Kyou Kara Maou- "Token of my Love"
HA I am now done with all the requests I owe. Now I'm totally ready to write Hisagi's b-day fic. TOTALLY. REALLY. I MEAN IT.
Title: Token of my Love
Universe: Kyou Kara Maou
Theme/Topic: Knitting and Sacrifice! Ha! I worked them both in! Go me!
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing/s: vaguely hinted at GwendalxGunter, Yuuri and bits of (canonical) GunterxYuuri
Warnings/Spoilers: Um, no spoilers I can imagine. Just some…crack and OOCness and randomness. XD
Word Count: 2,127
Time: Um, I started this at 11 tonight, but as anyone who reads my regular journal can see, I ADDed like whoa.
Summary: Gwendal, Gunter, knitting, and why Gwendal is a hardcore soldier for life.
Dedication: requested by ainbthen on my lj. Also, for Christine- study hard! Then watch Air Gear on my comp as a reward!
A/N: I know nothing about knitting. Only what I’ve overheard from living with Christine and occasionally Joanne. If I’m wrong um… pretend I’m not. Or something. Yeah.
Disclaimer: Not mine, though I wish constantly.
Distribution: Just lemme know.
“Ugh I’ve dropped another stitch!!”
Gwendal sighed when he heard the familiar whine from beside him, but set his jaw resolutely and didn’t say anything all the same. This was his quiet time. Zen time. Time to reflect and purify himself with the creation of something nice in order to counteract the soldier’s path of destruction he more often than not found himself following. One stitch at a time.
This was his soldier’s peacetime.
“Oh, oh, Gwendal!! This is absolutely awful! How, I daresay, how did you ever manage to do this more than once and not end up throwing yourself off the nearest tower? Oh my… oh my.”
Gwendal twitched despite his resolution. “All it takes is practice, Gunter. You’ll get it eventually,” he managed.
“Oh, but Gwendal, I can’t even keep count! By the time I manage to finish one and say the next number to myself I can’t for the life of me remember whether the number I’d just called was for the stitch I’d finished or the one I was about to do! Oh Gwendal… Heika will never know the power of my love at this rate!”
The lavender-haired man was practically sobbing into the kitty-ears cap he was attempting to knit for Yuuri, a self-proclaimed mission of love he’d put upon himself after thinking that the young king looked particularly dashing in the bear one Gwendal had made for him.
“Oh I absolutely must make one for him too-as a token of my love, Gwendal! Don’t you see? If even you are making him things… oh… oh my! I’ve done nothing! I’ve absolutely done nothing for Heika! How will he ever know my love?”
“Well, you do tell him three to four times on a daily basis…”
“Words! They’re just words! This is real proof, isn’t it? Proof is necessary. It’s why you made him one, isn’t it? Oh my heart’s all aflutter! I’ll do one… this very week! This very afternoon!” Gunter had declared, and looked particularly adamant about it.
Gwendal had admirably refrained from telling his friend that he’d made the initial hats so the party using them wouldn’t freeze to death, because knowing Gunter, he would have just gotten a long-winded speech about how noble it was of him to show his love in such thoughtful ways without wanting the full credit and blah, blah, blah. It really was pretty damn embarrassing just thinking about it.
And after all the many years they’d known each other Gwendal pretty much knew by now that arguing with Gunter on a topic like Yuuri was never really productive (or time-saving) at all. Best to just humor the numerous flights of fancy the other man tended to have and wait them out-as any good hunter-slash-soldier-slash-politician would--- until his friend tired of the activities he placed upon himself, as he inevitably would. At least that way Gunter could move on without worrying his bottom lip all the time or blinking his big lavender eyes up at Gwendal or crying or wibbling about it for hours afterwards, stuck on the “what ifs” instead of finally acknowledging the “stop, for the love of god stops” that Gwendal had been screaming at him for the past couple of hours.
“Oh Gwendal, I can’t do this. Here, help me unravel.”
Gwendal sighed and put down his needles. Took the lopsided swatch of knitted horror Gunter currently had, and bit his lip to keep from telling his companion that one more dropped stitch here and there on this current monstrosity really wouldn’t make a difference. He began to undo Gunter’s last row and regretted ever agreeing to teach the other man how to knit in the first place. In the meantime, Gunter watched him work with a very intense expression of concentration.
