#no i will never stop using von fire emblem its good.

[iucemon]

arizona green tea straight up tastes like it should be pure water von fire emblem

[experiment-000]

My Top 10 Ships of 2020

It's been a weird year but I've seen other people doing this. Plus this year I've been way more into gen fics (love a bit of found family especially in clone wars and marvel) than anything shippy. So I genuinely don't know what imma put on here aside from two ships for sure. Sorry this post is super long idk how to do the below the cut thing and I've had this app for 5 years...

10) Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki - Yuri!!! On Ice

It was a real toss up between this, supercorp, kanera and wolfstar cos they're all very integral ships to my fan heart but this son because of the Yuri on Ice fandom's rebirth this year. I've never stopped shipping this, never stopped reading fanfic of them for any extended period of time, they're still my most bookmarked ship on ao3 (although I think now star wars - all media types may have overtaken them for fandom). They were one of the first things I watched where the queer ship I loved became canon and I can't wait for the film (and hopefully someday a season 2). Heck I even made my mum watch Yuri on Ice with me so I think that says it all.

9) Edelgard Von Hresvelg and female Byleth - Fire Emblem: Three Houses

My first fire emblem game was fates when I was like 14 (and finally gay awake lol). I was so disappointed that I had to be with a guy character because the only female option was kinda creepy and also I wouldn't get the character of kana. So when three houses came out I was so happy because finally there were beautiful incredible female characters my female byleth could romance (I'm so sorry mlm you deserved so much more than you got). I got the game as soon as it came out (had to search a lot of shops let me tell you) and started on black eagles. I was actually kinda disappointed back in 2019. I didn't like the explore the monastery bit (still find it kinda tedious) and the battle mechanics weren't quite the same as fates (no pairing up?! Aka my main battle technique for protecting the weaker units). So I got like 20 hours in and put it down. Came back to it in lockdown and finally finished it! I'm so proud of myself I virtually never finish games. And I fully fell in love with the useless lesbian edelgard in the process. When I started back playing in 2020 I was like eh I wish I'd picked a different character to romance (like shes an emperor that's morally very shady) but then the romance stuff started with edelgard and I fell the heck in love.

8) Cory Matthews and Shawn Hunter (and Topanga Lawrence) - Boy Meets World

Disney+ was released in the UK this year and I finally got the opportunity to watch boy meets world in its best quality (aka not on YouTube). I watched it back when I was like 12 or 13 and it's such a nostalgic show for me. Watching it again I still absolutely adore it (and my bi ass was low-key crushing on Shawn especially in chick like me - I'm 18 btw and I got so scared for a sec but rider strong was 18 when chick like me came out so it's fine woah). And of course now I see the possibilities of the beautiful Cory and Shawn relationship like they were so bromance it was basically romance and throw in topanga it's the perfect ot3 (but I'm also fine with just Cory and Shawn or just Cory and Topanga). Read some good fanfic for them this year. My favourite was one about Shawn stealing makeup and stuff and exploring gender (need more fics like this I'm biiii).

7) Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes - Marvel Cinematic Universe

I rewatched all the MCU films this year too. And got really into Peter parker whump and irondad. Plus my eternal obsession with identity and relationship reveals of course led me from Spiderman identity reveals (and found family cuteness) to stucky coming out. Especially when it involves the internet and social media. Not my favourite ship but it's been significant to my year due to the sheer amount of marvel stuff I've read.

6) Satine Kryze and Obi Wan Kenobi - Star Wars

I rewatched clone wars in prep for season 7 and wow Satine's death was sad and sudden. She first appeared in S2 E13 I think and just the sheer sexual tension of their bickering. "The sarcasm of a soldier. The delusion of a dreamer." Just ugnnhhh my bi ass can't take much more of this. And Anakin just sipping his wine in the background grinning. And I fully believe korkie is a Kenobi.

5) Commander Cody and Obi Wan Kenobi - Star Wars

I am very much an Obi wan multishipper. I don't really have a favourite but I fully believe he was with satine and Quinlan in his life. I don't think be would've actually done anything with Cody because of the whole superior officer thing. And this probably isn't even my favourite Obi wan ship - that honour probably goes to quinobi or obitine. However the most popular ships in the fandom are codywan, quiobi and obikin. No offence to anyone who ships these they're just personally not to my taste, but I can't stand quiobi, and obikin I find only slightly more tolerable and I think that's just because there's so much obikin content so if I like the concept of a fic that happens to be obikin I'll read it. I'm just not a fan of the mentor/student relationships. So I generally favoured the codywan fics when there was shipping involved meaning I read a lot of them this year. Needed that nice fix it content post season 7.

