one, uhhh anything lysithea pre-timeskip. i’m not very picky to be honest!

i am having lots of fun, i love doing these!!! also ferdibert is a HORRIBLE name i love it

send me lil fic requests!

Ferdinand has always been an attractive young man. Hubert acknowledged it five years ago when they were younger, and he’d gladly acknowledge it now. He sees how other men and women alike would turn their heads as soon as he enters the room, exuding all the airs of regality and elegance that a noble strives to present. Tall with perfect posture, a bright smile that’s open and welcoming to all, sharp, keen eyes, and that flowing, gorgeous hair?

Watching Ferdinand ride into battle on his steed is always a sight to behold, and it was at first distracting for other soldiers to see him galloping majestically with that long mane of his behind him. It didn’t take long for it to become a flag of sorts, not only gorgeous in the way a perfect noble should be, but a welcome sign that one of their strongest was here to save the day.

Yes, it’s all quite majestic--until you’re the one riding behind him.

Hubert feels like he’s spitting amber hair out of his mouth every five seconds. As heroic as Ferdinand looks upon his mighty steed, hair flowing freely behind him, it makes it quite difficult for anyone else to share the saddle should their own horse fall unfortunately in battle. Ferdinand, kind and generous as ever, offered a ride on his horse without a second thought, and of course Hubert would accept without thinking about it.

“Ferdinand, are you purposely trying to smother me?” Hubert finally asks against the wind and being appropriately slapped in the face by Ferdinand’s hair as the other turns his head back to look at him. He slows the horse to a more reasonable trot, not hurrying to reach the front of the march so he and Hubert can have a conversation.

Ferdinand’s face turns pink, laughing with an embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry, Hubert! I didn’t even consider with you riding behind me... I don’t have anything to pull it back in either.” Hubert allows his mind to wander to the image of Ferdinand with his hair pulled back in a ribbon like Linhardt might when he was younger. He’ll have to remind himself to make a stop at the market before they set out next.

Hubert lifts a gloved hand to sweep Ferdinand’s hair out of his face and over his other shoulder, shuffling closer to his back to avoid being hit by the inevitable fallout. “You never pay much attention to the length of your hair despite growing it out, do you?” Trying on helmets and getting his hair caught in them, underestimating the time it’ll take to wash... even Hubert had been more considerate of his hair when it was longer, and that’s why he had it cut.

“I didn’t mean to grow it out,” Ferdinand confesses, and Hubert can’t help but laugh.

“You didn’t mean to grow your hair a foot and a half long? Your humility exceeds you, Ferdinand.”

“I just kept forgetting to get it cut, and the next thing I know it’s like this! Don’t tease me, you know how busy we’ve been.” Pieces of his hair continue to bounce loose from where Hubert tried to keep them over his shoulder until he’s keeping a hand on the back of Ferdinand’s neck to hold it in place. Not only is his hair long, but it seems to have a mind of its own. A mind that’s intent on strangling Hubert. “Should I cut it short again?”

There’s a hint of insecurity in his voice that isn’t common from Ferdinand, but not so rare, either. Surprisingly, Hubert’s the person who probably knows the most about his weaknesses now with all the time they’ve spent together. Hubert sighs through his nose before hooking his chin over Ferdinand’s other shoulder, letting his hair fall free behind him. At least this way it won’t get in his face.

He isn’t much different from those soldiers who would cheer as soon as Ferdinand swooped into battle, waving his mane of bright orange hair behind him like the dawning sun. Although he isn’t quite as outward about his approval, Hubert can’t deny he always feels a sense of relief seeing that long hair flowing in the wind, a sign that everything will be okay accompanied by that bright, bright smile he’s come to love.

But he gets to appreciate it much more intimately, too. He sees golden rivers across their pillows every morning, waterfalling down bare shoulders or strands stuck to a sweaty face. He gets to feel how soft it is when he uses an ungloved hand to tuck it behind his ear, like parting amber curtains to see the sun every morning.

if you leave a note with any kofi then that’s a surefire way to get your request written since i just pick and choose from my inbox which ones i feel like doing.

wow getting into mxtx works is a big compliment, im so glad youre back and can PROPERLY ENJOY THE BEST MXTX RARE PAIR they are the most disastrous fathers and i love them so much... and youre so right GOD mnq is basically just a single parent again trying to protect xl from jw’s fuck ups.

i sweat and look at my current blue lions playthrough thats still pre time skip

send in fic requests!

“Ashe, what’re you doing in here?” Cyril asks as soon as he can peek inside the greenhouse. At this time in the morning, there isn’t anybody else up and around, including the lady who typically takes care of the plants there.

Ashe doesn’t seem surprised when Cyril enters, almost as if he was expecting it, and looks over his shoulder with a smile. “Just getting ahead on some gardening work, nothing much!”

Closing the door behind him, Cyril crosses his arms, brows furrowed in confusion. Getting ahead on work sounds all good and fine if it wasn’t five in the morning before even the morning gatekeepers have gotten up to change posts. Ashe stands from where he was crouched with a watering can in one hand and a small basket in the other. “You aren’t supposed to be doing morning chores until six--why are you up this early?”

“What about you? The maids don’t need you in the kitchen until six either,” Ashe counters with a knowing smile that almost makes Cyril roll his eyes. Of course he’s up early for his work, he always is. Although everyone has established chores and duties in the monastery, Cyril always takes on twice as much just to keep himself busy. If he didn’t, he’d finish his work early in the day, and then what does he do?

(The answer is what he always does anyways, which is train with Ashe, but today the other is supposed to be busy with his own chores).

Ashe continues speaking without waiting for an answer from Cyril. “I wanted to get my work out of the way early today.”

“Is there something else you have to do for Dimitri?” Cyril asks, watching Ashe shake his head as he walks over to inspect his work in the flowerbeds. Ashe is one of the better hands to have working in the greenhouse, to be fair, but Cyril’s always been in the habit of double checking everyone’s work for them.

“No. Do you like these?”

Cyril looks over in time to see Ashe holding out the basket in his hand towards him, only now seeing the freshly picked bundle of baby’s breath inside it. His eyes immediately light up in recognition. “I like them,” he answers happily first before it registers that Ashe had just picked them. Cyril scowls. “Ashe, you can’t pick flowers that aren’t yours--”

“I planted them myself! I promise!” Ashe quickly explains while taking a step back. He laughs nervously and sets the watering can down so he can gesture with his free hand. “I wanted to give them to you. You said you like these, don’t you?”

Cyril blinks. The glare quickly dissipates into confusion, then anger again, returning to confusion. Ashe is a mysterious figure to Cyril just because he’s the first real friend he’s made, but every now and then he’ll do things like this that Cyril just can’t comprehend. The basket is held out to him again, and Cyril slowly takes it. He can’t help but smile as he looks down at the flowers; they really are his favorite. “...I do. But why are you giving them to me?”

“Because I wanted to ask you on a date today,” Ashe answers confidently, so much so that Cyril doesn’t even realize what he’s asking.

“But you have work today.”

“That’s why I’m doing my chores now!”

“To have time to hang out later?”

“Not hang out, a date, Cyril. Don’t you know what a date is?”

Cyril purses his lips and snaps his head up to give Ashe a mean look. “I’m not stupid, I know what a--” He pauses for a beat, then another, and by the time his mouth falls agape in shock, Ashe’s cheeks are finally pink.