“My, Gwendal…. You’re really quite good at this!” the other man declared after a moment, and smiled up at his companion. “I find that very admirable.”
“All it takes is practice,” Gwendel reiterated, pragmatically.
“Oh but it requires such dexterity! Such concentration! I would never attempt something so complicated for a reason other than expressing my love to Heika!”
Gwendal fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m sure if you just told him a few more times today he’d believe it…” he started dryly.
Gunter sniffed. “Actions, Gwendal, actions! Always more powerful than words, ne?”
Gwendal, as a solider, supposed he couldn’t argue with that. He finished unraveling the row and handed the square of yarn back to Gunter. “Here.”
Gunter sparkled his thanks at him (Gwendal had to look away for fear of the brightness harming his eyes), and they resumed.
There was even a whole, blessed, five minutes of silence after that, at least until Gunter shrieked, “Gwendal, oh, Gwendal, I think I’m going backwards now!”
Gwendal gritted his teeth, reminded himself ten times in a row that he was a soldier, and then accepted Gunter’s creation to once more, unravel.
By evening time what had once been intended as a knitted cap with cat ears had quite obviously become a very short, very wide scarf- still with cat ears.
“Do you think he’ll like it?” Gunter asked, and looked up at Gwendal with big lavender eyes as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth.
The mibble couldn’t be far behind, and Gwendal cleared his throat quickly to prepare for a preemptive strike against such a thing. “I think…it’s very functional,” he admitted, honestly. It would definitely keep the king’s throat warm, if that was the garment’s only intention.
However (honestly speaking), the ears-the ones that were noticeably detached from the cute and cuddly little kitten they so obviously should be attached to-- might terrify their king a little at first glance. As well as any small children he happened to be in the vicinity of at the time.
“Yes, yes…functional! Of course, functional. But do you think he’ll like it, Gwendal?”
Silence.
And then, a very steady, commendably calm: “Couldn’t you just tell him you love him a few more times?”
But then there was the whole actions speak louder than words philosophy, which Gwendal as a soldier-- even under these most trying circumstances- still couldn’t find it in him to argue with. And besides, Gunter was very obviously on the verge of one of those very dangerous mibbles of his and Gwendal’s soldier senses were screaming at him to do something before it hit.
So Gwendal sighed. For perhaps, the eighteenth or nineteenth time today (it was very unmanly). “Why don’t I wear it?” he offered, in a long-suffering, falling-on-his-own-sword kind of way. “Then he can see it and we’ll see what he says.”
The self-sacrifice might have been worth it if only for the fact that the mibble was killed en route at his words and Gunter was suddenly gleefully clapping his hands together instead. “Oh, would you, Gwendal? Would you? It would be marvelous! I think it would be absolutely marvelous of you to do that.”
Gwendal made sure not to look at Gunter’s eyes while he nodded. And definitely not while he put on the scarf.
In fact, as he walked around Blood Pledge Castle wearing Gunter’s little creation, he tried his damndest not to look into anyone’s eyes.
When Yuuri saw him (and Gunter saw that Yuuri saw him and hid himself behind the nearest bit of indoor shrubbery accordingly), Yuuri paused, blinked at Gwendal, and tried very hard not to stare at the random pair of ears ominously sticking out from the ends of his adjutant’s scarf.
The young king laughed after a moment, awkwardly. “Ahaha…that’s a very um…interesting… scarf, Gwendal. Where did you get it?”
Gwendal tried not to scowl too. But that didn’t work so well. So he settled for scowling, but in a direction vaguely over Yuuri’s shoulder, since he was still doing that not-looking-into-anyone’s-eyes thing. “Gunter made it.”
Yuuri’s eyes lit up with something suspiciously like mirth at the revelation, and Gwendal had to remind himself that his family had pledged to serve the Maou to the utmost of their ability for all time, not grab the puny brat by the throat and shake him like they killed babies professionally. “Well…that’s very cute then!” Yuuri declared after a moment, and actually looked genuinely happy for Gwendal.
