#I will GRUDGINGLY ADMIRE that they are WELL WRITTEN

[completeoveranalysis]

[5]

>:|

Ok

Ok Seishirou

Ok both of you 

Objectively speaking “That was a terrible thing to happen to me” is such a banger of a line and I love that he says it so casually, holding his broken glasses, as if like-

Like it’s PURE Seishirou. To be in this narrative of destroyed worlds and broken people and terrible heartbreak (some of which actively caused BY him) and Seishirou has one inconvenience happen to him and he’s all, oh, this was a terrible thing actually. 

PEAK Seishirou sensibility.

And technically I do like that Fuuma is present to unpack the Seishirou Moment and explain what his true motives were in a way we don’t always get, even if I reject them utterly.

Because THIS TOO. 

And they’re both obviously terrible people willing and able to make people suffer for their own benefit, and here they are going “Oh yeah I totally let these people whose lives I’m ruining get away from me because it’s a bit of fun”, ignoring the part where they’re ruining their lives and psychologically torturing them and making them live in constant fear. 

Because of course they are. It’s Seishirou and Fuuma. How else are they going to frame it? 

And I OH HOW I LOATHE THEM but I’m very grumpily giving CLAMP a good grade on writing terrible people who are extremely entertaining about the whole thing.

[scoops-aboy86]

Epilogue (Secret Admirer pt 10)

The final conclusion! Because there were some loose ends I wanted to tie up. And @hotluncheddie, you got your Polaroids. 😜

wc: 2612 / rated: T / set after season 3 / also on ao3

In the aftermath, they talk. A lot. Especially after Eddie pulls back from their kiss to gasp, “Hell yeah you can be my boyfriend, as long as I get to be yours.”

Eddie tells Steve about how much his life had changed once his dad went to prison and he’d started living with his uncle full time, and how he’d always had trouble trusting good things at first. (Which probably explains some things about the ups and downs of their relationship so far, Steve muses eventually, and Eddie sheepishly can’t help but agree.)

Steve tells Eddie that he likes the trailer a lot actually, because it feels lived-in and well-loved in a way the house he grew up in never quite has. (Which Eddie gets, because Steve had written plenty about how uncomfortable he feels there sometimes, and how he’s never had a voice in choosing the decor or layout in his own bedroom.)

Eddie shows Steve how to roll the weed he bought into pro-quality joints; he’s a good teacher, it turns out, and praises Steve so much as a student that they’re both grinning stupidly at each other well before lighting up together for the first time. 

Steve admits that Robin had spilled the beans about his secret identity. After initially establishing that she wanted to trade the valuable info for something good, the classified information slipping out right after Steve had taken the brunt of the damage at Starcourt (not a lot of details given about that, but it’s fine) seemed fair enough, Eddie can grudgingly agree. And Steve, sweetheart that he is, adds that as soon as she had he’d been struck breathless. He tells Eddie about the loan Robin is giving him and how he’s about to start looking for a place, and that the trailer park is looking more appealing by the minute. 

Eddie explains the nerd stuff he’d spouted off the night before, after manfully holding back on giggling at the garbled version Steve repeats back, and explains what a Shelob is. When it turns out to be from those books that Dustin keeps pestering him to read—which, he now knows, is not exactly the same as The Hobbit. He admits to Eddie that he doesn’t know if he can do books that long; letters are fine, those are only a few pages, but it takes a lot of concentration to stay focused on printed words for that long and, after all the concussions, it tends to give him headaches. Immediately, Eddie starts falling all over himself offering to read to him, promising to do all the voices and “It’ll be just like you’re there in Middle Earth, Stevie, I swear!” Which is cute, and Steve is absolutely going to take him up on that.

For now, he’s content to keep cuddling and talking, with occasional kisses and little squeezes whenever it hits either of them again that this is real, it’s happening. They end up spending the entire day together, haphazardly working together to make breakfast that they share with Eddie’s uncle because, well, they made a racket as well as food and woke the poor man up. Steve is about to fall all over himself apologizing for all of it, for staying over unannounced, for sleeping in his nephew’s bed under his roof which is, like, probably not cool and all… Eddie just snickers next to him while Steve babbles himself into a corner, Robin style, then slips an arm around his waist and says, “Uncle Wayne, this Steve. He drove me home last night, graciously nursed me through the consequences of my most recent poor life choices this morning, and now he’s my boyfriend. Steve, this is Wayne. He’s the best, make sure to pour his coffee in the World’s Best Uncle mug.”

Which Steve does, and Eddie winces a bit when he hands it to Wayne with an overeager, “Here you go, sir!” 

That’s one of his uncle’s pet peeves, being called sir, but he hadn’t thought to give Steve that warning earlier and then suddenly there wasn’t time. On top of that, Wayne doesn’t take kindly to being woken up before his alarm. He’s the best, but he’s also a lifelong bachelor with a regular night shift and a bad back, for all that he refuses to take the bedroom again now that Eddie isn’t a kid anymore.

Still, it could’ve gone worse. Wayne takes the mug with only a mild grumble about keeping it down, which is pretty tame for him. There will be a conversation about this in Eddie’s future, not least of which will probably be a few blunt questions about whether they used protection, because Wayne reads the same news headlines he does and Steve lives on the privileged side of town and still has a lingering reputation of getting around and Wayne doesn’t know him like Eddie does. Which, sure, Eddie has hooked up with other guys, mostly not in the trailer because it’s a shared space and he is acutely aware of how lucky he is to live here at all considering he could’ve stayed a ward of the state if Wayne hadn’t agreed to take him—and with those guys, he definitely put out on the first date. If they could be called dates. He’s going to have to explain to Wayne that Steve is different, that this is a long haul thing and that Eddie trusts him. 

And he kind of can’t wait. 

After breakfast, they hop in Steve’s car and drive out of town and break out the joints they’d rolled, cruising around with the windows down until the high starts to hit Steve and he finds a shady spot to pull over. Somewhere secluded. There’s a blanket in the trunk because of course there is; they spend a few hours out in the middle of nowhere under the trees, smoking and talking more and working their way through the snacks Steve thought to pack before they left the trailer. 

It’s not a first date though, Eddie decides, just like their technical first kiss (that he still doesn’t remember, damn it) wasn’t their First Kiss. One of them has to ask the other on a date. Which, because he’s very brave, he finally does. 

Steve responds by tackling him into the nearby grass and rolling them around in an emphatic yes until they both have green rubbed into their clothes and red bitten into their lips, giddy and laughing and boyfriends, holy shit.

~

Their first official date is a picnic that they each bring their favorites to and share. When Eddie asks Steve in advance what he’s planning on bringing, just to make sure they aren’t, like, putting wildly mismatched levels of effort into this, Steve doesn’t answer. 

He just grins playfully and hisses, “Sssssecretsss,” and waits upwards of thirty seconds while Eddie tries to place why that seems familiar. 

By the time the bottom drops out of Eddie’s brain and he remembers, Steve is already dancing gracefully back from his flailing attempts at a one-sided slap fight, the damn jock. “Steve, get back here! No, you can’t just—You can’t use my own Gollum impression on me and then leave! Where are you going? Steeeeve!”

Next time Sober Eddie sees Drunk Eddie, he’s going to strangle him.

But it’s fine, they both bring their large picnic basket (Steve) and overloaded paper grocery bag that’s so full it has to be carried from underneath rather than by the handles (Eddie) to a hill overlooking the empty fields stretching away from Hawkins at dusk. It turns out they’ve both brought lemon bars for dessert, and spend a good ten minutes playfully bickering over whose are better until it ends with sticky, powdered sugar kisses and murmured agreement to exchange recipes. 

Which means Eddie is going to have to beg the recipe off of old Mrs. Anderson a few trailers down, who is always happy to bake for folks as long as they provide the ingredients. But hey, those lemon bars are worth it. And, obviously, so is Steve.

~

Their second date is a movie night with Robin, who immediately introduces herself as, “Hi, I’m a lesbian and Steve’s unlikely best friend forever, so that makes us friends-in-law. You cool with that? Because if not, we’re about to have a problem.” 

It’s not a problem. Eddie had a decent opinion of her before and likes her immediately based on that opening shot alone. They quickly settle into a friendly argument about movie genres while Steve sits back, beaming at both of them with a happiness almost rivaling that first morning of being boyfriends. 

Not quite, but almost. 

And after, when Steve comes back after dropping Robin off at home, he leads the way to Eddie’s bedroom with a finger looped through a belt loop on the metalhead’s ripped jeans and proceeds to test out some of the things Eddie had described in his letters. Apparently going down on a girl and giving a guy head aren’t as different as Eddie would’ve thought, because Steve only needs a little guidance on what to do (or not do) with his teeth, but when it comes to fingers, lips, and tongue? Twenty out of ten, Eddie has no notes. 

He barely has a brain by the time Steve is done with him. Not that he needs it to tug his perfect, rosy-lipped, keyed-up boyfriend up to show him what a musician’s hands can really do. 

~

Wayne takes a bit longer to come around to Steve. A chance comment about some sportsball game or other gets them talking and… suddenly Eddie might not be Wayne’s favorite anymore. 

Not really, he knows somewhere behind the ridiculous grin he’s wearing, because his uncle is nothing if not loyal. Eddie’s never been interested in that stuff, and he finds watching them bond over it incomprehensible yet fascinating.

At least, until Wayne gets up to dig out the old scrapbook, saying, “Think I’ve still got some photos of the summer Ed here tried to play T-ball.” Then Eddie jumps up and hustles a very amused Steve the hell out of there, insisting that they have a schedule to keep to and Wayne is gumming up the works. 

“Aw, but Eddie, I wanted to see,” Steve teases, pretending to brace himself in the front doorway while Eddie pretends to bodily shove him through it. 

“Next time,” Wayne promises with a self-satisfied air. He never gets to do this, none of Eddie’s friends have ever shown this kind of interest and god knows he’s never brought anyone he’s attempting to date around to meet his uncle—not that there’s ever been anyone who fell in that category, before Steve. 

“Never,” Eddie hisses, trying to sound threatening. And fails, mostly because he’s busy goosing Steve to get him through the door and laughing about the affectionately affronted look it gets him. 

~

Both Eddie and Robin come with Steve when he looks for a place, and a very pleasantly surprised Eddie pays up the five dollars he owes her when by the end of the summer Steve really does pick a small trailer on the other side of Forest Hills. And sure, Steve kind of de facto shares it with one of his kids—Billy Hargrove’s little step-sister, whose mom Eddie only really saw around while they were moving in across from the Munsons, so. Yeah. But Mad Max is a cool kid, and doesn’t give them shit for being so close. He knows that Steve has always wanted younger siblings, and that one’s just the temperamental tip of the iceberg.

Which is cool, because it sounds like the boys are shoe-ins for Hellfire and Eddie has a binder full of half-formed one-shot ideas that he’s itching to whip out and take for a spin. A sentiment that, when he mentions it to Steve, somehow ends up earning him his first chance to prove just how good with his hands he can be. 

And after, when Steve shyly opens up about the six little nuggets in a Winnebago daydream he’s had ever since his parents started leaving him alone more and more often, the collection of mildly feral younger teens makes sense. They lay on the double mattress liberated from the Harrington house—currently on the floor because Steve is determined to make himself a new bed frame, the crazy bastard—with sweat cooling on bare skin and Steve’s gay cherry well and thoroughly popped in every way either of them could think of, Eddie realizes something. 

Steve’s new room features zero plaid. The curtains match nothing, not even themselves, because he let Robin pick them out and she got a little whimsical with it. There are a few band posters—some of the bands Eddie covered for his second mix tape to Steve (which he know knows was the catalyst for them getting their shit together, even though he still doesn’t really remember that part), and one of the Corroded Coffin posters that Eddie designed himself—and some movie posters that Steve can get for free once Family Video is done with them. 

Mostly, though, it’s Polaroids: of Steve and Eddie, Steve and Robin, Steve and the kids, and various other combinations. 

Eddie never expected any of this to turn out the way it had. Hadn’t felt worthy of Steve, who has generally floated through life surrounded by the finer things and white picket fence dreams. It had never occurred to him that Steve didn’t care about having nice things, he wanted nice things. Kind, supportive, good things, regardless of what they looked like on the outside. Things that make him happy. 

And the handful of candid photos Eddie took of himself for when, for whatever reason, their schedules don’t line up? He knows those make Steve very happy because they have pride of place, tucked secretly between the mattress and the wall by the head of the bed. 

~

Life is great, which is saying something considering they’re still in Hawkins, Indiana. 

Eddie’s van is all fixed—the auto shop even offered him a part-time job because he’d identified the problem just fine, just hadn’t had the equipment to fix it on his own. The guys in the band are coming around to the idea that King Steve is actually kind of a dork underneath it all, helped in part by the many, many, many stories that Dustin, Lucas, and even Mike have unloaded on them before and after the summer one-shots that constitute their trial period in Hellfire as incoming freshman. He’s got Robin, who’s sworn to be his study buddy until, as she’d once cheerfully put it, either Eddie graduates or they strangle each other. 

But mostly, he gets to be Steve Harrington’s boyfriend. They sleep at Steve’s more often than not, letting Wayne have the actual mattress instead of that shitty old cot, falling asleep tangled together and waking up the same way. (Sometimes Steve still has nightmares, still occasionally radios Robin in the middle of the night on the walkies the kids gave them—Eddie doesn’t ask, just holds Steve when he needs it. He’s letting Steve come around to telling him what happened in his own time. Even though Steve keeps assuring him, so earnest it’s a little disconcerting, that “it’s over.”)

1985 had some major ups and downs. He wouldn’t trade any of it for the world, but this coming one is going to be different. He’ll start it with a boyfriend and, goddamn it, he will finish it having finally snatched his diploma and flipping Principal Higgins the bird. From there, who knows! 

He just knows one thing’s for sure… 1986 is going to be his year.

Tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @steviewashere @cryingglightningg @theresebelivett

@sleepy-steve @rozzieroos @lunaraindrop @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @swimmingbirdrunningrock

@yesdangerpls @matchingbatbites @ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr

@cheesedoctor @whalesharksart @thetinymm @envyadams-vs-me @practicallybegging

@imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @dauntlessdiva @nerdyglassescheeseychick @fuzzyduxk @chaosgremlinmunson

@greatwerewolfbeliever @goosesister @dolphincliffs @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @beckkthewreck

@pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @kurofuckingshi16 @bookworm0690 @millseyes-world @live-laugh-love-dietrich

@the-tenth-mus-e

[fallecupid]

drunken delirium 18+

.ᐟ.ᐟ warnings :ㅤ dom!patrick.ㅤsab!reader.ㅤfem!reader.ㅤㅤ drunk sex.ㅤword count: 4k

( author's note : i apologize in advance for errors in this text / vague wording / words that are incorrect in meaning ( if any are present in the content. ) english is not my native language, everything written below has been translated by a translator. )

"Nice ass." Patrick was a total cocky asshole as soon as a gram of hard liquor entered his veins. But that didn't stop him from admiring you and your sweet demeanor. But at the end of the day, you were both as drunk as goddamn high school kids trying vodka for the first time or something. He broke out into a cute grin that would have given you a vomiting fit if you were sober. But right now it was something between wanting to kiss him and still throwing up in his face. Zweig waved a finger at you, spreading hospitably on the couch he was ready to take your wobbly body right into his lap, asshole.

He didn't even hide the boner peeking suspiciously out of his shorts, rather loose shorts. But hell, tennis players need rest, need their needs met, after all. But this one didn't seem much of a surprise either, did it? After all, you're hot enough for his cock to withdraw. And now you're nicely sprawled on top of him and squirming slightly, gazing drunkenly into his glassy eyes. "What do you want?" He muttered huskily, his fingers already finding your thighs, squeezing them just enough to draw your attention away from his cock resting so enticingly against your ass. "You... or maybe some more vodka?" You pout your lips, giggling and leaning down to his neck, sniffing it. You had to hand it to him, he smelled pretty damn good, at times. He whimpered involuntarily as your fingers slid to his stomach, moving lower, wanting to touch the wiry cock that seemed to reach for her fingers all by itself. "Hey..." Patrick protested, grabbing your hands, clasping them in his arm in an almost clumsy motion.

"I can fuck you." He tilted his head, aiming for your neck, one hand and the other climbing into your pussy, only caressing it from the outside for now, testing your limits, but trust him it was only enough to make him harden himself already. "Just ask." He almost moaned into your neck, biting the soft flesh and then sucking on it, with heavy sighs. You grudgingly snickered into his hair while your hands were completely out of your grasp. "Go to hell..." You whimpered, suppressing a moan as his teeth touched your collarbone too enticingly and his fingers made you squirm like a horror in a frying pan, his middle and index fingers working in unison, sticking together after almost several minutes. "Beg, baby." Patrick looked down at you, his fingers dug out of your shorts and his dry lips slid to your breasts, groping your nipples. "You're stubborn as hell, but you're already totally ready." he bowed his head, resting his cheek against your naked breasts and looking over his sticky fingers with a smirk.

The only thing you wanted to do was feel his cock inside you first, and then rip his head off for being too bold. You pressed your lips together, looking up at him with a completely flushed face, the alcohol escaping somewhere at the speed of light.

Your plump lips touched his ear, running your tongue along the shell. "Fuck me, just please...I beg you." Zweig shuddered, rolling his eyes involuntarily. "Shit you..." The man hissed unhappily. "I wanted this to last longer." He flinched, feeling a wave of heat just from your voice alone, he's a damn puppy and he hates it. His strong hands pulled down your shorts just as his own head showed from beneath the important boxers, bulging veins immediately catching your eye. It's like having a favorite birthday cake, isn't it? Now you crumbled groggily onto the bed in his room as he loomed over you, well not just him of course, but his cock, how nice.

Lifting your thighs that were literally spread in his hands, he smirked as he put his soiled fingers in your mouth. "You look like you're from the sauna, all sweaty, I haven't even started yet." Patrick's fingers pressed against your tongue, swallowing a moan from your sweet lips as you slowly sucked on them. "Good girl...Good girl." He moved his fingers inside your mouth and gently stretched you from below. The head of his cock slowly disappeared into you. Your reaction elicited something like a new wave of arousal and laughter from him, you clawed at him with your fingernails even though he wasn't even halfway in yet. "Come on, it's okay baby, I'm careful." The sweet whisper in your ear, at least somehow helped you relax and accept his cock in your pussy, your eyes dipping down for a second, noticing the bulge in your stomach area, damn.

He began to pick up the pace as you suppressed your moans into his shoulder, biting him like an angry cat. Patrick laughed, squeezing your thighs. "Hey, hush." He exhaled, the tension reaching its peak, and he finally exhaled as his cum splattered on your stomach. Although we're more than sure that neither of you will remember this in the morning, well, or it will remain too vivid a memory.

[thatonesillyducko]

𖹭Sniper's Edge⭑.ᐟ

𐙚༘⋆Characters included: Jemíma Ámbar del Mar Hernández (OC) and Keegan P. Russ

⊹₊⋆Warnings!: Strong language, sexual tension (a bit), profanity ('Watch yo profanity')

⟢₊⊹A/N: This is the first CoD (a cod x oc? interesting...) fanfic I've written, and it features these two millennial bitches. Returning back on track, I really hope you all like this fanfic! :) I literally listened to 'Under the Influence' while writing this (especially when Jemíma walks up behind him and adjusts his stance/positioning, guiding him to make the shot successfully)

Keegan had always prided himself on being a skilled operator in the field of sniping. He had spent years perfecting his skills as a sniper, taking pride in his ability to hit targets with pinpoint accuracy. But ever since Jemíma came in their team, she had started outperforming him in every range session. She had a natural talent for sniping that seemed to put his skills to shame, and no matter how hard he tried to beat her records, she always managed to beat him. It was infuriating, but also strangely admirable.

Keegan stood at the shooting range; his gaze fixed on the targets in the distance. He knew he needed to improve his accuracy if he wanted to be the best Ghost he could be. That's when he saw Jemíma, standing near the edge of the range, her sniper rifle at the ready, the rifle poised and steady as she took aim at the distant target. The sound of the shot rang out, and the target fluttered as the bullet found its mark. Keegan watched with a mix of awe and determination.

Keegan narrowed his eyes, put his rifle down on the table and walked over to Jemíma, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Hey there, Jemíma,” he said, nodding a greeting. “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

Jemíma lowered her sniper rifle, her gaze meeting his with a hint of curiosity. “What is it, Sergeant?” she asked, her voice tinged with a hint of her Mexican accent.

Keegan shifted slightly, feeling a strange flutter in his chest as he spoke. “Well, I’ve been thinking. My shooting skills need some work, and I was hoping you could help me improve. You’re the best sniper we have, and I figured you could teach me a thing or two.”

Jemíma raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise in her expression. “You want me to teach you? Why?” she asked, her tone guarded.

Keegan met her gaze, his expression serious. “You’re the best sniper I’ve seen in a long time,” he admitted grudgingly. “Your technique is flawless, your aim is impeccable. I could learn a lot from you.” Jemíma studied him for a moment, surprised by his unexpected compliment. “And what makes you think I’d be willing to train you?” she asked, her tone still guarded.

A flicker of irritation crossed Keegan’s face at her guarded response. He was used to people falling over themselves to help him, to offer their assistance. But Jemíma was different, she was guarded and independent, and it made him want to push her buttons. “I’m not asking for a fucking charity,” he said gruffly. “I’m asking for your expertise, your knowledge. I’m willing to work hard to learn from you. I’m not just some grunt looking for a handout.”

Keegan met her gaze evenly, not backing down under her scrutiny. “Because you’re a professional,” he said matter-of-factly. “And a damn good one. You can appreciate talent when you see it.” Jemíma considered his words for a moment, her expression giving nothing away. Then, finally, she sighed. “Alright, fine. I’ll train you. But don’t expect it to be easy. I don’t take it easy on anyone, least of all big, brooding guys with a serious attitude problem.”

Keegan chuckled, feeling a flutter of excitement in his chest. Jemíma was both an impressive and intimidating woman, and the thought of training with her was both thrilling and a little bit intimidating. “I can handle anything you throw at me, Jemíma,” he replied confidently. “I’m ready to learn, no matter what it takes. So let’s get started,” he said, motioning towards the shooting range.

“You got it, tough guy,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of challenge. “Let’s see what you’re made of.” Jemíma walked over to a table that held some of her sniping equipment, including her favorite Sniper rifle. She picked it up and handed it to Keegan, her gaze steady. “Take this rifle,” she said. “It’s a reliable and accurate weapon. You’ll be using it for our training sessions.”

“First lesson,” Jemíma said, her voice firm. “Focus. You need to block everything else out and concentrate only on the target. Forget about me, forget about the wind, forget about the distractions. All that matters is the target and the centre of the bullseye. Got it?”

Keegan nodded, his eyes fixed on the target in the distance. “Got it,” he said, his voice steady, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He tried to empty his mind, focusing intently on the target downrange. It wasn’t easy, his thoughts kept drifting, his senses heightened by Jemíma’s presence beside him. But Jemíma was right; he needed to focus if he wanted to improve his accuracy.

Jemíma seemed to sense his distraction, her voice breaking through his thoughts. “Eyes on the target, Keegan,” she said firmly. “Don’t let anything else break your focus. Take a deep breath, aim, and fire. You can do this.”

Keegan followed her instructions, taking a deep breath and steadying himself. He aimed slowly, aligning his sights with the centre of the target. As he exhaled, he squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked back, the report echoing through the range, and the bullet flew downrange towards the target. When it hit, he didn’t even need to see where the shot landed to know he’d missed the centre. He lowered his rifle, a frustrated exhale escaping his lips.

Jemíma looked at him, her expression unchanged. “Not bad for a first try,” she said dryly. “But you were rushed. You let your focus slip just before you fired. You need to be more patient, more deliberate in your actions.”

Keegan clenched his jaw, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He knew she was right, but he didn’t like being reminded of his mistakes; he had let his focus waver just long enough to throw off his shot. “I’ll get it right next time,” he said, determination lacing his tone.

“Maybe,” Jemíma replied, her voice cool. “But you won’t get it right if you keep getting agitated. You need to remain calm, even under pressure. Your emotions can be your biggest ally or your worst enemy. You need to learn to control them, or they’ll control you.”

Keegan grumbled to himself, not wanting to admit that Jemíma’s words were hitting a nerve. She seemed to have a way of seeing through his tough exterior and straight into his insecurities. It was both disconcerting and intriguing. Jemíma continued, her expression unwavering. “Let’s try again. Same target. This time, focus on your breathing. Inhale… exhale. Then shoot. Slow and steady, remember.”

Taking her advice, Keegan repeated the process, focusing on his breathing and controlling his heartbeat. He drew in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and then pulled the trigger. The rifle kicked back, the shot rang out, and this time he managed to hit closer to the center of the target, though still not quite dead on.

Jemíma nodded slightly, her expression one of grudging approval. “Better,” she said. “But still not perfect. You were still rushing. Slow down, take your time. You can’t expect to become a master marksman overnight. This takes patience and discipline.”

Keegan grunted in response, the frustration creeping back into his features. He wanted to show her that he could do this, that he wasn’t just some rookie who couldn’t hit a target. But her unwavering coolness was getting under his skin.

“You need to relax, mi pendejo [my idiot],” Jemíma said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “You’re too tense. Your body language gives away everything you’re feeling. You’re telegraphing your shots before you even take them.”

Keegan was caught off guard by the sudden use of Spanish, the unexpected profanity surprising him. But he quickly shook it off, his irritation momentarily forgotten. “Telegraphing my shots?” he repeated, scoffing. “What are you, a mind reader now?”

Jemíma chuckled, the sound dry and unamused. “No, I’m just observant. Your shoulders are tense, your breathing is ragged, and your hands are shaking. You’re letting your emotions cloud your focus, and it’s affecting your aim. You need to calm down, or you’ll never hit your target.”

Keegan gritted his teeth, knowing she was right. But he didn’t like being called out on his weaknesses. He prided himself on his strength and resilience, and he didn’t like being reminded of his flaws. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one being judged,” he retorted, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

As Keegan stood there, frustration etched across his face, Jemíma observed him from a few feet away. She could see the tension in his body, the slight shake in his hands as he held the rifle. It was clear that he was struggling with the current shot. With a small sigh, she stepped forward, approaching him quietly.

"Let me see something," she said, her voice low and calm. Keegan turned to look at her, surprise registering in his eyes. He hadn’t expected her to approach him this closely, and he felt a flutter of something in his chest as she came to stand beside him. He raised an eyebrow in question, awaiting her next move. As Jemíma stood beside him, her movements were graceful and precise. Her eyes scanned his form, taking in every detail. She noticed how his shoulders were tense, his stance off-balance. She reached out, her hand gently resting on his shoulder, guiding him into the correct position.

"Relax your shoulders," she murmured, her voice close to his ear. "You’re too tense. Lean forward slightly." Her hand moved to his lower back, applying light pressure to correct his stance. She felt the heat from his body as she touched him, the muscles beneath his shirt taut and firm. Keegan’s breath hitched as he felt Jemíma’s touch, her hands guiding his movements with a gentle yet firm. He had to admit, her instructions were helping, but her closeness was making it difficult to focus. He could feel the heat of her body just behind his, and the smell of her hair was maddeningly distracting. Jemíma continued to adjust his form, her hands moving from his shoulder to his forearms, carefully aligning his arms and hands. “Relax your grip a bit,” she said, her voice soft. As she spoke, her body brushed against his, the contact electrifying. Keegan swallowed hard, trying to suppress the sensations coursing through him.

"Now, adjust your grip on the handle," Jemíma continued, her hand moving to the rifle, then her fingers ghosted over his elbow and forearm, making slight corrections to his hold on the weapon. Keegan couldn’t help feeling a jolt of electricity at the contact. He could feel the strength in her grip, the way her hand dwarfed his own.

“And watch your breath,” she added, pressing herself gently against his back. “Inhale… exhale.” Her breath whispered against his ear, causing goosebumps to prickle on his skin. Keegan tried to follow her instructions, but his mind was whirling at her closeness, the feeling of her body against his. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. "Focus now," Jemíma murmured, her hand still on his back. "Don’t think about anything else. Just aim and fire." As Jemima stood beside Keegan, correcting his position, she noticed his gaze shifting towards her. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she realized he was staring at her. When their eyes met, she gave him a quick up-and-down look, her face betraying a hint of annoyance and skepticism. Without saying a word, she backed away slightly. Her facial expression conveyed a mixture of annoyance and aloofness as if to say “Man, tf are you looking at?”, creating some distance between them, and gestured towards the target, signalling him to take his shot and to concentrate on the task at hand rather than her. Keegan couldn't help but notice the distance she had put between them and wondered if he had done something to offend her. He took a final breath, trying to clear his mind. With Jemíma’s guidance, he adjusted his aim and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, and this time it struck closer to the center of the target.

Jemíma standing in the back, a small satisfaction in her eyes. “Improved..,” she said, her voice still low. “Yet it seems you're still out of hand.” Keegan turned to face her, his emotions a jumble of frustration, admiration, and something else he couldn’t quite identify. He met her gaze, his eyes locking with hers for a moment. The air seemed to crackle with tension between them, the moment charged with something unspoken.

“You still need work,” Jemíma said, her expression cool and composed. “Your body language gives too much away.” Keegan took a step closer to her, the intensity of the moment pushing him to act on instinct rather than thought. “And what does my body language say now?” he challenged, his voice rough.

Jemíma arched an eyebrow at his question, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Tension, frustration,” she listed, her eyes roaming over his form. “Arousal…” The last word slipped out carelessly, the truth of it hanging in the air between them. Keegan’s expression faltered for a moment, the truth of her words hitting him like a punch in the gut. He hadn’t expected her to call him out so bluntly, but there was no denying it. The heat between them was palpable, the physical contact had ignited something in both of them. “And what about yours?” he challenged, his eyes roaming over her.

Jemíma’s expression didn’t waver, but he could see the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. She was just as affected as he was, though she was better at hiding it.

“You’re perceptive,” she said, her voice even. “I’m not surprised. Special Ops have sharp instincts.” She moved closer to him, closing the gap between them. They were standing so close now that he could feel the heat radiating from her body. She lifted her chin, fixing her gaze on his. “You want to know what it says about me?” she asked, her voice teasing.

Keegan swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly dry. He realized they were nearly pressed against each other now, the space between them almost non-existent. He could feel the heat of her body, could smell the scent of her hair. He should step back and put some distance between them, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t look away from her gaze. “Yeah,” he rasped, his voice ragged. “Tell me.”

Jemíma chuckled again, the sound low and mocking, her eyes never leaving his. She could sense his struggle, the way he was fighting to control his reaction to her. It was endearing, really, how he tried to keep up his tough facade. "It's saying that I'm not as unaffected by you as I want to be," she murmured.

Keegan's breath hitched as he felt her warm breath against his skin. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine. He could feel the heat pooling in his abdomen, his body reacting to her closeness in ways he wasn’t prepared for. “Is that so?” he managed to say, his voice sounding almost strangled.

Jemíma leaned back just slightly, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of challenge and desire. "It is," she confirmed, watching as his eyes darkened, the intensity of his gaze nearly overwhelming her own composure.

Jemíma hummed thoughtfully, the heat and solidness of her body. It was maddening, the way her touch sent sparks of electricity coursing through Keegan. "Oh, it's saying a lot more than that," she said, her voice teasing. "But why don’t you use those sharp instincts of yours and figure it out for yourself?"

Keegan’s mind was spinning. He was hyper-aware of her nearness, her hands, her scent. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t focus on anything but the sensation of her touch. He knew they should stop, knew they were treading on dangerous ground. But the pull between them was too strong, the connection too intense. He swallowed hard, his body trembling with suppressed desire. “What if I can’t?” he asked, his voice a ragged whisper.

"You're a smart man, Keegan Russ," she murmured, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "You’ll figure it out."

In a snap back to reality, Keegan and Jemíma found themselves standing close. The air between them was charged with a palpable tension, the heat of their proximity crackling like electricity. However, the moment of revelation both Keegan and Jemíma quickly stepped back, straightening themselves up and composing their features, pretending they hadn’t just been caught in an intensely intimate moment.

Keegan stood there, his muscles taut with tension, his chest heaving with each breath he took. Her closeness had shattered his composure, stirring up a storm of emotions inside him. Taking a step back, he tried to distance himself physically and mentally. “I should get back to my training,” he said gruffly, his voice still rough with emotion.

Jemíma watched him closely. She could see the war of emotions reflected in his gaze, the heat and desire warring with the need to maintain professionalism. She straightened “Of course,” she said coolly. “Don’t let me keep you from your training.” The air crackled between them, the tension thick and heady. Keegan felt the loss of her touch like a physical blow. The distance between them felt like a chasm suddenly, the lack of her heat noticeable and unwelcome.

He managed a stiff nod, his jaw clenching as he tried to control the maelstrom of emotions still churning within him. “Right,” he muttered. “Training.” But even as he tried to focus on his training, his mind kept wandering back to her. The feel of her hand on his chest, her body pressed against his, her breath on his ear. It was all he could think about. He went through the motions, but his shots were off, his aim erratic, couldn’t concentrate or focus on anything but the memory of Jemíma’s touch. Hours later, Keegan was glad when the training session ended, the physical exertion giving him an excuse for his flushed cheeks and ragged breath. As he packed up his gear, he could see her out of the corner of his eye, watching him with a detached coolness. He tried to ignore her gaze, tried to push the memory of their encounter from his mind. But it was like a fire in his chest, burning hotter with every passing moment.

[theoppositequeens]

war is over (if you want it)

This is a fic written for Kay (@im-doing-hot-girl-shit ) in the Bastards of the Barrel Winter Exchange. I'm sorry it took me so long to get posted - first inspiration struck for two fics and then I had no inspiration to finish either - so on this last day you are of course getting both! Hope you enjoy them!

Ship: Helnik

Rated: T

Read on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52883680

war is over (if you want it)

Matthias Helvar was infuriating.

Nina had been aware of him since freshman year - who wouldn't be, he was freakishly tall - and even had a major crush on him, because he was gorgeous and seemed like serious boyfriend material.

But that was before he opened his mouth and started talking.

Helvar was damned smart, and he used his smarts to constantly question Nina. Any time she answered in class, or had a theory, or gave her opinion on what could have caused this psychological issue in that exemplary person, he would open his beautiful mouth and argue. He'd pick apart her answer, offer infuriatingly good alternatives and pull her into a heated debate that just made her look stupid. She didn't know why the teachers never intervened.

And so she had decided to hate him. It wasn't going amazingly, because she still admired his strong shoulders and cute half-smile from a distance, but she was trying. It was easier when he wound up taking courses he had no business taking - rumor had it that he was ex-police force, studying criminal psychology because of an injury in the line of duty. He had nothing to do in her specialized developmental psychology classes!

Yet there he was. Sometimes Nina wondered if he was taking every class available.

-

"Ohhh, I hate him!" Nina seethed, face planting into the sofa in hers and Inej's apartment. "The stupid man always has to punch holes in my explanations!"

"What did Helvar do this time?" Inej inquired mildly from the kitchen.

"We had a group conversation in class about what we'd do with this imaginary client, and what factors to take into account and look for, and every time I said something, he'd go: but what if it isn't trauma? Could we be looking at...", she did a bad rendition of Helvar's voice and Inej giggled. "And of course the professor happened to pass our group every time so I then had to defend my idea like a three-year-old defending her sand castle. Scrambling and badly."

"Well was he right to question you?"

Nina thought about it, and groaned. "Sometimes," she admitted grudgingly. "But he was still an ass about it."

Inej dropped the subject and Nina should have spent the evening not giving Matthias a second thought, but his constant comebacks were wearing her down, a little. Even after sushi, two glasses of wine, and quality time with Inej and Grey’s Anatomy, it was bugging her. She shouldn’t let him take up som much space in her mind. Perhaps she could just be a bit quieter in class so she wouldn't have to deal with him all the time.

-

In the beginning she had thought that they could be friends. They had both been clearly older than the typical uni student – heck, she'd done her degree in social work and been in the workforce a few years before feeling like she could make more of a difference as a child psychologist, especially because of the nationwide psychologist shortage. She was on average 7 years older than everyone else in her year.

So she'd placed herself beside him at the bar during freshers events, they had chatted amicably but very shallowly. At first, she’d thought he was just slow to warm up, or perhaps shy. Sometimes getting answers out of Helvar had felt like pulling teeth, though, so Nina gave up. He clearly wasn't interested in being friends, let alone more.

"Stop daydreaming, Nina," chided Inej, and Nina jerked her head around from where she'd been staring at Helvar, further down the line. She grabbed her lunch tray and started filling it, opting for the chili. Flashing her student card and paying, Nina followed Inej into the thick Monday crowd of students. Her friend moved confidently and elegantly, her lithe dancer's frame twisting to avoid other people's lunch trays. Inej somehow spotted a free table with three chairs in the inner courtyard, and beelined for it. The student cafeteria would put out absolutely uncomfortable metal tables and chairs whenever the weather warmed up, and spots outside in the sunshine were coveted despite the less-than-stellar seating. Everyone was eager to escape the noisy interior and soak up the sunshine.

"So have you heard anything about the research assistant spot?" Inej asked when they were seated.

Now well past her bachelor's, Nina had applied for the spot in the hopes of getting to do her master's thesis about the subject. The project was awesome, looking at the reliability of children's testimonies in court, and how children responded to certain types of questions. Just the kind of thing that could make a difference.

"Not yet," Nina sighed. "We'll probably hear from them next week. Did you know Helvar had the interview slot after me? I'll bloody murder him if he gets the spot instead!"