4) Zuko and Katara - Avatar: the Last Airbender

Again I am a multishipper I have nothing against zukka it's cute. But I'm a zutara shipper first and foremost because when I first watched avatar I was like 13 and denying my gayness and gayness in general so I shipped the straight things and the straight things only. Most of these ships I stopped shipping - dramione, spuffy, some my little pony ones which we don't talk about. Zutara stayed. (I have nothing against any of the things I used to ship I just stopped shipping them so much/shipped new things more). I've continuously shipped zutara since I first watched avatar even if I didn't necessarily spend that much time on it it has always been here as one of my favourite ships. It has such good fanfic I swear including my favourite ever fanfic from any fandom - love thy enemy. Plus like the black games (reread this for the millionth time this year), a delicate subterfuge (which I read for the first time this year and damn it's so good) and so many more. With the avatar resurgence this year I haven't actually rewatched avatar aside from my normal random episode every now and then when I feel like it. But there's been a lot of avatar on my dash from people I follow getting into it and people I followed for avatar returning so naturally I returned to the fandom and read quite a lot of fanfic. I also read just a lot of avatar gen fics which were great at the whole found family thing I've been so obsessed with this year.

3) Catra and Adora - She Ra and the Princesses of Power

Catradora is canon! They kissed! What more is there to say. Arguably they should've been top but I never shipped them that much since I was always very much a multishipper when it came to she ra so yes I was very happy it became canon because we actually won for once but also I've never read much fanfic for them etc. But they are very much a dynamic I love and watching she ra all again in prep for season 5 I really enjoyed the build up of their relationship. The other two only go above because Buffy is my favourite show ever and damn there's some good fuffy fanfic and Aphra and Tolvan is both fresh in my mind and star wars owns me. Would love some catradora fic recs btw if anyone has them tho.

2) Buffy Summers and Faith Lehane - Buffy the Vampire Slayer

I didn't realise it was last year that I got super into them but according to my ao3 bookmarks it was lol. 2020 I swear it's lasted an eternity. I got into them about a month before lockdown (which feels like another lifetime). I've loved Buffy since I first watched it when I was 13. It's arguably still my favourite TV show. I've been through a lot of ships for Buffy - bangel to spuffy and now fuffy. I still think angel and her were a beautiful ship back in season 2 and especially in the angel episode I will remember you. But faith and Buffy had so much chemistry in season 3 - she would've been a fresh start for Buffy and the amount of fix it fics I read I swear. My favourite has to be one where they met in LA during Anne and how that changed everything feat Buffy's internal homophobia.

1) Cheili Lona Aphra and Magna Tolvan - Star Wars

I read Darth Vader (2015) and Doctor Aphra (2016) for the first time at the end of 2020 (got a comic subscription which has served me very well already I've nearly finished the star wars canon comics). Just to see canon queer ladies in star wars was so magical for me as a queer lady. I didn't think star wars would be so overt yet as to have a queer kiss in canon (even if it's in the comics) and especially not with the main character of arguably their main comic series. Now we just gotta hope that we'll get it in live action someday soon. They weren't the ship I consumed the most content of in 2020 but they were the highlight of my 2020 because star wars did that and I finally found out about it

Honourable mentions: Vivian and Elle - Legally Blonde, Candace and Vanessa - Phineas and Ferb, Stevie and Alex - Wizards of Waverly Place, Xander and Spike - Buffy the Vampire Slayer (I actually don't ship this but damn some authors are good - this was the ship that made me realise I don't need to like a ship if the author is good enough to write it well), Eli Vanto and Mitth'raw'nuruodo - Star Wars (started reading the books last year but finished this year and only started with fanfic this year), Villanelle and Eve - Killing Eve, Kanan and Hera - Star Wars, Barriss and Ahsoka - Star Wars, Remus and Sirius - Harry Potter, Kara and Lena - Supergirl (let's hope this becomes canon next year!) (Those last four are ones I've shipped forever some of my og ships but nothing particularly big has happened for me this year with them so)

I got Disney+ this year so rewatched a fair few things from my youth and though hey my obsession with that character may have been a little gay.

[fireemblems24]

Hey! It's the anon who sent the ask about the imperialism thing.