Gwendal suspected that from behind his cleverly ensconced hideout of potted shrubbery, Gunter was having fits of rapture at their king’s seemingly positive reaction to the handcrafted garment. Just to make sure, Gwendal asked, “Do you like it?”
Yuuri beamed. “Well, I think it suits you perfectly.”
Gwendal suspected that from behind his brilliant camouflaged viewing spot of indoor fern leaves, Gunter was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and on the verge of mibbling. Dammit.
“Would you like one?” he found himself asking, hastily.
Yuuri blinked. “Um… well, I really think it ought to be a one of a kind thing. And if Gunter made it for you…” Yuuri trailed off, and speaking from one politician to another, Gwendal knew a good cop out when he saw one. But he supposed in the long run that for the good of Shin Makoku, it was probably less embarrassing to have a head of state wearing something as ridiculous as a scarf with randomly attached kitten ears than it was to have the head of state wearing it.
Bear it like a soldier.
Gwendal sighed (again) and nodded. “Very well.”
Yuuri’s grin broadened ever so slightly at that. “You really are a nice guy, Gwendal.”
The older Mazoku blinked. “Sire?”
Yuuri looked like he wanted to laugh again, but contained himself estimably--all that training as a politician, Gwendal suspected-and cleared his throat instead. “Actions speak louder than words!” he parroted, even going so far as to lower the tone of his voice as he imitated Gwendal’s favorite thing to say to him when he was forcing the young man to work like a dog.
Gwendal felt himself twitch a little bit at that being thrown back into his face again today, and once more reminded himself of his clan’s long blood oath to serve the Maou and not kill him. “Yes. Well.” He stood a little bit taller and bowed stiffly to Yuuri. “Your Majesty.” The cat ears at the end of the scarf bobbed a little bit when he moved.
He turned around and promptly walked off, towards the direction of the mibbling (dammit!) foliage. Grabbing Gunter, he forcibly dragged the long-haired adjutant from his oh-so-clever hiding spot and led him back towards his office.
“Oh, oh, Gwendal!” Gunter sobbed, and Gwendal dug around in his breast pocket for the handkerchief he kept handy for such occasions as Gunter’s crying fits.
“There, there,” the gray-haired mazoku said, and did his best not to sound long-suffering about it. “You just need to practice some more.”
“It must be horrible! He must have thought it was absolutely horrible! Oh wretched thing!” Gunter wailed.
Gwendal lost out on the whole not-sounding-long-suffering plan. “It’s a perfectly fine scarf, Gunter,” he assured the other man.
Gunter’s cries grew louder, his sobs heavier.
Gwendal thought fast. “Look, I’ll wear it.”
Gunter blinked then, pausing mid-temper-tantrum. “R-really?”
Gwendal reminded himself that soldiers prized function over form, and really, his neck was plenty warm. “Yes, really.”
A small, watery smile at that. “Really?”
Gwendal gritted his teeth. “Yes. Really.” Pause. “Like I said, all you need is some more practice. But I don’t see that your hard work from today should go to waste.”
Gunter’s little smile widened just a little bit more. “Really? Oh, really?”
Gwendal grabbed the nearest ball of yarn and shoved it into his friend’s face. “Yes. Really. Now practice.”
Gunter beamed happily at him and went on to do just that.
The next day, at basic training, a soldier laughed and commented on how strange Von Walde-sama’s scarf was.
In response, Gwendal reminded them all that they were soldiers by making them run fifteen miles in the winter cold up the mountainside before lunch.
From that day on, out of fear of sadistic training regimens, the troops under Gwendal’s command learned that making any snide commentary about their leader’s strange new (and often lopsided) hat, socks, scarves, mittens (gloves were too difficult), coin purses, and/or sword-hilt-warmers (what?) was a very, very bad idea.
And when they learned that all the items were handmade by Von Christ-sama, even the strange stares petered off eventually, replaced by infuriatingly knowing smiles.
It was good to see that Von Walde-sama practiced what he preached-his actions weren’t just louder than words, they perhaps even out-shrieked Gunter on occasion.