Inej laughed merrily but Nina shut her up with a question about Kaz, which made the other girl blush and peep that they were going on a third date soon. Just when they were launching into what Inej should wear, someone cleared their throat beside their table. Nina looked up, and there he was, blonde hair contrasting against the autumn glory of the maple tree in the courtyard, the reds and yellows in the sunshine making his blue eyes pop.

"I'm sorry for interrupting, Nina," he said politely, "but everywhere else is full, may I sit with you guys?"

Nina looked around, but unfortunately did not spot any alternative places to suggest instead, and so she answered with a sigh: "Sure, Helvar."

Somehow Matthias managed to fold his impressive frame onto the small metal chair, and after introducing himself to Inej he joined their lunch. It was awkward, but surprisingly not hostile. Matthias seemed warmer than he did in class, his tongue less sharp. He was mostly quiet besides, so Nina and Inej carried most of the conversation.

He stayed with them until it was time for them to bring their trays back and head to the next lecture.

"Thank you for the company," he said in his typical formal way when they parted, and as soon as he was out of earshot, Inej rounded on Nina.

"So that's Helvar? " she asked, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Yeah?" Nina didn’t like the tone in Inej’s voice.

"Oh, girl," Inej's smile was almost blinding, "the guy has a crush on you!"

"What?" Nina stumbled. She caught herself at the last minute, feeling like the air had been knocked out of her. "No, he does not!"

"Well, clearly you didn't see the way he was looking at you," Inej grinned. "Are you sure the arguing in class isn't just some weird academic foreplay?"

-

Nina had laughed at Inej but the truth was: she couldn't stop thinking about him.

His big, long-fingered hands gesturing while he made a point. His intense gaze almost burning through her whenever she said something. How he tossed his head almost flirtatiously while countering her argument.

She wasn't sure what to make of it.

-

... and due to this additional funding, we have decided to hire two research assistants for the project. Joining you will be Mr Matthias Helvar.

If you could swing by my office on Monday, we could set up a meeting time for further discussions. Everyone on the team is looking forward to working with you, Ms Zenik...

Nina stared at the screen in disbelief. She had worked so hard for this and that was the reward? She should be shrieking with joy – the position was hers after all and she'd really wanted it – but working with Matthias Helvar on the team left her with mixed feelings. Nina read the email a third time, trying to decipher from the wording whether she was the runner-up while they would have chosen Matthias if not given additional funding. It was impossible - likely she'd never know.

She knew they likely would have to collaborate on all the basic tasks involved in data gathering and analyzing as well as general project prep. The brief had said she'd be required to do some writing as well, at least a systematic review on some background research. That would be amazing for her academic career, but would she now have to do all of it with infuriating, too-tall-for-his-own-good Helvar?

-

Nina arrived at the uni exactly twelve minutes before the initial appointment. Enough time to refresh her makeup and smooth her dress down one last time before she went to meet her supervisor. It couldn’t hurt to make a professional first impression with her new co-workers, and arriving a touch early, but not early enough to seem desperate, was the way to go. When she arrived on the faculty floor though, she discovered that Helvar was already there, chatting with a dark-haired middle-aged woman, a coffee mug in his hand. Nina wanted to roll her eyes at him – obviously – being there before her, but she also couldn’t help noticing how well the black shirt and gray dress pants he chose for his first say here suited him. Nina blinked, trying to shake off the notion of how good Helvar looked and entered the room.

The internship, it turned out, would involve a lot of cooperation between her and Helvar. The dark-haired woman who turned out to be their supervisor gave them an overview of their tasks for the next few weeks and then took them on a tour to introduce them to everyone on the team.

Over the next few days Nina familiarized herself with the various projects and got to know her coworkers and their areas of expertise better. On top of that, she kept up with normal coursework and classes, which meant a lot of late evenings and early mornings. She’d been annoyed to find out that she’d be stuck doing a lot of work with Matthias on top of her busy schedule, but that didn’t turn into the horror she'd somehow expected. Someone bringing down her mood constantly would not have helped at all. Matthias wasn't as combative as she remembered from their discussions in class, and he seemed surprisingly happy to be working with her. He was flexible with his schedule, always greeted her with a smile and kept up on his promised parts of the work.

He still annoyed her though. Especially in the mornings, he was way too cheery, and his constant good mood grated on her nerves. This particular Thursday, Nina had been up with another deadline all night just to catch three hours of crappy sleep and drag her ass to the university. On the way she’d had to trudge through typical November-snow slush, and narrowly managed to avoid slipping on some ice. Her favorite coffee place had been out of ingredients for a hot cocoa and once she arrived at their booked studying nook, she realized she’d forgotten her laptop charger. She was so ready for the week to end.

"Hey, Nina," Matthias said, sounding way too chipper while flopping down at the table. "I’m stuck with this research hypothesis because I found a lot of really contradicting papers. Could you give it a look. I’d like to have your opinion on it."

Later, Nina would blame her lack of sleep, or perhaps her general personality, for her next words: "Why should I give it, when you're just going to pick it apart anyway?"

She grimaced at her snappy tone. She’d sounded irritated, almost defensive. A real bitchy response to a nice inquiry.

"W–what?" Matthias looked confused for a bit, and then a little hurt before he settled on confused again. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Forget it, Matthias," Nina said tiredly. "I'm just in a shitty mood this morning."

"No," he insisted, watching her carefully. "What’s this about?"

Nina was stubborn, but she sensed he was equally so. She wouldn't be getting out of this situation without answering. And the real answer meant sucking up her pride and admitting that she'd taken his comments to heart and let them affect her.

"I just... You're always picking apart my theories in class. I just don’t think you’d value my opinion that much."

“No!”

It was an unusually loud noise from the collected and calm Matthias. Like it had startled out of him accidentally. Matthias pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. He frowned and shook his head lightly before he continued.

“No, I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come across as rude. I wasn’t criticizing you, I promise!”

“Alright,” Nina mumbled, still unsure, and avoided his searching gaze. It sure had felt like that to her. Matthias seemed to sense that she wasn’t convinced yet, so he continued:

“It’s just the way we were taught to engage at the academy – you know, find the weak spots in someone's plan of action and help patch the plan up. Like, bouncing ideas off each other.” He looked upset and embarrassed when she did dare to take a peek at him. “I didn’t realize it made you feel like I was putting you down.”

“Okay,” Nina said. “That makes sense, I guess. And I mean, I didn’t tell you I found it uncomfortable, so how could you know?”

Matthias sighed. “Well I’m an ex-police officer and I’ve studied years of psychology, you’d think I would know how to read a situation!”

“And perhaps I should have picked up that you weren’t being mean, just constructive in your own way?” Nina threw him a wary smile.

He smiled at her attempt to lighten the mood a bit. And gosh, was he attractive when he smiled.

“I…” Matthias hesitated a bit, and still sounded very apologetic despite her giving him an easy out. “Okay, now that I think back, I could have phrased a lot of things better. Perhaps I’m not so good at constructive criticism.”

“Yeah,” Nina said quietly, then perked up a bit. It was good to know that she’d just been misreading his attempts to debate as a personal attack. But then again, she really wore her heart on her sleeve, and, “I just tend to put a lot of myself into everything I say or do, so I guess I’m bad at separating my emotions from any argument I use? And then I tend to get a little defensive of my ideas.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Matthias said. “I really like how you can get really passionate about things, it’s such a great quality!”

Nina smiled back at him, taking the compliment with more ease than she usually did. After this intense discussion – she wouldn’t call it a fight – she felt more inclined to believe it was genuine. And really, no one was really at fault here, they just communicated very differently, and that had gotten them off on the wrong foot.

“So now that we’ve established we have very different styles of communication for academic debate, perhaps you could offer your opinion on my hypothesis?” Matthias asked shyly, putting into words what Nina was about to say. Then he blushed and looked down. “I quite like getting your input on things.”

Oh. Okay, so perhaps Inej hadn’t been far off?

“Sure”, Nina said brightly, her day looking so much better. Matthias didn’t really dislike her, she’d just misinterpreted his signals of interest. And having different communication styles wasn’t really a hindrance to a relationship if both parties were aware… “Show me what you got?”

-

Christmas parties weren’t always the best – Nina had been to quite a few boring and uncomfortable ones while she was working – but the psychology association at her uni tended to throw a great party. Everyone was invited, from students to staff, food and alcohol were plentiful and the decorations tasteful.

And Matthias would be there.

They’d spent most of November and December building up an easy friendship. Soon they’d dropped the excuse of doing research work and just hung out together. She learnt Matthias was addicted to cute puppy videos and that his leg injury only bothered him if he had to be standing for long stretches of time. Matthias had learnt not to stand between Nina and pizza (or any food really) and he tolerated her ranting about basically anything with good humor.

Sometimes she wondered if he would make a move, but even while they did some typical dating things like movies and bowling, he never did.

That was okay though. Nina didn’t mind taking it slow – and yet tonight she was dressed to impress. The dark red dress clung to all her curves, and Inej had helped her with hair and make-up.

-

The lights at the venue were slightly dimmed, but it didn’t take Matthias long to find her at the bar after the sit-down dinner was done. He was handsome in his suit, the baby blue shirt matching his eyes.

“Hey,” he greeted her, his eyes quickly raking over her form. “You look amazing tonight!”

“Thanks,” Nina said with a flirty smile, and held up a glass of wine in question. “Something to drink?”

He smiled at her and slid in quite close when he ordered, just enough that she could feel the heat of him. While waiting, he turned to her and Nina tilted her head back to get a good look at his face. His hair was slightly mussed, like he’d ran a hand through it. He once confessed that before being a policeman, he’d had long hair. It was just more practical to keep it short while working, and he hadn’t gotten around to growing it out yet. Touching it was his nervous habit.

“How was your dinner?” Matthias asked while they sipped their drinks, and Nina recounted being seated near a professor who had drunk a bit much and incited her part of the table into some spontaneous and rambunctious Christmas carols.

“That sounds like fun,” he chuckled. “I didn’t know Professor T liked singing.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say Professor T is good at singing,” Nina confessed, trying to stay serious, ”but at least he has enthusiasm!”

They both cracked up a bit, Matthias almost snorting beer out of his nose. Soon they abandoned their empty glasses and Nina took a deep breath, holding out her hand.

“Do you want to dance?”

Matthias looked stunned for a second, before he smiled widely and followed her into the crowd. It had started with a few more classical dances, but now that the professors were mostly tired, drunk, or heading home, the students had taken over the floor. Someone was acting DJ and the music was rhythmic and fast.

Matthias was a surprisingly good dancer. He kept near but let Nina do her own thing, sometimes he pulled her closer and she delighted in shimmying against him. They spun into a circle of mutual friends, who they danced with for a while, and when the crowd moved they ended up in a quiet corner, pressed against each other. Matthias’s hands on her hips were more intoxicating than all of the wine she’d consumed that evening. He was warm and strong and she would very much like to kiss him. Instead, she leaned in close and shouted over the music,

“Want to go take a breather?”

Matthias led her through the dance floor, his bulk cutting a path through the throng of people, Nina following behind. The air outside was refreshingly cold, a few snowflakes slowly descending from a dark sky. They weren’t alone on the patio, but Matthias steered her away from the gang taking a smoke – a blessing, since Nina hated the smell of cigarettes.

Instead, he brushed off snow from one of the tables and leaned slightly against it, taking a deep breath. It would be way too cold to stay outside for long without a jacket, but the alcohol warmed Nina enough that she decided she’d copy his pose for a while. That was a great idea, until her foot slipped on the icy deck.

Her arms flailed for a second before she caught onto Matthias, and he to her. Unexpectedly close, he let out a surprised and relieved huff of air, and then he was kissing her.

His mouth was warm and soft and careful at first, everything she’d dreamed of. And when she entwined her arms around his neck and rose onto her tippy-toes to kiss him back, the kiss turned delightfully smoldering and dirty. They were interrupted by hoots and cat-calls from the smokers, and Nina pulled back with a laugh, half-dazed by the kiss.

Matthias let out a puff of air, the white of his breath visible in the cold, and Nina felt herself blushing a bit. His attention and his proximity was intense. This was not how she’d expected the night to go.

Then again, she wasn’t exactly going to complain either.

“So how am I meant to interpret this kiss?” She teased. “Are our communication styles very different in this area, too, or should I assume this means you like me, because if not I’d –”

Matthias kissed her again to shut her up.

“Yes, it means I really like you,“ he said roughly. “Now, let’s get you inside, so you don’t freeze before I have a chance to take you on a first date.”

[dorn-queen-of-thorns]

"The power in me"

Chapter 15

" Sun and Moon"

7 months later near Konoha:

What is a free will? Mitsuki has been pondering this question since the beginning of his existence. Over the past weeks and months, he has had plenty of time to think. What should he do differently? His recovery is laborious and time-consuming.

Time he doesn't have, he tells himself. He must act before it's too late. Grudgingly, he repeatedly reminds himself that his opponent from now on. Sarada, is making better progress. Every now and then, she writes him a letter mentioning how she's doing, how much she misses him, and that Karin continues to care for her in Sunagakure as ordered by the 5th. Sarada has mentioned in her letters that the journey has been very exhausting for Karin and that the 5th will by no means send her back alone. The honorable Tsunade would escort Karin back with a team, as stated in one of the letters.

ALL LIES! In essence, it doesn't matter what's written in the letters. Otherwise, she would have sought a way to help Boruto. He knows there must be a solution for his sun. THERE MUST BE! Otherwise, he doesn't know how to continue in this now cold, destroyed world. Deep down, he knows Sarada is right, that Boruto has changed in a way, where he might not reach him anymore. He felt it back then when he was injured heavy on the ground and had to watch as he disappeared with the class president, injured, in Boruto's arms. Why had he left me behind? Was she more important to him? He must ask him that one question.

"I need to conduct some tests on you, Mitsuki," he hears Orochimaru say from afar. "Follow my instructions." The question of his master pulls him back into reality, confronting him with his own inadequacy. Mitsuki nods in confirmation. Mitsuki doesn't really care about the test. His sometimes strange Sensei has a penchant for experiments and documents them meticulously. Nothing new to him that should worry him. His thoughts drift back to Boruto…

Mitsuki remembers the happier days of his short life with Boruto… and Sarada. It's been a while. One situation stands out in his memory: It was the night after the second Chunin Exam. Mitsuki still remembers every detail: The moon was shining brightly. It was full moon. The moonlight illuminated Mitsuki's milky skin, and his hair reflected the light brightly. He felt his Sun's gaze on him. The moon can only shine bright in connection with the Sun. This was clearer to Mitsuki in that moment than ever before. Boruto looked at him with surprised… admiring eyes? Important were only the two of them in that moment. The afternoon before, both were supposed to compete against each other in the Chunin exams. However, they found it more important to sniff after Amado, as he seemed suspicious to them. However, he could reassure both and showed that he was on Konoha's side. Sarada was furious with both of them for not having seen their fight. Mitsuki wanted to retort that Kawaki had left the Chunin grounds shortly before their arrival. Mitsuki wanted to ask Kawaki back then if he had at least watched their fight. Boruto told Mitsuki back then that Kawaki wanted to cheer on Sarada at the Chunin training. Well, not quite: Rather, Kawaki asked Boruto if they would also come to training. When Boruto denied this, Kawaki rudely declined and said that he was not interested in all the fuss about the Chunin Exam. Boruto scolded him for his behavior and how impossible his foster brother was.

Mitsuki could only grin about it. Boruto didn't particularly like his reaction. Defiantly, Boruto crossed his arms with flushed cheeks, "Huh? What's up?" "Oh, nothing… I just find him interesting," Mitsuki replied amused. His friend didn't find this funny at all. His friend didn't find this funny at all. Boruto crossed his arms defiantly, his cheeks flushed. "I honestly don't understand what everyone sees in him. First my old man, then my sister, and now you. The only one missing in the group is Sarada. Dattebayo!"

Did Mitsuki sense a hint of jealousy on Boruto's part? An emotion he knew about from books and reports, but hadn't had the opportunity to observe until that point.

Boruto glanced embarrassed to the side. "Come on! Let's have a sparring match. That will help calm your emotions, and we wanted to find out who's the stronger one between us anyway," Mitsuki suggested back then. Both looked at each other, and Mitsuki saw that gleam in those azure-blue eyes. Sarada once mentioned that they were darker than the 7th's, and she was right about this fact. Such a deep blue in which someone could sink if the one wasn't careful, Mitsuki dreamily noted back then. "Alright!" replied Mitsuki's counterpart and gave him his broad smile, filling him with warmth in his chest. Surprised at this feeling, Mitsuki's eyes widened a bit, and it took his breath away. He never wanted to forget this smile and wanted to lock it away in his memories like a precious treasure.

The sparring was intense, and both reached their limits. It's like the interplay of Sun and Moon. Both are magically drawn to each other. Be it in a sparring match or in another way… Mitsuki doesn't know how long they fought each other. He only remembers both of them lying heavily on the ground, Boruto beneath him. With that, the fight was over. Boruto must have triggered something in him. Otherwise, he couldn't explain how he could overpower his Sun. Both looked into each other's eyes in that moment. Mitsuki propped himself up with his forearms while Boruto lay beneath him. "Sorry, I was a bit rough with you," he apologized to him, smiling shyly. A genuine smile. "That wasn't necessary," Boruto replied back, and he touched carefully Mitsuki's cheek…

"I need to attach the EEG wires to you now, Mitsuki," Orochimaru's voice is heard calmly. Oh yes… the examination. In thought, the young shinobi undergoes Orochimaru's laborious treatment. Several fine wires of the EEG are attached to Mitsuki's head, giving an otherwise fine and symmetrical face a grotesque appearance. In other words, pretty and youthful. Cold fluorescent light hits white milky skin. His otherwise warm golden eyes seem to have gained a veil. "Raise your right arm…" he hears Orochimaru say calmly. Patiently and obediently, Mitsuki follows his creator. His hand trembles weakly. Was it like this before? , he asks himself. And so what if it would be? What does a little neural weakness matter when he considers that a few weeks ago, he lost the most valuable person in his life? His sun, his thoughts are gray and embittered. He must always think of Boruto's sunny smile, his azure-blue eyes. He senses a worried mood from his creator time and again. Is it his voice? His facial features? Mitsuki observes Orochimaru closely. "I see you're worried," the young clone comments calmly. "Too slow…" his master responds shortly, "your reflexes are too slow. This fact will be too much of a risk to let you out of the lab alone." Orochimaru looks at him seriously and intensely, "you should have gone with her if you wanted to see Boruto again." "NO WAY! If you mean Sarada, I still refuse. I won't watch her kill Boruto in front of my eyes," Mitsuki states firmly.

Orochimaru repeatedly realizes with surprise that the boy is increasingly manifesting his own will. Orochimaru, for the first time, isn't sure whether to be proud of his experiment or angry. Proud, because Mitsuki recognizes what true will is and is making his own decisions. He must acknowledge that Mitsuki has set his mind on following and helping Boruto.

At the same time, he feels anger due to Mitsuki's foolish disobedience in taking such a risk. "How long do you think you'll survive out there? What if Sarada is right and your Sun isn't the person you knew?" Orochimaru's words speak of cool logic, his only way of showing concern.

"You speak as if he no longer exists!" Mitsuki responds angrily. The EEG spikes with his emotional outburst. "You know I'm right," Orochimaru replies calmly.

Mitsuki doesn't care about his creator's objections. "I've already made my decision," he says.

"You understand that I have to deactivate you," Orochimaru replies. Does Mitsuki hear despair in his voice?

Abruptly, he tears the EEG strap off his head and gets up from the examination table. "Try to stop your only successful experiment!" Mitsuki says coolly as he walks past.

Orochimaru feels the boy slipping more and more from his influence. Is this what the citizens of Konoha call puberty? He can't believe Mitsuki's disrespect. His hands clench into fists.

Mitsuki grins confidently. Luckily, his creator doesn't see it, or he would trigger a short-circuit action and fulfill his promise.

Orochimaru can't believe Mitsuki is right with his words. The boy's influence has weakened him over the years. "Be careful and come back safely," are his farewell words to Mitsuki.

"I'll try," Mitsuki replies calmly, reassured that Orochimaru isn't stopping him. Mitsuki quickly leaves the room. There are still a few important preparations to be made before he sets off back to Konoha. A place that is now nothing but a single ruin.

He has found out that Master Kakashi, the 6th, has taken over the position again. The reconstruction work is progressing very slowly and laboriously. Konoha now resembles more of a slum. Nothing is left of the inviting beauty of this city. Only destruction, disease, and death. How could it be otherwise?

Kawaki has taken control of Konoha and does not allow any new people in. Thus, it is impossible for the 6th to request help from outside. In addition, diseases continue to break out because medical care has collapsed. Sarada's mother, Sakura, died in Konoha's destruction like so many other medical shinobi.

The circumstances of Sakura's death are unknown, but Mitsuki doesn't care. It's one more reason for Mitsuki to hate Kawaki deeply.

For him, only Boruto is important, his Sun, to find and save. Ultimately, that's what matters most to him and put a end to this madness once for all..

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[bbangsoonie]

good for nothing

member: juyeon genre: angst (royal au) word count: 4,635 synopsis: despite being the first born and the kingdom’s princess, you lived your whole life in the shadow of the crown prince born to a concubine. in your plot for revenge, a fool in love comes along your path. warning(s): violence

kingdom masterlist

Princess Y/n. You were the first born of the king and queen, educated beyond societal standards for girls, and incredibly beautiful. Yet, you were disregarded and looked down on since the moment you were born. Your brother, who was born to a concubine, was the crown prince and received much greater respect. The reason? You were a girl. A good-for-nothing girl as your father called you on multiple occasions.

The king was ashamed to have his first born be a daughter. He also felt threatened by your rejection of the status quo. Because of this, he grabbed every opportunity to make you submit to him.

You were exceptionally smart but no one cared to notice. Your desire to learn was ignored and you were forced to embroider butterfly patterns instead. At a young age, you realized your place. You knew your designated fate was to be a political pawn meant to be married off at a beautiful age. To protect the royal family that never considered you as one of their own, you were to marry a complete stranger one day.

However, just because you realized your place didn’t mean you accepted it. You defied the rules at every chance you saw. You remained a headache for the king, but a small enough headache to avoid his wrath.

Unbeknownst to him, you were well versed with the dirty politics of the country. Ever since you were a little girl, you would eavesdrop into the ministers’ conversations and manipulate the eunuchs to take a peak at written grievances sent to the king. You knew about the starving peasants he ignored and the bribes he received. As you grew older, you became hungry for power. When it became apparent that the king was blocking any hope for you, you were determined to take as many people down with you. You refused to suffer alone.

The king always berated you for being greedy. Greedy for education. Greedy for acknowledgement. Greedy for a life that was more than just being a good wife. He reminded you again and again that you would never have a voice in official affairs.

Every time you left his chamber after another lecture, you made sure to humiliate the embarrassment the kingdom called the crown prince. You would outshine him one way or another. Whether it be pointing out his grammar mistakes in front of the scholars or exposing his secret palace escapes to the queen, you would dampen his mood for the day. It was the only thing that gave you a speck of joy.

There was also only one thing that gave you something to look forward to. For years, you had been conspiring against the royal family. You despised the royal family and its classist, sexist, and pretentious values. You planned on getting rid of it once and for all. The kingdom deserved a leader that would rule benevolently. Slowly but surely, you gained the loyalty of several ministers. Soon enough, you would be able to execute the meticulous coup d'état.

But until then, you had to continue to be nothing but the king’s puppet. Which included meeting your fiancé. You were introduced a week ago and wedding preparations were already in full swing.

The man you would be forced to wed, Lee Juyeon, was the first son of the Chief State Councillor. You didn’t like him the moment you saw him. He was a pretty face that grew up with his father’s full love and support. He was both elegant and masculine; he was the definition of perfect and you hated it. A person had to have flaws to be likeable.

For some crazy reason you couldn’t wrap your mind around, Juyeon was infatuated with you. He visited the palace every day just to have you decline his request for a meeting. He was persistent.

Unfortunately for you, he was also crafty. He figured out that announcing his arrival to the king was an effective way to see your face. The king was delighted to see the Chief State Councillor’s son head over heels for his daughter and thus, to your annoyance, daily meetings were arranged for you two.

“Tell me, Lord Lee, what about me is worthy of your obsession?” you asked.

You were sitting at one of the gardens within the palace walls. He had insisted on the location because of its romantic beauty.

“Then tell me, Your Highness, what about me is not to your liking?” he grinned.

“Do you wish to hear the answer of the princess or the answer of Y/n?” you raised a brow, making him laugh.

“You amuse me, Princess Y/n,” he turned his head to look at the pond.

You sighed, wondering how long you had until you could return to your residence. The man next to you was oblivious to your feelings as he rambled on about the dates he wanted to take you on. He caught your attention when he mentioned sneaking you out of the palace for half a day.

“You would really risk taking me outside of the palace?” you perked up.

He was excited to see you finally engaged in the conversation and nodded profusely. He promised to set up an elaborate plan for a smooth date. Grudgingly, you accepted his offer. Your wish to see the village overwhelmed your wish to avoid your soon-to-be consort.

The next day, a court lady secretly found you to notify you of his plans. To evade the eyes of palace maids, you were to escape through a path not commonly used. She helped you scale the wall and you froze when you saw Juyeon on the other side. You sat on top of the wall and he extended his hand for support. With a tight smile, you held his hand and jumped down.

He pulled the veil over your face to keep your identity hidden, blushing when his hand slightly brushed your cheek. He hopped onto the horse and gestured for you to do the same. Hesitantly, you held his hand again to climb on.

Using the excuse of maintaining balance, he urged you to hold on tightly. You weren’t left with an option when he sped up, prompting you to instinctively hug his waist. You didn’t have to see his face to know that he was smiling like a fool.

At last, you finally arrived at the village. Fascinated at the change in environment, you looked like a child surrounded by toys. Chuckling, Juyeon admired the view in front of him. In his eyes, you were prettier than any flower and sweeter than any candy. Feeling his gaze on you, you cleared your throat and began walking.

There was so much to look at. He caught you staring at the rows of yeot and purchased the confectionery without you asking. You immediately popped one into your mouth and he laughed when your cheeks expanded to resemble a squirrel.

“Are you teasing me?” you frowned.

“No, I am appreciating your adorable and lovely appearance,” he answered as he handed you the bag holding the rest of the yeot. His words didn’t fluster you. You simply rolled your eyes and resumed walking.

His long legs were quick to catch up with you. Enjoying your presence, he watched as you fawned over little trinkets. It was a new side of you that he had never seen.

Stopping at an accessory shop, you scanned the norigaes displayed on the table. One of them caught your eye and you held it up for a closer look. It was a beautiful pale pink color that perfectly matched your current hanbok.

“It seems a norigae is better at capturing your heart than I am,” Juyeon pouted.

“Perhaps it is prettier than you,” you shrugged.

“Is this an implication that I am pretty? To a certain extent?” he beamed.

“How do my words become that?” you exclaimed.

With another laugh, he took the accessory from your grasp and went to pay for it. You blinked at the sudden sight of his back, noticing for the first time how broad his shoulders were. When he came back to your side, he held the norigae in front of you but pulled it back when you reached out for it. He pointed at the bag of yeot and opened his mouth. Baffled, you turned around to walk away.

He caught your wrist and spun you back around. He bent down and your face stopped an inch away from his. His usual shy self was gone and he had a confident smirk on his lips.

“Does your heart not sway even at a close distance like this?” he asked. This time, he caught you off guard. When you finally came back to your senses, you hurriedly shoved a piece of yeot into his mouth and stormed off.

“Y/n, you make me laugh too hard and too much!” you heard his voice call out, making you blush crimson with embarrassment.

With your upcoming wedding looming over your head, it became increasingly difficult to communicate with the ministers. There were too many eyes to be wary of. Juyeon, of course, was one of them.

As you spent more time with him, you realized how sentimental he was. He brought you small, meaningful gifts and loved to tell you about the meanings behind each flower.

“Did you know that the plum blossom is one of the indications of spring's arrival?” he asked one day. “They can bloom as early as late March.”

“I think it is quite obvious that it is spring,” you commented, pointing at the variety of flowers surrounding you.

“My personal favorite flower is the rose of sharon,” he continued. “It is nicknamed the “immortal flower” and means “eternal blossom that never fades” because of its resilience. It regrows despite harsh conditions and even after it is damaged. Amazing, isn’t it?”

You hummed, looking for the flower he was talking about.

“I used to hope that our kingdom would take after the flower. We have survived through many tragedies and I hope that we will survive through anything else that tries to beat us down,” his words pricked you for some reason. Would your rebellion be seen as a tragedy or as a heroic deed?

“Now, I like to think that our love will be like the rose of sharon. My love for you will never fade and I will continue to pine after you despite your harsh words. Even if you hurt me, my feelings will transcend time,” he smiled. “The flower does not bloom until July. My wish is to go see them with you. Would you bless me with your presence when the time comes?”

You observed his lovestruck expression and couldn’t bring yourself to say no. Again, you were at a loss trying to understand why he was so besotted with you. His childlike innocence was almost pure to a fault in a place like the palace.

“I shall consider it if you teach me how to swing a sword,” you proposed.

He couldn’t hide both his shock and happiness. He was confused as to why you wanted to ever hold a weapon but glad that you were slowly opening up to him. Without a second thought, he agreed to your proposition.

Juyeon was full of bliss at the thought of spending more time with you. Teaching you swordsmanship would allow him to be intimate with you and he was thrilled. At your first secret lesson, his heart raced at your proximity as he guided your hands on how to properly wield the blade.

A week passed by and you quickly improved each day. Eventually, you became skilled enough to land a fake jab. Seeing your proud smile, he grinned as well.

“I guess I should be on edge now. If I annoy my princess one too many times, my life will literally be at your hands,” he joked.

“Do you regret training me?” you smirked.

“Ah, was this all a part of your plan?” he pretended to gasp. “Either to kill me off or to threaten me to obedience?”

Not finding his joke funny, you blankly stared at him. Noticing the sudden chill in the atmosphere, he awkwardly laughed.

“Do not worry, Your Highness. I will always do as you say. You do not need a sword to make me behave.” he smiled.

You hated to admit it but he had grown on you. His constant attempts to tear down your wall had finally made a crack. You had to stop before he became your weakness.

For the first time in a while, you were summoned to the king’s chamber. Expecting another reprimand, you dreaded the walk there. To your surprise, however, you were greeted with a smile he hadn’t given you in years. It kind of freaked you out.

“You called for me, Your Majesty?” you bowed.

“I hear you have been getting along wonderfully with the Chief State Councillor’s son. Finally, you are fulfilling your duty as this kingdom’s princess,” he commended.

What a back-handed compliment. You wanted to roll your eyes at his passive aggressiveness. Holding back your urges, you politely smiled instead.

“I just wanted to let you know that I will be in a hurry to complete your wedding. I need the Chief State Councillor’s support to find a suitable wife for the crown prince,” he announced.

“Is my marriage merely a way for the crown prince to find a wife with a powerful family?” you shot back.

Your question turned the mood scarily sour. You felt his anger rise as he chastised you for your impudence and disrespect.

“The crown prince is the future leader of our kingdom. He is more than deserving of the immense care, thought, and effort that goes into picking his consort. His consort will be this kingdom’s queen and will be the one to bear the next king. You are nothing but a useless girl who will belong to a different family.”

“I am still a member of the royal family, am I not?”

“You are just a good-for-nothing girl that will leave this palace soon,” he spat. “Now leave. You are dismissed.”

On your way out, you ran into the crown prince who looked at you in a way you found to be offensive. You paused your steps and turned around.

“I wish you fertility, Crown Prince. After all, the kingdom relies on your performance to produce an heir to the throne,” you said, lacing your words with venom. “I would imagine you would hate having to adopt a nephew.”

You could tell you had gotten under his skin yet again and left satisfied. You loathed and condemned your family with a burning passion. You couldn’t wait for the day it would all come to a bitter end.

While you were brooding, you didn’t notice Juyeon sneaking up on you. When you finally saw him, you nearly jumped. Your hand reached out to cover your heart, trying to calm it down. Sheepishly, he apologized for startling you.

Trying to keep you from walking away from him, he held onto the hem of your sleeve. Your heart softened at the gentle manner he treated you with. Ignoring your instincts, you let him cling onto you. Instead of making you turn around to face him, he walked in front of you.

“Will you accompany me to the garden today as well?” he asked earnestly.

Knowing that the court ladies were watching, you reluctantly accepted his invitation once again. This time, he surprised you with a bag filled with yeot. He looked so proud of himself for remembering your love for the sweet treat that it made you laugh. As a reward, he grabbed a piece for himself. Unaware of the smudge it left on the corner of his lips, he was conscious of your gaze and tried to look attractive.

“Worry not, Your Highness. You will get to look at this face every day and every night once we marry,” he assured.

Despite his wise exterior, he had a goofy side to him. He was pure and innocent—everything you weren’t. You could see why the king favored him so much.

“I do not understand why you are so eager to become my consort,” you suddenly blurted. “You know that it is just a flashy title that does not award you with much privileges. It is an empty position; you cannot hold office without a special order from the king. Do you simply see yourself as a stepping stone for your father to bring honor to your family?”

“Is my love for you an acceptable response?” he asked after some thought.

“Is it truly worth your dangerous status as the princess’s husband and king’s son-in-law? The royal family has many enemies,” you warned.

“I will be the one to protect you from such enemies,” he declared.

Was he naive or has his affection for you blinded him?

“Princess Y/n,” he said solemnly as he held your hand. “I promise to love and protect you for as long as my heart beats. No, even after it ceases to beat, I will still yearn for you. I will not demand or expect you to do the same. Even if your feelings for me are not as strong as my feelings for you, I will not blame you. But will you please give me the chance to try to win you over?”

His confession triggered an alarm in your head. He was never supposed to fall for you this hard and you were never supposed to allow him to. He had no idea how cunning and conniving you really were. Only the people in the palace knew how cold-hearted you could be. You had to be in order to survive.

You refused to give him a reply and pulled your hand away. His face fell but he forced himself to smile again. In an attempt to break the tension, he made a random comment on the weather.

After you two parted, you decided to speed things up to initiate the revolt. Once you joined hands in marriage, Juyeon would inevitably end up a target as well. If you wanted to spare him, you needed to overthrow the corrupted royal family before he became a part of it.

It was officially the day before the insurrection. To be honest, you weren’t really nervous. This was what you had been anticipating your entire life.

Yet why did you have a moment of weakness when you saw Juyeon that afternoon? He approached you with that boyish smile that did wonders to your normally rational mind. Feeling what you believed was pity, you wanted to leave him with a pleasant memory.

So you ended up convincing him to sneak you out of the palace again. This time, you were a lot more enthusiastic. You wanted to try all the pastries and insisted that he taste them too.

“You seemed to have a lot on your mind these days,” he carefully pointed out. “Has the problem that has been bothering you been resolved now?”

“It will soon,” you eluded.

You stared at the man in front of you, observing his features. He was, without a doubt, good looking. You could see why all the court ladies, palace maids, and girls of the village were so smitten with him. But you still didn’t get why he chose you to fawn over. Maybe it was because of the lack of affection you grew up with but something about having someone care for you was unsettling.

You had suitors court you before but none of them were as devoted as Juyeon. He always came off as genuine. Perhaps his sincerity was what made you lower your guard.

“I promise to lavish you with such outings if that is what makes you happy,” he proclaimed, almost making you laugh.

“Why do you make so many vows?” you inquired.

“I am a man who keeps his word and you are the only one I give it to,” he grinned. You wondered how happy he had to be to smile so often. You rarely had reasons to be smiling.

He glanced down at the table and examined the rows of binyeos. Holding one up, he held the hair pin against your hair.

“May I gift you this binyeo?” he asked.

You pursed your lips, feeling just a tad bit of guilt. You were used to being showered with extravagance but with Juyeon, it was different. There was an emotional value attached to each present.

“Only if you promise me one other thing,” you negotiated.

“Of course. I will do anything you ask of me,” he responded.

“Promise me that you will not visit the palace tomorrow,” you said sternly. He looked at you with curiosity.

“Tomorrow is… a day of mourning for me. I do not wish to see you until the day after,” you lied.

“This is the first time you have expressed your desire to see me,” he lit up at your last sentence. “I will prepare a magnificent date for when I see you over-morrow.”

You almost felt sorry for his naiveté. And you almost—just almost—felt sorry for deceiving him.

The fateful day arrived at last. You stood, taking one last glimpse at your reflection. Subconsciously, your hand reached out to touch the binyeo in your hair.

The roars of the royal guards and the clanks of combat rumbled throughout the palace. With a determined look, you left your chamber. The sword in your clenched fist dragged across the ground as you made your way to the throne hall.

When you finally busted through the door, the king sat as if he had been waiting for you.

“I should have known that this was your doing,” he scowled. “Was your luxurious life as a princess not enough for you? Could you not fight the temptation of avarice?”

“Nothing about my life was ever comfortable,” you corrected. “I always had to play along to match your mood in order to avoid being married off to an old man just out of your spite. You tried to drill your toxic mentality in me because my individuality terrified you. You made it a point to constantly tear me down. So I made it a point to see your demise.”

“You have always been this sly ever since you were a little girl. I knew I would regret your birth the moment I saw your eyes. And I was right. You are nothing but a vile bitch.”

“For the longest time, I thought I was deserving of your hatred. But I came to the realization that you simply belittled me just for being a girl. Do not forget, Your Majesty, that the womb inside me is the same as the one that bore you the crown prince.”

Mockingly, you approached the throne. It was incredible how that one seat gave its owner immense power.