I guess it's kinda ironic because uh, the country that did the whole imperialism shtick to my country is the US. The saddest part is that it's barely acknowledged and I'm pretty sure it's not even studied in your history either. If you're curious, look up Benevolent Assimilation. Yup. That's what they called it.

Anyway I had a realization when you mentioend about why not Edelgard try to enact the changes on her Empire first? And I realised... Yeah, why not???

A possible thing she could've done that's less bloody than a war is to change her Empire first. And then befriend the future leaders of the Kingdom and Alliance while they were in school. That would've made things fairly peaceful between them and also if the changes in the Empire are working out well, she could've promoted the same methods to Dimitri and Claude for them to establish in their own countries. She doesn't need to conquer them. I mean, yeah this is a very easier said than done situation (especially since there's still TWSITD) but again, less bloody alternatives.

To be fair, Edelgard handling this entire affair in a flawed manner such as a war is also fine by me. Seeing imperialism in media is fine especially if it highlights the flaws of it because yes, it and its long term effects need to be acknowledged. But the game just feels like it's condoning her... And there's also the ton of people who agree with her who just make me uncomfortable really because it feels so close to real life. Not only that seeing as this is a Japanese game and the Japanese have a... history with imperialism (in which they also occupied my country... we don't really get a break) it's just uncomfortable.

Again, I like Edelgard and the morally grey potential of her decisions. My problem really is in the execution. I would definitely tolerate CF much more if the BE had more prominent roles as critics? I think that's the only way they'd really fit in CF tbh. Criticise Edelgard, question her actions, make her question her own actions, make her realise the damage she caused. Stuff like that would've made CF into such a good route. Like, if AM is Dimitri's character study, why couldn't we have had Edelgard's character study in CF?

I guess in the end, the main reason why I'm really talkative about the whole Edelgard issue is because I really want to love her? I see the potential in her character — I love her design, her general personality, her voice actress, the fact that she's actually different from the usual female character in these games. But I just end up liking her and not really loving her because sometimes the games feels like it's forcing me to love her so much that I just eh. I still don't like her Byleth attachment.

But yeah I think I'm going to stop bothering you all about this since I think I'm just repeating restated points again.

I briefly looked up “Benevolent Imperialism.” Sounds exactly like the kind of phrase an Imperialist would label their conquest as. I’ll have to learn more about it because surprise, surprise, our history lessons do leave that out. 

As for your comments on Edelgard, I agree with everything you said. I cannot believe her actions are wholly benevolent and in the name of bettering society only because she never once attempts to work with other leaders. She’s either so far up her own ass she legitimately thinks killing every other major power in Fodlan except herself is really the best option for everyone or there’s more to her actions than her ideals - like killing all the dragons/forcing them into hiding forever or getting back what she thinks is rightly hers because the Empire ruled those territories hundreds of years ago. 

My issue, like yours, is that this game acts like she’s some kind of saint. She’s sacrificing her own soul by bloodying her own hands for the benefit of all. Whenever she talks about all the damage the war causes, it’s not about the victims, it’s about how sorry we should feel for her because she’s dirtying herself so everyone can live in her future utopia. 

It takes a grey, interesting perspective and makes it not only very uninteresting (and at times irritating as a player who doesn’t agree with her but it forced to act like she’s the biggest victim in all this), but problematic. To say nothing of how this glorifies war and skips over any and all negative side effects, it’s far more concerning in it’s presentation of Imperialism as a good thing, as a “liberation” of the countries who are getting violently taken over against their will. 

Like you, I don’t mind Imperialism in fiction. I don’t even mind seriously entertaining the question - but what if the conqueror really does improve things? What I do mind is this really black/white presentation where Imperialism is framed as liberation, like the Imperialist actually knows better than the countries she’s taking over. What’s super uncomfortable when analyzing things deeper is how unapologetic CF is at spinning the same propaganda used to devastate other countries, many still reeling from the effects. 

You could just write it off as fiction. It’s just a Fire Emblem video game no one should take too seriously. And I’m always torn about this argument because I don’t want to police fiction - at all - but I’m also aware of how fiction can change your worldview. You’d think people would be smart enough to separate fiction and reality but they often either don’t or use fiction to reinforce their own world views. 