Gwendal in the meantime, reminded himself that he was a soldier and bore it out as best he could.
END
EDITS PLZ.
Title: Token of my Love
Universe: Kyou Kara Maou
Theme/Topic: Knitting and Sacrifice! Ha! I worked them both in! Go me!
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing/s: vaguely hinted at GwendalxGunter, Yuuri and bits of (canonical) GunterxYuuri
Warnings/Spoilers: Um, no spoilers I can imagine. Just some…crack and OOCness and randomness. XD
Word Count: 2,127
Time: Um, I started this at 11 tonight, but as anyone who reads my regular journal can see, I ADDed like whoa.
Summary: Gwendal, Gunter, knitting, and why Gwendal is a hardcore soldier for life.
Dedication: requested by ainbthen on my lj. Also, for Christine- study hard! Then watch Air Gear on my comp as a reward!
A/N: I know nothing about knitting. Only what I’ve overheard from living with Christine and occasionally Joanne. If I’m wrong um… pretend I’m not. Or something. Yeah.
Disclaimer: Not mine, though I wish constantly.
Distribution: Just lemme know.
“Ugh I’ve dropped another stitch!!”
Gwendal sighed when he heard the familiar whine from beside him, but set his jaw resolutely and didn’t say anything all the same. This was his quiet time. Zen time. Time to reflect and purify himself with the creation of something nice in order to counteract the soldier’s path of destruction he more often than not found himself following. One stitch at a time.
This was his soldier’s peacetime.
“Oh, oh, Gwendal!! This is absolutely awful! How, I daresay, how did you ever manage to do this more than once and not end up throwing yourself off the nearest tower? Oh my… oh my.”
Gwendal twitched despite his resolution. “All it takes is practice, Gunter. You’ll get it eventually,” he managed.
“Oh, but Gwendal, I can’t even keep count! By the time I manage to finish one and say the next number to myself I can’t for the life of me remember whether the number I’d just called was for the stitch I’d finished or the one I was about to do! Oh Gwendal… Heika will never know the power of my love at this rate!”
The lavender-haired man was practically sobbing into the kitty-ears cap he was attempting to knit for Yuuri, a self-proclaimed mission of love he’d put upon himself after thinking that the young king looked particularly dashing in the bear one Gwendal had made for him.
“Oh I absolutely must make one for him too-as a token of my love, Gwendal! Don’t you see? If even you are making him things… oh… oh my! I’ve done nothing! I’ve absolutely done nothing for Heika! How will he ever know my love?”
“Well, you do tell him three to four times on a daily basis…”
“Words! They’re just words! This is real proof, isn’t it? Proof is necessary. It’s why you made him one, isn’t it? Oh my heart’s all aflutter! I’ll do one… this very week! This very afternoon!” Gunter had declared, and looked particularly adamant about it.
Gwendal had admirably refrained from telling his friend that he’d made the initial hats so the party using them wouldn’t freeze to death, because knowing Gunter, he would have just gotten a long-winded speech about how noble it was of him to show his love in such thoughtful ways without wanting the full credit and blah, blah, blah. It really was pretty damn embarrassing just thinking about it.
And after all the many years they’d known each other Gwendal pretty much knew by now that arguing with Gunter on a topic like Yuuri was never really productive (or time-saving) at all. Best to just humor the numerous flights of fancy the other man tended to have and wait them out-as any good hunter-slash-soldier-slash-politician would--- until his friend tired of the activities he placed upon himself, as he inevitably would. At least that way Gunter could move on without worrying his bottom lip all the time or blinking his big lavender eyes up at Gwendal or crying or wibbling about it for hours afterwards, stuck on the “what ifs” instead of finally acknowledging the “stop, for the love of god stops” that Gwendal had been screaming at him for the past couple of hours.
“Oh Gwendal, I can’t do this. Here, help me unravel.”
Gwendal sighed and put down his needles. Took the lopsided swatch of knitted horror Gunter currently had, and bit his lip to keep from telling his companion that one more dropped stitch here and there on this current monstrosity really wouldn’t make a difference. He began to undo Gunter’s last row and regretted ever agreeing to teach the other man how to knit in the first place. In the meantime, Gunter watched him work with a very intense expression of concentration.