“Speaking of which, why is it that only men carry on the family name?” you questioned. “Do you not realize that women are the ones who carry on the precious bloodline you always speak of? It is the body of women that conceive and grow another human inside them. It is the body of women that suffer through labor to deliver you children and nurture them to good health. The only thing you do is spread your seeds like a fruit. And then blame women for your own infertility.”

“All throughout history, it has been men who carried on the royal bloodline. What makes you think that you are worthy of special treatment?”

“Bloodline, bloodline, bloodline,” you rolled your eyes in irritation. “Do not fool yourself. It is not blood you care about but name. Men may carry on the nameline but we are the ones who give you the royal blood pumping in your veins.”

You sloppily lifted the sword to the king’s neck, smirking.

“I knew you would be the one to bring my downfall,” he glared.

“Well, how does it feel to have all your fears come true, my king?” you taunted. “You were always afraid that I would either surpass you or ruin you. Now, I will be the one to end this damned bloodline. This good-for-nothing girl will take back the royal blood that was given to you by a woman.”

With that, you slashed his neck. Blood splattered across the wall and on your face. You grimaced, wiping away the warm liquid. You were surprisingly calm in front of such a gruesome sight. That was, until Juyeon came bursting through the door.

After he had parted from you the day before, he could not get you out of his mind. Something about your eyes had been melancholic. Your words sounded like a foreshadow and it left him feeling disturbed. So he broke his promise and went to the palace to see you again. He was alarmed to see the chaos ensuing and immediately searched for you. However, he never expected the situation he stumbled into.

“P-Princess Y/n,” he stuttered, making you aim the weapon at yourself. You never intended or wanted him to witness this.

“Do not come any closer,” you warned.

“Your Highness, please. Put the sword down,” he begged.

“I cannot,” you gulped. “This is how it must end.”

“We-we can run away. Together. We can leave everything behind and I will keep you safe,” he said as he tried his best to stay calm.

You wanted to both laugh and cry. Your life was a suicidal mission. You knew from the beginning that you would not be able to survive. If you failed, you would be executed for treason. If you succeeded, you would be executed to officially end the royal bloodline.

You had to admit, you slightly wavered at one point. Juyeon’s promise to make you happy was enticing. To someone who never strayed close to emotions before, he was like a miracle. He made you feel all sorts of things that you were glad to have experienced.

“I apologize, Lord Lee,” you sadly smiled before you stabbed the blade into your stomach.

“No!” he screamed as he ran to your side.

You slowly fell to the ground with Juyeon’s arms wrapped around your body. His hands shook above the wound as he cried, knowing that he couldn’t take it out without ensuring your death. He never thought that what he taught you would be used against yourself. If he had known that this was what you planned on using your skills for, he never would have taken your offer.

“I am afraid I will not be able to go see the rose of sharons with you,” you said as a tear escaped your eyes.

Your vision began to cloud and you felt the life in you leave with every breath you took. You didn’t even realize that your hand was gripping his clothes, crinkling it. Another tear rolled down your cheek as your head fell back, your neck unable to support it any longer.

He desperately clung onto you, holding your head in his bloodied hands.

“I will bring the flowers to you,” he affirmed.

“Another promise,” you chuckled.

“This one I will be sure to keep,” he stated as his own tears fell to your face.

Next to the weapon embedded in you was the norigae he bought you the first time you escaped the palace together. He looked up to see that you were wearing the binyeo he bought you as well. He sobbed, holding onto you tighter.

“I hope to be reborn as a rose of sharon. That way, I can come see you every spring,” you whispered before you closed your eyes for the last time.

tag list: @dearseungie​ @cuppasunu​ @reverienostalgia​ @elcie-chxn​ @parfaitz​​ @lovelyutas​ @mochinyu​ @leejaeyeons​

[lily-thesuriel]

AZRIEL WITH EMERIE VS AZRIEL WITH GWYN

Lately I have been reading many times that Gwyn and Emerie have the same relationship with Az, and that we by saying that Gwyn and Az may end up together we are conveniently forgetting about Emerie and giving Gwyn an importance she doesn't really have.

Well, let's go with the canon facts:

“You’re oldest,” Gwyn said, nudging Emerie toward the ribbon. Emerie groused, but stepped up to the dangling ribbon, grudgingly taking the sword Cassian extended. Azriel murmured over a shoulder to the priestesses under his charge as they watched. They instantly began moving again. But Azriel’s attention remained on the ribbon. (ACOSF chapter 51)

They fell silent again as Gwyn shifted her feet, angling the blade. The wind waggled the ribbon again, as if taunting her. Cassian glanced over at Az, but his attention was fixed on the young priestess, admiration and quiet encouragement shining from his face. (ACOSF Chapter 60)

Here are two situations practically the same (a valkyrie trying to cut the ribbon) and Sarah uses practically the same words, for what ? To highlight the difference in Azriel's behavior.

Look, you can ship whoever you want, and that's fine, but make your ship melt in data from the books, don't transgender the content to try to make it fit your ship.

Saying that the relationship between Az-Gwyn and Az-Emerie is the same is simply false. Azriel starts training the Valkyrie in chapter 39, the qualifying test for the blood rite is in chapter 60. During those 21 chapters Sarah does not highlight at any time a scene between Emerie and Az or a conversation in which they directly intervene in a row, but Sarah, for whatever reason, does highlight subtle conversations and scenes between Az and Gwyn. And I'm sorry but this simply can't be denied, why? Because it's literally in the book (Just like we can't deny that Az is sexually attracted to E/ain, because it's literally in the bonus chapter).

Now what you can do is to give importance to those facts or not. We, Gwynriels, understand that this difference in establishing the relationship between Gwyn and Az vs Az and Emerie, means a lot. That for you it means nothing? That's fine, but just because you don't give it importance doesn't mean that the facts magically disappear from the book.

That's all, peace, love and consistency in arguments please.

As always, sorry for the grammar, this was written by the translator because my English is not good enough. <33

[wisteria-lodge]

snake primary (lion model?) + snake secondary (rapid fire bird model)

I am pretty sure I am a snake/snake sorting, with my primary (burned snake) as a rock solid certainty. I am not doing so well on figuring out how models work, and if I have them. It makes me doubt my secondary sometimes. Let me give you a few examples:

Last autumn, I was making a lot of soup from scratch. I started with recipes, but pretty soon I was just throwing things together.

Definitely sounds like an improvisational secondary.

(I'm a Badger secondary, and my baker friends make fun of me, because I treat recipes like spells I follow them so exactly. I only recently learned that the reason you put put in salt in water is to make it boil faster. I'd been doing it, but I might as well have been putting it in there to banish the bad spirits.)

But I always made sure I had some kind of home-made broth to hand, and some kind of soup magic stuff (heavy cream, milk, cream cheese, etc.)

This could be rapid-fire bird (or a rapid-fire bird model.) You feel comfortable improvising, but only because you already know a lot about soup.

I only went back to recipes when I wanted something new or specific. Then I went and posted a kind of improv instruction for soup making (take some meat, any meat, sear it and and pair with some veggies, any veggies, etc.).

So far, I'm agreeing with you. Improvisational secondary, maybe some kind of bird model to give extra structure and support.

I train new colleagues. When I start with a new group, I like to have all the prep-work done so I can concentrate on the social aspects and not get bogged down finding the right worksheets, or shit like that. I plan my first few words, and if there is no better opening, I use them and go from there. I have a general structure of what I want to teach them, what methods to use and in what order. It is adapted from experience, and the more rigid guidelines we are given by our client. I am constantly tweaking it when I'm not training. If I feel my group needs something different, I will abandon the plan, let them guide me on a detour, and bring them back when it feels right. Somehow, it still works out 95% of the time, especially now that I have found my confidence and know it works^^

This sounds exactly like how I teach. And for me, what is going on is the bird model prepwork making me comfortable enough to just vanish into my Courtier Badger. I've only recently been learning that I can... relax on the prep, a little. That sometimes too much prep gets me in my head, and sabotages me a little. Like I can just trust myself in the moment, and things work out just fine.

I have found the shc system a week ago, and I have been obsessed ever since. I got curious because a friend mentioned it. They were really into it, and I like sorting people if the system makes sense. I dug in, got hooked, and finally found words to describe everything I had figured out so painfully about myself in the last few years. Especially my snake primary was such a surprise and relief, let me tell you.

It's a good system. And it's... uniquely able to talk about certain kinds of things.

I am thinking there is at least some sort of bird model here, giving my improv some structure?

Took the words out of my mouth.

I was flirting with rapid fire bird as a secondary, but now I have put it into words, not a chance. I like my (contained) chaos too much^^

So far, I don't have too much to add. It's all very well laid out, and well understood. I do like the dramatic structure that happens when someone writes in convinced their a Lion and I start going into why they're actually a Snake but hey. This is nice. This is mellow.

Let's talk about badger secondary model instead. Just to get the elephant out of the room: I hate hard work, it feels slow, dull, and like there should be a better method somewhere. But I know that sometimes, you just have to do it if you want to build a reputation, or you know you need to rely on the goodwill of your community in the future.

This is so like... Rapid-fire bird processing Badger. Just the grudging respect of SURE badger secondary can be a useful tool I GUESS.

I feel awkward keeping shallow contact with my colleagues, I forget if they have kids, and I have been experimenting with discreetly taking notes on what they value.

This is so Bird.

It's not very successful because I can never remember them when it's necessary, so I nod and figure it out by asking "knowing seeming" questions, anyway.

This is so Snake.

What does resonate with me is the part of "becoming what they need" making myself into the tool I need, making myself seem reliable by being relatable. I mostly start a one-on-one conversation by mirroring the other person's mood.

Courtier Badger and Snake secondary can look very, very similar - especially from the outside. This right here could be a description of either.

It is only recently, and only with people I know well, that I have found the seductive power of railroading them instead. I can now cut short a friends whining by summarising what they're saying in a blunt and charming manner, and make them smile instead. Not always, but now I know it works, I use it more and more often.

... but this could only be Snake. Doing this sort of thing consciously and on purpose is so huge and so key. Courtier Badgers do have to believe it, and so they have a way of vanishing that Snake secondaries don't.

And I think I am exaggerating my "go and figure shc out, and be loud and open about it on tumblr" part, because it's what feels right at the moment, but also because the friend who got me into it is a burned lion secondary. They like me charging in, taking it for myself, and they admire anyone who can be honest and vulnerable in public.

Very Double Snake. Using a specific approach, specifically for your friend. Also you say your primary is burned... but I'm not getting burned primary from you. But you're also not really writing about your primary, so.

I guess I am making myself appealing, not just relatable like before.

What a perfect way of describing the difference between Snake and Badger secondaries.

Huh. Fading badger performance as snake gets confident? With another badger performance for work that I do grudgingly.

Performance is right. Just a shallow thing you wear over the top, that barely seems there anymore. You work like Bird, not a Badger.

Now lion. Well, lion is... difficult and easy at the same time? I have to take charge, be the boss, and make split-second, straightforward right-and-wrong decisions when I am leading my group: Call out anyone who doesn't play by the rules (though I usually don't care much if it is not annoying). Decide on, and hand out, the appropriate punishment for someone being late, again. Deal with brewing conflict in a head-on manner. But that is something I am still learning, and I am not very good at it.

Some of this is primary stuff - WHAT you do "be the boss, hand out punishments" versus HOW you do it. It's sounds to me like you're building a Lion primary model over your Snake primary, which is normal. Snakes with safe people almost always model something else. (And I already know you've got a friend that's a Lion primary... Snakes do like to match their People.)

It's possible that you're also building a Lion secondary model, or that one of your Snake secondary masks looks a little like a typical lion secondary, but my take is that most of this is coming from a primary model.

I tend to let conflicts slide, trusting they will work it out among themselves.

I feel that this speaks to the water-like nature of the Snake secondary, and a desire to always go around the problem.

or at least be professional about it and not bring it into the training. Definitely a lion performance here, and one I get frustrated with fast because I am not very good at it.

I have my lion moments, like I described with my way of being open and vulnerable about shc here on tumblr. But I wouldn't do it if it didn't feel right, or more specifically like something I need to heal and get better. I know I need to be vulnerable to heal, and it's relatively safe here, in the anonymity of my internet persona.

Hmm. Interesting. I'm not getting Lion from you... if this is a healing exercise, maybe you're practicing existing in your Neutral state?

I have to write it all out, and some of it just happen to come out as advice for other people's asks. It would be nice if I get some recognition for it in the community, and I love the fact that my friends reads it and tells me they like it.

My take on that sort of thing is going to be annoyingly Badger, so I apologize in advance. For me it's all about consistency. Lay a foundation and then build, one brick at a time.

Now that I have written it all out, I think it's probably the most snake way of arguing myself out of any secondary model I could come up with^^ I guess I don't have one, or if I do, I am dismantling it because I need things to be simple for a while. I am tempted to post this on my own blog, but I know it will get a bigger audience with you.

Yeah, no Lion secondary here.

and maybe help someone in a similar situation. So I will be patient, and I thank you for inviting us all to use you as a sounding board for our own shc issues. I have to stop going through your likes, I'm ruining my obsessive fangirl/shc vibes tumblr with beautiful rl-things and creative human interactions^^

I do what I can. I hope I help. :)

Thankyou, @sevilemar for the submission.

[giuliafc]

The Live Interview

Ao3 || FFN

Summary: When Alya asks Ladybug and Chat Noir to take part in a live interview with fans, the heroine didn't expect to enjoy the task so much, especially listening to what her partner had got to say (written for Snippet July/LadyNoir July, day 7 - Symphony/Height Difference. Story wordcount 989 words)

Written by: JuliaFC

Beta: Rescue Wolf, Lots_of_free_time, Mini_N_Furious

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by (c) Thomas Astruc, TS1 Bouygues, Disney Channel, Zagtoon, Toei Animation. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Written for the "Snippet July" challenge of the Miraculous Fanworks Discord server @miraculousfanworks AND for LadyNoir July @ladynoirjuly Day 7 — Symphony/Height Difference. Let me know what you think!

oOoOoOoOoOo

When Alya approached Ladybug and proposed that they'd participate in a live interview with direct questions from the fans, the memory of the time Nadja Chamack was akumatised into Prime Queen came back to Ladybug's mind. She shuddered, afraid that people would again try to use the occasion to dig out information about her relationship with her partner. However, Alya put it down as a charity event, so eventually and grudgingly, the polka dotted heroine gave her consent. Chat Noir only nodded and said that he would follow her lead so… There they were, in front of a webcam, a screen behind it showing the faces of the fans who joined the live session.

"I'd like to remind everybody that Ladybug and Chat Noir have very graciously agreed to take part in this interview and it's not fair to embarrass them, or ask them identity-revealing questions they cannot answer. If we want our city to stay safe against Papillon, it's important that their civilian lives and the lives of the people they love are protected. Have I made myself clear?"

The many heads on the screen all nodded at the same time.

"Good. Now, first question. I will go in the order that people have joined the zoom call."

The questions started to come in, some a little more innocent than others. The two heroes were asked many details they had never found out about each other. In some cases, Ladybug found herself embarrassed at answering, but looking forward to hearing what her partner would say. She discovered some very interesting things about her Minou, for example that he played the piano, and that he had a very restricted diet.

"If you want to keep this purr-fect shape, you need to suf-furr!" he joked, causing both her and Alya to facepalm. But seeing their reaction didn't make his confidence falter: "Ah, you love my sense of humour, M'lady!" he joked, earning himself a glare, but looking so smug that Ladybug doubted he cared.

The following question was one that she nearly refused to answer:

"If you were to use a metaphor, how would you describe your relationship?" asked a blonde girl with glasses.

Ladybug raised a hand in a defensive pose, but Chat Noir grabbed it. She turned around towards him and he gave her a little smirk and a wink.

"We said that questions about ourselves or about our identities were out of the question," she hissed and Chat Noir's smirk widened.

"Oh come on, Buginette. They're not asking for details. They only want us to describe our relationship." He winked again and turned towards the camera, looking as if he was thinking very hard, and even Ladybug took her time to focus on what to say.

"Okay," she said after a long moment of silence. "If I need to use a metaphor to describe our relationship I would say… that it's like a symphony." She saw the confused frown on Chat Noir's face and put her hands up. "In a symphony all the instruments have their own role, and they're all important. That's how I see the dynamics of our team," she explained simply, feeling quite proud of herself for having found a good metaphor, until she noticed the gaze of her partner and his disappointed look.

"Well, if you want to use a music metaphor," he objected, "I'd say that the relationship between the two of us is like a duet. A sonata. You're the soloist and I'm the piano in the background."

Ladybug pouted. "No way, Chaton. You don't take the second seat, we're both equally important," she said, but his gaze became even more distant and almost hurt.

"If you say so, M'lady…"

Alya interrupted them, "Thank you for the wonderful answer guys. Now… next question!" She selected the following icon and a young boy appeared on the screen.

"Hi Chat Noir!" The black clad superhero smirked and gave the boy a two finger salute and a wink, which made the boy smile. "I wanted to ask how it feels to be bossed around by a person who is much shorter than you." The boy blushed. "I don't want to be rude, Ladybug, but I'm short and I admire how you can direct people that are nearly twice your size. I certainly couldn't do it."

"Now, now… I'm sorry you feel inadequate when dealing with people taller than you," said Chat Noir. His body took a more relaxed and composed posture, one leg crossed on the other, both elbows pinned to his thigh, his fingers fiddling in front of his mouth. "But it’s not about who’s taller. I respect Ladybug. She has a brilliant mind and I'd never be able to come up with plans as complicated and genius-worthy as she does, literally in seconds, after calling a Lucky Charm. She's brave and resilient, and I trust that she will find the best solution or, if she makes a mistake, that she will find the way to correct it and save the day. My trust in her is endless."

Ladybug felt her face warming up and put both hands on her surely flaming cheeks. "Flatterer," she said, but he tsked.

"I'm only telling the truth." He turned back to the boy on the screen. "The most precious gifts are in the smallest boxes. You shouldn't feel any less only because you're short. It's like your heart and your arms. The arms are bigger, but they wouldn’t survive without the heart." He smiled and winked again. "Makes sense?"

As Ladybug saw the boy nod and smile, saying thank you to Chat Noir for his encouragement, she found herself looking fondly at her partner, who was ending the conversation on an optimistic note. Chat Noir was a jokester, and his sense of humour could've done with better timing, but one thing was sure; he had a big heart and was the most genuine person she knew.

------------------------------------

Author's Note

Hello! So… that's day 7 out of the way. A much lighter story for once, a bit fluffy :)

I hope you liked it and will leave me a comment. You know that comments are my bread and butter!

Until (hopefully) tomorrow, bug out!

[cupcakemolotov]

Always Finding Trouble

And its small, but since I have been stuck for weeks, I’ll take it. Written for Klaroline AU Season. If you guys haven’t checked out the fun fic yet, you can find them over @klaroline-event.

Warnings: assassins, suggested smut, suggested murder, etc. nothing super graphic or blatant about this one though. no smut, but probably NSFW.

-

The bathtub was perfect. 

Caroline sank a little deeper into the warm water just this side too hot, and stretched her toes with a little sigh. Outside, the Mediterranean Sea splashed against the beach, the sun shining brightly. She could already hear the teasing if she was caught ‘boiling herself’ on a tropical island, and her lips curved. But she also knew down to her bones that the home renovations he’s insisted on before they met up here would have included this very tub being added. 

Having a murderous, occasional softy for a husband had its perks. 

Especially since that softness was just for her. 

Still, it’d been three months since she’d seen him, an usual stretch of time as he disappeared into Croatia to deal with family business. She hadn’t taken offense that he’d gone without her. Well. Much offense. 

She knew this home, the finished reservations, were part of his play for forgiveness. He’d promised her a week of vacation for every month he’d been gone, and three weeks holed up in Greece with her husband would give him just enough time to earn her forgiveness. If he'd been smart enough to also snag her something sparkly or three.

Sometimes it was hard to believe she’d actually married the man. It’d taken him years to talk her into it, while he’d popped in and out of her life like a murderous jack-in-the-box. He’d courted her with murder and diamonds, an exceptionally good looking, aggravating man who tended to leave the bodies of her enemies behind him in his wake.

Wetwork, people who were good at it, was a field that was surprisingly thin on the ground. Her first meeting with Klaus Mikaelson had been explosive, literally, and the push and pull between them hadn’t slowed down since. It’d helped that his face made him hard to ignore, even if his arrogance could be choking. Ruffled curls and dimples for days, his preference for Henley’s and tangled necklaces was so unfairly tempting. 

The first time their gazes had tangled had been while he was listening to a woman wearing more diamonds than sense had droned on about something, and awareness had skated down at her spine. Caroline had recognized her own ilk, it’d been the look in his eyes, that hint of arrogance when you knew you were the most dangerous person in the room, and she had been determined to avoid him. She’d been in that city, at that party, for pleasure.

No need to make things messy, and business always made things messy.

She’d felt his eyes on her, on and off throughout the night. And later, when the party had been cut short with a well placed detonation and swarming FBI agents, she’d inexplicably found herself working with him to escape. 

He had been quick, brutal and startlingly efficient and she had minded less than she should have when he’d flirted with her over gunfire and the dead bodies, or the way he’d slipped a number into her pocket as they’d gone their separate ways. It’d been flattering, but she hadn’t called. Nothing good came from mixing business with pleasure. 

She had not expected him to show up when she was having a small, intimate dinner for one to celebrate her birthday with champagne and a coaxing smile, three states away from their original meeting. He hadn’t been even slightly bothered by her muttered threats, or the extremely sharp cutlery at her disposal, and somehow she let him linger. He’d been charming, not nearly as funny as he thought, and she’d grudgingly liked him enough to confirm her first name. 

He’d told her his name was Klaus. 

And he’d merely laughed when she swore at him. 

Wetwork paid well, and she liked the work, but letting a Mikaelson into her life was something else entirely. In the US, that family was considered ghosts. Rumors. Entirely Europe’s problem. 

Enzo, on the other hand, had started in London, and he had entirely different opinions about that family. And that Klaus of all of them was sitting in front of her, wheedling her into going dancing with him… 

She’d said no, the first time. On principle. 

Then Chicago happened. Los Angeles. Tulsa, where he’d been all dimples as they nearly collided on a rooftop. He’d admired her weapon choices, her guns mirroring what his own, she’d called him several pithy names. They'd almost missed the target when she’d hauled his smirking mouth down to hers to just shut him up. 

She’d almost not minded having to split that fee.

Almost. 

But it hadn’t been until New York, that she’d let him tumble her into his bed. Until she let herself admit that she liked the man more than she should. He’d smirked at her exasperated complaints, mouth tracing the curve of her abdomen while he made some asinine remark about having known, before moving lower. Much lower. Until she could forgive him his arrogance. 

And now they were here, a decade later. 

She’d erased her life in the States. Boxed it up and set what she didn’t want to keep on fire. Caroline Forbes, daughter of Sheriff Liz Forbes had died at seventeen, and it’d been long past the time to walk away from it. Enzo had disappeared down into South America with a promise to pop back into her life when he got bored, and Klaus. 

Klaus had kept his promises. All of them.

The door downstairs opened and closed quietly, and she smiled and rose from the tub, reaching for the robe she’d left there. Once loosely secure, she picked up her gun and opened the bathroom door. The bedroom was full of windows, bulletproof, she’d already checked, and Mediterranean sunshine. But the beauty around her was eclipsed by the man waiting for her, his curls burnished gold and touched with blonde from the sun. The glint of sunlight on his left hand that left her heart pounding with the familiar possessiveness.

Klaus’ smile curved along his lips in a private, delighted thing as his gaze trailed down her barely covered body, lingering on the gun easily in her hand. The blue of his eyes were smokey when they returned to hers, and his voice held the first hint of gravel when he spoke. “Hello, love. I see you’ve gotten comfortable.”

Instead of responding, Caroline dropped her robe. 

But not the gun.

[besanii]

double happiness at your door

Part 18 [end] | previous chapters linked on sidebar!

The initial plan was for Qing Qiu to send a retinue, personally led by Wei Wuxian, to pick up Lan Wangji and the rest of the bridal procession from the Nine Heavens. No expenses were to be spared—both Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang had had a lot of fun (perhaps a little too much fun) designing the bridal palaquin that would transport Lan Wangji from his quarters at the Palace of Enlightenment to his new home with Wei Wuxian in the Fox Den of Qing Qiu, and they had certainly not skimped out on the wedding gifts either—and for a while everyone had been happy. Except then Lan Qiren had gotten hold of the palanquin designs and thrown a fit, deeming it unsuitably gaudy and ostentatious for an esteemed member of the Nine Heavens Imperial Family.

Which, okay fair. Maybe having a pair of Bi Yi Niao drawing the palanquin had been a bit much. But still! That doesn’t mean Lan Qiren gets to cancel the bridal procession altogether!

So they had to compromise. They’ll keep the bridal procession and the palanquin if they do away with the bridal veil and the Bi Yi Niao. Which leaves him here, outside the Palace of Enlightenment with Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang at his side, facing off with Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue.

“Uh, so how does this work, exactly?” Wei Wuxian mutters under his breath, nudging Nie Huaisang with an elbow.

“They’re supposed to give you a challenge!” Nie Huaisang says, fluttering his fan excitedly in front of his face. “Something to prove your love and devotion!”

My what now?

He turns to the two imposing figures in the doorway and gulps.

“Taizi-dianxia, Chifeng-zun,” he laughs weakly. “Have you eaten yet? We’ve brought...cakes! And pastries! Please, have your fill!”

Lan Xichen smiles.

“Thank you for the kind offer, Xiao-dianxia,” he says, “but we have already eaten. Why don’t we focus on the task at hand, hmm?”

There’s a vaguely threatening twinkle in his eye that sends chills down Wei Wuxian’s spine and himself almost crashing into Jiang Cheng on his other side. 

“What does Taizi-dianxia propose then?��� Jiang Cheng asks, drawing himself up to his full height. It’s an admirable attempt at making himself appear more threatening, but he’s up against Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen, which pretty much speaks for its effectiveness (or lack thereof).

Well, at least he tried. Wei Wuxian can give him that.

“Mingjue-xiong, what was the purpose of this exercise again?” Lan Xichen asks, voice light and airy. “To prove Xiao-dianxia’s love and devotion for Wangji, was it?”

The grin Nie Mingjue gives them is anything but light and airy. Nie Huaisang audibly gulps.

“I know just the thing.” He stretches out a hand and summons Baxia into his grasp. It glints menacingly in the sunlight. “How about a duel? If you defeat me, you may pass.”

“Is that a good idea, Da-ge?” Nie Huaisang pipes up from where he’s half-hiding behind Wei Wuxian. “We don’t want to hurt Wei-xiong before he’s had a chance to perform his duties!”

Wei Wuxian chokes and turns red immediately—Nie Huaisang is so dead. He’s going to kill him. How can he say something like that in front of the Crown Prince? Lan Wangji’s brother? Does he want to get him killed? He still hasn’t seen Lan Wangji in his wedding robes! 

“Nie-xiong!” he hisses. To Nie Mingjue, he offers a deep bow. “Chifeng-zun, please spare your junior on his wedding day. How could I possibly hope to defeat you in combat?”

“Oh?” Nie Mingjue smirks. “Do you not want to be married then?”

“Chifeng-zun!” Wei Wuxian heaves an incredibly put-upon sigh. “Then you leave me no choice. Luckily, in situations like this, I can call upon my trusty brother to fight in my stead!”

He slings an arm around Jiang Cheng’s shoulders and shoves him forward with an encouraging shout, grinning wickedly at the abject terror on his face as he comes nose-to-chest with Nie Mingjue. Still, he grits his teeth and squares his shoulders and actually looks like he’s going to fight so Wei Wuxian has got to hand it to him—what a good brother! He’ll never compare him to a pufferfish again!

The moment is interrupted by Lan Xichen clearing his throat.

“While that’s all well and good,” he says mildly. “I think Wangji would prefer it if we didn’t destroy his courtyard, or injure his husband before the wedding. Why don’t we do something else?”

He swears he hears Nie Mingjue blow a raspberry. A very tiny, petulant one out of the corner of his mouth. But definitely a raspberry. But Lan Xichen appears not to have seen it, or at least pretends not to, as he waves his arm and a table appears in front of them with a blank scroll and a set of inks and brushes.

“Xiao-dianxia, if you will.” He motions for Wei Wuxian to take a seat. “I have a very simple task for you. Please write down all three thousand of the Lan family rules within the span of one joss stick.”

What?

“What?” he says aloud, dumbfounded. “All of them?”

Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow.

“You were gifted with a copy of them when you first arrived at the Nine Heavens,” he reminds him. “And again when we first sent pingli to your chambers at the beginning of this engagement. I trust you would have read them in preparation for your marriage. After all, these rules are very important to Wangji.”

He tops it all off with a beatific smile that has Wei Wuxian breaking out in a cold sweat. Okay, so he has read all three thousand rules before. Once. Sort of. Okay so maybe he’s skimmed them a bit. But to ask him to write them all down from memory just isn’t fair! He’s not even the one marrying into the Lan family! If anything, Lan Wangji should be the one to copy out Qing Qiu’s rules!

He forces a smile and picks up the brush.

“Of course,” he lies. “Of course I did.”

He’s about half a joss stick in when an idea strikes him and he scraps the page he’s been working on—he hears Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng groan and complain loudly and ignores them in favour of smoothing out a fresh piece of paper and setting brush to paper with gusto. They want him to demonstrate his knowledge of the Lan family rules? Well, he’ll give them one better.

He lifts the brush from the paper with a final flourish just as the last part of the joss stick crumbles away into dust. A splatter of ink gets onto Jiang Cheng’s robes, but he’s too busy setting aside the brush and picking up his masterpiece to acknowledge his angry muttering. He offers it to Lan Xichen with a bow.

“Taizi-dianxia,” he says. “For your inspection.”

Lan Xichen’s face softens as he takes in what Wei Wuxian has given him.

“Xiao-dianxia…”

It’s a picture of Lan Wangji sitting under the shade of a peach blossom tree, playing the guqin, from the first time he’d visited the Nine Heavens. He remembers climbing over the wall to escape his etiquette lessons and stumbling into the Palace of Enlightenment completely by accident while Lan Wangji had been practising. He remembers how the sunlight had shone through the branches of the tree just so to bathe him in an ethereal glow—if they had not been already immortal, Wei Wuxian could have sworn he was a fairy descended to earth—and the way his breath had caught in his throat at the sight. 

It was the first time he remembers really seeing Lan Wangji.

Nie Huaisang is smiling behind his fan while admiring the portrait, and even Nie Mingjue looks grudgingly impressed by his work. Jiang Cheng folds his arms over his chest and scoffs, but he too has a pleased little quirk at the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” Lan Xichen says finally, lowering the portrait. “I believe you’ve quite surpassed the task we set for you, Xiao-dianxia. Here is your reward.”

He steps aside.

Lan Wangji is standing at the door to the main chambers on the other side of the courtyard, dressed in layers of red and gold silk fitted to perfection around his broad frame. Even the customary silver pins in his hair have been replaced by a single one made of gold, fashioned into the shape of a dragon and slotted through a guan of flowing golden clouds. His honey-gold eyes are wide and stunned, his mouth falling open just a sliver as he looks Wei Wuxian up and down.

“Wei Ying,” he breathes. Wei Wuxian flushes, his insides squirming in pleasure under his scrutiny.

And oh. 

Oh.

Wei Wuxian presses a hand over his pounding heart in realisation.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, unable to stop the smile breaking out over his face. “I’m here!”

Lan Wangji hums, his eyes soft. 

“Yes,” he agrees. “You are.”

--

Previous parts and ko-fi link on my sidebar!

--

Aaaaaaand that’s a wrap on the main fic, folks! The next part after this is the wedding night, which I’ve already written and can be found in the master post. Everything written after this will be purely extras :)

Thank you for sticking with me through it all! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I’ll probably focus more on Shattered Mirrors while working on another WIP in the background, so please support SM too!

[mechawaka]

Spring in Derdriu

A commission for @artsytardis​

Words: 11.7k

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Claude/Byleth

Rating: Teen

Mood music: Roses & Revolutions - Dancing in a Daydream

Summary: Five years after the war, Claude is the king of Almyra and Byleth is the queen of United Fodlan - but neither of them had the courage to propose at the Goddess Tower. When Byleth comes down with a sudden fever, they might have another chance.

---

They couldn’t possibly name Derdriu the new capital of United Fodlan, Lorenz had declared the very day after Byleth’s coronation. It would ‘imply things,’ he’d said, aghast that she would even suggest it.

Lo and behold, Ferdinand and Sylvain had expressed similar worries about Enbarr and Fhirdiad, respectively, and what ‘things’ their hosting would ‘imply.’

And Garreg Mach was also out of the question. Archbishop Seteth, recently crowned himself, wanted to keep the reformed Church of Seiros as far removed from political power as possible. Byleth couldn’t make her capital there, he’d insisted. The implications!

So which will it be? her newly appointed cabinet - four representatives from each geographical region, with twelve in total - had prodded, each sect adamant that theirs couldn’t possibly be the permanent home of the new government.

And Byleth, already exhausted despite only being in charge for a grand total of one moon, had replied:

All of them, then.

That day, United Fodlan’s migrating government, colloquially known as the Wandering Court, had been born. Byleth spent one season in each capital - spring in Derdriu, summer in Fhirdiad (on which she was insistent), and winter in Enbarr. In the fall, she and the entire cabinet gathered at neutral Garreg Mach to conduct any business which required everyone’s presence at once.

For five years, the system had worked perfectly. There had been some inevitable pushback at first, mostly from anti-Imperial factions who were upset that Byleth had adopted the old Empire’s ministerial structure, but they had gradually quieted down as the continental economy stabilized and flourished under its guidance.

Moreover, Byleth liked being on the road. She was raised in tents and on horseback, always moving between destinations, and the frequent travel helped soften long days of paperwork and political debate. 

It also let her document certain supply and infrastructure problems firsthand; to this day, Byleth fondly remembered a tiny village on the Rhodos Coast whose inhabitants had sent in an official request for a new bridge - and had been shocked senseless when the queen herself, in transit from Fhirdiad to Garreg Mach, had shown up to build it.

(Petra had put her personal stamp of approval on that one; you only rule what you can see and touch, she’d written of the event.)

Today, though - this season, this cursed spring - the system was not working.

Oh, it had started normally enough. Byleth, once settled in the palace at Derdriu, had taken up her usual duty of hearing the cases which had passed since her last time in residence and breaking any tied votes. 

It wasn’t until her ministers were tying up the season’s work that a heavy rain swelled the Airmid, causing flooding in four different territories and knocking out a siege-battered section of the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Suddenly, they were swamped with petitions: drowned fields, lost livestock, choked roads. All with less than a moon remaining before the court’s transition to Fhirdiad.

In short, Byleth hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours.

Her head was a splitting fissure of tectonic activity, rumbling in the background of every meeting, every hearing, and roaring to life at random intervals that left her gritting her teeth and glaring at Lorenz, wherever he was in the room.

Oh, we simply can’t stay in Derdriu permanently, she mocked him mentally as, again, a searing wave of pain spiked behind her drooping eyes. It would ruin everything, or whatever.

“- and with that in mind, the Merchants’ Association asked us to move the boundary twenty feet down the riverfront,” Marianne recited from an open ledger. She, like all the other ministers, was dressed in a smartly cut, floor-length robe of office that bore the seal of United Fodlan, with her hair gathered neatly at the back of her neck.

“Ministers Victor and Goneril voted in favor of the merchants, while Minister Gloucester and I voted in favor of the fisheries. How do you rule?” Marianne looked up from her record and across their round discussion table. Her eyes were bright and serious at first, but they creased with worry upon taking in Byleth’s pinched expression. 

“Are you feeling ill, Your Majesty?”

This garnered the other ministers’ attention as well. Ignatz pushed his glasses up his nose to study her better, staring in that perceptive, sympathetic way that said he’d already identified all the faults in her appearance. 

Hilda, who’d been twirling a quill pen between her fingers, glanced up and gave Byleth a detachedly brutal once-over, indicating with an arched, sculpted eyebrow that she disliked her findings.

Lorenz, meanwhile, simply regarded his queen with a dry, ‘I told you so’ stare.

“No, no. I’m fine,” Byleth asserted, avoiding everyone’s concerned faces, and especially Lorenz’s. He had warned her against overworking only a week prior, and here she was zoning out like a bored student. She’d get an earful from him later, no doubt, about a ruler’s responsibility to their subjects extending to self-care and time management.

“My apologies. Minister Edmund, please recount the case again.” Byleth pushed herself up, ignoring the pounding rhythm inside her brain. She often paced the length of the room for difficult petitions, anyway, and maybe movement would help ease the pain - but she took one step and the world went sideways.

She swayed dangerously on her feet, catching herself on the edge of the throne. Her legs were soft and wobbly as a dessert jelly; her vision swam with blots of darkness and intense color at random. 

In a hushed, grave voice, she whispered, “Oh, that’s not good.”

“Quite,” Lorenz agreed curtly, having materialized at her elbow to aid in stabilization. He turned to the others, lips pursed and demeanor supremely unamused. “I believe Her Majesty is finished hearing cases for the day. All in agreement?”

Byleth barely registered the other ministers’ responses; her ears were suddenly full of cotton, dampening all incoming sound. Even Lorenz’s voice, so close at her side, was fuzzy and jumbled. She could only nod and follow him out of the throne room, vaguely aware that Marianne had joined them.

When had her headache gotten this bad? It must have been a slow progression, she reasoned as the trio headed toward her chambers, building in intensity during the meeting. She vaguely recalled an old medical lecture of Manuela’s about blood vessels in the brain, and how moving suddenly after a stationary period could cause...something. Something bad, probably.

Not for the first time, nor even for the hundredth, she wished she’d paid closer attention to the other teachers’ seminars back at Garreg Mach.

Lorenz politely turned around while Marianne helped Byleth out of her heavy court mantle and into her gigantic bed, busying himself by preparing a teapot at the dresser.

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” Byleth professed as she collapsed onto her mattress, allowing Marianne’s white magic to flow over her in a soothing current. “We can re-convene at first light.”

With his back still turned, Lorenz scoffed. “I highly doubt that.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s right,” Marianne corroborated, ceasing her spell and pressing the back of one hand to Byleth’s forehead. “You have harvest fever; you’ll need to rest for at least a week to let it run its course.”

“A week?” Byleth demanded, sitting straight up again. “But I leave for Fhirdiad in two!”

Lorenz brought the teapot over on a wheeled cart, putting his hands on either side and warming it magically. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have taxed yourself to infirmity, hmm?”

At that, Byleth shot him an impotent - and, in all likelihood, given her state, pathetic - glare, but the mere action of tensing her forehead muscles worsened her headache and she fell back onto her pillows, defeated. He was right, damn him.

“Byleth,” he continued, exasperated, dropping all formality as he always did in the absence of prying ears. “Just rest. We designed this government to run in your absence - let us handle things from here.”

Marianne echoed the sentiment with a soft smile, pouring some strong-smelling medicinal tea from the pot. “We’ll see that Ordelia and Hrym are well cared for,” she said, holding out the teacup like a peace offering.

Byleth grudgingly took it.

---

Lorenz squinted down at Byleth’s sleeping form, sprawled and content amongst her blankets, and sighed. No one had ever prepared her for a life of leadership and politics, but she’d risen to the challenge admirably in the last five years. Perhaps too admirably, if situations like this were any judge.

Her problem, he’d decided long ago - and informed her whenever the chance presented itself - was moderation. Temperance. Byleth Eisner tackled every problem with a single-minded determination that, while remarkably efficient during the war, had tended to cause a variety of problems in peacetime.

In that regard, she was quite similar to him. To Claude. And speaking of Claude -

“We had two guards and a trio of footmen at our assembly today,” Marianne observed, keeping her eyes on the bed, but her message was clear.

“Indeed.” Lorenz tapped the heels of his polished boots restlessly against the floor. He could practically hear the wagging tongues from here; he could picture the story of their fainting monarch billowing out from the palace like blood in water, ripe for scenting - and there was one particular green-eyed shark always circling for a whiff.

He forced a long, resigned breath out through his nose, and said dismally, “I’ll direct the staff to prepare the guest wing at once.”

---

Thanks to whatever was in that tea, Byleth slept straight through the next few days. Even when she woke, she was groggy and mostly insensate to the world around her; she recalled Marianne’s visits to administer medicine or urge a few sips of water, but other than that - nothing. Only light and color and sound, all indistinct and running together.

The fever itself wasn’t so bad. She was being treated by the most studied healer in the region, and the rest was good for her, as much as she resisted the notion.

No, what had her itching for freedom, for an escape, had nothing to do with the sickness and everything to do with her own shoddy mental compartmentalization. Byleth had a single unbreakable rule, and it had kept her safe and stable for most of her life: don’t slow down.

Her friends - formerly students, and now United Fodlan’s new ministers - had always struggled to understand what went on in her head, and Byleth had to confess that it was often a confusing place for her, too. That was why she spent as little time there as possible. If she was solving governmental disputes or plotting a route through the Oghmas, she wasn’t thinking about her problems - and for someone that had attended the Jeralt Eisner school of “don’t confront your problems until they literally confront you first” coping strategy, that suited her just fine.

But these hours cooped up in her bedchamber were slow, and Lorenz had taken great strides to ensure that nary a tax report breached its threshold. And when there was no work to do, no roadblock for her mind to chew on, it drifted to contemplation, to nostalgia, and then, inevitably, to Claude.

What would he think of the stalemate between the merchants and the fisheries? That one was easy. He’d find a third option, something neither of the institutions had proposed but that benefited both, and dazzle them with its presentation. He’d find a way to spin the conflict so that it wasn’t about competing guilds, but about the betterment of the city as a whole.

She wondered if he looked different now compared to when she’d seen him last, at the Alliance Founding Day celebration the previous Horsebow. They only ever saw each other in formal wear these days, painted and decorated and utterly without privacy. Had he let his hair grow over the winter like she had? Was it curling near the base of his neck, thick and wild?

Oh, here we go, she thought, rolling her eyes and then squeezing them shut. This was why she kept herself preoccupied; any lapse in activity brought these sorts of ideas to the forefront, and they always turned to indulgent fantasy. Only Claude brought out that side of Byleth - and it made her so paradoxically angry, and afraid, and lonely.

Angry because she hadn’t intended to let him in; he was just there one day, snugly by her side, a few months after she’d joined the faculty at Garreg Mach (and she would always lament, at least a little, that Rhea hadn’t put her with the students instead). Even after he’d admitted his ulterior motives in getting close to her, Byleth never had the heart to be mad at him for it. He was so damn endearing.

Afraid because, as easily as he’d attached himself to her, he’d un-attached. Byleth could admit to herself, alone in her darkened bedroom, that most of her mental evasion strategies centered around one specific memory: that early morning conversation they’d had right before her coronation, in which Claude had spontaneously announced his departure from Fodlan.

(“There’s something I need to do,” he’d said up at the Goddess Tower, and she had been so sure he’d wanted to say more, but instead he’d just...left.)

Lonely because their friendship had never been the same after that. They were both so busy, now, and with so much responsibility - and she missed him. Missed their easy conversation and matching drive; missed the academic dissections of famous battles and the late nights spent comparing various cultures’ names for the constellations. 

Her remaining friends were certainly a balm, and she wouldn’t trade them for the world, but none of them were him. She’d never filled that spot at her side. Couldn’t fill it. Nothing and no one else fit there.

But she also couldn’t ask him back. He was the king of Almyra now, fulfilling everything he’d wanted and worked for and talked about with stars in his eyes - and Byleth could never begrudge him his lofty and admirable goals. Never. Instead, she’d had to accept the possibility that the grand arc of his ambitions no longer included her in its trajectory.

She sprawled out sideways on her bed, letting the warring emotions flood her body. Maybe this was good for her. Maybe, like the fever, she just needed to let them run their course. Maybe these were the natural consequences of escapism and denial.

And it wasn’t like she’d be able to get away from herself any time soon.

---

“Of all the - absolutely not,” Lorenz stated, planting himself in the center of the hall that led to Byleth’s bedroom. “There are procedures, Claude. Royal protocol. You know this!”

But Claude had already danced around him, utilizing that foot speed the mages never needed to master. “Come on, Lorenz, I’m not some Srengan diplomat - we’ve all seen each other covered in mud and guts. What’s a little illness between friends?”

To his credit, Lorenz didn’t ask how Claude had come by that knowledge. Nor were his protestations very vigorous, as if the man had foreseen this exact scenario - and for that, Claude was proud of him. 

That pride wouldn’t keep him from his goal, however. He’d saddled up his wyvern as soon as the words “queen” and “sick” had left his spymaster’s mouth.

“She’s not well. You’ll be interrupting her convalescence - Claude,” Lorenz said sternly, holding his friend by the elbow and fixing him with a soul-searching gaze. “She cannot receive visitors in this state. What’s gotten into you?”

For an instant, Claude’s happy-go-lucky mask slipped. He’d been too pushy, so much so that even Lorenz got a glimpse of the panic underneath - the cold terror that had driven him across the continent and still gripped his heart. He knew it wouldn’t let up until he could confirm Byleth’s condition.

But he was a consummate faker, and so the mask slotted deftly back into place. “Why don’t you go ask her, hmm? I’m sure she’ll be positively overjoyed.”

---

When Lorenz walked in, Byleth was still in the same position, all spread out and despondent. 

“How are you feeling, Your Majesty?” he asked pointedly, and his use of her title - coupled with his formal position near the door - should have clued her in to what he was really asking, but Byleth was far too addled for nuance.

She tilted her head in his direction and flatly, shamelessly said, “Fine.”

Lorenz’s disciplined expression soured a fraction. “Well, that is wonderful news -” his ironic lilt suggested that this news was anything but wonderful, “- because you have a visitor.”

He stepped back to clear the doorway, giving Byleth a look that said she deserved everything that was about to happen. “May I present King Khalid ibn Riegan of Almyra.”

Claude poked his head in much too casually for Lorenz’s theatrical introduction. “Byleth! I brought you some -”

He paused, staring at her depressed-starfish pose. Byleth, in the blink of an eye, sobered completely and experienced all the stages of grief in quick succession.

“- fruit,” Claude finished lamely. Behind him, Lorenz pinched the bridge of his nose.

---

“Claude,” Byleth intoned, dredging up her ‘serious teacher’ voice for the occasion. She’d bathed and changed her clothes since his impromptu arrival - Byleth had never possessed a single modest bone in her body, but, again, he just incomprehensibly brought it out in her - and now she sat on the edge of her bed while he occupied the bedside armchair.

“It was so nice of you to drop in,” she continued, folding her arms across her chest.

Claude laughed anxiously, holding a woven basket full of fruit in his lap half like a shield and half like an offering to an angry deity. “Okay, why do I get the feeling you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Byleth said icily. It wasn’t a lie; it was more like she was mad around him - mad at the space surrounding his stupid, handsome head - mad that he’d shown up, as if summoned, right when she was feeling so sorry for herself about him.

But that was far too complicated to explain, so instead she asked, “What’s your business in the city?”

He brightened a bit, perhaps relieved to divert the topic. “Thought I’d tour the Goldroad - see what travel is really like there outside the official inspection dates.”

Byleth cocked her head to the side, staring out her west-facing window. He referred to the winding trade route that now spanned the Throat, starting at the Locket and ending at a similarly sized fort across the border in Almyra - but that was over a day’s travel from Derdriu.

Following the path of her eyes, Claude went on quickly, “And, you know, I was in the area, so why not visit my very best friend?”

She wasn’t sure she’d classify a seventeen hour wyvern flight as ‘in the area.’ Byleth narrowed her eyes, looking from his rigid smile, to his posture, to the basket he carried, then back to his face, waiting for the actual answer.

“- All right,” he confessed, exhaling deeply. “My spies said you were sick, so I came to check on you - how are you still so good at that?”

She smiled despite herself and pointed at the basket, which he promptly handed over. Popping a dried date into her mouth, she asked coyly, “At what?”

Claude laughed heartily, reaching over to get one for himself, and that simple action propelled them effortlessly into a comfortable, familiar rhythm, dispelling their outer veneers of royalty. 

They traded stories about travel, about new friends, about insufferable opposition; Claude told her about one of his subordinate satraps - which served a similar function to Byleth’s ministers, but with more concentrated local authority - who had threatened to raise an army in his territory over the price of grain, and then panicked when Claude had called his bluff and negotiated a lower price.

(“Did he even have an army?” she asked, completely absorbed in the story and eating sour cherries by the handful.

Claude, with a wide, gleeful grin, replied, “Not a chance.”)

In return, Byleth told him about last year’s failed rebellion in eastern Faerghus, in which a group of Blaiddyd royalists had tried to rally the region’s former aristocracy under the banner of House Fraldarius - and how Felix himself had ridden out to personally disband them.

(“Oof. Embarrassing,” Claude commented, making a face like someone had punched him in the gut. “What did he say to make them listen?”

Byleth snorted and modulated her voice to match the prickly swordsman’s. “‘This is not happening. Leave.’”)

As the afternoon wore on, servants brought in tea service and then dinner - and Byleth’s temporary surge in vitality upon seeing her dear friend started to fade, replaced by the fever-aches she’d come to know so well. Her movements grew slower and her answers shorter, overcast by brain fog.

Claude watched this change in her with considerable worry, helping her back under her blankets after they’d finished eating and re-situating the pillows around her head.

“Oh, stop it,” she chided, swatting away his hands. “I’m not completely helpless.”

He backed off, smiling easily, but stayed within range to aid her again if needed. “I don’t know about that,” he teased. “You know what they say about people who catch colds in the summer.”

“It’s spring,” she insisted, wrinkling her nose, but he didn’t laugh. In fact, there were no traces of mirth left anywhere on his face.

Byleth sat up straighter. “Claude, it’s only harvest fever. Marianne said it should clear up in a few days.”

He dropped back into his chair, resting his elbows on his knees so he could bridge part of the gap. “But what if it’s not, though?”

A nearby Church of Seiros’s evening bells rang out across the palace grounds. The brassy sounds changed with each echo, reaching her bedchamber as ghostly distortions.

“What, you think Marianne got it wrong?” Byleth asked, pulling her blanket up subconsciously.

“No, just -” Claude ran a hand back through his hair, pushing it even further out of its usual style, “- what if it’s related to...whatever Sothis did to you after the siege?”

He’d spoken so quietly that Byleth had to lean forward and slow her own breath in order to hear it. The concern in his tone - the restraint in his clasped hands; the uncertainty in his eyes - made her take a second pass over everything.

She no longer saw a casual check-in made by a concerned friend. Claude had traveled here with speed and intent, and now she knew why; just like their parting words at Garreg Mach had stuck with her, her long and mysterious slumber had probably stuck with him.

(The realization, while illuminating, didn’t hit her as hard as it should have. She thought some version of that truth, formless and undefined, must have been swimming around in the back of her mind for a while. It explained so succinctly why Marianne had insisted on treating Byleth herself, and why Lorenz stood vigil so often outside her room, even though the two had comparably little free time.)

Now that she thought about it, the long-term consequences of merging with a goddess should probably be a bigger concern of hers, too.

“I haven’t heard Sothis’s voice, nor felt her presence, in six years,” Byleth explained calmly, striving for an affect that would put him at ease. “And I’ve been in perfect health, besides.”

Claude gave her a long, lingering look - one that took in not only her face, but her long, mint-green braid and her customary wardrobe, unchanged from her days at the monastery - as if he wanted to commit her current state to memory. Byleth returned it with a confused frown, ready to comment on the odd behavior, but then his usual smile returned in a flash.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced with a little shrug, standing and straightening his riding harness. “It’s probably nothing serious. A few days, you said?”

Byleth’s confusion skewed into suspicion. Claude never let anything go that easily. “Yeah,” she answered slowly, searching his face for signs of duplicity. “Marianne said I’m already over the worst of it.”

“That’s great,” Claude enthused in the exact manner he’d use to win over his enemies, and Byleth’s misgivings quadrupled. “You should get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He was out the door in a flourish of his royal half-cape, paying no mind to the official etiquette of departure. (Byleth didn’t care about such things, but Lorenz was surely fuming about it in the hall.)

She let herself fall, warily, back onto her bed, pondering what Claude could possibly be up to - because he was up to something. It was only after she’d started to drift off, her head nestled warmly in one of about a dozen pillows, that the implications of his parting words struck her.

---

Ignatz rushed down the administerial wing’s main corridor, clutching a stack of accounting ledgers in one arm and several sheaves of operational business licenses in the other. Sunlight was just starting to peek through the hall’s windows, painting slowly elongating bars of yellow on the opposite walls; nobody would be in their offices yet, but if he could deliver his cargo before breakfast, he’d be able to get a head start on his own day’s work -

Thus distracted, he pushed his slipping glasses back up the bridge of his nose - using an occupied hand. Fifty business licenses, previously sorted alphabetically and geographically, drifted to the ground in a fluttering cloud of failure.

“Oh, no,” Ignatz muttered, dropping to his knees and gathering up the papers as best as he could without dropping the ledgers. If he didn’t deliver his cargo before breakfast, that would delay all of his tasks by at least an hour, thereby pushing back tomorrow’s tasks as well, to say nothing of his meeting with the merchants’ guild - 

A head of shaggy brown hair and a pair of leather-gloved hands bent to organize the papers into a messy but holdable pile, then helped to situate it more snugly in Ignatz’s grasp.

In his haste and immeasurable relief, Ignatz threw a grateful, “Thanks, Claude!” over his shoulder as he resumed his flight down the corridor.

At the threshold of Hilda’s office, though, while balancing both stacks with one hand so he could turn the doorknob, he froze and shouted back the way he’d come, “Claude?!”

---

Instead of the usual morning sounds - like the rustling of Marianne’s skirts or the trundling of a breakfast cart - Byleth woke to singing. It originated somewhere to her right, winding and unhurried, and she knew this gentle melody; Claude had taught it to her during the war.

So he really was still here, then. He’d really stayed. 

She opened her eyes just a hair, hoping for a chance to observe him before he noticed that she was awake.

It was still early. All the curtains were tied back and the windows cracked, letting in pale, diffused light and a sea-salt breeze off the bay. Claude stood at her personal writing desk, which Marianne had turned into a makeshift apothecary, weighing a small pile of freshly ground coriander. He was dressed more casually today, having discarded his courtly attire and riding leathers in favor of a belted Almyran-style tunic; his hair was bound in a simple but flattering tie at the nape of his neck.

Byleth watched him work - watched him thoughtfully consider the ratio of coriander to ginger to water, his hand hovering over each as he deliberated. All the while he sang that soft tune, so beautifully laden with memory and affection. 

When he’d finally settled on a mixture, he reached into a pouch at his belt and uncorked a vial of honey, adding a spoonful to the mug. She tried her best to hold it in, but a tiny, breathless laugh escaped her; that rich wildflower honey was a signature of Claude’s home-brews - a sweetener to make his questionable concoctions more palatable.

He jumped and whirled at the sound, his cheeks darkening somewhat at being caught unawares, but Byleth just shook her head slowly, reassuringly, and hummed the next few bars of his song. At once, his embarrassment morphed into a wide, slanted smile, and he turned back to put the finishing touches on his creation.

“What are you still doing here?” Byleth asked, pushing herself up to a sitting position. Her hair must have been a mess, but she had to settle for a quick smooth-down.

Claude chuckled and sat on the edge of her bed, holding out the mug of steaming medicinal tea. “Really? No ‘Good morning, Claude, and thank you for taking such good care of me?’”

She took the cup and shot him a faux-scowl. “Who’s running your country, though?”

“Oh, it basically runs itself.” He waved a flippant hand, staring out a window in the direction of the Throat. “Our scholars say, ‘A king is a great ship’s rudder.’ It just so happens that my ‘great ship’ has a good heading right now.”

Byleth regarded him doubtfully. She knew this proverb, and its wisdom was definitely not intended to excuse literal flights of fancy.

“What?” he asked, rolling his head to the side playfully. “If anything happens, Nader knows where I am. Besides, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Her stern facade - only performative, anyway, since Claude never failed to disarm her - softened. “I’m always happy to see you,” she said quietly, hiding her vulnerability with a big sip from her mug. (It was delicious, of course, after being assembled so skillfully.)

The curious look he gave her in response lasted a little too long, probed a little too deep for comfort, so she followed it up with a nervous, “Where’s - where’s Marianne?”

Claude, ever-insightful, let the moment pass without remark. “She allowed me to perform her caretaking duties in exchange for a little, ah...discretion...on my part.”

That was easy to imagine. Her ministers had enough on their legislative plates without the obligatory fanfare that would accompany an ‘official’ royal visitation - so the last thing they needed was King Khalid, the former leader of the Alliance, showing his highly recognizable face all over Derdriu.

“We’re both locked up, then,” Byleth said plainly. That explained his wardrobe; a casual observer might think him no more than a member of the staff. As long as he didn’t linger in unfamiliar company, he could move freely about the palace.

“Yep.” Claude smiled contentedly, like he’d gotten the best possible end of this deal. (Byleth begged to disagree.)

In a comically professional, woefully unconvincing physician’s voice, he asked, “So, how are you feeling today, my liege?”

Byleth choked on a sip of her tea, cough-laughing and beating her chest to clear her airways. “Much better, doctor,” she spluttered, setting down her mug to prevent any spasm-related accidents. It was true; her head and body aches had been fading with each passing day, and the fever was low enough that she didn’t feel like a boiling crab leg anymore.

“Good, good,” he mused, looking far too pleased with himself. “Then what do you say to a bit of chess on the balcony?”

She gave her sternum a few more good thumps to really get all the spicy ginger out of her lungs, using the extra time to examine Claude more closely. He knew he couldn’t beat her at chess; what was this about? And was it related to - to whatever inscrutable scheme he was currently enacting?

“Sure,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t give up his plans if asked. (Not until the most dramatically poignant moment, anyway.) If she was going to figure it out on her own, she’d need more opportunities for candid observation, and chess should do nicely.

His face split into a grin immediately. “I saw a board in Lorenz’s office. Meet you back here after lunch?”

“Yeah, it’s a date,” she agreed lightly, and didn’t miss the way it tripped him up on the way out. 

---

“You’re still here,” Lorenz observed with the same sort of weary derision one might direct at a persistent rug stain. He stood in the doorway to his office, holding a tea tray and projecting an aura of disappointment.

Claude, who was currently inside said office and in the midst of burgling a marble chess board, hastily clicked all its pieces back down and clasped his hands behind his back. “I am! Very astute of you to notice.”

Lorenz’s eyes flicked pointedly from his uninvited guest to his now-askew board, then he calmly strode around both to reach his polished mahogany desk. “Well, then. Would you join me for tea, Your Majesty?”

The way he gestured to the opposite chair spoke clearly of interrogation, but Claude sat anyway. It wouldn’t be polite to steal a man’s gaming paraphernalia and refuse his company.

“Why, thank you, Minister,” he answered, exaggerating his friend’s formal air, “we are simply delighted by your invitation.”

Lorenz’s poker face had improved over the years, but Claude still caught the subtle tightening of a jaw and the slightest arch of a brow; dead giveaways that he’d still snap at a piece of bait like a Brigidian piranha. Good to know.

“All right,” Lorenz said, clipped, like he’d come to a decision at the end of a long internal debate. “What are you doing here, Claude?”

Claude blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of the question. “Uh, well, Marianne and I -”

“I quite understand the generous arrangement which Marianne has afforded you,” Lorenz cut in quickly, pouring out two cups of tea. He handed one over the desk with the gravitas of a commander handing down orders. “What, precisely, are you here to do?”

Faking affrontation would be a moot point here, Claude thought. Lorenz was chasing down a specific answer, and from the set of his brow, he’d probably figured out most of it.

And that was fair. Despite their rocky interactions, Lorenz was one of the few people that Claude would say he trusted, and he knew that Lorenz felt the same (even though he had a peculiar way of showing it).

However, while Lorenz looked confident in the answer to his question, Claude didn’t even know where to start. How could he sum up this whirlwind?

Should he begin with the primal fear of hearing that Byleth had collapsed? With the breakneck flight to Derdriu, imagining all the worst possibilities in his head? (The mild shock in her eyes as she toppled backward into the chasm; her ensuing five-year absence, silent and absolute.)

Or at the boundless relief - the sheer, joyful knowledge that she had not, in fact, been re-afflicted with Sothis’s ancient sleeping sickness?

Or, should he skip straight to the certainty that he wouldn’t survive another such scare, and the unwillingness to be apart from her for even a second more, political repercussions be damned? 

In the end, holding a steaming, fragrant cup of bergamot, Claude - in one of only a handful of occasions thus far in his life - couldn’t find the right words.

Luckily, Lorenz, who must have witnessed his friend’s rapid expression shifts, found one instead. Gently, and with more sympathy than expected, he asked, “Still?”

Ah, so he had figured it out.

Claude raised his teacup in a silent toast. “Still,” he confirmed, then downed it in one gulp.

“Hm.” Lorenz paused to serve out refills and scones, and Claude knew exactly what his friend was remembering.

(For five years during the war, Claude had periodically returned to Garreg Mach, even though everyone else had given up the search for Byleth. As the visits persisted in the face of increasing danger, one by one, and with varying levels of understanding and acceptance, his friends had all come to the same conclusion: their leader was in love with their former professor.)

“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” Lorenz said curtly, but not unkindly. “You have a plan, then? - Oh, what am I saying? Of course you do. The Master Tactician wouldn’t have shown up without a plan.”

Claude, who had been trying to decide if Lorenz was mocking him or not, visibly fumbled his cranberry scone at that final comment.

Instantaneously, Lorenz’s face went from invested concern to mortification. “Goddess above - you don’t have a plan.”

Claude didn’t have the heart to say that his “plans” often sprung from gut feelings like this; that, very often, he was building a bridge to his goals and walking it simultaneously, trusting that there would be another plank when he reached back for one.

In this particular instance, his bridge took the form of an impromptu and extended stay at the palace while he figured out the world’s most diplomatically sensitive marriage proposal. He wanted to tell Lorenz that, actually, he had several possible scaffolds in place, he just hadn’t chosen one yet - but Claude could see the foundational flaws in all of them, and still hovered at the juncture, unsure where to lay the next plank.

“- No, I don’t,” he finally admitted, steepling his fingers on the desk. “I’m taking suggestions, though, if you have any?”

Lorenz took a slow, calculated sip of his tea, giving Claude one of his patented ‘how did you manage to become the leader of anything’ looks. “Marianne assures me that Byleth will recover in a matter of days -”

“I know,” Claude interjected miserably. His timetable was tragically inadequate.

“- And, while your presence here is temporarily acceptable on the basis of friendship, it will become much harder to justify after the palace returns to its normal operations -”

“I know, Lorenz,” Claude said, letting his forehead fall onto the points of his fingers. The pain, he thought, was well-deserved. “Sheesh, you don’t have to rub my nose in it…”

Lorenz laughed softly. “Apologies. I’m simply savoring the moment; it isn’t often you need my strategic input.”

With his face downturned and concealed, Claude grimaced. He supposed he’d deserved that, too.

“But,” Lorenz went on, “I do have a suggestion. Given your limited available time and lack of direction, we should enlist outside support.”

Claude raised his head incredulously. “Your solution is to have more people laugh at me?”

“Yes. Hilda and Marianne, to be precise.” Lorenz smirked and crossed his legs. “And they won’t laugh - in fact, Hilda will be delighted.”

His tone of voice was too amused for the answer to be anything good, but Claude still asked cautiously, “Why?”

“Oh, because I owe her quite a bit of gold, naturally - I thought it would take you and Byleth far longer to act on your feelings, and my money was on her acting first.”

---

Byleth loved the balcony off her bedchamber. It was on the same side of the palace as the throne room, only higher, with a wider perspective of the canal below and a down-angle view of the opposite block. Sitting on it and looking out, with the stone railing acting as an artificial horizon, she really felt as if she were floating above Derdriu; the city sprawled off endlessly to her right, while its great network of canals spilled into the bay on her left, all set in miniature from this height.

A tangy sea breeze teased through her hair, rustling the many and vibrant plants - in pots, hanging from the roof, and mounted in window boxes - that scattered the area. They were in perfect health, she noticed, despite the rarity of her visits, and Byleth wondered if it was some palace staffer’s entire job to maintain luxurious spaces like these, even though some busy official might seldom use them. 

She privately resolved to appreciate the balcony more often.

It didn’t take long for Claude to come whistling through her chambers, bearing a chess board like a server delivering a high-end meal. He put it down on a small, circular table where Byleth’s own board was already set up, then carefully aligned their edges to create a double-long playing field.

(They’d invented this game early on at Garreg Mach after discovering that neither of them felt challenged enough by the base rules. It had gone through several name changes before they’d agreed to just keep the original; after all, if either of them ever mentioned the game to the other, they both understood which (clearly superior) version was being referenced.)

“So, you managed to get Lorenz to part with it,” Byleth commented as he arranged his pieces and sat down opposite her. “What’d it cost you?”

Claude made a face like he’d just licked a lemon. ��Oh, nothing much. Just my reputation and dignity.” He laughed it off, but there was a distinct, hollow ring of truth to his words. “Anyway. Sixty-point game?”

She cocked her head, intrigued. Their special rules allowed for custom “armies” to be built from the standard chess units, each with an individual point cost. Byleth personally liked to run an army without pawns - high risk, high reward (usually reward).

“Not forty?” she asked mildly, picking out her standard array plus an extra frontline of knights. Claude would regret handing her such an aggressive opener. “Are you trying out a new strategy?”

He grinned and laid out his own army, which seemed to focus around his sovereigns - and, as usual, contained a robust line-and-a-half of pawns. What he sacrificed in speed, he made up for in defensive surface area.

“I am. I think you’ll really like this one,” he said, playing his first (highly predictable) move. 

That was the thing about Claude, though. Byleth thought his move was predictable right now, at the beginning, but he was a highly intelligent improviser. The long field between armies meant that most of the game was based on ranged path speculation. 

Was a cluster of pieces actually heading toward her left flank, or would it divert to threaten other units at the last second? She’d have to put a metaphorical shield in place for the first possibility, and a sword for the other - and with Claude, it was impossible to tell ahead of time which he would actually pick. 

But, despite the chaos his playstyle caused, its spontaneity was also what made him such a compelling opponent. The tactical element never got stale.

“It’s bound to be more exciting than your rook phalanx idea,” Byleth teased, starting her knights off on their long journey.

Claude gasped like she’d just insulted his mother. “Hey, that was not my fault - it was a good attack pattern in theory!”

She made a tiny sound of agreement to humor him, but remained privately unconvinced.

As usual, they lapsed into silence for the first phase of the game, each trying to dissect the other’s overall strategy. Of course, at this stage, it was largely conjecture; there would be many, many reactive and counter-reactive moves before any two units actually engaged.

The quiet was nice, though. Ships’ bells echoed in from the piers, mingling with street noise rabble and the shrill cries of bay gulls. There was no one to demand her ear or her time - a rare commodity. She could tell Claude enjoyed it, too, by his easy smiles and relaxed posture.

Why had they ever stopped doing this? It dawned on Byleth that it had been years since their last game.

“- Hey, Claude,” she said at the thirty-turn mark.

He didn’t look up from his spread. “Hm?” “What in the world are you doing?”

His green eyes, which had been bouncing between forward pawns, flicked up to her face. “Setting up my midgame?” he half-asked, gesturing to his formation like the answer was obvious. “Why, what are you doing?”

Byleth narrowed her eyes at the board. He’d split his pawns into two staggered ranks with his sovereigns in the middle, like some sort of sandwiched convoy, and the outer ring of mid-tier pieces looked to be guards.

“Your brilliant new strategy is to hand-deliver your king to my army?” she contended, tracing his column’s trek down the board with her hands, then opening them wide, fingers hooked, to mime the pieces being eaten by a sharp-toothed monster.

Claude laughed confidently. “You’ll see. The king and queen together are unstoppable.”

It was certainly an unconventional approach. By virtue of its novelty, it tripped Byleth up several times in the early game - one might even say, around turn sixty, that her opponent had the advantage. But the sheer speed and maneuverability of her knightly vanguard eventually prevailed, and by turn ninety, she had his entire escort block surrounded. 

“Multi-point threat,” Byleth declared, moving in on his rear line. “This was an interesting idea, but I do believe your king is in mortal peril.”

Claude, who’d been standing for the last dozen turns, paced to the other side of the table. (He loved to do that - to see the situation from all angles, like he would in a real conflict. Unfortunately, that expanded perspective could do little for him here.)

“No, I think - listen - he still has his queen.”

Byleth examined the setup again. “Uh-huh, he sure does,” she drawled, trying to understand how that might change their fates.

“I’m just saying,” he went on, crouching so that he could view the board at eye level. “Look how far they’ve already come. Look at all they’ve been through together - it’s not like a little opposition could stop them now, right?”

She crossed her arms, a bewildered smile tugging at her mouth. “Are you seriously trying to Nemesis me right now? My bishops have them both in four.”

Claude gave a frustrated sigh. “No, this isn’t a scheme - well,” he amended, scratching pensively at his chin scruff, “okay, it is a scheme, but -”

I knew it, she thought, vindicated, and grinned accordingly.

“Ugh, forget it.” Claude toppled his king. “You’re right, it was an ill-fated venture that clearly needs outside support.”

Byleth frowned. “What? I didn’t say that.”

He waved his arms like he was dispelling the entire conversation. “Never mind. We’ve still got plenty of light - how about another game?”

---

Later that night, after Byleth and most of the palace had retired, Hilda’s raucous laughter rang out through the entire administerial wing.

“You tried to tell her with chess?!”

She, Claude, Marianne, and Lorenz all sat around a table in one of the meeting rooms, passing around a bottle of strong Faerghan whiskey.

“No wonder she didn’t get it,” Hilda continued, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes (in a delicate manner that spared her makeup). “You know how Byleth is!”

Lorenz refilled his glass, nodding emphatically. “Agreed. Subtlety will get you nowhere in that arena, my friend.”

“I thought it was sweet,” Marianne disclosed quietly.

Claude propped his feet up on an unused chair and dipped his chin gratefully. “Thank you. I also thought it would be sweet. And successful.”

He took a long swig straight from the bottle, much to Hilda’s amusement. “But you were right, Lorenz, okay? So -” he slapped the tabletop in invitation, “- go on. Advise me.”

Perhaps sensing that their friend was already punishing himself enough, no one pushed the teasing any further. Lorenz and Hilda shared a look - one that said they’d already discussed the matter privately - and then everyone got straight down to business.

“First of all, we should discuss the legal ramifications of your union,” Lorenz said, indicating the palace walls. “It’s true that anti-Almyran sentiment has died down greatly since the war, especially here in Leicester, but I fear widespread confusion - how much power would the king of Almyra suddenly have over their territories? Their livelihoods?”

Claude recoiled from the intensity. “Whoa! She hasn’t even said yes - aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves, here?”

(In truth, he had the same worries about his own homeland; it wasn’t like xenophobia was exclusive to Fodlan. His current plan - if she agreed - was to introduce her presence like he’d introduced his own: aggressively and unapologetically, with hopes that the Almyran public would regard it with the same eventual respect.)

The other three gave him bland looks.

“You really, honestly think she’ll turn you down?” Hilda asked in angry disbelief.

Claude gritted his teeth. “I don’t know - I mean, that’s Byleth’s whole deal, right? Unbeatable strategist? You never know what she’s thinking?”

“Oh, Claude,” Marianne said, patting him on the arm. “You should have more confidence in yourself.”

Hilda snorted into her tumbler.

“- Regardless, I don’t want to discuss the politics without her. If she says yes,” Claude emphasized with a stern glance around the table. “I have to get to the actual question first, okay? Lorenz. Ideas. Go.”

The man in question raised his eyebrows. “All right - well, Leonie proposed to me during a horseback ride. She’d painted all of her mounted archery targets with one word each, and in order they spelled out a question...oh, it was very romantic,” he said, his tone warming as he spoke. He then promptly cleared his throat. “But, ah, Byleth isn’t in a physical state for riding, hmm?”

Hilda propped her elbows up on the table and cradled her chin in her hands, recounting dreamily, “Marianne took me deep into the forest at night and professed her love under the light of the full moon. How could I have ever said no to that?”

Marianne hid behind her glass, her face beet-red. “I don’t, uhm, think there are any full moons coming up soon, though,” she managed to squeak out.

“Yeah, you have to do something quick.” Hilda pointed at him with her glass. “Let’s see - we already know it can’t involve winning something, so that’s out.”

Claude laughed sarcastically into the bottle.

“A grand display would not be diplomatically feasible, either,” Lorenz added.

Yeah, that made sense, Claude thought. A single plant in the throne room had brought word of Byleth’s illness to him in under three days - and he wasn’t the only one with eyes here. 

“You should do something that’s meaningful to both of you,” Marianne suggested, her face returning to its usual pallid shade. “Something simple but significant. Byleth would appreciate that, I think.”

Simple but significant.

Claude swirled the idea around in his head at the same time he swirled the contents of his bottle. Significant he could do - had been doing - but simple was another story. Maybe that was his problem; maybe he just needed to go back to the basics.

“And don’t get her a ring,” Hilda said. “I never see her wearing jewelry unless the tailors insist.”

He chewed on all of that, taking slow, measured sips of whiskey. Something meaningful to both him and to Byleth - something memorable, but uncomplicated. No rings, he added mentally. That was fine; as an archer, he disliked having obstructions around his hands, anyway. (And while they were out here breaking traditions, who cared if it was one or one hundred?)

“Hey,” he began, doing some quick calculations around wyverns’ seasonal nesting habits. “How quickly could I get something down the Goldroad?”

Lorenz’s brows knit together. “From the capital to here, I presume, and with the use of your royal seal? Within the week. Why? What do you need?”

Claude grinned, luxuriating in the rush of a good plan coming together. “All right, listen to this -”

---

If she could’ve had her way, Byleth would have chosen to remain in those last days of her fever forever. Her symptoms were mild and unobtrusive, she didn’t have to do any paperwork, and Claude was there; simply put, it was the ideal situation.

They spent four whole days together playing games, mixing various drinks, going for (short and supervised) walks around the garden, and reminiscing about old times - but Marianne’s medicines were effective and all things, even good things, must end.

On the morning of the fifth day, she knew she was cured. Her mind was clear and her body strong, if a little feeble from the bed rest. Everyone else must have been on the same page, too, because Marianne came to greet her after breakfast in Claude’s stead.

“So that’s the end of the arrangement, then?” Byleth asked, trying to keep her voice even and normal.

Marianne smiled softly and pressed the back of her hand to Byleth’s forehead. “Yes. Claude will be returning home this evening, as I’m sure he has many decisions waiting for him there.”

That makes two of us, Byleth thought dejectedly.

“Your temperature is perfectly normal,” Marianne reported. “Do you have any lingering fatigue? Dizziness?”

“Nope. Nothing,” Byleth said, heaving a reluctant sigh. “I suppose I should head down to the audience chambers.”

She really, truly hadn’t meant to sound like a pouting toddler bound for punishment, but that was exactly how it had come out.

Marianne laughed. “Yes, you should - tomorrow.” To answer Byleth’s questioning stare, she pointed across the room. “I think you’ll be too busy today.”