“My, Gwendal…. You’re really quite good at this!” the other man declared after a moment, and smiled up at his companion. “I find that very admirable.”
“All it takes is practice,” Gwendel reiterated, pragmatically.
“Oh but it requires such dexterity! Such concentration! I would never attempt something so complicated for a reason other than expressing my love to Heika!”
Gwendal fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m sure if you just told him a few more times today he’d believe it…” he started dryly.
Gunter sniffed. “Actions, Gwendal, actions! Always more powerful than words, ne?”
Gwendal, as a solider, supposed he couldn’t argue with that. He finished unraveling the row and handed the square of yarn back to Gunter. “Here.”
Gunter sparkled his thanks at him (Gwendal had to look away for fear of the brightness harming his eyes), and they resumed.
There was even a whole, blessed, five minutes of silence after that, at least until Gunter shrieked, “Gwendal, oh, Gwendal, I think I’m going backwards now!”
Gwendal gritted his teeth, reminded himself ten times in a row that he was a soldier, and then accepted Gunter’s creation to once more, unravel.
By evening time what had once been intended as a knitted cap with cat ears had quite obviously become a very short, very wide scarf- still with cat ears.
“Do you think he’ll like it?” Gunter asked, and looked up at Gwendal with big lavender eyes as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth.
The mibble couldn’t be far behind, and Gwendal cleared his throat quickly to prepare for a preemptive strike against such a thing. “I think…it’s very functional,” he admitted, honestly. It would definitely keep the king’s throat warm, if that was the garment’s only intention.
However (honestly speaking), the ears-the ones that were noticeably detached from the cute and cuddly little kitten they so obviously should be attached to-- might terrify their king a little at first glance. As well as any small children he happened to be in the vicinity of at the time.
“Yes, yes…functional! Of course, functional. But do you think he’ll like it, Gwendal?”
Silence.
And then, a very steady, commendably calm: “Couldn’t you just tell him you love him a few more times?”
But then there was the whole actions speak louder than words philosophy, which Gwendal as a soldier-- even under these most trying circumstances- still couldn’t find it in him to argue with. And besides, Gunter was very obviously on the verge of one of those very dangerous mibbles of his and Gwendal’s soldier senses were screaming at him to do something before it hit.
So Gwendal sighed. For perhaps, the eighteenth or nineteenth time today (it was very unmanly). “Why don’t I wear it?” he offered, in a long-suffering, falling-on-his-own-sword kind of way. “Then he can see it and we’ll see what he says.”
The self-sacrifice might have been worth it if only for the fact that the mibble was killed en route at his words and Gunter was suddenly gleefully clapping his hands together instead. “Oh, would you, Gwendal? Would you? It would be marvelous! I think it would be absolutely marvelous of you to do that.”
Gwendal made sure not to look at Gunter’s eyes while he nodded. And definitely not while he put on the scarf.
In fact, as he walked around Blood Pledge Castle wearing Gunter’s little creation, he tried his damndest not to look into anyone’s eyes.
When Yuuri saw him (and Gunter saw that Yuuri saw him and hid himself behind the nearest bit of indoor shrubbery accordingly), Yuuri paused, blinked at Gwendal, and tried very hard not to stare at the random pair of ears ominously sticking out from the ends of his adjutant’s scarf.
The young king laughed after a moment, awkwardly. “Ahaha…that’s a very um…interesting… scarf, Gwendal. Where did you get it?”
Gwendal tried not to scowl too. But that didn’t work so well. So he settled for scowling, but in a direction vaguely over Yuuri’s shoulder, since he was still doing that not-looking-into-anyone’s-eyes thing. “Gunter made it.”
Yuuri’s eyes lit up with something suspiciously like mirth at the revelation, and Gwendal had to remind himself that his family had pledged to serve the Maou to the utmost of their ability for all time, not grab the puny brat by the throat and shake him like they killed babies professionally. “Well…that’s very cute then!” Yuuri declared after a moment, and actually looked genuinely happy for Gwendal.