Right on cue, something large impacted outside the windows with a dull, cracking thud. Without thinking, Byleth whirled, ready for some sort of threat - (her sword belt was hanging next to her bed, easily accessible for such emergencies) - but it was only Claude on the balcony.

Rather, it was his massive white wyvern, Sahar. She’d perched on the railing, her sharp claws gouging long scrapes in the stone, and he was mounted on her back.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for that!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Good morning! Care for a ride?”

Byleth burst out in surprised laughter, too endeared to be mad about the property damage. She looked back, confused and curious, but Marianne just shook her head.

“Go,” she said, gesturing outward. “Have fun. You have my official medical clearance.”

That was all the permission Byleth needed to throw open the doors and run out, barefoot and grinning, to leap at Sahar’s saddle. The seaside wind blasted her hair back and Claude opened his arms for her arrival, bracing in his stirrups to absorb the impact.

They’d performed this maneuver many times during the war; since Byleth preferred to do her fighting on foot, Claude would often sweep down to reposition her more quickly. Even after five years without practice, they executed the pick-up without a hitch: she landed knees-first at the front of the saddle and Claude anchored her, wrapping both arms around her midsection.

In combat, the move had been utilitarian - the fastest way to mount up. Right now, though, it felt more intimate; with no armor, no weapons, and no urgency, they were basically just hugging on wyvern-back.

Byleth quickly turned herself around, hoping he hadn’t seen the blush rising up her neck. 

“That eager to get out of there, huh?” he teased, helping her get situated.

She rolled her eyes and cinched a pair of flight straps around her waist. The fit was snugly familiar, securing her to both the saddle and her fellow rider.

“You know the answer to that,” she replied, glancing down the tall outer walls of the palace. A few people in the canal-side gardens had looked up at the spectacle; they were too far away to see much detail, but this was clearly the queen’s bedchamber. “This isn’t the most discreet escape, is it?”

Claude scoffed, turning his mount skyward with a nudge. “Oh, it’s fine. Not many Fodlanese know about the white wyvern thing. Besides,” he said mischievously, testing the knots on her straps, “didn’t Marianne tell you? Our arrangement is done.”

With that, they were off. Sahar spread her massive wings - leathery and smooth, delicate and powerful all at once - to catch the current, pushing herself off into it and raining stone chips and dust in her wake.

Byleth yelped at the sudden lurch, falling back against Claude, who gladly supported her while they gained rapid altitude in the midday sky. Sahar’s rhythmic wing beats took them high above the notice of anyone in the city, down the palace’s canal and out into the bay.

She watched it all fall away as they climbed. The great trade ships shrank to the sizes of beetles in their lanes; the flocks of gulls that chased them, to mere specks. The ocean itself became an undulating cobalt tapestry, shot through with threads of white and gray.

When they leveled off and the wind died down in their ears, Claude spoke, “Remember when I taught you to fly?”

A series of images flashed in her mind: wrangling a saddle onto an impatient wyvern; losing straps and buckles under flapping wings; falling before she could even take off - so, so much falling.

“I remember when you tried to, sure,” she said, cringing at the memories. Even Leonie, who never gave up on anything, had declared Byleth’s flying skills unsalvageable. “Why?”

Claude laughed a little too hard, like he was recalling the very same foibles. “Nah. You just needed more time - we couldn’t spare any in the war. But now?”

“Are you suggesting,” Byleth said, throwing him a flat look over her shoulder, “that I fall on my ass repeatedly in front of the entire court? It was bad enough when it was just jeering students.”

“No, no, my point is -” Claude directed her attention back to their view of the bay, “- you could come out here whenever you wanted. Get away from it all.”

So he’d noticed her restlessness. Well, of course he did, Byleth admonished herself. He’s Claude.

“That would be...nice,” she admitted, giving him a half-smile. “It’s different, isn’t it? Leading during peacetime?”

He relaxed his hold on the reins and let Sahar go where she would in the open sky; she took full advantage of the freedom, floating into various air currents and skirting low, wispy clouds.

“Yeah, it is.” Claude’s tone was sober and diminished. He prodded gently, “How have you really been, Bee?”

The nickname brought unexpected tears to her eyes; he hadn’t used it since they parted at Garreg Mach five years ago. She’d forgotten how fond and welcoming it sounded - how warm - coming from his mouth.

Byleth faced straight ahead, glad he couldn’t see her expression. It must have been just as regretful and conflicted as her mind.

“I never expected to be here,” she murmured, and in her heart she finished the thought: without you. Her voice barely carried over the wind, but she knew Claude had heard it; he scooted closer to her in the saddle, whether consciously or not. “Everyone around me is so certain of their place, and I’m...not.”

Her thoughts strayed to Edelgard and Dimitri, to their twin drives that - even misguided and corrupted as they were - strove for a better world at their roots. Byleth, who held no grand vision for the future, couldn’t help but feel unfit for the mantles they’d left behind.

(Truthfully, that was one of many reasons why Derdriu was her favorite capital, and spring her favorite season. Fhirdiad’s and Enbarr’s thrones still felt like someone else’s seats to her - someone else’s dreams.)

“I don’t think anyone expected to be where they are now,” Claude said, matching her volume. When Byleth shot him another ‘quit your bullshit’ look, he chuckled and corrected himself, “Okay. Maybe I did, but nobody else did.”

“Lorenz thought he’d be leading the Alliance, hitched to some noble lady. Hilda didn’t think she’d be doing anything.” Claude put up one finger for each example. “Marianne wanted to keep her head down. Ignatz thought he’d be barred from his passions.”

He rested his chin on the top of Byleth’s head. “Expectations and reality don’t always match up. Are you unhappy with where you are, Your Majesty?”

I’m exceedingly happy where I am, she thought, easing herself back to rest against him. And that’s the problem.

“No,” she answered simply. “I’m not.”

Claude, perhaps sensing the dishonesty in her words, hummed doubtfully. The sound rumbled deep in her chest. “Well - if you ever were unhappy, you know I’d help, right? No matter what it was.”

“I know,” she said, tilting her head to smile up at him. “And - I think you’re right.”

He shifted to accommodate her better, crossing his arms over her lap to grip the saddlehorn. “Oh? About expectations?”

“No, about flying.” She settled into their pseudo-embrace, resolving to enjoy it while it lasted. “I should learn.”

Claude made a small, happy noise in his throat. “I’ll teach you. It’ll be great.”

They drifted down the Edmund coastline in a comfortable quiet after that. If not for the Throat looming in the distance - a constant reminder of the hourglass hanging over their flight - Byleth would’ve been perfectly content. The longer they went, the more she wished he would just keep flying straight over the mountains - but the sun continued on its inexorable path through the heavens, and all things, even good things, must end.

Still, though, when he wheeled them around and began the journey back, Byleth thought she detected a resonant note of hesitation in him.

By the time they’d reached the bay of Derdriu, the sun hung low and the sky had turned to vibrant oranges and indigos; the frothy crests of waves, the metal fixtures on ships’ masts, and even the scaly tips of Sahar’s wings shone golden in the rich evening light. 

The palace’s white marble exterior reflected sunset-colors onto the streets and canal below. In any other instance, she’d find it beautiful, but right now it was no different than the Throat: an ominous, prohibitive barrier.

Claude guided Sahar to the balcony again, wincing as her claws ground fresh holes into the railing.

“- I’ll pay for that,” he reiterated sheepishly, then hopped down to offer Byleth a hand.

She took it, letting him assume her weight while she scrambled much less gracefully to the ground. The stone tiles, quickly cooling with the onset of night, chilled her bare feet on contact; she shivered, looking back wistfully at the evening sky. 

When she turned around again, Claude was watching her intently. Unreadably. 

“Did you enjoy the ride?” he asked.

“I did. Thank you.” She tried to match his tone, to hide her sadness - to appreciate the time they’d had together instead of mourning its conclusion. “I suppose you need to get going, then?”

“Mm, not quite yet,” he replied with a secretive smile, wrapping Sahar’s reins around her saddlehorn. He muttered a phrase to her in Almyran, to which the great wyvern nuzzled into his hand and took off in the direction of the aviary.

“Let’s get you warmed up, first.” He strode past her to the open balcony doors, jerking his head toward it encouragingly when she didn’t immediately follow. “Come on, it’s okay - I have time.”

Byleth trailed after him, instantly suspicious. He was using his ‘false sense of security’ voice again, like he had on the first night. “Claude, what are you planning?” she called out warily, stepping into her darkened bedchamber.

A spark struck in the hearth, setting the tinder inside ablaze and silhouetting Claude in a red-orange halo. “Why do I have to be planning something?” he countered, overly defensive, as he stoked the fire. “- You looked cold, is all.”

She gave him a skeptical once-over, then turned to grab a cloak from her wardrobe - and there on her dresser, shining in the firelight, was a lacquered ebony box the length of her arm.

It was decorated with glittering gold leaf along its edges, clearly meant to hold something valuable. Byleth whipped around to fix Claude with an accusing glare, but he just shrugged innocently and motioned for her to open it.

He had a long history of bequeathing strange gifts to his friends, always seeming to enjoy the reactions a little too much. Byleth wasn’t aware of any current holidays, though, either in Fodlan or Almyra.

She sighed and lifted the lid. “I swear, if this is another apron -” 

The breath caught in her throat. It most definitely was not an apron.

Nestled in a bed of burgundy velvet, only slightly smaller than the box itself, laid a porcelain-white wyvern egg dotted with flecks of pearlescent ivory. 

This time when she glanced back, it was in affectionate curiosity. “So this is why you were pushing flight training,” she said, gingerly touching the warm shell. “But - aren’t white wyverns only given to members of the royal family?”

Claude moved to stand next to her, drained of all his earlier mirth and bravado. In its place was a tense energy she hadn’t sensed in him since they’d last met at the Goddess Tower.

“Well, yeah, that’s the idea,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I was hoping you’d, uh, well - I wanted to ask you, since -”

He stopped and grunted, looking disgusted with himself. “Let me start over.”

Byleth nodded, absolutely baffled. What in Sothis’s name was he trying to say?

Claude ran a hand back through his hair and took a deep, steadying breath. “We both didn’t have the best experiences with family growing up. I mean, you had Jeralt and I had my mom, and they were great, but other than that it was…”

“Lonely,” she offered. They’d discussed their respective childhoods many times before - commiserated in the shared wounds of alienation and neglect.

Delicately, he took her hand and squeezed it. “Yeah. Lonely. And if I’m reading this correctly, so were the last five years, right?”

Byleth swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded again.

“Yeah,” Claude repeated softly. “For me, too. So, I thought - maybe neither of us has to be lonely anymore.”

His meaning dawned on her like a sunrise, blooming heat high in her cheeks. Her embarrassment fueled his, in turn, and they were left staring at one another in stunned silence; from an outside perspective, they must have looked - fittingly - like a pair of panicked deer.

“Claude,” she pronounced thickly, needing to verify her theory, “are you asking me to…?”

“Mhm,” he confirmed, a portion of his usual confidence flickering back to life in his smile. He tipped her chin upward with his index finger. “I want to be your family. I want you to be my family.”

Byleth had spent the first part of her life without adequate modes of expression. Before meeting Claude, she’d gotten by on curt gestures and a flat affect - and now, in the face of overwhelming emotion, she regressed right back to that state.

All she could do to communicate her answer was to jump and reach for him, just like she was leaping onto his wyvern - and, predictably, protectively, his arms closed around her. Anchored her.

Like always, she thought. A perfect catch.

“Woah - I’ll take that as a yes, then?” Claude asked, tentatively hopeful, laughing and stepping backward from the unexpected force.

Byleth buried her face in his shoulder and nodded, unable to speak; hot tears spilled from her eyes, soaking into Claude’s tunic collar, and her wrists trembled where they were clasped at his neck. Her heart had never beat, yet now it was overflowing, filling her chest with something happy and potent and home that she’d never dared to covet before.

In the glow of the hearth, to the crackling of logs and the faint rush of a sea breeze outside, Claude rocked them back and forth at a measured, soothing pace. He kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheekbone, wiping away her tears with his thumb and whispering in a shaky voice, “It’s okay, Bee. We’re going to be so happy, I promise. I promise.”

---Epilogue---

Lorenz understood the severity of the Airmid flooding - really, he did - but he did not understand why it needed to translate into a six-in-the-morning assembly. Anything the ministers discussed there could be handled just as easily, and with more lucidity, during their regular working hours.

Still, he trudged diligently up the stairs to the meeting rooms. If there were emergency measures to enact, then, by the goddess, he’d see them enacted. The peoples of Hrym and Ordelia had already suffered enough for several lifetimes.

He was just inside the threshold, blinking and stifling a yawn, when he saw them: Byleth and Claude, seated side by side at the head of the meeting table, the former digging into a plate of food and the latter grinning like a madman.

Lorenz’s yawn cut off abruptly; his jaw snapped shut with a click.

“You’re still here,” he grumbled, sliding into a chair on an empty side. “Somehow I doubt this is about the floods.”

Hilda and Marianne, who were sitting opposite him, giggled quietly together, their hands clasped on the tabletop. (Frankly, it made him jealous. Leonie hadn’t wanted to touch the office of royal minister with a ten-foot lance.)

“Nope,” Byleth said, pointing at Claude with her fork. “This is about the legality of our marriage.”

Hilda clapped frantically with excitement. “Congratulations! Ooh, this is going to be the biggest wedding ever - can you imagine the guest list? We’ll be curating it for months.”

“I think I’ll exclude my paternal cousins,” Claude mused. “Just to watch them squirm.”

Marianne nodded. “They deserve it.”

“Wait. Hold.” Lorenz slapped his daily ledger down on the table like a judge calling for order, and it worked just the same. The rabble died down, all eyes turning to him. “First of all: congratulations, you two. You’ve made me a marginally poorer man.”

Hilda snickered triumphantly.

“Second: this is going to be a legislative nightmare - and don’t you tell me differently, Claude von Riegan,” he added, holding up a finger when it looked like Claude would cut in. 

“I’ll abdicate,” Byleth suggested, stabbing into a sausage.

“No -!” all three ministers shouted in unison - even Marianne, who’d also half-stood from her chair, hands braced on the table.

(Meanwhile, Claude simply watched his new fiancee with moon-eyed adoration; Lorenz was sure he’d humor anything she said right now.)

“That - that won’t be necessary,” Lorenz said, clearing his throat and smoothing down his ascot. “I only mean that it will take time and collaboration. Claude, I insist that you stay another week while we draft something for you to take home. I’ll write to Nader.”

Byleth let out a rare exuberant gasp; beside her, Claude glanced down the table and gave Lorenz a sly, conspiratorial wink. 

“- Oh, try to act professionally about this, would you?” he insisted, but an infectious smile was already spreading across his own face. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author’s Notes

candidates for game names:

byleth: better chess (rejected - judgmental)

claude: long chess (rejected - misleading)

hilda: chess 2 (considered but ultimately rejected - legality)

lorenz: tactician’s chess (rejected - boring)

[asphyxiateher]

Only Monsters Come Out at Night

Chapter 5: I’ll Tell You My Sins So You Can Sharpen Your Knife

Summary: Desdemona is slowly losing herself but survival is still critical, especially when she must spend time with Daniela alone. A/N: Thank you all for the support, I’ve been busy with work but this story in my head needs to be written so I can get it out of my system. lol I’ll polish and edit this when I can. :) 

           To say the previous night was eventful would be an understatement but to Cassandra’s credit, she did not push for more than what Desdemona was willing to give. Now, Desdemona wasn’t saying that Cassandra was gentle or pleasant when she declined engaging in more intimate activities, but Cassandra understood the meaning of “no” and backed off in exchange for learning more about Desdemona. The smaller girl thought she was being clever by saying she would only get physical with her if they took the time to get to know each other better first and she was surprised when Cassandra reluctantly agreed. Des introduced Cassandra to the laptop she had brought with her on their trip and the woman was in absolute awe of the power of modern-day technology. She had begun explaining about what movies were and what she currently had downloaded onto her pc when Cassandra astonished Desdemona with a personal question.

“What brought you all the way out here in the first place anyway, Little One? Don’t get me wrong, you’re the most fascinating group of visitors we’ve had in such a long time, but for a pretty face like you to be stranded out here on your own with me? Seems foolish.” Cassandra asked as she lay on the bed next to Desdemona who suddenly snapped her laptop shut.

“Desmond and I graduated from college and we had money saved up to go embark on what was supposed to be a memorable adventure. I’ve always been into horror and science fiction movies as well as novels and comic books so I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tour the castle that inspired Bram Stoker’s Dracula, one of my favorite classics. Look how well that turned out.” Desdemona says bitterly, nervously fiddling with her fingers.

Cassandra attempted to reach out and wrap her fingers around Desdemona’s hand, but she became hesitant and pulled back instead as if she were unsure if the gesture would be welcome.

“Your brother is dead. That is something we cannot undo but I understand your anger. Bela and Daniela are trying at times, but I do love them more than anything really. I have the power to kill at will and I will not falter should anything happen to my dear sisters. You, on the other hand, are persevering in a way that’s admirable, Desdemona. You are innocent and you want to survive. You are stronger for that more than you’ll ever know.” Cassandra tells her quietly, her teeth wedged between her lips as though she may have said too much to her human plaything.

Desdemona was taken aback by what Cassandra had said and it must have shown on her face because Cassandra suddenly looked irritated with how deep the conversation was going.

“If you are not going to allow me the pleasures of your flesh, then allow me to drink from you as I’m quite parched!” She snarled before she pounced on top of Desdemona, her razor-sharp teeth flashing dangerously. One minute, she’s howling in pain the moment Cassandra pierces through her skin and begins drinking her blood and the very next, she passes out from the blood loss while still laying underneath the ill-tempered vampire. She sleeps for a few hours, only stirring awake when she feels a comfortable presence beside her. She groggily opens her eyes only to find Veronica staring at her, concern clearly etched on her face.

“Shh, shh hey, you’re okay now, Dezzy. C’mere, let me take a look at you. You were tossing and turning the whole time after they brought you back down here. I don’t know what they did to you, but we can switch places if you’d like. I think Lady Dimitrescu might take a liking to you.” Veronica says jokingly as she runs shaky fingers through Desdemona’s tangled locks.

Desdemona sighs at the contact and smiles at her best friend’s attempt to soothe her.

“That’s funny, V. Not sure I fancy calling my dentist and canceling all future appointments ‘cause I found a titan of woman with big tits to pull all my teeth for me. Nah, I think I’ll stick to reluctantly donating my blood to three horny vampire women, thank you very much.” Desdemona scoffs out a laugh when Veronica playfully swats at her arm.

“Fuck off, it was only a few teeth and yeah, that crazy bitch has got fists the size of hams so of course she can knock them straight out of me!” Veronica exclaimed. “Ugh. I’ll be honest though Des, I’m scared. Not for me ‘cause I know what’s coming if I keep putting up a fight, but I’m scared for you.” She continues, her voice now a whisper as she lays down on the cold hard stone floor and placing her hand on top of Desdemona’s.

“I’m scared for both of us. Why aren’t you more worried about you?” Desdemona squeezes her best friend’s hand and rests her head against Veronica’s shoulder.

 “You’re being forced to entertain three vampires who could bleed you dry the way Elizabeth Bathory did her victims. The way they manhandle you and take occasional sips from you is fucking horrific! I don’t understand how you’re not freaking out over it.” Veronica licks her chapped lips and glances back at Desdemona. “These could be our very last moments alive together. I need you to promise me that you will look for weaknesses that we can use against them. Fight for your right to live, babes, fight for Desmond the way he would have wanted us to. We can’t keep taking what they’re giving us, it will kill us.”

Deep down, Desdemona knew her best friend was right but how could she expect her to put up a fight against three undead creatures that can transform into a massive ball of insects at any given time? She felt so helpless and utterly alone in the way that made her feel insignificant next to her best friend. Veronica was fearless in the face of death and Desdemona felt like a coward. She wanted to survive this ordeal so badly, she practically groveled in submission to be spared from any form of punishment and observing the bruises and cuts along on V’s skin, she felt so incredibly guilty for not putting up a hard enough fight.

 “V, I don’t know how to explain it. I want to get out of here as much as you do, but as soon as my mind tells me to do something logical, I do the exact opposite. It’s like I do not want any of Alcina’s daughters to hate me, so I go out of my way to please them. It’s driving me crazy, and I don’t know if I’m just weak willed when it comes to them but fuck it…I just don’t want to die.” Desdemona admits, turning her head to face Veronica who meets her gaze at the same time.

 “Nothing wrong with wanting to live a little longer but don’t throw away your dignity for these monsters who don’t give a flying fuck about you. From what the countess herself has said about her daughters is that they entertain whatever pretty little maiden comes their way for a minute before they get bored and eat their corpse when they’re done. Don’t let them belittle you, use you, and kill you when you’re worth more than you’ll ever know.” Veronica tells her before placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. Feeling renewed, Desdemona continues to enjoy the few moments of peace with her best friend before they hear the dreaded sound of heels clicking in the dungeon.

“Well, cur, you know what it’s time for and you’ll be delighted to know I have so many wonderful things to show you. Get up, and brace yourself because after this, I guarantee you that you will not be the same after today.” Alcina declares as she unlocks the chamber door to their room.

Veronica grudgingly sits up and sighs, squeezing Desdemona’s hands one last time before standing. “Alcina, what a lovely surprise. I was just beginning to miss you, my lady. Oh, how I’ve been withering away down here knowing that I’ve gone a day without a beating. Thank you oh so much for finally blessing us with your presence.” Veronica says with a smirk only for it to be smacked off her face a second later.

“Silence, heathen! You will speak only when spoken to. For now, you will only be required to observe and shadow a maiden I no longer have use for. As for you, Desdemona, Daniela will be waiting in the library. Do not keep her waiting, dear.” Alcina says ominously, a chill running down Desdemona’s spine at the mere mention of her youngest daughter’s name.

Veronica casts her a fleeting sympathetic look before they both follow Lady Dimitrescu out of the cellar. Once they had gone their separate ways, Desdemona’s anxiety climbed to seemingly immeasurable heights. She came out of her previous encounters with lady Dimitrescu’s other daughters alive so that was good, but what of Daniela? She already gave off the impression that she was delusional and violent when provoked so Desdemona’s chance of survival at this rate was questionable at best.

When Desdemona arrived in front of the entrance to the library, she took a few deep breaths to calm herself. After a few more minutes of contemplating whether she should enter Daniela’s realm, she makes up her mind and crosses the threshold. Her jaw drops at the magnificent sight behold her. She’s in a vast circular room that is surrounded by sumptuous bookshelves and brilliant décor that has her almost envying the fact that this space belonged to someone like Daniela.

“Are you looking for me, darling? Come play with me, I’ll let you live in the meantime.” A shrill voice from behind one of the bookcases catches Desdemona off guard and she nearly trips over herself when she turns to find Daniela quickly approaching her.

“H-hi Daniela, I came to s-see you. How are you doing?” Desdemona asks as she continues to back away from the dangerous woman staring at her with the unmistakable look of hunger in her eyes. Daniela laughs uncontrollably and covers her mouth when she’s done. The red headed woman gives Desdemona an agonizingly slow once-over and licks her lips as though she were feeling ravenous at the sight.

“You’re so sweet to ask. You must have fallen hard for me, but you shouldn’t be surprised; everyone falls for me in time.” Daniela says in an almost sickeningly sweet voice. ‘Ok, so this fucking lunatic thinks you’re in love with her. Good, maybe she’d be less inclined to kill you.’ Desdemona thinks to herself, her back now pressed against a polished marble column.

“Y-yeah, I wanted to see you but only if you weren’t busy. I just thought you could use some company.” Des replies. This pleases Daniela immensely, so she takes a step closer to inhale the other girl’s scent. She was terrified and her blood smelled so delicious because of it. She needed to taste her, absorb everything that was Desdemona and revel in the symphony of her screams when she was done with her.

 “I could always use company, especially yours, my love. A few moments ago, I would have been just fine snuggling by the fireplace and having you read with me. Now that you’re here smelling quite tasty, there’s something else I want.” She says with a giggle before instantly making moves so that she was now only a few inches apart from Desdemona’s face.

Desdemona gasps when Daniela reveals her hidden sickle and suddenly tears a long cut through her shirt and pants. Moaning in ecstasy, Daniela begins to pick apart her torn clothing and caresses the smooth expanse of skin that was exposed to her. Desdemona shuts her eyes and turns her head to the side when the other woman lunges at her with an open mouth.

“Ugh, why are you rejecting me? Don’t you love me? Apologize at once and I’ll forgive you. Everybody makes mistakes.” Daniela whispers in a low, threatening tone. Desdemona feels tears begin to form when Daniela lowers her head and begins to suck and gently nibble on her neck. Veronica’s words come to mind about not putting up with whatever form of abuse they were going to give and she tries to summon every ounce of bravery she could muster. She pushes hard against Daniela and frees herself from her grasp. She twists and begins running in the other direction, not looking back at the crazed woman shrieking at her.

“Why are you doing this to me? I thought you loved me!” Desdemona was about to reach the doorway that led out of the library when a massive ball of insects appeared before her. She wasn’t able to react quickly enough so when she tried to turn again, she felt Daniela pounce on her from behind, tackling her to the floor. There was no use struggling against the immortal creature that perched herself on top of her so when Daniela forcefully flipped her onto her back, Desdemona saw her life flash before her eyes the moment Daniela raised her sickle, as if she were ready to swing at her. The logical part of her brain wanted this to end quickly, to spare herself from further embarrassment every time she pleaded for her life. But then there were dark whispers from an unknown entity, her broken survival instincts or those pesky intrusive thoughts perhaps, that were telling her to kiss Daniela in order to calm her down. She doesn’t know why or how it makes perfect sense but it does; Desdemona could either choose to die on her own terms or she could appease this goddess before her and worship her.

‘Where the hell are those thoughts coming from and why do I have a sudden urge to kiss Daniela? Gods help me.’ The frantic thoughts are the last to cross her mind as Desdemona leans up and yanks Daniela close to her level by her pendant.

Daniela’s eyes widen in surprise when she feels Desdemona’s lips press themselves against hers. After a few tense moments of not receiving the response she was hoping for, Desdemona begins pulling away but then she’s pulled back into a more frenzied, intense kiss. Daniela sighs against her mouth, her sickle dropping and causing the sound of metal clanging against the floor to echo in the room. When the need for air becomes too great for the smaller girl, she gently breaks the kiss and Daniela is suddenly looking at her with hooded eyes, desire visible in those beautiful golden hued orbs of hers. “Why did you run away from me? I hate it when my pretty playthings run away from me.” Daniela asks softly, the delicate tone in her voice surprising the both of them.

Desdemona’s voice wavers when she speaks, but she steadies herself by cautiously wrapping an arm around Daniela’s neck. She doesn’t know why she’s actively reaching out to touch the dangerous red-headed woman, she can’t explain why she’s craving for more contact, but she does and it’s scary as hell. “B-because I don’t want my f-first time with anyone to be meaningless. I’ve n-never gotten this close with anyone before and…I want it to be special. Call me old fashioned, but I’d rather you slit my throat right now before I give myself to you. I need to know you on a deeper level.” Desdemona’s cheeks are flushed a deep crimson color as she admits this, not knowing why she’s opening herself up like this to Daniela but those darker thoughts that linger somewhere in her mind are praising her.

Daniela takes a sharp breath in response to Desdemona’s words and quirks an eyebrow at the smaller girl. She was completely stunned by the revelation.

“Wait, you’re running away from me because you haven’t…not with anyone else before?” Daniela asked carefully.

Desdemona nods, wondering why this would matter to her at all. Daniela was going to slit her throat for wasting her time and-

“Oh Desdemona, why didn’t you tell me sooner? I didn’t mean to make you so nervous! Don’t get me wrong, I’m disappointed that I don’t get to make you mine tonight but I’m willing to wait for you. You’re my soulmate and if you want to get to know me before we get close, then we’ll do just that.” Daniela says, her voice huskier now than it was a moment ago. She reaches in between their pressed bodies and lowers her hand so now that her fingers were skimming along smooth skin until Daniela reaches Desdemona’s underwear.

 Underneath Daniela’s fierce, lust filled gaze, Desdemona moans into the other woman’s ear when she feels Daniela cup her womanhood possessively. This prompted Daniela to capture Desdemona’s lips in a ravenous kiss that left her feeling both thirsty and wanting more. The smaller girl, on the other hand, was quickly losing herself in the kiss, not understanding why the dark voices in her head were pressing her to do more. She couldn’t hear Veronica’s words of warning but instead sinister whispers that poisoned her thoughts. Desdemona was almost fully convinced to give herself to Daniela in that moment but then she remembers the conversation she had with her best friend earlier. This was all about survival, that’s all this should be about. She should not be indulging herself like this with these…creatures. ‘Your masters. Address them appropriately.’ The wicked voice in her head is not her own. Alarmed, Desdemona breaks the kiss with Daniela, who dives in again to lick Desdemona’s lips.

“Mmm, judging by the way you kissed me, you want me to be your first, don’t you? I can wait for you darling, but only if you promise that when you’re ready, you’ll come find me. Not Bela, not Cassandra nor my beautiful mother. I want to be the one to break you in. My sisters always get what they want but this, I want this more than anything. Pledge yourself to me.” Daniela murmurs darkly, her teeth gently nibbling on Desdemona’s earlobe.

Desdemona wants to shove her off and run away again while she has the chance. She wants to take Veronica’s hand and escape Castle Dimitrescu together. She just wants to go home, mourn her twin brother with her family and be somewhere safe and quiet and away from all of this.

Instead, Desdemona smiles at Daniela and tucks a few stray strands of red hair behind her ear. It was adorable how Daniela quickly leaned into the touch, a smile of her own gracing blood smeared lips.

“I’m yours, completely. I’ll take good care of you if you promise to do the same to me.” Desdemona says, her voice not following what her brain was trying to command her to say. ‘Kick, scream, run! Don’t let them control you, don’t let them compel you to do anything you don’t want to do –‘ ‘Obey. Listen to your masters, they own you and your body. You are theirs to do as they wish. You belong to them and nobody else. Do not disobey or you will be punished.’

There it was again, the sinister voice that did not belong to her and it was overwhelming.

Whatever rational thoughts Desdemona had as she continued to embrace Daniela in her arms had left. The last thing Desdemona remembers thinking about before she got up to join Daniela in her favorite corner to read was how much darker and menacing the bruises and hickeys all three sisters left on her skin were starting to look. They were deep red and purple, black spider veins were also beginning to sprout and spread throughout her body.

Were Lady Dimitrescu’s daughters subtly infecting her with some kind of disease or were they creating a bond with her every time they bit and clawed at her? Desdemona’s thoughts lingered on the last part before she uncharacteristically ignored what had just transpired between Daniela and herself. Ties had been indeed created but what Desdemona can’t help but wonder what the cost to sharing a dangerous bond with all three women was? She doesn’t think on it much longer as she’s seated on Daniela’s favorite couch and Daniela rests her head on Desdemona’s lap, a chosen book for her to read aloud in hand. Her mind is placated and the desire to please her Mistress takes over. Nothing else mattered anymore.

[roman-writing]

bring home a haunting (4/12)

Fandom: The Haunting of Bly Manor

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Rating: M

Wordcount: 20,133

Summary: Dani almost has her life together, when a familiar face arrives back in town after ten years. A childhood friends AU written with @youngbloodbuzz

read it below or read it on AO3 here

It was well and truly autumn. The air had a bite to it and the ground crinkled with every footstep. Everything had lost its vibrant edge and had become brown and wet and stagnant. Nothing but mud and rain and fresh crops on the produce shelves in the grocery store. The nights grew longer and the days shorter, and winter would be fast upon them.

In other words, Dani's least favorite time of year. She had long come to the conclusion that she was not built for the cold. Even now, sky overcast and gloomy, struck through with bared tree branches like black lightning, she wore a thick coat, scarf, and hat. Her boots were splattered with mud from the walk, and she would occasionally admire the way her breath steamed in the air like a cloud with every exhalation. Meanwhile, Jamie wore nothing more than a woollen jumper over her usual t-shirt and jean ensemble. Her scuffed and battered shoes looked even more worse for wear with a layer of caked dirt all up the soles.

They were digging through the illegal dump found midway down the abandoned rail line, affectionately called 'Mount Tire' by the locals. Dani had heard her mother complain about it along with other townsfolk at the annual general meeting of the Council, as though it were a dark mark on the face of the town rather than a treasure trove of objects that otherwise might have gone without a home.

From further along, Jamie made a triumphant noise, and Dani lifted her head.

"Did you find something?" Dani asked.

Jamie's reply was a series of grunts and the sound of something clattering. Dani wandered over to find her brushing off an unearthed bicycle that had seen better days.

Jamie held it propped up with both hands while she inspected it with a critical eye. "I can fix this," she said.

Dani's eyebrows rose and she gave the bike a dubious once over. "It's missing a seat."

Jamie made a dismissive sound while she crouched down to test the chain. "Damn," she swore. "This'll need replacing. Spokes are fine though. And it all looks like surface rust to me. I can fix it."

"Again," said Dani, pointing out the obvious. "There's no seat."

"Always such a Debbie downer," Jamie said even as she aimed a grin at Dani over her shoulder. She straightened. "C'mon. Let's go down to the petrol station."

"What for?" Dani asked, following along beside Jamie as she guided the bicycle with her hands, rolling it along down to the train tracks.

"Tires are flat," Jamie said, tapping one of said tires with the toe of her shoe for good measure. "Tread's fine, though. They've got free air down at the station, and I want to see how bad the damage is."

It was miles away to the gas station, but Dani didn't mind. Not when it was with Jamie. Not when their Saturday was free and they could spend their time aimlessly chatting about everything and nothing in particular. They were still talking and laughing when they arrived at the station, the bike ticking like a clock with every rotation of its old wheels.

Jamie propped the bike against the wall outside before they went in. The owner, Mr. Thompson, was wearing a baseball cap and reading a magazine inside. His head lifted when the bell attached to the door rang, but as he saw who it was that entered — not a customer, just a few kids — he swiftly lost interest. His gaze dropped back down to the magazine on the counter.

"Afternoon, Mr. Thompson," Dani greeted with a little wave.

He grunted a wordless reply, then said, "I don't do candy discounts."

Beside her, Jamie bristled. "We're not that young."

As he flicked to another page — some sort of automobile magazine with shiny cars and motorcycles splashed across it — his eyes moved up to them with a lazy sort of indifference. "You really are, kid."

There was a determined set to Jamie's jaw as she approached the counter and placed her hands on it. "I want to use your air pump outside."

"It's free, isn't it?" he said, his attention firmly back on the magazine. "Don't need to tell me you're going to use it. Just use it."

"I also want to buy some stuff to fix up a bicycle. Tire repair kit. New chain," Jamie ticked off items on her fingers. "Do you have anything that'll help clean up rust?"

Mr. Thompson was watching her now, cheek resting on one fist. "Matter of fact, I do."

"And I want to use your tools out back."

His eyebrows rose and he blinked slowly at her. "You got money to back up that mouth of yours, Miss Taylor?"

Jamie dug her hands into her pockets and pulled out a few crumpled up bills and spare bits of change. She slapped them onto the countertop. Mr. Thompson glanced down. "That's enough for a new chain and none of the others. Sorry, kid. Come back when you have more."

Slowly, Jamie deflated. She began to drag the money back into her hands from the table, but Dani stepped up beside her, rising up on her toes to better be seen. "Excuse me?"

Both of them turned to look at her.

Clearing her throat, Dani forged on. "Can we pay in something other than cash?"

Mr. Thompson's brow crinkled. Somehow he still managed to look bored despite it. "Like what?"

"Well, no offense, Mr. Thompson, but your shop -" Dani gestured around them, "- is kind of a mess. How about we clean it? Windows. Floors. Or -" she said hurriedly as he leaned back, "- we can operate the pump for anyone who comes around? That's -? That's worth something? Right?"

Glancing around the shop, he tipped back his baseball cap with the knuckle of one finger, then swiped at his nose with a thoughtful sniff. Jamie opened her mouth to say something, but Dani stood on her foot and surreptitiously shook her head. Jamie scowled but closed her mouth and kept silent. 

Finally, he waved towards the door that led to the little warehouse and service shop out back. "Brooms and cleaning equipment is back there. And for God's sake don't touch the pumps. Last thing I need is you two spilling gas all over the road."

The effect was immediate. Jamie's face lit up like a Christmas tree, and she began tugging Dani towards the back room, saying, "I get the windows! I'm taller!"

"Hey!" Dani complained, but grudgingly accepted mop duties when push came to shove.

It was slow work, with very few customers to interrupt the boredom. Jamie made a game of pulling faces at Dani through the glass as she cleaned the windows from outside. Dani laughed and would pretend to descend down stairs as she walked. Mr. Thompson kept an eye on them from behind the counter, shaking his head and flipping through his magazine with a mutter under his breath, "Kids."

When a car eventually did roll up to one of the pump stations, Mr. Thompson straightened in his seat. Dani and Jamie were just about finished cleaning when Judy stepped out of her car and saw them. She hesitated, cocking her head curiously, before striding inside. As she opened the door, she kept it propped open with her hip and lifted her sunglasses so that they were perched atop her head.

"What on earth are you two doing?" she asked, looking between Jamie and Dani.

"Trading," said Dani.

"For bicycle parts," Jamie added, and she gestured with a rag towards the old bicycle leaning against the wall.

Judy aimed a questioning look at Mr. Thompson. "That right, Hunter?"

If anything, he looked a bit bashful. "Place needed cleaning, and they don't have money," he grumbled. "Didn't think there was any harm in it."

With a shrug, Judy said, "All right, then. If everyone's happy, then I'm happy. Can I get this filled up?" She pointed to her sedan. "Should only be half a tank, but I'm driving to Cedar Rapids to visit my sister tomorrow."

"Sure thing," Mr. Thompson said. He rose from his seat and ambled out to fill up the car.

Judy kept the door open for him and remained standing in the doorway. She crossed her arms. "And what are your plans for Christmas this year?" she asked Jamie.

Jamie lifted a spray bottle and squeezed some solution onto the window before wiping at the glass with the rag. "Dunno," she answered. "Same as last year. Home with Nan."

"Well, Dani's coming over to my place with her mom," Judy said, nodding towards Dani in question, who listened with a keen ear. "Why don't you and Ruth come over like you did for Thanksgiving? We usually open presents in the morning and have a big lunch."

"Oh, uh -" Jamie hesitated. She glanced through the glass at Dani, who was nodding furiously and all but bouncing on the balls of her feet. Even then, Jamie's expression was unsure. "I'll have to talk to Nan about it."

"Well, you tell Ruth to give me a call, all right?"

Jamie nodded and mumbled something that was too muffled through the glass for Dani to hear properly. Whatever it was made Judy laugh. "Oh, you're going to be trouble one day, Missy," Judy said with a good-natured chuckle.

Jamie’s only response was an impish grin.

When Mr. Thompson had finished refuelling Judy’s car, Judy approached the register to pay. As she pulled out a few bills from her wallet and handed them over, she said, “You know, you should hire the Jones’ boy. Stanley? I hear he’s looking for part time work.” 

Mr. Thompson took the money and punched in a few buttons on the register to get her change. “Shop’s fine.”

Judy took the change with a shrug. “If you say so.” And on her way out, she paused, door held open. “Don’t work them too hard, Hunter. I’ll see you girls later.”

After her car had pulled away from the station and they were left alone with Mr. Thompson once more, Dani and Jamie turned to look at him. He had returned to his place ensconced behind the till, magazine open on the countertop, hiding behind a row of confectionaries and chewing gum. When he felt their eyes upon him, he went very still, hand frozen in place as he turned the page of a new magazine. 

Sighing, he jerked his thumb to indicate the wall behind him. “Tools are in the back. Don’t hurt yourself. Especially you.” He jabbed his finger in Jamie’s direction. “Your grandmother puts the fear of God in me.”

 --

The news of it spread like wildfire across the school the moment it happened. A fight in the east wing. 

Dani and Eddie were already on their way there in search of Carson and Jamie who were late to lunch, when other students rushed past them shouting back the news. The pair exchanged a worried glance before taking off, following the clamor around the corner to where a group of kids were shouting and cheering on at a pile of indistinguishable bodies scuffling on the floor, swinging and pulling violently on each other. 

Dani’s stomach dropped, and immediately cast her eyes around in search of Jamie, worrying at her lower lip when she couldn’t spot her in the crowd. In that same moment, a group of teachers came rushing through. 

“All right, all right, settle down!” Mr. Roberts shouted, pushing his way through the crowd and pulling apart the wrestling bodies with the help of the art teacher, Mr. Keller. 

When Mr. Roberts pulled up the recognizable form of a disheveled Jamie, breathing heavy, her nose bleeding, and a righteous fury burning in her eyes that Dani hadn’t seen since that day in the back alley, Dani sucked in a sharp breath. 

Eddie sighed exasperatedly. “Again?”

“Nan’s gonna kill her,” Dani murmured, frowning in concern. When Jamie wiped at the blood pooling from her nose down to her mouth and chin with the sleeve of her shirt, wincing as she smeared it over her face, Dani winced along with her. 

It didn’t make any sense. No one had bothered Jamie since the first year she arrived at North Liberty after her fight with Roger in the stairwell. The knowledge that Jamie was perfectly capable of defending herself, and fought like a caged beast when cornered had grown widespread across the school. Dani knew. She’d seen Jamie fearlessly tackle one of the twins during a playfight session at the river where, at the time, Tommy had already stood well over a foot taller than Jamie. 

Dani took a step forward, scanning the pile of students being pulled to their feet to see who was responsible. A hand grasped her arm, pulling her to a stop. 

“Danielle,” Eddie hissed. 

Dani almost spun around to glare at him, but her eyes unexpectedly caught Jamie’s. Jamie’s eyes darted pointedly to a corner in the hallway before catching Dani’s again. Dani frowned, but Jamie only responded by pressing her mouth into a thin line and jerking her head towards the same direction, slowly being pulled away by the arm down the hall. 

With one last grimace of a smile, Dani watched her go as another teacher began dispersing the crowd. When Jamie turned a corner, Dani finally exhaled, her shoulders dropping from where they had bunched up, and she scanned the direction of the hallway where Jamie gestured towards. Stepping towards it, she was once again tugged to a stop. She looked down at her hand where Eddie’s had at some point slinked down from her forearm to her hand, holding it in a loose grip. Dani darted her eyes up at him to see that he wasn’t even paying attention, still frowning uncomfortably at the laughing kids who still loitered the hallway. 

Dani huffed. “Eddie.” 

“Yeah?”

“Can I have my hand back?”

He turned to blink blankly at her, and then down at their clasped hands. “Oh,” he said, snatching his hand away, his cheeks turning pink. “Sorry.”

Dani sighed, and returned to scanning the hallway, stepping further through groups of her classmates, until she spotted a familiar figure on the ground, curled up and trembling against the lockers with their head buried in their arms. 

Dani gasped. “Carson!” She rushed towards him, kneeling on the dusty floor and pressed a hand to his shoulder, “Carson, are you okay?”

He flinched away, head jerking up to stare at her with wide watery eyes. He relaxed when he saw it was just Dani, his face crumpling in relief as he nodded and wiped his cheeks. 

Eddie kneeled on the other side of him, eyes fearful. “Are you sure? What happened?”

Risking a glance around them, there were still students being ushered away, some even staring and snickering in their direction. Dani’s stare hardened into a scowl. “Not here,” she said, pushing to her feet, holding out a hand for Carson, “Let’s go outside.”

With downcast eyes, Carson took her hand for her to help pull him up and didn’t let go as she guided both boys outside to their usual spot along the brick walls. They huddled together in a circle with their lunch bags in their laps. 

“Well?” Eddie said, his knee bouncing, wearing a worried frown. “What happened?” Carson sighed and didn’t answer. “Are you in trouble?”

“No,” Carson said, then twisted his face. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean you don’t think so? It’s a yes or no question.”

“Eddie,” Dani said, and his mouth promptly snapped shut, looking sheepish. Shaking her head, Dani returned her gaze back at Carson, the youngest O’Mara looking so unusually despondent. She shifted a little closer to him, their knees knocking together, rested a hand on his back and said softly, “It’s okay, you can tell us.”

Carson sighed again, and after a moment, he finally said, “You remember those guys I told you about?”

Dani’s heart sank, knowing immediately what he was referring to. She caught Eddie’s eyes and saw the realization slowly hit him, his face pulling into a grimace. It was only the natural state of things, when Tommy and David graduated from elementary school to the golden gates of high school, for opportunities to arise on the pecking order. With the twins gone, they had taken with them a safety net that had left their little group in peace for the past few years, and out of all of them, the ire of a particular group of the student body had zeroed in on Carson. 

“What did they do?” Dani asked. 

Carson shrugged morosely. “Calling me names again. Shoving me. Whatever.” 

“But why was Jamie there?” Eddie asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. 

“She walks with me to lunch sometimes,” Carson said. 

Slowly, Dani softened, recalling all those moments in the past month where Jamie would rush off after the lunch bell rang, claiming to need the washroom, and arriving later at the lunchroom with Carson by her side.

The rest of the story came out of Carson gradually. Jamie not being there on time to accompany Carson to lunch. Being cornered by a group of boys in the hall, and by the time they were shoving Carson and getting aggressive, Jamie jumped into the fray. 

“And she just -!” Carson’s eyes by now were wide and fervent, “She came out of nowhere and told them to the piss off!”

“Please don’t say that in front of mom,” Eddie groaned. 

“And then, I don’t know, someone started shoving again, and suddenly they were just all fighting,” Carson said, taking a wild bite of his sandwich that he had pulled out in the middle of the story, “Oh! And then Roger jumped in — “

“Roger?” Dani and Eddie blurted in unison.

Swallowing hard, Dani leaned forward with a worried frown, “Was - was he fighting Jamie, too?”

The thought of Jamie taking on not just three, but four boys by herself sent her heart crashing, but Carson was already shaking his head before Dani even finished the question. “No! He was helping her!”

Dani blinked. Roger Simmons helping Jamie in a school fight. Maybe pigs really did fly. 

As Carson’s story began to wind down to what Dani and Eddie already knew, Dani sobered, biting at her thumb. “I think you should go to the principal and tell them what happened.”

Eddie frowned. “Why?”

“Because he was there and the fight started because they were bullying him in the first place!” 

Shifting on the concrete, Eddie hunched his shoulders. “I don’t know. It might make things worse.”

Dani huffed. “How?” 

At Eddie’s noncommittal shrug, Carson shrank back, his eyes darting between Dani and Eddie before landing back on Dani. “I didn’t mean to get Jamie in trouble, I swear,” he mumbled.

Dani sighed and grasped his hand. “You didn’t,” she said, “Jamie knew what she was getting into. But if we go to the principal’s office now and tell them what happened, she might be in less trouble if they knew she was defending you and herself.”

Nodding eagerly, Carson was already haphazardly packing away the rest of his lunch and pushing to his feet. Dani almost smiled as she followed him to stand, but the tight lines of Eddie’s mouth stopped her. 

They retreated back inside and towards the school office in silence. When they arrived, Dani immediately scanned the room for Jamie, but there was no sign of her and the office was empty. She eyed Principal Davis’ office, her brow knitted as they stepped towards Ms. Reeves. 

After a short conversation with Ms. Reeves, Carson was guided towards the principal’s office with Ms. Reeves' hand on his back. Dani balled her hand into fists and bit her lip as she watched him, his shoulders bunched and his head bowed. Beside her, Eddie was anxiously bouncing on his toes, before abruptly blurting out, “Wait - uh. Ms. Reeves?” At the sound of her name, Ms. Reeves glanced back. Eddie stood up straight, pushing his shoulders back, and said, “Can we come with him?”

Ms. Reeves sighed and gave them a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, honey, but no,” she said,

“But he’s my brother.”

Ms. Reeves gestured towards the bench. “You can wait here for the rest of lunch if you’d like, but I’m afraid unless you have something important to add, you can’t go in.”

Both Dani and Eddie deflated, giving Carson one last grim smile and thumbs up that he returned with a small wave. When Ms. Reeves knocked and opened the principal’s door, Dani craned her neck for any sightings of Jamie, but all she could see were the backs of chairs populated by boys, and a stone faced Principal Davis. Carson was guided inside, and then the door was shut with a thud of finality. 

Giving them one last pointed look, Ms. Reeves gestured towards the bench before retreating back to her desk, picking up the phone with a sigh. 

There was nothing more to be done except to take a seat and wait, pretending like they couldn’t hear Ms. Reeves explaining to parents that they needed to come down to the school. Dani winced, a pool of dread whirling in her stomach for the oncoming hurricane of Nan. They snacked on the remains of their lunch as they waited silently. 

When ten minutes had passed, and Carson still hadn’t made a reappearance, Eddie sighed anxiously. “He’s okay, right?”

Dani almost didn’t hear him, absentmindedly snacking on peanuts as she stared at the principal’s office door. “Yeah, if Jamie’s there, of course he is,” Dani replied. 

“God, mom’s gonna kill me.”

“Why?” Dani finally pulled her eyes away to frown at him.

“‘Cause I didn’t watch out for him like Tommy and David,” he said, bouncing his knee, staring at the floor, his face distressed. “Or like you and Jamie.”

Dani’s shoulders dropped and she reached out to grasp his hand, easing it out of its clenched fist to clasp their palms together. “It’s not your fault,” she said, “There was nothing we could’ve done. Jamie was just lucky to be there at the right time today.”

Eddie huffed, his mouth twisting, still visibly concerned and displeased. Dani didn’t know what else to say, she opened her mouth, hoping to find the words to comfort him, but the distinct ominous sound of a tapping cane stopped her. At the sight of a scowling Nan marching in the office, the first to arrive as if the wrath of God had lit a fire under her, Dani immediately shot upright, pulling her hand from Eddie to stand. 

Nan’s mouth thinned when she caught sight of her. She tisked, tapped Dani on the ankle with her cane, and said, “Sit.” Dani did as she was told, biting her lip as Nan stared at her, and then said, “Well? Where is the little shite?”

Swallowing hard, Dani pointed towards Principal Davis’ office. “Already in there,” she murmured. 

With a grunt, Nan didn’t even bother checking in with Ms. Reeves. She marched towards the door and knocked hard on it with her cane. “Harvey Davis, open this door before I break it open.”

The door swung open to reveal Principal Davis wearing a grim smile, just short of paling. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Heron, thank you for — “

“Shut it, and let’s get this over with,” Nan said, pushing past him in the room. Principal Davis exhaled and shut the door. 

Lunch passed quickly after that, a few other parents arrived but there was still no reappearance of Carson or either one of Eddie’s parents yet. They unwillingly shuffled off back to class where they waited out the rest of their day anxiously. Eddie was only able to finally relax when he received a note from the office telling him that Carson was taken home early by their dad, his head thunking on his desk with a loud sigh of relief. Dani chuckled at him, but she still felt worry pulling at her stomach. By the time the final bell rang, Jamie hadn’t returned to class at all, not even for the few things still remaining atop her desk. Dani took it upon herself to gather it all up and stuff them in her locker, careful to keep any loose pages wrinkle free. 

When they were outside, free from school for the weekend, walking towards the beige car that was already waiting for them by the curb a little ways down the street, Eddie looked to her with an eager expression. “Hey, do you want to sleep over this weekend? David and Tommy promised to play Dungeons and Dragons with us.”

Dani’s face twisted. “To play what?”

“Don’t you remember? I told you ages ago. You said you’d play with us.”

“Oh, I - I wanted to go to Jamie’s to see if she’s okay,” she said, grimacing, and then added, “I was gonna sleep over.”

Eddie’s face fell. “But you promised.”

Dani did remember promising, absentmindedly nodding along to the idea in the O’Mara’s basement where they had all congregated around the tv to watch the latest animated Robin Hood movie, snickering quietly to Jamie’s commentary. 

“I know,” Dani said, “I’m sorry. I’m just worried.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “She’s probably fine.”

“She was bleeding everywhere!”

“So? She gets hurt like every other week, it’s nothing special,” he said, scowling at the ground. 

Dani grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop, her mouth thinned. “I’m sorry, Eddie,” she said, “I promise we can hang out soon, but Jamie’s my best friend, I can’t just not see if she’s okay.”

“I’m your best friend, too,” Eddie shot back, his face flushed and his eyes bright, and then froze, ducking his head with a timid expression, and murmured, “I just wanted to hang out.” 

Dani’s heart sank. She didn’t know what else to do or to say. She squeezed at his arm that she still held and moved to slip her hand down to his, but he pulled away with a huff. 

“It’s fine, just forget it,” he said, and continued towards the car. 

She followed after him. “Eddie,” she called out, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, resignation in his voice, not looking at her. 

Quietly, Dani worried at her lower lip and followed Eddie into the car where Mike was waiting for them. They settled into the backseat and buckled up, both visibly troubled that Mike twisted in his seat to give them an awkward consoling grin. “Hard day, huh?” Mike said, eyes darting between them. “Don’t you kids worry. Carson’s doing all right.” 

When they both silently nodded, Mike’s gaze landed on Dani. While for the most part, Dani and Mike rarely spoke more than five minutes at a time with each other, he was still always a kind and welcoming man. He gave her a tight grin and a nod. “Jamie, too. I think. Lord knows with that grandmother of hers. Never seen Davis turn that color before.” 

Dani breathed out a chuckle. 

“Ah, there it is,” he said, shaking a finger at her, “Knew that was hidden there somewhere.”

Dani ducked her head as Mike twisted back around in his seat to start the engine. As they took off down the street, Dani risked a glance at Eddie out of the corner of her eye to see him already staring at her. When she caught his eyes, he spun his head away sharply. Dani rolled her eyes and nudged at his feet with her own. When he didn’t respond she did it again, knocking it hard enough that there was an audible thud. He sighed and gave her a look that she returned with a grin. He huffed and turned back to the window, but Dani could still see his smile in the slant of his profile. 

When they arrived home, Eddie was the first to offer a murmured goodbye once they got out of the car. Seeing the peace offering for what it was, Dani hugged him tight and said, “I really am sorry.”

“I know,” he murmured, a dejected slump to his shoulders, before pulling away and starting towards the front door of his house where Mike was already shuffling inside. 

With the O’Mara’s front door shut, Dani was off like a shot towards her own house. Unlocking the door with her keys and shoving her way into the empty house to rush upstairs to her room and pack. 

 --

Nan gave her a withering stare when she finally opened the door to Dani’s insistent knocking. Lungs just short of burning from speed walking to the white bungalow, Dani almost shrank back when Nan arched an eyebrow, but she stood her ground and gave Nan a hesitant grin.

Breathing out sharply through her nose in what bizarrely sounded like laugh, Nan shook her head and dryly said, “Took your sweet time, did you?”

“Um.”

Nan huffed, and jerked her head towards the house. “Well, get inside. I’ve got a pot brewing already,” she said, disappearing back into the house. “And take your bloody inhaler before you pass out on my floor.”

Dani did as she was told, shuffling inside and shutting the door behind her to peel off her shoes and coat. She could hear Nan moving around in the kitchen, porcelain cups and plates clinking as Dani quickly took a puff from her inhaler, feeling better already as she stuffed it back in her bag and followed the sounds. 

Nan was already setting the table with three sets of cups and a blue tin that Dani knew held Nan’s coveted cookies, the old rickety table wobbling with every gentle movement due to its uneven legs. Dani dropped her bag in the corner of the kitchen as she scanned the rooms, not finding Jamie anywhere. “Where is she?” she asked quietly. 

“Out back working on that mess of a bike,” Nan said. 

Dani eagerly turned to make her way to the door leading to the backyard, but jerked to a stop when Nan held up the length of her cane to Dani’s stomach. She darted her eyes up towards Nan, blinking in surprise. Nan’s mouth thinned and she jerked her head to the table. “Sit,” she said in a tone of voice that brooked no room for argument.

Feeling her stomach sink, Dani spared a glance towards the back door, and followed Nan to the table, sitting opposite where she stood, stiff in her seat and her hands balled into fists in her lap. “Is she grounded?” Dani carefully asked. 

“Aye, she is,” Nan said, busy making a single cup of tea and setting up a saucer of what Dani recognized were Jamie’s favorite cookies. 

Dani waited for a moment before asking, “How long?”

“As long she needs to be,” Nan sharply replied. 

Dani sank back into her seat, biting her lip, watching as Nan set the cup of tea and saucer of cookies onto a small tray before sliding over an empty cup towards Dani. “Make your tea,” she said, her eyes so piercing that Dani slowly sat back up and reached for the pot. Nan nodded once and gathered the tray in her hand. “Wait here,” she said, and started towards the back screen door.

Straining her ears towards the backyard, Dani made her tea as silently as she could, hearing the tap of Nan’s cane and the whooshing sound of the door being pulled open, letting in a cool draft. But when all she could hear from the pair outside were muffled voices, words indistinguishable and muted, Dani huffed. For a moment, she strongly considered sneaking closer, taking advantage of her socked feet sliding against the floor, but the fear of getting caught kept her rooted to her chair.

The muffled voices abruptly grew louder. “But that’s not fair!” Jamie whined. 

“You don’t see me complaining about missing half a day’s paycheck, do you?” Nan retorted, “You sit out here, have your cuppa and biscuits, and keep your hands busy or so help me God.”

“But —”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, girl. It’s not the end of the world,” Nan said, and stomped back inside, closing the screen door shut with a hard thud. 

Wincing in sympathy, Dani could easily picture the indignant glower on Jamie’s face, her cheeks flushed and her brows deeply furrowed. 

Nan returned with a scowl, sitting in her seat opposite Dani and resting her cane on the table that wobbled slightly at the movement. Holding her cup in her hands, letting the heat warm her skin, Dani sat quietly as Nan made her own cup of tea, not knowing where to start. It wasn’t that Nan was that terribly difficult to talk to, with her shrewd eyes, endless tales of her time during both World Wars, the spite that kept her going, and a sixth sense for whenever Dani and Jamie somehow managed to find themselves doing something they shouldn't, but well — she was difficult to talk to. 

Shoving the tin of cookies towards Dani, Nan gave her a sharp look and said, “Before you get ahead of yourself, I’ve already heard the sorry tale of it.”

Dani paused, and then reached into the tin for a Jammie Dodger. “So you know it’s not her fault?” Dani tried, blinking her eyes innocently, taking a small bite of the cookie, “That she was defending herself?”

Nan snorted, pointing at her with a cookie. “Don’t try that look with me,” she said, “It may work on Judy, but it sure as hell won’t work on me.” Dani ducked her head and took a morose sip of her tea. Nan continued, “I know she was defending the O’Mara boy. But she broke her promise. Got into another fight. Got into trouble. Sure, she helped the boy, but she got nothing for it except a week's worth of detention and the threat of suspension. Again.”

Dani shrank further back in her seat, her frown deepening as she let the words sink in and ate her cookie, and finally said, “But she did though. Get something out of it, that is.” 

She looked up and caught Nan’s eye, expression unchanged save for the arch of an eyebrow. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What she wanted to say — that Jamie proved how much she cared, that Jamie earned a wealth of loyalty that Dani witnessed bloom in Carson’s eyes that she hadn’t seen before — all of it seemed to lodge itself in the back of her throat. Instead, she needed Nan to know the truth of it, she needed Nan to see Jamie for who she was, the importance of it pressing on her chest. 

“Jamie’s a good person,” Dani finally murmured. 

Nan’s mouth pulled tight. “Well, of course she is,” she said sharply, “She may be a bleeding pain in my arse, but she’s a far sight better than her mother and her knob of a father.”

Dani blinked. Taken aback at not only Nan’s irritation, as if annoyed that Dani reminded her of something that should’ve been obvious, but at the mention of Jamie’s parents. Parents who Jamie had never once mentioned before besides that one time during Dani’s birthday. Always shrugging off questions and changing the subject when mention of them were brought up. It felt strange, discussing something so deeply personal about Jamie, something that Jamie seemed to avoid at all costs, when she was only a few feet away out of hearing range. Dani chanced a glance behind her to where the screen door would be, fearing that any second Jamie might crack and stomp back inside. 

“Doesn’t talk much about them, does she?” Nan said, pulling back Dani’s attention. At Nan’s questioning stare, Dani quietly shook her head. Nan hummed, and then she too shook her head, leaning forward on the table, ignoring the way it shifted again, the pull of her stare so acute that Dani couldn’t blink or turn away.

“Now, you listen here. I’ll tell you exactly what I told her,” Nan said, ”She did a good thing, truly. But she went about it the wrong way, you see. There are more ways to go about things than with the end of your fist. I won’t tolerate it. Not in this house. Not again. Nothing good will ever come of it if she keeps it up. Do you understand?”

Dani was quiet for a long moment, absorbing the words, and then nodded. 

“Good,” Nan said, leaning back and taking a sip of her tea. “Figured as much. Lord knows the girl was as wild as the wind blew back in England. But ever since coming here and meeting you, she’s been mellowing in her own way, so I suppose…I suppose I should offer you my thanks for your bit in it.”

Dani’s eyes widened, a hot flush warming her cheeks and spreading across her chest. It wasn’t often Nan handed out such free praise or thanks. A pleased thrill ran down Dani’s spine, and the corners of her mouth curled into a shy smile that she hid behind her cup as she finished her tea.

Tisking, Nan took a healthy bite of a cookie. “Don’t let that get to your head. And don’t expect me to ever say that again. You both still drive me mad,” she said, and after a moment, she sighed. “And I reckon you should be getting home now before it gets too dark. Last thing I need is your mother over here.”

“Oh,” Dani murmured, and then finding her courage, she added, “Could you —  um. Could you not tell Jamie that I was here, then? I just — I don’t think she’d be happy that I was here, and she didn’t get to see me.”

Nan harrumphed. “Would serve her right,” she said with a displeased twist to her mouth.

“Please?”

Nan watched her for a long moment, expression blank save for a squared jaw, and said, “I’ll think about it.”

Dani’s mouth dared to pull into a grin. Nan huffed and stood, moving to gather her cup. Seeing this, Dani rushed out of her seat to help, gathering both her own and Nan’s cup to set in the sink. 

“Buttering me up now, eh?” Nan said, a hand on her cane and the other on her hip. When Dani merely grinned and shrugged, Nan shook her head and then abruptly paused, her eyes scrutinizing. “Did you walk all the way here?”

Nodding, Dani ducked her eyes away from the intensity of Nan’s gaze. Nan hummed again, made a gesture towards the front door and simply said, “Get your things.”

While Nan disappeared somewhere deeper in the house where the bedrooms were, Dani gathered one last cookie, her bag, and slipped back on her shoes and coat. As she waited by the door, itching to see Jamie just once before she left, Nan reappeared wearing a thick coat. Dani offered her arm for Nan to hold as she pushed her feet into a pair of boots and spared one last glance towards the back of the house, letting Nan guide her outside.

The drive home was silent between the pair, the cabin quiet besides the rickety rumble of Nan’s truck and the radio on low playing some oldies station. When Nan pulled up to Dani’s house, the skyline pink and purple in the evening twilight, she turned to thank Nan only to find her scowling towards her home. Frowning, Dani followed Nan’s gaze to look it over, seeing nothing amiss. An empty driveway, a neat lawn, porch lights off. 

“You got something to eat for dinner?” Nan abruptly asked.

Dani caught her eyes again and shrugged, vaguely recalling leftovers in the fridge. Peanut butter and bread in the cupboard. “I think so, yeah.”

“Best pop over to Judy’s then.”

Her eyes drifted away to the O’Mara’s house, recalling Eddie’s dejected face. A spark of hope lit inside her. Maybe there was still time to turn things around. Turning back to Nan, Dani nodded, and said, “Thank you for tea. And the ride home.”

Nan grunted in response, and just as Dani unbuckled her seat belt and moved to open the door, Nan’s voice stopped her. “Dani,” she said, her voice demanding attention. Dani paused as Nan gave her a look, knowing and firm. “Two days. Then you’ll see her.”

Dani nodded faintly. Two days. Two days without Jamie. An entire weekend. Almost a lifetime really. Not once in the past two years could Dani recall going more than a day without talking to or seeing Jamie. The idea of it felt almost like cutting off a limb. 

“Two days,” Dani repeated, nodding again. She could manage that, she thought, resignation settling heavy on her shoulders. What could be worse than two days?

 --

The moment Dani saw Jamie stepping foot back on the school grounds the following Monday morning, Dani nearly took her off her feet in a running hug. Jamie grunted upon impact, forced back a foot or two. 

“Ow, fuck.” 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Dani said, starting to remove her arms from around Jamie’s shoulders, but Jamie just laughed, pulling her back into the hug. 

“Missed you too,” Jamie said, a smile in her voice.

They stood there hugging for a good minute, giggling as they roughly rocked each other back and forth, as if they hadn’t seen each other for years instead of two days. 

“Okay, okay, let me see,” Dani finally said, pulling away to rest her hands on Jamie’s shoulders, getting a good look at her face. Jamie sighed and rolled her eyes under the scrutiny, but sure enough, her face was a discolored mess. The skin around her left eye was bruised purple and red, looking tender to the touch, and her cheek and jaw were mottled a dark purple. Dani winced and said, “You look worse than you did last time.”

“What? You don’t think it brings out the color of my eyes?”

Dani snorted and shoved her by the shoulders. Jamie allowed herself to rock back with a good-natured grin.

“Least my nose didn’t break, thank god,” Jamie said, gently prodding the bridge of her nose, knuckles also discolored, then grimaced. “Though one wanker did manage to get a grip on my braid. Felt like my scalp was gonna rip off. Had a headache all weekend.”

Dani winced again, leaning closer to get a better look, and then gently poked at her bruised cheek. At the slight touch, Jamie jerked back as though Dani had struck her. “Ow! Christ, what’s wrong with you?” she said, though there was a teasing glint in her eyes. 

Biting back a laugh, Dani poked her again, this time in the chest. “You don’t get to do that again,” she said, sobering. 

“Or what? You gonna call the sheriff on me?”

“No,” Dani said hotly, “You just — you scared me. And I’m pretty sure Nan will lock you away forever next time, so please don’t.”

Jamie’s face blanched, and then shook her head, scowling. “That old nag has it out for me, I swear.”

“She cares for you.”

Jamie gave her a look. “That right?”

“Yes,” Dani said earnestly. 

At that, Jamie’s shoulders dropped, her face softening for a moment and then she huffed. “Right. Or you were just that bored without me,” she said, smirking. 

Dani rolled her eyes. The weekend hadn’t been a complete waste in truth. Eddie had brightened immeasurably when Dani returned with only the simple explanation that Jamie was grounded. He had even managed a sympathetic grin before leading her deeper into the house. It was like any other weekend spent at the O’Mara’s, except this time there was no Jamie with her silly commentary or teasing as Dani fumbled her way through some game involving fantasy creatures and dice. It almost felt like the days before Jamie and Nan had arrived at North Liberty, except now there had been a distinct large gap of the puzzle missing. 

Before Dani could respond however, there was the sound of shoes slapping on concrete. 

“Jamie!” was all the warning they both got before Jamie was once again nearly bowled over by the slim frame of Carson. Dani laughed when Jamie swore again, hugging Carson back and laughing, ruffling his hair. 

When the bell eventually rang to signal the start of the school day, they made their way to class. There wasn’t much fanfare to Jamie’s return beyond the quiet stares and hushed whispers behind hands through the halls and during class. Jamie at this point had learned to ignore it all, sighing and rolling her eyes whenever she managed to find herself the centerpoint of gossip. Dani on the other hand had no issues with scowling back until those staring spun away. By the time lunch rolled around and they were settling in their seats in the lunchroom, Dani was in the middle of pinning a smirking Jackie with a hard stare when Carson slid next to Jamie with a large tupperware in hand. 

Jamie snorted. “Don’t tell me you brought an entire meal with you for lunch,” she said, pulling back Dani’s attention.

Shyly shaking his head, Carson pushed the container towards Jamie. “It’s for you.”

Jamie blinked. “For me?”

Nodding, Carson grinned and said, “Open it!”

A look of uncertainty crossed Jamie’s face. She caught Dani’s eyes, quirking an eyebrow, but Dani just shrugged in response, at a loss herself. Shaking her head, Jamie finally opened the container and her eyes went wide at the sight of a pile of chocolate chip cookies and a big ziploc bag of puppy chow packed inside. 

“Holy shit,” Jamie said. “This all for me?”

Biting into his sandwich, Carson nodded and grinned around a mouthful of food. Chuckling, Jamie immediately snatched up a cookie and took a bite. Dani laughed, and reached forward for one of her own. 

Jamie swiped at her hand. “Ah, haven’t you heard? These are mine,” Jamie said. Eddie snorted into his own lunch as Dani scoffed, pulling her hand back. “What? You telling me you don’t have your own stash somewhere at home?”

“No,” Dani glowered, her mouth threatening to pull into a smile. 

“We made them only for you,” Carson said.

Jamie paused, frowning. “Why?”

Growing shy again, Carson shrugged. “When mom heard what happened, she thought it would be nice if we made you some cookies.”

A grin slowly grew on Jamie’s face. “You helped make these?” she asked, gesturing with the half bitten cookie in hand. At Carson’s slow nod, her grin grew wide and she stuffed the rest of the cookie in her mouth, “Think you’ve found your future calling.” 

Carson brightened, shooting upright, but then pulled his lips between his teeth, growing visibly anxious. “I’m sorry you got in trouble.”

Jamie’s chewing slowed. “Don’t worry about it, mate,” she said, shrugging. 

Carson’s face twisted. “But, you got beat up! And detention! And grounded! And -!” he paused, pointing at Dani “ — Dani was sad you weren’t with us for the sleepover!”

Pausing, Eddie blinked at Dani. “You were?”

Warmth spread across Dani’s cheeks as all eyes turned towards her. She shrugged helplessly under their stares. 

“Well, duh,” Carson said, like it should’ve been obvious. Then he sobered again, remorse in his eyes, “But yeah, I’m — I’m sorry.”

Jamie sighed, and was silent for a long moment before meeting Carson’s eyes. “Well...have any of them bugged you since? Looked at you funny at all?” Slowly, Carson shook his head. Jamie grinned softly in response and shrugged. “Then it was worth it.”

At that, Carson’s shoulders dropped from where they were bunched to his ears, and he matched Jamie’s grin when she ruffled his hair. Even as she did so, she slid the container closer to Dani, who happily took a cookie.

“Ed?” Jamie said, smirking as she shook the container at Eddie. “Biscuit for your clearly shattered nerves last week?”

He rolled his eyes. “Stop calling me that,” he mumbled for what seemed the millionth time, but eventually grinned and took a cookie, “Thanks.”

The rest of the school day passed by in a blur, happy that Jamie was back, happy that things were back to normal. 

After waiting out Jamie’s detention, they all exited the school together where Jamie jostled Carson with a wide grin and egged him on into a race towards the car. Before either of them could start a proper countdown, Jamie shoved her books into Dani’s arms and took off like a shot, laughing madly. 

“Hey! That’s cheating!” Carson shouted, shoving his own books in Eddie’s arms and ran off after her.

Dani smiled broadly and shook her head as she watched them go, juggling the books in hand. Jamie, already far ahead with her speed and jumpstart, twisted her head around to shout something back at Carson, and abruptly tripped over her own feet in the slick frozen grass and went tumbling across the ground. Dani somehow managed to wince and laugh at the same time as Carson sped past Jamie’s sprawling form, pointing and cackling before tripping himself, going flying on the grass. Even Eddie managed to double over laughing with Dani as they reached the prone pair. 

When Jamie hitched along for the ride home, Mike, who had been patiently waiting with a magazine in the car, twisted in his seat to give Jamie a grin. “Nice shiner, bud. Welcome back.”

Jamie’s shoulders straightened proudly. When Dani snorted and rolled her eyes, Jamie nudged her in the ribs, and Dani quickly nudged her back, the pair grinning wide. 

But when they arrived at the O’Mara household, a strange tension coiled at Jamie’s shoulders when they stepped inside and slipped off their shoes. Dani frowned curiously at her and the tightness of her mouth and the hard grip she had on her school books that were held together by an old brown belt, an unusual apprehension about her. When they all wandered to the kitchen where Judy already set up shop, chopping at vegetables, Jamie stood even more upright. 

“Oh, there she is!” Judy said, brightening into a smile when she caught sight of them. She left her kitchen knife on the counter and made a beeline towards Jamie. “All right, come here. Let me take a look.”

At the sound of the boys snickering, Jamie’s eyes went wide as Judy carefully framed her face with her hands, gently tilting her head side to side, Judy’s face one of concentration as she studied Jamie’s bruises. “Hmm, just as I thought,” Judy said, nodding decisively and smiled wide, resting her hands on Jamie’s shoulders. “A raging case of moxie and a heart of gold.”

Underneath the bruises, Jamie’s face went red as she blinked, the tension easing from her shoulders. Judy merely laughed, and pulled her into a hug, murmuring something that Dani couldn’t hear. Jamie stood stiff before slowly returning the hug, her arms held loose and awkward.

When Judy finally pulled away, Jamie ducked her head and murmured, “Um. Thank you, Mrs. O’Mara.” She raised her head, meeting Judy’s eyes, only to drop her gaze once more. “And for the biscuits, too.”

“I should be thanking you. Carson hasn’t stopped talking about it.”

Carson sputtered, an arm elbow deep in a bag of chips he had pulled out from a cupboard. “No, I haven’t!”  

Eddie laughed, making a grab for the bag, but Carson snatched it away just in time with a scowl.

Judy hummed, unconvinced, and turned to give Dani a knowing grin. “He even mentioned what you did, Danielle,” she said, “What you did for Jamie when she first got here.” At the mention of that old memory, of stepping between Jamie and a group of bullies before they were ever friends, Dani blushed hotly, catching Jamie’s eyes as she smirked at Dani. “So, I figured, I’d make us all something special today, just for my two brave girls.”

Jamie blinked again, seemingly frozen as Dani lit up and asked, “Lasagna?”

“Got it in one,” Judy grinned, but then sobered as she looked back at Jamie, “Just please, promise me no more fights? The twins give me enough stress as it is. Not just for the sake of my own heart, but the health of your grandmother’s?”

Jamie’s mouth twisted. “Did Nan talk to you?”

“She may have mentioned it.” Judy’s face gave away nothing. 

Jamie’s brows knitted into a slight resigned frown, and slowly she nodded. Pleased, Judy grinned again and gently nudged Jamie towards Dani with a pat to her back. “You kids go wash up and do your schoolwork, and then maybe you could come help me put the lasagna together. And — “ she sighed exasperatedly, returning to the counter “ — boys, put that away before you ruin your appetite.” 

Carson nodded eagerly as Eddie groaned, his mouth full of chips, rolling the bag up and stuffing it carelessly back into the cupboard before they both shuffled out of the kitchen. Dani snorted, shaking her head after them, and turned to see Jamie stepping quietly towards her, an odd look on her face. 

When Dani led her out of the kitchen, Jamie turned to her, her eyes filled with quiet bewilderment, and slowly asked, “What just happened?”