Gwendal suspected that from behind his cleverly ensconced hideout of potted shrubbery, Gunter was having fits of rapture at their king’s seemingly positive reaction to the handcrafted garment. Just to make sure, Gwendal asked, “Do you like it?”
Yuuri beamed. “Well, I think it suits you perfectly.”
Gwendal suspected that from behind his brilliant camouflaged viewing spot of indoor fern leaves, Gunter was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and on the verge of mibbling. Dammit.
“Would you like one?” he found himself asking, hastily.
Yuuri blinked. “Um… well, I really think it ought to be a one of a kind thing. And if Gunter made it for you…” Yuuri trailed off, and speaking from one politician to another, Gwendal knew a good cop out when he saw one. But he supposed in the long run that for the good of Shin Makoku, it was probably less embarrassing to have a head of state wearing something as ridiculous as a scarf with randomly attached kitten ears than it was to have the head of state wearing it.
Bear it like a soldier.
Gwendal sighed (again) and nodded. “Very well.”
Yuuri’s grin broadened ever so slightly at that. “You really are a nice guy, Gwendal.”
The older Mazoku blinked. “Sire?”
Yuuri looked like he wanted to laugh again, but contained himself estimably--all that training as a politician, Gwendal suspected-and cleared his throat instead. “Actions speak louder than words!” he parroted, even going so far as to lower the tone of his voice as he imitated Gwendal’s favorite thing to say to him when he was forcing the young man to work like a dog.
Gwendal felt himself twitch a little bit at that being thrown back into his face again today, and once more reminded himself of his clan’s long blood oath to serve the Maou and not kill him. “Yes. Well.” He stood a little bit taller and bowed stiffly to Yuuri. “Your Majesty.” The cat ears at the end of the scarf bobbed a little bit when he moved.
He turned around and promptly walked off, towards the direction of the mibbling (dammit!) foliage. Grabbing Gunter, he forcibly dragged the long-haired adjutant from his oh-so-clever hiding spot and led him back towards his office.
“Oh, oh, Gwendal!” Gunter sobbed, and Gwendal dug around in his breast pocket for the handkerchief he kept handy for such occasions as Gunter’s crying fits.
“There, there,” the gray-haired mazoku said, and did his best not to sound long-suffering about it. “You just need to practice some more.”
“It must be horrible! He must have thought it was absolutely horrible! Oh wretched thing!” Gunter wailed.
Gwendal lost out on the whole not-sounding-long-suffering plan. “It’s a perfectly fine scarf, Gunter,” he assured the other man.
Gunter’s cries grew louder, his sobs heavier.
Gwendal thought fast. “Look, I’ll wear it.”
Gunter blinked then, pausing mid-temper-tantrum. “R-really?”
Gwendal reminded himself that soldiers prized function over form, and really, his neck was plenty warm. “Yes, really.”
A small, watery smile at that. “Really?”
Gwendal gritted his teeth. “Yes. Really.” Pause. “Like I said, all you need is some more practice. But I don’t see that your hard work from today should go to waste.”
Gunter’s little smile widened just a little bit more. “Really? Oh, really?”
Gwendal grabbed the nearest ball of yarn and shoved it into his friend’s face. “Yes. Really. Now practice.”
Gunter beamed happily at him and went on to do just that.
The next day, at basic training, a soldier laughed and commented on how strange Von Walde-sama’s scarf was.
In response, Gwendal reminded them all that they were soldiers by making them run fifteen miles in the winter cold up the mountainside before lunch.
From that day on, out of fear of sadistic training regimens, the troops under Gwendal’s command learned that making any snide commentary about their leader’s strange new (and often lopsided) hat, socks, scarves, mittens (gloves were too difficult), coin purses, and/or sword-hilt-warmers (what?) was a very, very bad idea.
And when they learned that all the items were handmade by Von Christ-sama, even the strange stares petered off eventually, replaced by infuriatingly knowing smiles.
It was good to see that Von Walde-sama practiced what he preached-his actions weren’t just louder than words, they perhaps even out-shrieked Gunter on occasion.
Gwendal in the meantime, reminded himself that he was a soldier and bore it out as best he could.
END
EDITS PLZ.