Dani smiled faintly, recognizing the look in Jamie’s eyes, one that Dani occasionally wore herself after long days in the O’Mara household. If there were words for it, an explanation to it all, then Dani couldn’t even begin to name or explain it, so she shrugged helplessly, grinning when Jamie rolled her eyes.

Later, as Eddie and Jamie were finishing the last of their math homework at the kitchen table, and Carson and Dani helped Judy layer massive baking pans with lasagna noodles, sauce, and various fillings, they heard the sound of the front door opening and the twins crashing in.

“Is she here?” one of them called. 

“She better be here!”

Judy pointed. “She’s here.”

Tommy and David rushed into the kitchen, and made a beeline towards Jamie.

“Oh, Christ,” Jamie groaned, already tensing her shoulders. 

Judy tisked. “Language.”

Dani laughed, a warmth settling over her as she watched the twins accost Jamie, jostling her shoulders as they proudly remarked at her bruises, comparing them to their own old fighting tokens, and demanded she tell her side of the tale. Jamie tried shoving them off, grumbling and elbowing them in the ribs, but couldn't hide her wide smile.

 --

On the day after the first snowfall of the year, Jamie insisted they go for a walk.

"Don't you have snow in England?" Dani asked.

They were sitting on the back porch of Jamie's house, jamming their feet into boots. Dani was dressed in a pink puffy jacket and swaddled up with a hat and scarf. Meanwhile Jamie had haphazardly tossed on a baggy jacket over her woollen sweater with some ragged fingerless gloves, as if that ensemble would be enough protection from the cold. Years of experience of Iowa winters told Dani that would not be the case.

"Yeah, but not like -" Jamie gestured with one of her boots towards the backyard, "- this."

The blanket of snow was deep and utterly untouched, extending beyond the treeline. The front lawn was another matter entirely. Jamie had spent the previous day shovelling a path from the sidewalk to the front steps until she was pink in the face from exertion, all while Nan watched with a waiting cup of tea in hand as Jamie's reward.

Dani squinted across the glare of sunlight that glittered across the white bank of fresh snowfall. "Not sure why this is so impressive," she said. "It happens every year, and just makes it difficult to walk everywhere."

"You love it," Jamie said.

Dani made a face. "I don’t. It's so cold. And I hate slipping on the sidewalks."

"Yeah, but it means the outdoor track days are cancelled for gym class."

At that, Dani paused. "Well. Yeah. Okay. I do like that."

"Told you." Jamie grinned and Dani rolled her eyes.

Jamie stamped her heel into the final boot, and stood, holding her hands out to Dani, who grabbed hold and allowed herself to be hauled to her feet. Jamie tugged her upright with such force, that Dani — eyes wide — lost her balance, and they went toppling over backwards off the porch into the snow with a chorus of cries and laughter and a spray of white all round.

Dani shuffled into a crouch, Jamie's body warm beneath her and shaking with laughter. "You did that on purpose!"

"I didn't! I swear!" Jamie said, and her smile was so broad it beamed almost as brightly as the sun's reflection. "This, I'm doing on purpose though."

Dani screwed up her face in confusion. "What -?"

In answer, Jamie reached to either side, grabbed two handfuls of snow, and shoved them into Dani's face and neck. A burst of icy water melted down the gap in Dani's scarf, and she shrieked, rolling off Jamie and further into the bank, limbs flailing in her attempts to escape. If this had been the twins, they would have pounced, turning it into a fight to test the trammels of time. Instead, Jamie cackled with laughter and scrambled to her feet, already bounding off towards the treeline with unwieldy steps.

"C'mon!" she shouted over her shoulder.

Shaking herself off, Dani pushed herself upright and started after her, ire singing in her teeth. She slipped and caught herself and stumbled along in Jamie’s wake. Jamie's footsteps were less dainty little impressions and more great gouges taken out of the snow, as though two tracks had been dragged from the porch and off to the trees. Jamie waited for her to catch up beneath the oak from which they had hung a tire swing the two years before. Her dark hair was struck through with snow as if it were a net of clustered stars, and her eyes sparkled. Whatever vengeance Dani had been planning to exact withered and died at the root when Jamie looked at her like that.

"Where are we going?" Dani asked.

Jamie shrugged and turned, stomping away with Dani at her side. "Dunno. Wherever we like. Don't suppose that old tire dump is still a few miles that way?"

"Probably," said Dani. "Why?"

"It's the closest thing to a hill in these parts. I was thinking if it's covered in snow, we might be able to slide down it."

The logic was sound, so Dani nodded. "All right. Are there lots of hills where you're from?"

They stepped up and onto the slightly elevated ground which indicated the train tracks. When Jamie's footing slipped, Dani grabbed hold of her arm to keep her from face-planting into the snow.

"Cheers," Jamie said, but she did not let go of Dani's hand, instead weaving their fingers together and tugging Dani straight down the abandoned track line. "Some hills, yeah. Bigger than here, by far. No mountains though. I'd love to see some honest mountains."

"We can go sometime. You know -" Dani swung their arms back and forth in an exaggerated arc. "When we learn to drive. Maybe before college."

Jamie's brow furrowed. "College? That's not old enough, is it?"

"Yeah, it is. I want to go to one out of state. Somewhere -" Dani hesitated to even voice the idea, but here, alone with Jamie, a pale sky overhead and a pale earth stretching out before her for miles in every direction, she felt brave enough to admit it. "Somewhere not here."

Jamie's gloves were scratchy against her fingers. "You mean university?" she snorted. "Christ. Never imagined myself going to one of those."

"Well, why not?" Dani asked. "Doesn't your Nan want you to go?"

"Not sure if she could afford it even if she did," said Jamie dryly. "But, nah. Not for me. After this, I'm done. Can you imagine me sitting around reading books and writing papers all day? What a laugh."

Jamie chuckled and shook her head, and a fine dusting of snow was knocked loose from the shoulders of her jacket. Dani didn't join her. She contemplated the idea — finishing school here, running off somewhere else, anywhere else, incurring the wrath of her mother, who had always insisted Danielle would go to university — and found the very notion thrilling in a way that made her feel slightly ill. She swallowed, and Jamie squeezed her hand before letting go.

The train tracks were lifted just enough that they poked up through the snow, narrow twin mounds that ran for miles and miles and ended at an old shunt that was still in operation beyond the next town's fertilizer plant. Jamie stood atop one track and walked the steel. The toe of her boots brushed away any snow atop it as she went. She held her arms outstretched to balance herself, and Dani stayed within reach so that Jamie could grab onto her shoulder should she need to regain her balance.

"What do you want to do?" Dani asked.

"Don't know. Don't care," Jamie answered. "I'll figure it out. One day at a time. What about you?"

Dani cast her mind back. She considered the question carefully. Jamie's outstretched hand tapped her on the shoulder, not out of a request for her to answer, but only because Jamie was see-sawing her arms back and forth to keep her footing without needing to hop off the track.

Eventually, Dani said, "Teach kids, maybe."

Jamie snorted, and a plume of white left her mouth like a cloud. "What? Like Mary Poppins?"

Dani could feel her own cheeks burn, and knew she must have been as pink as her puffy jacket. "No," she said primly. "Like Miss Blythe."

Miss Blythe, their new homeroom teacher this year, was young and smart and pretty. She smiled a lot, and she always wore nice skirts and flowing blouses. She remembered everyone's names, and her hair was shiny and dark when she bowed her head at her desk to read their assignments. Dani couldn't think of anyone she would like to resemble so much as Miss Blythe.

Jamie shot her a grin. "You like her, don't you?"

"Of course, I like her," said Dani. “I think she’s wonderful.”

"Not like that. You like like her."

If Dani's cheeks had been flushed before, it was nothing to the way heat flooded her face now. "I -! I do not!"

"Mhmm," said Jamie, and her grin had graduated into a fully fledged smirk now. "Sure."

Dani spluttered indignantly. "That’s not -! I don't -! Well, she's very pretty, but that's hardly -! I just think she's nice. And she always treats everyone fairly. And she - she makes you feel included, and she's so good at - Stop laughing! Jamie!"

"Aw! Poor Poppins with a crush on teacher!" Jamie laughed. "Don't let Ed hear about that. He'll be jealous."

With a huff, Dani shoved at Jamie's shoulder, and Jamie staggered off into the snow — arms pinwheeling — but didn't fall down. Jamie snickered good-naturedly and stepped back into place atop the rail to continue balancing her way down the track. "You'd make a good teacher."

Dani sucked in a lungful of icy air so fast it made her chest burn. She glanced up at Jamie, who was concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. "You think so?"

"Yup," said Jamie, and for all her earlier teasing her voice now was sure and firm. She did not expand; she had only certainty. Then she added with an exaggerated shiver, "Wish we'd brought a thermos with a cuppa. Bloody freezing out here."

"I told you to bring Nan's extra scarf."

Jamie pulled a grotesque face as though she'd bitten into something rotten. "It smells like mothballs."

"Better that than be cold."

"Rather be cold than smell like pure shite."

Shaking her head, Dani reached up and unwound her own white scarf. She zipped up her jacket the rest of the way to accommodate the cold, and held the scarf out to Jamie. "Here."

Jamie blinked down at her. She lowered her arms and her steps slowed. "Really," she said. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"Just take the scarf, dummy," said Dani, shaking it at her so that one of the tasselled ends trailed from her fist.

"You get cold easier than me."

"True," Dani said. "But my jacket is puffier and I also have my hat."

Reluctantly, Jamie took the scarf with a mumbled, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Dani replied and began to continue on her way.

Jamie did not immediately follow. Confused, Dani turned around after a few steps to find Jamie still staring down at the scarf with an odd expression on her face, as though she didn't quite know what to do with it.

"Do you need help?" Dani asked. "Is your collarbone okay?"

At that Jamie gave a derisive snort. "Collarbone's fine. That was ages ago, anyway."

Dani frowned. She knew Jamie was stubborn. And she knew that some sub-surface injuries could ache for years. Nan was always cursing about her knee in the cold weather, after all. She herself had never broken a bone in all twelve and a half years of her life, and had only the experiences of others to go by. 

Before she could say anything else though, Jamie had begun walking along the track again, scarf stretched between her hands. “It’s just -” she lifted it round her neck “- still warm. Wasn’t really expecting -”

It happened in an instant. One moment, Jamie was balancing her way across the rail track. The next, she had slipped headlong and was writhing on the ground, gloved hands clutching her face. Dani’s eyes went wide. A splash of red sliced all across the snow. 

“Fuck!” Jamie’s shout was muffled into her palms. “Fuck!” 

“Jamie!”

Stumbling forward, Dani rushed to her side. As gently as she could, she pulled Jamie’s hands away from her face. The honed and frosted edge of the old railway track had split a broad line along Jamie’s chin and lower lip, so that the skin there had burst at the seams like the flesh of an overripe fruit. Blood dripped steadily from Jamie’s chin and the line of her jaw, splattering the ivory-coloured scarf around her neck with wine-dark splotches.

“Are you all right?” Dani asked, trembling hands still holding Jamie by the wrists. 

Jamie’s eyes were squeezed shut. She nodded. “Yeah. Absolutely peachy. Shit -!” Her tongue darted out and she hissed when the tip of it touched the gash in her lip. 

“Here.” Dani grabbed the ends of the scarf and pressed them tightly against the wound, stemming the flow of blood. 

Jamie tried to pull away. “Your scarf - It’ll get all -”

“Who cares about the scarf?” Dani said, and she wound the scarf in such a way that it could act as makeshift gauze. Even after it was tied and tethered in place, her fingers lingered against the warm skin of Jamie’s neck. She brushed her thumbs against the bluffs of Jamie’s cheeks, rubbing away a smatter of blood there. “Let’s get you home. You’ll probably need to see a doctor and get stitches.”

Jamie’s eyes were wide and she was staring up at her. The scarf bobbed as she opened and closed her mouth, but said nothing. Then she winced. “Yeah. Yeah, all right.” 

Dropping her hand to Jamie’s shoulder, Dani helped her up and guided her around so they could slowly make their way back to the house. Jamie shivered, and Dani draped her arm across her shoulders to huddle her closer, so that their hips jostled when they walked. When Jamie made a soft noise muffled by the scarf, Dani stole a glance at her profile.

“Does it hurt a lot?” she asked.

Jamie shook her head. Then after a pause she nodded in defeat. She groaned faintly. “Nan’s gonna kill me," she mumbled. "Again.” 

 --

"Danielle, slow down!"

Reluctantly Dani did as asked, her boots skidding to a walk. The street between Dani's house and the O'Mara residence was deep with snow. Christmas morning was crisp, the sky a blue so bright it almost hurt to look at. Her breath shivered on the air, and her mother's fingers were bright with the spot of an ember from a lit cigarette. Karen had a hastily wrapped present beneath one arm, while Dani carried the rest, so that she crinkled with foil paper and excitement with every step.

Dani reached the front door first and bounced on the balls of her feet until her mother arrived. Sighing, her mother flicked the cigarette into a bank of snow, where it hissed and vanished in a thread of smoke. Judy was the only person Dani knew who observed a strict ‘no smoking indoors’ policy. Not due to any health benefits, but because she complained that cigarette smoke stained the wallpaper yellow. The moment Karen stood beside her on the top step, Dani reached out to ring the doorbell only for her mother to stop her with a hand on Dani's cheek.

"Look at you. What a mess," her mother muttered, licking the pad of her thumb and using it to rub at a spot of syrup on Dani's cheek, all pink from the cold.

"Mom," Dani whined, but when Karen gave her a look she went quiet. Her nose scrunched up and she closed one eye until Karen deemed her suitable for company.

"I told you to wash your face before we left," Karen said. "Obviously I wasn't worth listening to."

"Sorry," Dani mumbled.

Lowering her hand, Karen made an abrupt gesture towards the door. Dani did not wait a second longer to push the doorbell. She could hear the two-toned chime inside followed by the sound of thudding footsteps, and then Eddie wrenched open the door. His face broke into a beaming smile when he saw who it was.

"You made it!"

"Merry Christmas," Dani said, returning his smile.

"Come on. Let's get these under the tree." Eddie reached out to take some of the presents, but froze when Karen cleared her throat pointedly. "Uh - I mean -" he pushed his glasses further up his nose and shuffled his feet. "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Clayton. Won't you please come inside? My mom and dad are in the kitchen making coffee."

"Thank you," said Karen and as she stepped past him into the house, she pressed the present she was carrying into his hands.

They waited awkwardly for her to take off her boots and leave them on the towel stretched out in the foyer for just that purpose. Only when she had left did Eddie turn back to Dani, "Bad morning?" he asked.

Dani shrugged. "Not really. Just normal."

"Ah.” Eddie nodded in solemn understanding, then gave her a smile. “Okay. Here let me take those." He freed her arms of presents so Dani could take off her own boots and coat and scarf. Then he shut the door with his foot and nodded towards the living room beyond. "Let's go."

Every inch of the living room had been transformed by the addition of Christmas decorations strewn about — wreaths and holly, pine cones and tinsel, a tree that scraped the ceiling and a nativity set on the mantelpiece over the crackling fireplace. Tommy and David were already bickering over a card game, while Carson looked on, whining about not being dealt a hand. 

“C’mon,” he said. “I wanna play, too!”

“You can’t,” said Tommy, frowning down at his hand.

“But it’s better with more people! Why is it you two always do stuff alone!”

David drew a card and shrugged, sharing a secret grin with Tommy. “It’s a twin thing,” he said.

The moment Carson saw that Dani had entered the room however, his eyes lit up and he abandoned his older brothers.

“Hi!” he said, rushing forward. “Need help with those?”

Without waiting for an answer, he took what remained of the presents still in Dani’s hands and went with Eddie to place them under the tree with the mound of other presents already assembled there. Dani could see him looking over the presents she had brought for any sign of names, and when he found his own he tossed down the others in favor of shaking the box to determine its contents.

“Knock it off!” Eddie swatted the back of Carson’s head and took the present from him.

“Hey! That’s mine!” 

Carson tried to snatch the present back, but Eddie held it high above his head where Carson couldn’t reach. 

“Mom!” Carson called out towards the kitchen. “Eddie took my present!”

“Edmund, give Carson back his present!” Judy’s voice called from the other room over the murmur of adults sequestering themselves away for as long as possible before they had to face the onslaught of kids with too much sugar in their systems for ten in the morning.

Rolling his eyes, Eddie shoved the box into Carson’s chest, so that Carson grunted and had to take a step back. “Whatever,” Eddie said. “Just don’t open it before everyone else gets here.”

"Who else is coming?" Carson asked. He turned the box over a few more times and shook it, only to give up and put it beneath the tree.

"Jamie and Nan," Dani said.

"Oh! Great!" said Carson. "More presents!"

Dani glanced around towards Tommy and David, but the twins were engrossed in a way that she knew meant they wouldn't be open to intruders — especially not ones they thought were young and annoying. So, she instead said, "Monopoly?"

Eddie scratched at the side of his head, dark curls mussed beneath his fingers. "Kind of a long game to start. Don't you think?"

"Well -" said Dani, but Carson had already darted towards a wooden chest that doubled as a coffee table, opening it to pull out the Monopoly board.

"I get to be the dog!" Carson called out, yanking open the box's lid and setting up the board on the floor before the Christmas tree.

Eddie sighed, but Dani just smiled at him. She grabbed his arm and hauled him over to play a game while they waited. Dani picked the unassuming little iron token, and led the other two on a merry chase around the board. Fake paper money slowly flowed onto her side of the board, neatly tucked away in piles of descending order, whilst Eddie and Carson frowned and puzzled over how she managed it.

"You're cheating," Eddie said with narrowed eyes behind his round spectacles. "I don't know how, but you're cheating."

Dani held out her hand primly towards Carson, who was glum as he counted out bills and pressed them into her waiting palm. "I am not cheating," she said. "Carson, you've stiffed me twenty dollars."

Carson screwed up his face and stuck his tongue out at her, but handed over the final twenty that he'd slipped beneath his leg in the hopes that she wouldn't notice.

"Thank you," she said in a light sing-song tone that made Carson harrumph wordlessly in reply.

Eddie craned his neck and looked over his shoulder at the clock hanging on the wall. "Where are they?"

Dani glanced up from where she was dividing up her cash into their respective piles. An hour had come and gone, and still no sign of the others. As if summoned, there was a knock at the door.

"Thank god," Carson muttered, darting to his feet and scampering towards the door. "Game's over. Dani cheated."

"I didn't cheat!" she called after him, exasperated.

But Carson was already pulling open the door, and she could hear his voice floating into the living room from down the hall. "Hi, Jamie! Hi Mrs. Heron! You're late!"

"Don't just say that!" Eddie shouted. Then he shook his head and began helping Dani clean up the board. "Still don't know how you managed to get all those hotels."

"Maybe if you're nice to me, I'll tell you," Dani teased.

Going stock still, Eddie blinked at her.

"What?" Dani asked slowly.

The odd expression on his face washed away like yesterday's sunlight, and he shook his head with a huff of nervous laughter. “Nothing.” 

Briefly puzzled, she watched him place the lid back over the box and put the game away. There was movement at the edges of her vision, and when Dani looked up it was to find Nan and Jamie removing their coats and hanging them on hooks that lined the wall by the door. Jamie was brushing snow from her long hair, brow furrowed, while her other hand was balancing gifts that were expertly wrapped, not a crease or fold out of place. The gash slicing through her chin and lower lip had healed somewhat since their last fiasco — the stitches removed — but the skin around it stretched and pulled, looking reddened and angry.

Dani waved and Jamie’s expression brightened. Jamie started towards her, only for Nan to reach out and haul her back by the scruff of her neck.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Nan said. “Shoes off. And don’t roll your eyes at me.”

With an extra exaggerated roll of her eyes for good measure, Jamie leaned over to undo her laces and rid herself of her snow-dusted boots. 

Judy emerged from the kitchen. "Oh, Ruth! I'm so glad you could make it! Do you want coffee?"

Nan shook her head and began limping in her direction. "No, thank you, Judy. Just some boiled water for me should do the trick." As she went, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a ziploc bag filled with tea bags.

Judy smiled. "Sure thing. I'll stick a mug of water in the microwave for you."

Judy disappeared back into the kitchen, and Nan's expression was completely horrified. Dani watched this interaction and bit her lip to keep from laughing. Nan noticed and glowered. "Think that's funny, do you?"

Dani shook her head furiously. "No, ma'am. It's just — they don't have a kettle."

Nan sighed. "Uncivilized country." And, muttering to herself, she retreated into the kitchen after Judy to meet her fate.

Footsteps padded across the carpet and Jamie approached. "Can I put these down?" she asked, cradling a small tower of packages.

"Yeah, of course," said Eddie, darting up to help.

"Sorry we're late," Jamie said as they arranged the last of the presents beneath the tree. "Nan's fussy about wrapping. Likes everything to be perfect."

"They look really nice," Dani assured her, admiring the pristine packaging with a tilt of her head.

Jamie snorted. "Made me do that one three times. And then I had to clean up everything before we left."

"Mom!" Carson yelled, running so fast down the hall towards the kitchen that he skidded across the wooden flooring in a blur. "Mom! Everyone's here! Can we open presents now? Please?"

Jamie arched an eyebrow after him. "He always this mental during the holidays?" she asked.

"Yes," said both Dani and Eddie in unison.

"Don't see what all the fuss is about, personally."

"Well," said Eddie, drawling out the word in a thoughtful manner, "Getting new stuff is always nice."

At that, Jamie seemed a bit dubious. She scratched contemplatively at the raised pink tissue of her chin until Dani reached out to still her hand.

"You shouldn't scratch," Dani said.

Curling her fingers into a fist, Jamie dropped her own hand into her lap, looking churlish. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Still itches, though." And then her eyes skimmed over Dani’s outfit, blinking, as though now just noticing it. “Why do you look like you just jumped out of one of your mum’s catalogues?”

“Because I did,” Dani said, fighting back a sigh. “Or well, the dress did. Mom got it for me for Christmas.” 

Dani glanced down at the outfit in question, a long sleeved dark green dress with a red floral pattern by the hem and a lace neckline. It was a dress that felt more suited to warmer weather, the thin material doing next to nothing to help keep Dani warm, regardless of the white tights she wore or how warm Judy kept the house. What Dani didn’t mention was that while it wasn’t a terrible dress, she’d had a completely different outfit in mind this morning, but when she had pulled out the dress from its box, her mom had held it up to the length of Dani with such a wide pleased smile and demanded that Dani wear it in a tone the brooked no room for argument. 

Jamie scanned over the dress again, humming in contemplation, and shrugged. “Looks nice, actually,” she said, catching Dani’s eyes and giving her a grin. 

Before Dani could respond, her cheeks warm, the kitchen door opened and the parents began to filter out into the living room. The Christmas tree sparkled, casting a warm glow against Jamie's profile as she craned her neck to watch. Dani barely registered everyone else, and when Jamie turned to find her staring, Dani smiled.

With a befuddled smile of her own, Jamie asked, "What?"

Dani shrugged. "It's just nice to have you over."

"I come over here all the time."

"Yeah, but this is different."

"If you say so."

The couches and armchairs were quickly taken up by adults, while anyone under the age of eighteen was forced to continue sitting on the floor. Nan lowered herself into a chair with care, maneuvering her cup of tea and her cane. Karen perched herself idly on the arm of the couch right beside Judy, sipping on a cup of coffee. Mike sat by his wife, looking tired but content in his Argyle patterned sweater vest and matching socks.

"All right -" Judy started.

"Me first!" Carson blurted out, diving for the nearest present with his name on it.

With a grin and a rueful shake of her head, Judy motioned towards Eddie and Dani. “Just start passing everything around, won’t you?”

Nodding, Dani and Eddie reached for the presents. Dani read out the name scrawled across the wrapping paper and handed it over to Mike, who had to lean half out of the sofa to take it with a smile and a murmured, "Thanks." Carson was already ripping the paper off of a racing kit set for toy cars, but Dani set one of her own presents aside until everyone else had one in their hands. She kept her eyes on Jamie sitting next to her, as Jamie turned over a lumpy package that Dani had wrapped just earlier that morning. The expression on Jamie's face was both odd and awed, as if she couldn't quite believe that she had received presents at all. Every now and then she would dart her eyes towards Nan like she was checking to see that she was even allowed to do this, to be here, surrounded by people who liked her enough to buy her gifts.

Dani nudged Jamie's elbow with her own. "Open it," she said.

Jamie did not immediately do so. She turned the package over once more before carefully running her thumb beneath a fold in the wrapping, tearing through a scrap of tape holding the pieces together. Dani opened the present from Jamie at the same time — which was far better wrapped than her own — and the two of them blinked at each other in startled confusion when they each revealed a scarf.

"I got you one because I ruined yours," Jamie said.

"Well, I got you one because you don't have one," said Dani.

They held each other's gazes for a beat longer, until they cracked and snorted with laughter.

"Okay," Jamie said with a grin. "We're dumb."

"Funny, though," Dani replied.

Jamie shook her head, but her smile was broad as she leaned across Dani to reach for another present beneath the tree. "Hey, Ed," she said, tossing the present towards him. "This one's for you."

Eddie caught the gift. "Thanks. I wonder what it could be," he said dryly, weighing the package that was so clearly in the shape of a baseball mitt it would be impossible to mistake.

"A cricket bat, maybe," Jamie said.

Eddie made a face at her, but when he opened the gift to reveal a brand new mitt, his voice was warm when he said, "My old one is falling apart. Thanks, Jamie."

"Thank Nan. I can't afford shit."

"Language!" Nan barked, while at the same time Judy scolded, "Jamie Taylor!"

Jamie ducked her head and grimaced, reaching for another gift and handing it off to one of the twins. "Whoops," she muttered under her breath, not sounding sorry at all.

Dani shook her head but smiled. One by one the gifts were parceled out until Judy's living room floor was a mess of shredded wrapping paper and opened boxes spilling out with packing peanuts and bubble wrap. David and Tommy fought over who got to play the Mattel Electronics Football Game first. Carson had encloistered himself in a corner nearest the fireplace and was busy setting up his racing kit set with a single-minded focus, tongue between his teeth. Dani smiled at a jar labelled 'Travel Fund' that she had received from Jamie in a rucksack that already had a US flag patch sewn onto the red canvas fabric with space left for other future flags. And all of them had received a signature sweater from Judy, which was ugly beyond compare and which made Karen's face pucker up when Dani immediately pulled it on over her dress.

"Do they have to look like that?" Karen asked.

"What?" said Judy with a guileless shrug. "They're warm!"

Sighing, Karen stood and started towards the kitchen. "I'll put on another pot of coffee."

"Ruth, do you want another cup of boiling water for your tea?" Judy asked.

Nan's answering smile looked forced. "Cheers, but I'll be right."

Most of the presents had now been opened. Mike had pulled on a new pair of socks — the same gift he received every year, but which he always seemed pleased — and Eddie was fiddling with a pair of walkie talkies, trying to figure out how they worked.

"Hey, dad?" he asked. "Do we have any batteries?"

"Garage," Mike said, and Eddie went off in search, taking the walkie talkie set with him.

"Bring back some double As for me, too!" Jamie called after him. She waved with the pocket transistor radio that she'd been given by Judy and Mike, and which hadn't left her lap since she had first opened it with wide eyes.

"Yeah, sure," answered Eddie.

Dani ducked down to reach the last of the gifts hidden beneath the low-slung branches, dragging them out into the light. "This one's for -" she tilted her head and twisted the package around. "- Jamie. From Nan."

Jamie opened the gift and rolled her eyes. "A new pair of gardening gloves," she said in a deadpan voice, holding up the leather gloves. "Joy of joys."

"Ones that fit this time," said Nan, nodding. "And if you lose this pair like you did the last, you'll be paying for the next yourself."

Jamie grumbled something under her breath.

Nan sniffed. "In my day, we were thankful if a bomb didn't drop on us during Christmas."

"Oh my god. The Blitz is over, Nan. Give it a rest," Jamie groaned, but dutifully set the gloves aside atop her transistor radio.

From the couch, Judy gestured towards one of the remaining presents with the toe of her slipper. "Danielle, there's another one there for you that you missed."

"Oh." Dani turned it over to see that it was labelled for her from the O'Maras. While she opened it, beside her Jamie began pulling on every article of clothing she had received as a gift — sweater, scarf, and garden gloves — until she was wrapped up and ready to brave the elements at the drop of a hat. Dani grinned at her, but then blinked in surprise at the box beneath the wrapping paper portraying a new polaroid camera.

"Oh, wow," she breathed.

Hastily, Dani pushed aside the wrapping paper and pulled open the box. The camera was small enough to fit in both her hands. She fiddled with it, reading the instructions so she could point the camera and squint into the eyepiece at Jamie. Through the lens, Jamie's figure was slightly distorted. Jamie turned, saw the camera aimed in her direction, and waved. Dani pressed a button down, and there was a resultant click, a flash and whir, and a square slip of film was spat out by the camera. Lowering it, she tugged at the film. Its surface was greyish, the image slowly taking hold, a silhouette as faintly visible as a specter cast in watery sunlight.

"This the last one?"

Dani's head jerked up before she could watch the image fully materialize. When she saw Jamie inspecting the final present to be unwrapped, she set the camera and the square strip of film down. "Yeah. That one's from me."

Jamie's eyebrows rose. "But you already got me something," she said. She took off the gardening gloves and tugged at the scarf wound about her neck, tossing both onto the ground.

"I wanted to get you something else, too," Dani said.

Jamie stared at her for a moment, her expression unreadable. In the background, Tommy had wrestled the handheld video game from his twin brother. Mike and Nan were chatting away about something boring and adult — war and history, perhaps. Judy had leaned back against the couch, neck craned so she could peer into the kitchen and say something to Karen, who was standing in the doorway with an unlit cigarette dangling from her mouth. Dani smiled and made a motion for Jamie to open her final gift.

Clearing her throat, Jamie began unwrapping the present, taking great pains not to rip a single section of the paper no matter how hastily wrapped in the first place. The box beneath was small, small enough to fit in Jamie's palm. Brows furrowed, she opened it and sucked in a lungful of air. The two identical necklaces entwined inside were cheap and plated, but they gleamed in the Christmas tree lights when Jamie pulled them from their box, sinuous chains pinched between thumb and forefinger.

"Why are there two?" Jamie asked.

"One for you," said Dani, reaching out and taking a necklace with a self-satisfied grin. "And one for me."

Even after Dani had put her own necklace on, Jamie remained frozen in place. The simple chain rotated slowly in place, suspended from her hand, and the half dollar piece pierced midway down the length was a match to the coin that now hung at the hollow of Dani's throat.

"Mike helped me drill the holes," Dani said proudly. "But the rest I did myself."

Jamie swallowed, her throat working, but she said nothing.

Dani frowned and said slowly, "Do you want this one instead?" She lifted the chain away from her neck with her thumb. 

Jerking as if from a reverie, Jamie shook her head. "No," she said. She cleared her throat and continued, “No, I like this one. Thank you.” 

“Dad, I can’t find them!” Eddie’s voice called from down the hall. 

Sighing, Mike pushed himself to his feet and went off to help look for batteries. “Did you check the drawer above the tool set, bud?”

“I did!” Eddie insisted. “They’re not there!”

Jamie was tugging aside her braid so she could fasten the necklace in place beneath it. Behind her, Judy leaned forward in her seat. “Jamie, I told Mike that you were working on that old bike you found.”

Glancing up at her, Jamie gave a nod that she was listening.

“And,” Judy continued, “he said you’re welcome to bring the bike around any time to work on it over here. If you need tools or spare parts, the garage is your oyster.” 

Jamie lowered her hands and the necklace was a silvery glimmer that hung down her chest, disappearing beneath the neck of her sweater. “Thanks, Mrs. O’Mara.” 

“Please. Call me Judy.”

From the sidelines, Nan lifted a finger to point threateningly at Jamie and growled, “Do not do that.”

Jamie gave Judy an apologetic grin and lifted both hands, palms up, as if in surrender. Judy laughed fondly, eyes bright as she watched Jamie resettle her braid. “Honey, you have such beautiful long hair, why didn’t you leave it open today?”

Nan snorted. “Hell would have to freeze over for that girl to leave her hair down.”

Visibly fighting back a scowl, Jamie shrugged and offered Judy a weak smile. “Just gets in the way, is all.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have to worry about that if you’d let me help,” Judy said, “We could tie some of it back and tame those curls to some lovely waves like Danielle’s hair.”

At the mention of Dani’s hair, Jamie’s eyes darted to the loose blonde waves cascading over Dani’s shoulders, and both Dani and Judy laughed when Jamie failed to hide her wince. 

Meanwhile in the nearby corner, Carson threw down a piece of plastic car track in exasperation. “Jamie,” he called across the room. “Can you help me build this? It’s not working.”

“Sure. Hold up.” Seeing her chance to escape, Jamie quickly stood and wandered over to him, crouching down before the warren of track he had assembled already. “What on earth have you done?”

“I followed the instructions!” Carson whined, holding up a piece of paper.

“Why don’t I believe you?” Jamie snatched the instructions from his hand, then rolled them up to lightly smack him over the head with the pages. He spluttered and slapped her hand away.

“Look at them,” Judy said to Nan while they watched Jamie help Carson set up the toy car track. “Aren’t they cute together?”

“Bit young for that sort of thing, don’t you think?”

“Well, she did defend him from all those bullies. And afterwards, Carson spoke of nothing else. It was ‘Jamie this’ and ‘Jamie that’ for a week solid.”

Jamie overheard the adults talking. She shared a befuddled look with Dani and then mimed being sick. Beside her, Carson had gone bright red, trying and failing to pretend he hadn’t heard anything, while Dani bit back a smile. 

“Gross,” Carson said under his breath.

“You can say that again,” Jamie muttered.

“Gross.” 

“That’s the spirit. Now, hand me that bit of track over there. No, no, the other one.”

Dani’s gaze dropped to the picture she had taken. She picked it up from the carpet to inspect it more closely. It had finally taken form, and she smiled at the image of Jamie’s half-hidden grin behind a big scarf, her hand bulky from the gardening gloves and blurred from movement. Tucking it away for safekeeping, Dani lifted the camera into her hands once more and pointed it in Jamie and Carson’s direction for another picture. 

Much later after lunch, still laughing at the way Nan had spooked Mike and the twins into action to clear the dining room table and clean up the dishes with just a single look and comment, Dani and the others had taken to testing out the limits of Eddie’s walkie talkies around the house. At the moment, she and Jamie were holed up in the upstairs bathroom with one set while Eddie and Carson were running around with the other.

“Can you hear me now? Over.” Eddie’s voice came through the speakers, tinny and muffled. 

“Yeah,” Dani responded, “Where are you?”

“You’re supposed to say Over,” Eddie said, “Over.”

Jamie sighed and rolled her eyes, pulling the walkie talkie in Dani’s hand close to her mouth, pressing down on Dani’s thumb that she held over the push to talk button. “Just answer the question, you tit.”

Dani snorted as Eddie grumbled on the other side. “Hold on,” he said, and then a beat passed before he said, “We’re in the garage, how about now?”

“Loud and clear, soldier,” Jamie said dryly and let go of the walkie talkie to turn to Dani with a glint in her eyes, “Y’know, I reckon this thing could even reach beyond your house. Could you imagine putting one under his bed and being able to scare the shite out of him and he wouldn’t even know you were a block away.”

Dani laughed, but said, “That’s mean.”

“Oh, come off it. You’ve thought about it.”

In truth, Dani hadn’t. While Carson had already laid claim to one half of the set much to Eddie’s annoyance, Eddie had already quietly offered Dani to share so they’d could have conversations between their houses without Dani having to come over or hog the house phone. It was a sweet offer, and a tempting one, being able to talk to Eddie whenever she wanted, but looking at Carson’s eager expression, she couldn’t bear to take away the excitement from him. 

“Nope,” Dani replied, ignoring Jamie’s dubious look, and continued, “What I am thinking about though, is if there’s any cookies left downstairs.”

Jamie’s eyes lit up just as Eddie’s voice returned. “Okay, we’re in the basement, how about now?”

Taking the walkie talkie from Dani, Jamie said, “Perfectly. Are Tweedledee and Tweedledum down there yet?”

“Yeah,” Eddie replied.

“Ask them if they’ve eaten all the biscuits yet.”

“Biscuits?”

Jamie huffed. “Cookies,” she said, then pulled her finger off the button to mutter, “Christ's sake, you Yanks.”

Snorting again, Dani gave Jamie a curious look, but Jamie just grinned at her until Eddie finally responded, “They said no, but they laughed so I’m not really sure.”

“Means they probably left the shite kind,” Jamie said, “Doesn’t matter, I’ve got a plan. Dani’s gonna run down to grab us a plate, and I’m gonna sneak out to her house to see if this thing can reach there.”

Dani’s eyes went wide.

“Roger that, over and out,” Eddie said, and then there was silence.

“Jamie,” Dani hissed, “Nan will kill you.”

The look Jamie gave her was exasperated. “You’d think she’d done it by now after everything, yeah?”

That made Dani pause, recollecting all the moments when she was sure Nan was about to pop a blood vessel, but never once did anything more beyond a light thwack on the head with her hand or on the ankle with her cane.

Seeing the realization creep onto Dani’s face, Jamie grinned. “See? Won’t take but a minute,” she said, already rushing out the bathroom door. 

“Wear a jacket,” Dani called out, and in response, Jamie grinned and saluted her with two fingers before disappearing. 

Sighing, Dani waited a minute to give Jamie the time to sneak out without making too big of a scene and then finally descended the stairs. When she reached the ground floor with no Jamie in sight, Dani carefully peeked into the living room to see that all of the adults were none the wiser, Christmas music playing on low as they talked and laughed, the tv playing some movie on mute. The only thing that was curious, was that her mom was missing. Shrugging, Dani ventured off to the kitchen. 

True to word, there were cookies left, and just as Jamie had said, they were the kind that would always be left for last on the plate or in the tin. But cookies were cookies, so Dani began helping herself pile some on a plate for the four of them, and just as she decided that some milk would do nicely to go with it, her mother wandered into the kitchen from the back door. Her hand jerked back from the fridge door handle when her mother caught sight of her and the plate of cookies on the counter. 

“Cookies? Danielle, you just had a big lunch,” Karen said, stepping closer with a near empty glass of wine in hand, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, and smelling strong of fresh cigarette smoke. 

Dani shrugged, and murmured, “We wanted snacks.”

Her mother sighed, a hand on her hip, her eyes darting over Dani’s sweater. Dani looked away, shying away from her mother’s scrutiny, her shoulders bunching up. “Are you going to wear that all day?” Karen asked. “It’s covering up your pretty dress.”

“I like it,” Dani said, chancing a glance up at her mother to see her mouth slowly twist into a displeased frown. Dani quickly added, “It’s warm, and-and it’s a little cold, so I thought — “

“Danielle, if you didn’t like the dress, all you had to do was say so,” Karen said, her voice sharp, taking another step closer. 

Dani blinked up at her, taking a step back until she was pressing against the counter. “I didn’t — I didn’t say that,” Dani murmured, her hands clenched into fists. “I like it. It’s just cold.”

Gradually, the firm lines of her mother’s face cleared until she was staring down at Dani with a near unrecognizable expression. Her mother glanced down at the glass in her hand for a moment before slowly holding it out to Dani. Frowning, Dani looked down at it. Dark red wine swirled in the glass, just only a mouthful left. She had lost track by now since escaping deeper into the house with the others; she couldn’t tell if this was the third glass after the first two Dani counted her mother having during lunch, or if this was somewhere in the realm of the fourth or fifth. 

Dani glanced back up to give her mother a questioning look. “Try it,” Karen said, gesturing with the glass. The wine swirled dangerously near the lip of the glass. “Just a sip.”

Hesitantly, Dani unclenched one fist and reached out to the glass, slowly taking it from her mother’s grasp. She swallowed hard, staring down at the ominous burgundy liquid, and darted her eyes back up to her mother for any sharp glint in her eyes, any tension to the corners of her mouth, any clue to see if this was some trick, some test. But her mother only breathed out a laugh and murmured, “Go on.”

Taking a second to gather her courage, Dani lifted the glass to her mouth and took a small sip, and almost immediately twisted up her face. It was bitter, settling heavy and thick on her tongue even as she swallowed it down. Her mom laughed at the expression on her face as Dani pushed the glass back in her hand, wine still remaining at the bottom. 

Dani wiped her mouth as though the motion could remove the sour taste in her mouth. Her mom stepped away, still laughing and lifting a finger from the glass to point at Dani. “Consider yourself lucky,” she said, “The first drink my father ever let me try was scotch when I was nine. Now that burned.”

That made Dani pause, staring at her mom as she downed the rest of the wine with ease. It wasn’t often her mother spoke of Dani’s grandfather. “He always used to do that,” Karen said, a rueful look in her glassy eyes, “He was always such a sweet man when he was drinking, like it was the only way he knew how to show affection. But when he was sober though —” her mother chuckled, a short bitter thing “ — that was an entirely different story.”

Dani stood frozen, watching her mother swallow thickly and clear her throat, opening a cabinet to pull out a bottle of wine. An uncomfortable churning began in Dani’s stomach, though she couldn’t tell if it was from the sip of wine she tasted, or from watching her mother pour herself another glass, more than she had in previous drinks. As though sensing Dani’s discomfort, her mother stared at her, resting the bottle on the kitchen table with a heavy ominous thud.

“Don’t you start,” Karen said, her eyes suddenly and inexplicably hardened. 

“Start what?” Dani asked, her eyes darting up to her mother’s, curling further into the hunch of her shoulders. She hadn’t done anything beyond stare at the wine with some measure of concern, but at the sight of mother’s face shadowed with a severe frown, Dani knew immediately that she had misstepped somewhere over the course of the day. 

“You think I haven’t seen your little looks all day? Counting? Judging?”

Dani could hear it then, the slight slur to her mother’s voice. Could see it in her piercing glassy eyes. Could feel it in the way her mother stepped closer again, her shoulders tense and feet moving with purpose. The urge to run struck Dani hard in the chest, but she remained frozen, pressing back harder into the counter behind her as her mother loomed over her.

“I didn’t - I wasn’t doing anything,” Dani stuttered, her heart crashing against her ribs. 

Karen scoffed. “No? So, I imagined it then. Like a fool.”

“N-no, I — “ Unable to look her mother in the eyes anymore, Dani bowed her head to stare at the ground, her feet so small compared to her mother’s stocking covered pair. 

“You couldn’t give me just this one day, Danielle,” Karen said, “You know how hard Christmas can be for me.”

Dani nodded, words trapped in her throat. Her mother exhaled sharply. “You always have to do this, don’t you?” Karen said, her voice low and acrid with strained bitterness. “First with the sweater, and now this.”

The words seemed to wrap around Dani’s heart and clench painfully tight until a dull but deep ache spread across her chest, leaving her throat thick and her eyes burning. Any cheer or joy Dani had managed to revel in throughout the day seemed to slip away and vanish like a cloud of smoke. 

“I’m sorry,” she finally murmured, “I won’t do it again.”

Her mother scoffed again, and just when it felt like she was about to say something else, there was a distinct tapping sound nearing the kitchen. Her mother paused, and after what felt like an eternity, Dani watched her feet step away with a sigh. All at once it felt like Dani could breathe again. She glanced up as the tapping cane came closer, and fiddled with the cookies on the plate. 

“Ruth,” Karen said, her voice sounding so clear, as if nothing had just transpired, “Would you like a glass of wine?”

Dani reached for a cookie and bit into it, with nothing else to distract her from the roiling in her stomach and the thickness in her throat. 

“None for me, thank you,” Nan said, stepping towards the sink, “Afraid I’ve damned myself to another cup of microwaved tea. Dani, be a dear and fetch me the milk.”

At the sound of her name — her preferred name — Dani jumped, twisting around to blink at Nan who was already busy filling her cup with water from the tap. Dani stared, frozen for a moment before jumping into action, setting down her cookie to pull out the carton of milk from the fridge without looking in her mother’s direction. After a moment of contemplation as Nan heated up her mug in the microwave, Dani helped herself and poured the glass of milk she had wanted for the cookies in the first place, a noticeable tremble in her hands. 

With nothing more to do, Dani stood there staring at the glass, the room eerily silent save for the buzzing hum of the microwave, until — 

“Dani,” Nan said. Jerking just slightly out of her reverie, her hands clenched into fists, her eyes darted to Nan who was watching her steadily, soft around the edges and so unfamiliar that Dani could do nothing but blink. Nan gestured her head towards the kitchen entrance, and murmured, “They’re all waiting for you downstairs, love.”

Dani nodded, biting her lip hard at the unrelenting feeling of her mother’s piercing gaze on her back. She picked up the plate and glass of milk and slowly made her way out of the room, her head ducked. In between the moments of taking her leave from the kitchen and gradually making her way down the stairs towards the basement, Dani’s heart settled and she managed to push down the lump in her throat, but the ache in her chest remained. 

When she reached downstairs, the room packed with mismatched furniture and a tv in the corner that was surrounded by the boys arguing over which program or movie to watch, there was Jamie, laughing brightly with her cheeks flushed red and her hair cluttered in a starburst of melting snow. But when Jamie turned, catching her eyes, instead of a smile Dani expected, victorious from her quick jaunt outside, Jamie frowned and started towards her. 

“You all right?” Jamie asked, her eyes darting between Dani’s. 

Dani nodded, her mouth pulling into a smile. “Yeah, of course,” she said, and held up the plate for Jamie to see, “These cookies just really suck.”

Jamie glanced down at the plate before returning her gaze to Dani, arching a disbelieving eyebrow. 

“Seriously, I think there’s raisins in them,” Dani added. Pulling her mouth into a thin line, Jamie took the plate and glass from her hand to set them on a nearby table. Dani frowned. “Hey, wha — “ 

“C’mon,” Jamie said, grabbing her hand and pulling her back towards the stairs. “I want to show you something.”

Dani’s stomach twisted. “Jamie — “

“S’alright,” Jamie said, turning to grin at her, her eyes soft. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

Slowly, Dani’s mouth shut, Jamie’s cold hand squeezing her own in a careful grip. Dani couldn’t help but match Jamie’s grin and follow her back up the stairs, the pull of her hand insistent but gentle as she guided Dani up to the second floor towards a window on the landing that overlooked the backyard. 

“C’mon, take a look,” Jamie said, leaning against the windowsill with a smile over her shoulder at Dani, their hands still clasped.

Shooting Jamie a puzzled grin, Dani stood next to her to look out the window, and felt her breath catch in her chest. Outside, flurries of white gently floated down from the sky in a dance to unheard music. 

“Pretty, right?” Jamie asked, her voice unusually soft. Dani nodded, her eyes wide as she stared up at the sky, the sound of Christmas music muffled through the floor. And then, Jamie carefully said, “Dunno why it seemed like you just went through the ringer in the minute I was outside, but I felt like this could cheer you up a bit.”

Dani squeezed the hand in her own, feeling the ghost of the pressure returned. “It did,” Dani said softly, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Jamie murmured, and then added, “You wanna come over soon? Escape your mum for a bit? We could eat leftovers ‘til we’re sick and make Nan watch White Christmas again? She may actually try to kill us this time, but worth the risk.” 

Dani laughed, feeling an inexplicable lightness to her shoulders and chest, the aching pressure gone. Dani turned to catch Jamie’s eyes, only to see that Jamie was already staring at her with a pleased grin. “Yeah, I’d love to,” Dani said, her smile wide, and Jamie’s hand warm in her own.

 --

The first thing Jamie said when she opened the door was, "You've got to help me."

Dani blinked in surprise. She stood, dumb-struck, on Jamie's front step with an overnight bag slung over her shoulder. Night was already swiftly descending even though it was only six in the evening. Behind her headlights like a pair of eyes flashed through the gloom against the windows as her mother's car pulled away from the curb, where moments before Dani had hopped out and trotted up to Jamie's house without a backward glance. Dani glanced down to where Jamie's fist was clenched around a pair of kitchen scissors, spotted with rust.

"What -?" she asked, and had barely enough time to toe off her snow-struck shoes before Jamie was grabbing her by the wrist and hauling her inside, shutting the door with a kick of her socked foot.

"Shh! Keep it down!" Jamie hissed.

Her head whipped around to see if anyone had heard them, but the living room was empty and there were no tell-tale sounds of the tap of a walking stick down the hall or in the kitchen. Her hair was uncharacteristically down, Dani noticed. Long and auburn-dark as autumn leaves, curled from all its time spent coiled up in a braid.

"Okay," Jamie whispered, "We're clear. Follow me."

Dani made an abortive noise in the back of her throat, but tamped it down as Jamie tightened her hold on her hand. They scurried through the house like thieves. Jamie led them on a circuitous route around the furniture, as though stalking a beast through the jungle. The tops of their heads peeped out over the cushions of a green couch with a lacy throw draped across its back like delicate snow. With a final dart down the hall, their footsteps muffled by the carpet bearing tea stains and cigarette burns — tea stains from Jamie, cigarette burns from the previous owner — they made it to the spare half bathroom, which had no shower. Jamie locked the door behind them with careful precision, so that the sound was only the lightest of clicks against the brass knob.

"What's happening?" Dani asked, voice hushed in the dark.

Jamie only flicked on the light when she had grabbed a towel from the rack and pressed it up against the bottom of the door to keep as much light from leaking out as possible. Then, she rounded on Dani and held up the scissors. "I need you to cut my hair."

"Is that it?" Dani asked, straightening her spine.

Jamie made a motion for Dani to keep her voice down. "She'll hear you!"

Rolling her eyes, Dani nevertheless gamely kept her voice to a low murmur, "Why doesn't Nan just take you to the hairdresser in town?"

"She did! Look!" Jamie pointed at her own hair, which admittedly did look to be an inch or so shorter than when Dani had seen her last.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Everything!" Jamie hissed. "I wanted it all off, but Nan said no! And the barber refused to take the money I tried to give her when Nan wasn’t looking! Fucking coward.”

"And you want me to do it instead?" Dani asked. "So I can face Nan's wrath? No way!"

"She won't hurt a child!" Jamie said. Then after a moment, she added, "Much. Anyway, she likes you. Way more than she likes me."

"Now, that's not true."

"Inn'it though?" Jamie said, narrowing her eyes and nodding as though they both knew the answer to that rhetorical question.

"It's not!" Dani insisted.

Through the door, they could hear a distant cough. Both of them froze, deer in the headlights, trapped in a looming, luminous stare. There followed a shuffling as if of someone shifting their weight atop bed springs, and the papery turning of a page. When it became clear that Nan wasn't coming to investigate, they both breathed a sigh of relief.

"If you're not going to help me, then I'll just do it myself," said Jamie, already grabbing hold of her own hair and lifting the scissors.

With a groan, Dani dropped her overnight bag to the peeling linoleum floor. She held out her hand. "Give me the scissors."

"Oh, hell yes," Jamie breathed.

Scissors in hand, Dani directed Jamie to sit atop the scarred wooden toilet seat. Jamie eagerly complied, facing away from her so that Dani could have easy access. For a moment Dani hesitated. She reached out and touched Jamie's long hair, combing her fingers through the wild tangle of dark untamable curls. It was, she realised with an odd thread of excitement weaving a warm path through her chest, the first time she had ever touched Jamie's hair like this. When she dragged her fingernails lightly along Jamie's scalp, Jamie's shoulders relaxed and she swayed back into Dani's hand with a soft sound.

Dani withdrew her hand as though scalded. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"S'alright," Jamie said without turning around. "Feels nice. You can touch my hair."

"Yeah?"

Now, Jamie did turn her head, angled just enough so that Dani could see her roll her eyes. "How else are you supposed to cut it? Christ. You are thick sometimes."

Dani flicked the back of her head as revenge. Jamie flinched from the contact, but Dani could hear her laugh quietly, could catch a glimpse of her smile.

"Go on, then," Jamie said, squaring her shoulders once more as though readying herself for a march into battle. "Do it."

Carefully, taking her time so that Jamie could back out if she wanted, Dani pulled around as much of her hair as she could so that it draped down Jamie's back. "You're going to owe me big time for this," Dani muttered as she worked.

"Name the price."

"I want the good pillow tonight," Dani said. Jamie's bedroom was small and cramped and there were no other spare rooms in the house, so every time Dani stayed over it always ended up with the two of them crammed together on Jamie's narrow mattress, where one of them — usually Dani — was inevitably stuck with a lumpy pillow from the couch.

"Done," Jamie agreed without a hint of hesitation.

“All right,” Dani said. She steadied herself with a deep breath and placed the flat of the closed scissor blade against Jamie’s shoulder. “Here?”

“Shorter.”

Dani dragged the scissors up a few inches higher. “Here?”

“Shorter.” 

Swallowing down her nerves, Dani lifted the scissors so that they hovered over the back of Jamie’s neck just below the base of her skull. “Here?” 

Jamie nodded, her head bumping gently against the scissors. “Yeah. Perfect.” 

“All right,” Dani repeated. She opened the scissors and held them in place so that a good portion of Jamie’s long hair was folded across the sharp edges of the blades. Still, she did not cut. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

“Hurry up,” Jamie said and she cast a furtive glance towards the door. “She could come any second.”

And, taking her life into her own hands, Dani squeezed the scissors shut. The first section of Jamie’s hair fell away like a curtain with a single clean snip. As if watching herself perform the deed from out of her own body with a kind of dull horror, Dani continued along — two more great big cuts in a horizontal line — until Jamie’s curls brushed the back of her neck and no further.

“Is that -?” Dani lowered the scissors. “Is that what you wanted?”

One of Jamie’s hands reached up and she felt at her own hair with a silent wonder. 

“Jamie,” Dani breathed nervously. “Please, tell me that it’s all right.”

There was no mirror in this bathroom. Indeed, the only mirror in the whole house was a small rectangle of reflective glass in the bathroom with only a shower over a bath adjoining Nan’s room further down the hall. And there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell they would be braving that tonight. 

Jamie turned around so that she sat facing Dani, and she beamed up at her. “Perfect,” Jamie said. “Absolutely bloody perfect.”

The creak of bed springs, and the tap of a cane, and both of their eyes widened.

“Shit,” Jamie hissed, leaping off the toilet so she could lift the lid and begin shoving hair into the bowl. “Help me hide the evidence!”

“Hide the evidence?” Dani repeated incredulously. “You think she’s not going to notice?”

Even so, Dani scrambled to help, while they continued whispering and hissing at one another like a pair of angry geese. Except Jamie was wearing the biggest smile on her face, one Dani could not hope but mirror, and biting her lip as they tried to stifle their giggles and flush the toilet quickly enough. 

There was a knock on the door, and Nan’s suspicious voice from the other side, “What are you two up to this time?” 

Stuffing the pair of scissors under her sweater even though the door hadn’t opened, Dani straightened, Jamie’s shoulder and elbow jostling her own, and they both chorused in unison, “Nothing!”

[sondepoch]

Chapter 1

Written in the Stars (Lucifer x Angel!Reader)

Four thousand years is a long time. In the absence of your most cherished friend, it feels even longer. But when a certain student exchange program in the Devildom reunites you and Lucifer, things aren't the same. Because four thousand years of separation is a long time. And the love you once felt for Lucifer has changed into something different—something forbidden. But that might not even be your biggest problem, because with each passing day, your holy wings are turning blacker and blacker.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | ✔

MASTERLIST

The weight around your shoulders is unnatural.

You shift the fabric as you stand, gently pushing it back while fiddling with the golden clasp that keeps the thick, Celestial silk wrapped around your body, before forcing yourself to stop. It had been Simeon who had helped you put it on this morning. For good reason, too—the angel is blessed with a surprising degree of lean muscle and strength—but where he could easily carry the cape and drape it around your body, you can barely lift the thing.

It's heavy for a reason, he had told you when helping you wear it. We can't stay in our angel forms at the Academy, so the High Seraphs said that this will help remind us of the weight of our wings.

And while the fabric is definitely as heavy as your wings, it does no justice to the true feel of your snowy feathers, a poor simulation of the holy pinions.

You sigh, pressing your hands against the closest object to stabilize your body, wishing that you could bring your wings out to do so. You'd begged to come here, begged and cried and pleaded with the High Seraphs to give you the chance to see Lucifer one last time before eternally returning to the Celestial Realm, and they'd warned you that the experience wouldn't be pleasant. That you'd be forced to take this unorthodox human form, deprived of your wings and halo, surrounded by demons and the unbearable heat of the Devildom.

But you hadn't faltered then, and you certainly won't falter now.

It's for Lucifer, right? You'd do anything for Lucifer.

You bite the inside of your cheek as you hold your body steady by gripping the tall, wooden chair that Diavolo had been sitting in when he'd greeted the three of you.

"Welcome to the Devildom!" He'd exclaimed enthusiastically, a grin so wide stretched across his face that you couldn't help but offer your own smile in return. The man had been nothing but pleasant when introducing himself to you. Each word, he spoke with purpose. His tone bordered on intimidating when he declared his own titles—proudly naming himself Lord Diavolo, overseer of the nine circles of hell, heir to the Devildom, prince of the abyss—but he immediately expressed what a pleasure it was to meet your acquaintance, honorably referring to you all with your own titles. Again, with purpose. His formality was to remind you that you're all just as important to your realms as he is to his. Just as crucial, powerful, and strong.

"Luke," He had proclaimed with a smile, his grin almost proud as he gazed upon the youngest of you three. "Child of Chamuel, heir to the twelfth Holy Protectorate." He'd then turned to your best friend, the oldest of the group: "Simeon: child of Selaphiel, defender of the High Seraphs." And last, but absolutely not the least, he had faced you. "MC: child of light, equalizer of the Celestial Realm."

The man had proceeded to shower you all with gifts, casually instructing his butler to have the larger presents delivered to Purgatory Hall, the location of your year-long stay. He'd offered to give you all a tour of the Devildom, looking almost eager as he began leading you out the door—but he hesitated at the last minute.

"Ah, MC." His eyes watched you carefully as he spoke, waiting to see your reaction. "If you don't mind, would you be alright with staying here? Lucifer explicitly requested that he be the one to greet and show you around, though it's entirely understandable if you should wish to remain with the group for—"

"Not at all!" You'd exclaimed immediately, excitement flooding your veins at the mention of the man who's been dominating your thoughts for the past four thousand years. Diavolo's relief was apparent at your immediate acceptance of his offer, and you almost had to laugh.

Had he been concerned that you wouldn't want to be alone with Lucifer? Surely he's heard all the stories about the Morningstar of light and the equalizer of the heavens. Did he think your feelings for Lucifer would have changed after his fall? You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head. For all the stories and songs written about the two of you, people never seem to understand the true depth of your love for Lucifer.

Then again, the written history has never done a good job at portraying truth, has it?

You sigh, turning your head to stare out the windows of the room. This is the Student Council Office, you know. Small wonder. It has a marvelous view of the entire RAD campus, and really, you don't think you'll have the full map memorized even after you've spent a year here.

You smile, eyes skirting over the immense campus.

You, Simeon, and Luke had arrived in the Devildom just as the sun was beginning to make its journey back under the horizon; by now, the sun has almost completely set. Still, the remnants of its illumination light up the various fountains and statues littered around the campus. There are eight buildings set up for classroom use, nine buildings in total—likely modeled after the nine circles of hell—and each is connected by a modernistic sidewalk three wingspans wide. Every intersection is marked by a different ornamental tablet, engraved with what you can only assume is Devildom history, and the last remaining rays of sunlight jump off the various metals like fiery dancers of dusk. There's a large field in the distance, where you see six demons playing some sport you don't recognize, and you'd stare even longer at the strange forest in the background if not for the sound of a door opening behind you.

You freeze.

All of a sudden, you wish you hadn't been staring out at the window but at the door instead, because your body is stiller than the statues you'd been admiring outside, unwilling to move an inch.

Fingers tensing around the chair you'd been casually gripping, you feel your throat bob as you swallow, your mouth suddenly dry.

It's the moment you've been waiting for.

There's no doubt about it: you can feel it in the shift of the darkness in the room, in the subtle scent of the cologne that after all these years he's still wearing, in the quiet but sharp breath he takes that you were once so used to hearing.

Mustering up all the courage you have, you turn your head, preparing yourself for what you've been waiting four thousand years for.

Your head moves slowly, impossibly slow. You can't bring it to turn any faster, even though all you want to do is see the man you've spent so long yearning for.

And then you do.

A strangled gasp leaves you throat as all your breath deserts you, the man looking as magnificent and glorious and breathtaking as he did the last time you saw him. You stare into his eyes, two red rubies that shine not with holiness or darkness or anything but love as they gaze back at you, and then whatever restraint you had vanishes, and you're throwing yourself into Lucifer's arms: crying, whimpering, sobbing as you embrace him the way you've wanted to for so long.

"MC," he murmurs softly, his own voice thick with emotion as he lifts you, spinning you around gracefully as he used to so long ago. "What's this?" He asks, gaze traveling to the golden clasp that keeps the dense cape wrapped around your shoulders, wordlessly unclasping it.

And as the Celestial silk falls, so do the last of your inhibitions, leaving you truly weightless in Lucifer's arms as he holds you tighter, fingers running through your hair the way he used to.

You know he's fallen now, a demon, but nothing about him seems different. His embrace is still comforting as he holds you, his hands still rub small circles into your back, he still presses weightless kisses to your forehead as he holds you. Angel or demon, he's still the Lucifer that raised you, the Lucifer that taught you everything you know. He's still Lucifer.

"I missed you," You whisper, well aware that he can feel your tears as you bury your head in his neck. "So much."

"I know," He murmurs back, his voice carrying the rare softness that he only unveils for you. "I've missed you too."

The two of you remain like that for far longer than is necessary, simply basking in the blissful feeling of being together until even the sun has gone down, knowing that its warmth is unnecessary now that the two of you have each other.

Even when Lucifer finally begins to pull away, you let out a reluctant whine. You've been deprived of his company for four thousand years, surely he can give you one more minute?

"Don't look at me like that," He says, a light chuckle escaping his lips. "Come. Don't you want a tour of the campus? You'll be staying here the entire year, after all."

You grudgingly agree, removing yourself from Lucifer's arms while staring at the fabric on the ground. Now that it's off your shoulders, you certainly do feel much more free—but Simeon was absolutely right. No matter how heavy the fabric was, it really did remind you of your wings. You feel naked without it.

Lowering your body to the ground, you summon all of your strength in an attempt to lift the thick cloth up, trying your best to raise it higher than a foot off the ground. Next to you, Lucifer lets out an audible laugh as he watches you struggle until, finally, you collapse to the ground. "I give up," You mumble, light pants escaping your lips. Your muscles genuinely ache as you look up at your old friend, a defeated expression cast on your face.

"Celestial silk, is it?" Lucifer crouches, lifting the fabric. "Even heavier than I remember, but still manageable." He smiles lightly as he finds the clasps, fingers deftly hooking the golden fasteners in place until the cape is secured around your body once more.

It's a comfortable motion for you, and familiar, too. When Lucifer was still with you in the Celestial Realm, he had taken it upon himself to be your guardian—understandable, given the nature of your birth—and had practically raised you himself. It was Lucifer, who whispered stories to you every night until you slept. Lucifer, who taught you how to cook and bathe and read. Lucifer, who would help you dress in the mornings, while you blankly sat on the floor, just as you're doing now.

"Why are you wearing something so heavy? I doubt you can even stand straight for long, when this weighs as much as you." The demon's expression is intrigued as he pinches the fabric between his gloved fingers.

"It's not just me. Simeon is wearing the same thing. His cloak is even longer, actually, and heavier, too. And it's really bothersome, but without this, it just feels so unnatural to be in this form. At least, with this around my shoulders, it feels like I still sort of have my wings."

Lucifer nods. "That's smart. I think that was the hardest adjustment after the fall. It took me a while to figure out how to walk normally, without my wings weighing me back. Even in my demon form, I..." He trails off, a dark look cast on his face. You hold your breath, waiting for him to continue, but he says nothing.

"Lucifer?" You ask, bringing a hand to his cheek, gently angling his face back toward you. "After the Great Celestial War and your fall, I heard...the messengers would say..." You swallow, realizing that beating around the bush isn't going to help either of you right now. "They said you lost your wings."

Lucifer's eyes widen in surprise, and the shocked response is enough to tell you that the rumors were false. But then the demon's gaze darkens once more, and you can't figure out what's going on in his head.

When he next speaks, his voice is soft, quiet enough to be lost in the sound of your own breathing, if you're not careful. "If I show you my true form, will it scare you?"

Your breath hitches in your throat.

His true form. His demon form.

Against your will, the image of Lucifer's angel form flashes through your mind—the image you'd cut out from your history textbook, before anyone could take it away. A time when Lucifer's pride had been given to him by the realm, rather than stemming from within him. When he had six divine wings and the Mark of the Blessed on his forehead. Dressed in full white garb, every fine detail outlined in rubies and gold, you've never stopped picturing that Lucifer as the true Lucifer in your mind.

But times have changed.

Four thousand years have passed, and the Lucifer who dressed in white is no longer a reality.

"Show me," You whisper, voice earnest.

Closing his eyes, it takes barely a second for Lucifer's darkness to manifest, the black wings curling around his frame and the familiar Mark of the Blessed on his forehead. But only after a second look do you realize that neither are quite the same—the six wings you're used to seeing being reduced to four, and the mark on Lucifer's forehead something twisted, something unholy, no longer shining with light: a small diamond of skin blackened with the retraction of whatever blessing was once laid upon his fair head.

"Lucifer..." You whisper, unable to say anything other than his name. "You're beautiful."

The demon's eyes, once dropped to the floor, look up at you in surprise, evidently not expecting to hear that of all things. Indeed, the light favored Lucifer brilliantly, but the darkness brings out a different side of the man: unfamiliar, strange, and foreign—but undeniably beautiful, in its own right.

Before he can say a word against you, you wrap him in another embrace, this time letting your hands run along his wings, savoring the sensation. Their color may have changed, but they're just as soft as you remember, each feather delicate and majestic. You allow your hands to trail all the way to where they meet at Lucifer's back, hesitating before running your hands along the small strip in between the four wings.

A shudder travels through Lucifer as your fingertips graze the spot. "Don't—don't—"

You calmly move your hands, sliding them back into the wings you love, understanding that you must have been touching the location where Lucifer's two center wings were ripped out during his fall. The sheer thought is painful enough; you can't begin to imagine how awful it must have been.

"I'm sorry I couldn't have been there for you," You murmur into Lucifer's ear, kissing the black diamond on his forehead. His body trembles once more, but he welcomes your touch, gripping your shoulders tightly even as he slowly shifts back to his human form. It's a long time before he speaks, but when he does, he's composed once more.

"Don't be. I was relieved that the High Seraphs had the sense to keep you locked away during the Great Celestial War. You would have done something foolish, like get yourself banished with me." You don't respond, knowing all too well that you'd entertained the thought numerous times. "Come," Lucifer murmurs, finally standing up. "It's time I gave you the tour I promised."

You nod your head, attempting to stand up. Key word: attempting. Your silk cloak drags you back down before you can even straighten your legs, causing you to collapse rather ungraciously on the floor.

"How did even manage to put this on in the morning?" Lucifer asks, shaking his head as he bends down and lifts you to your feet. "You can barely stand properly. Did you enchant it with a spell or some such?"

"Not exactly. I still struggle a bit when it comes to object enchantments." You hide a faint blush, sheepishly glancing away. "Simeon helped me dress this morning."

You glance up at Lucifer, only to see him averting his eyes, a strange expression wrapped around his face. You don't recognize the look, but before you can ask Lucifer about it, he's speaking: "I see. That much is unsurprising, I suppose." His voice is calm and controlled, but from his face, you can tell that it's taking all his effort to do so. He feigns a sense of casualness, not meeting your eyes. "There have been rumors in the Devildom about you and Simeon. That the equalizer of the Celestial Realm and the defender of the High Seraphs are...involved." You don't comment, but Lucifer almost seems to choke on that last word. Still, you let the man continue, watching as his steady voice wavers. "I suppose the rumors are true?"

Your lips twitch in amusement.

Is it jealousy that's casting Lucifer's face into this unappealing frown, the demon desperately trying to conceal his distaste but failing so miserably? You're unable to stop a brief sound of laughter from escaping your lips, a quick shake of your shoulders, but Lucifer catches it.

"What. What? What?" His voice is sharp, irritated as he gives you his usual glare, one that you've missed all too much.

"Simeon and I are friends," You tell him, eyes twinkling with mirth. "Nothing more, Lucifer. There's no need to be jealous."

"I am not jealous," The demon hisses, eyebrows fuddling together in a demonstration meant to be intimidating, but you only find it cute.

"Relax!" You exclaim, consciously stopping yourself from squealing with merriment. "I was only teasing. I would never involve myself with another man—didn't I promise you that I would get your approval before doing so?"

Lucifer's eyes widen in surprise, as if he'd long forgotten that exchange. But his next words reveal that his thoughts were quite the opposite: "I didn't realize you had any recollection of that promise."

"How could I forget?" You ask, the memory clear in your mind even to this day.

"It's just..." Lucifer sighs softly, his eyes dropping to your hair, where he brushes a strand of the (h/c) behind your ear. "You were only a child when you said it."

"A child? Lucifer, I grew up in a literal hour," You argue, recalling how the High Seraphs had described you being born as a baby and then having turned into a young woman before they'd even had the chance to give you a name. It's angel stuff—not wholly unheard of, since Lucifer's birth was somewhat the same, but definitely not the most common thing out there. Then again, nothing about the story of your birth is common.

"Yes, but you'd only been in the realm for three days. You might have looked older, but you were young and inexperienced in the ways of the world, foolish enough to make such a preposterous promise." Lucifer chuckles, crossing his arms as he remembers your youth. "I do hope that you haven't been denying your heart on my account? As long as the suitor makes you happy, I would support any union you might partake in."

"I know, Lucifer." You smile up at the man. He may be a demon now, but inside, he's still the man you adore. You press a delicate kiss to his cheek. "When I made that promise to you, you told me the same thing."

***

Lucifer had promised Diavolo that he would handle your student tour of the RAD, that he would show you all the prettiest fountains and loveliest statues and best restaurants. And when he'd assured his prince of such a thing, he had been sincere.

But as he leads you out of the student council building, there's really only one thing he deems of immediate importance: how to get to the House of Lamentation from your residence in Purgatory Hall. Doubtless, he'll ensure that he's there to accompany you the first few times, but as he makes the walk with you, he can't help but feel a familiar sense of worry bubble in his stomach.

A part of him still can't believe that it's been four thousand years since he last saw you.

You've barely changed.

Your smile is still just as bright, your hands are just as soft, your hair dances in the wind the exact same way—but there are subtle differences, too. Lucifer swallows as he notes the womanly shape that you've taken on over the centuries, the small of your waist, the curve of your hips, the tantalizing dip of your collarbone.

The demon is unable to take his eyes off you, desperately wondering who in heaven designed your uniform. Diavolo had decided not to force the standard RAD uniform on any of the exchange students, and for good reason. The Devildom is too close to hell, and unbearably hot for anyone that isn't already used to its temperature.

But Lucifer had still expected the angels to be wearing somewhat modest clothes. He'd assumed that they'd arrive in angel attire, the garb simply enchanted with spells to resist the heat. Not these outfits that resemble the strippers he's seen in Asmo's clubs!

His eyes are glued to the thin mesh fabric covering your shoulders. It does an awful job of concealing skin. In fact, it only draws more attention to your upper body and—really—does the outfit have to be sleeveless? And is it truly necessary for the sides of your waist to be exposed?

Lucifer exhales lightly, his jaw tensing. None of his brothers would dare try anything inappropriate with you, you're too precious to them for that, and he'd do his best to shield you from the lustful eyes of his peers. But even then, how long would Lucifer be able to protect you from himself?

He forces himself to look away from your body, knowing that he would kill a lesser demon for the very thoughts reverberating through his own mind.

It's ridiculous that he even feels this way, he reasons with himself. He's practically your older brother. He knows you think of him as such. So why is he looking at you like a woman, when he should be looking at you as a sister?

Off limits. Lucifer scowls, staring forward as he drills the word into his mind. Off limits. MC is off limits. MC is off limits!

But the more he tries to ignore you, the more he's drawn to you, to the light sway of your hips as you move, to the elegant grace you've cultivated over the years, the dazzling smile that he can only describe as enchanting, where it had once been cute and endearing.

Is it because he's a demon, that he feels this way around you? Because it's now in his nature to give in to temptation, where it had once been in his blood to resist? The thought weighs heavily on his mind, because that means that it would be impossible for you to ever feel the same way about him. And as much as Lucifer hates himself for thinking it, that prospect seems to be even worse than the notion of you being foolish enough reciprocate his feelings.

"Lucifer?"

The demon halts his thoughts, staring at you in surprise. "I'm sorry, MC. My mind was elsewhere. What were you saying?"

He watches you giggle, an action he's seen you do thousands of times, but it's never made him feel such a strong urge to wrap his arms around you and hide you away from everyone else.

"I was talking about your youngest brother. Though I think he's been named the fourth-born? I'm talking about Satan. I know he was born a little before the Great Celestial War began, but the High Seraphs isolated me immediately after, so I still haven't met him. Do you think he'll like me?"

Lucifer blinks. You've certainly grown, but you've still retained your angelic innocence. "Don't be ridiculous," He murmurs quietly. "How could anyone not like you?"

The beaming smile you give Lucifer is worth the agitation he feels when he realizes how smitten he is with you.

You're off limits, he tells himself once more. Off limits.

Just as he will not allow any other demons to lay a hand on you, he will not allow himself to touch you.

"MC?" He asks, eyes glued to your exposed shoulders, all too aware of how it's only furthering the temptation within him. When you turn to him, a questioning gaze on your face, it's all he can do to take off his coat without letting his embarrassment show on his face. "It's cold." It's not. "Wear my jacket for the time being."

Wordlessly, he helps you slip it onto your shoulders, lifting the Celestial silk for you and then unclasping it altogether, not failing to notice the blissful sigh you give as he takes the weight into his own arms, allowing you to freely slip into his jacket.

He breathes a sigh of relief when you continue talking, the demon finally eased of the tempting sight of your exposed body. He turns back to you, hoping to listen to whatever subject you're currently ranting so passionately about.

And fails.

Even with his jacket wrapped around you, Lucifer finds that his gaze is just as hungry as before, only further stemmed along by the sight of you in his clothes, your smaller figure entirely enveloped by his jacket.

By his side, Lucifer's hand clenches into a fist.

Thou shalt not covet, he tells himself, the words still engraved on his heart after all these years. Thou shalt not covet. But staring at you, talking so animatedly next to him, so comfortable and trusting by his side, he can't stop.

No matter how many times the words echo in his mind, they fall short of his heart.

He covets.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | ✔

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: And that's the first chapter of this series :D Just so you guys know, I currently plan to update this work on Tuesdays and Saturdays - and based on my current drafts, this whole thing will be either 8 or 9 chapters, so not too long! I hope that you enjoy this - things start to get real in the next chapter <3 Expect a slight slow burn? Ngl, I've done more planning than usual for this fic, but this project is also bigger than I'm used to taking on - regardless, I'll do my best to make sure that the content I give you guys is my best effort :D

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Next Update: 5/23/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.