I’m not surprised at all people agree with Edelgard. She’s presented as a liberator, her route presents war like its only victim is the perpetrator because she’s just oh so sad everyone else is forcing her to kill them. But I’m very alarmed if anyone wholly agrees with her and thinks she’s right to invade the Kingdom and the Alliance. You can love a character and not agree with their actions. I love a character who’s quite similar to Edelgard on the surface, Reinhard von Lohengramm, but I do not agree with his actions at all, even if I root for his victory at every turn in his own story anyways, because sometimes it’s fun to watch a magnificent bastard crush everyone under their heels. 

And yeah my main frustration with her is that I really want to like her. But her presentation is so bad that I’m struggling to enjoy her in her own route. 

[houseisekai]

House Isekai: A Realm Reborn - Part 3, Thunder Rolls (2 of 2)

House Isekai ARR Masterlist Here

—

Client: Marianne Von Edmund

With Marianne's help, the new House Isekai split off into teams to find this mysterious object and take it down before it becomes too dangerous...

[Tactics - Fire Emblem: Three Houses OST]

Marianne handed Sitri a paper with all the findings her scouts have reported.

(Marianne) "I hope this will be of use to you all."

(Sitri) "It will, thank you, Marianne."

Marianne nodded and smiled.

(Marianne) "Please be careful, I would not like to see any of you come to harm."

(Kazuma) "Eh, don't worry, the kids'll be fine with us!"

Marianne raised an eyebrow, although her smile was still kept.

(Marianne) "With Rean and the others, I can believe that."

(Kazuma) "Hey, who was the group that saved your guys asses plenty of times back then? Mine, that's who!"

(Rean) "Aaaand, don't forget who bailed you out for a lot of those situations."

(Aigis) "It was us."

Kazuma continued to cause a commotion, letting the other groups spectate.

(Jean) "They all seem rather close."

(Lisa) "Reminds you a bit of home, doesn't it?"

Lisa smirked as she turned to Kaeya and Diluc.

Diluc rolled his eyes while Kaeya shrugged.

(Kurt) "I trust Instructor Rean and Towa's guidance, but I am unsure about the other two."

(Juna) "Well, that Aigis lady seems nice enough though, now that I think on it, what CAN those two do?"

(Ash) "Noticed Kazuma has a dagger and a short sword on his belt, but for Aigis...can't tell."

(Altina) "It appears she is like me."

(Juna) "Wait, as in not human?"

Musse turned to the Garreg Mach students.

(Musse) "What do you guys think?"

(Astrid) "Eh? Well, I dunno. I've only heard stories, never seen them in action."

(Helena) "Gets kinda hard to tell what's true."

(Stefan) "I guess today's our lucky day!"

(Elizabeth) "Hmph, if you call having to deal with otherworldy monstrosities lucky!"

(Helena) "Harsh. These people aren't that ugly."

(Elizabeth) "What in the-That is not what I meant and you know it!"

(Kairos) "..."

(Astrid) ? "Kairos? Somethin' up?"

(Kairos) "Huh? Oh, I am fine. It's nothing."

Kairos looked back down, a bit dejected.

(Stefan) "The things Lady Marianne and Sitri say getting you down?"

Kairos raised his voice to object but sighed instead.

(Kairos) "I just cannot believe I let my immaturity get the best of me there. These people are the reason we're here right now, but I cannot shake off how I feel that easily."

(Elizabeth) "I...would be lying if I said I did not feel the same."

Venti and Amber didn't mean to eavesdrop, but it was hard not to considering how loudly they were announcing their feelings to the entire group.

(Venti) "If that's the case, why not get to know us then?"

(Elizabeth and Kairos) "Huh?"

(Amber) "Yeah, this mission looks to be tough, so if we all work together, I'm sure we'll be friends in no time!"

(Kurt) "I would not be opposed to it. Well, considering that we also have no alternatives present as well.'

Meanwhile, the Instructors finally finished their conversation.

(Marianne) "I wish you luck, House Isekai."

(Rean) "Thanks, Marianne. We'll be back as soon as we can."

Marianne bowed and went inside back to her estate, leaving the Instructors to walk back to their groups.

(Towa) "So, what's the plan?"

(Sitri) "I...Hm."

She stopped walking to take a moment to think.

(Sitri) "I think it'd be best if we were to all search together. We have no idea what we'd be up against."

The tone of her voice made it sound like it was more of a suggestion than a command.

(Sothis) "Looks like the group has another one."

(Diluc) "Miss Sitri, was it? If we could speak our mind."

(Sitri) "Huh? O-Oh, Go ahead."

Kazuma leaned over to Rean.

(Kazuma) "She doesn't exactly sound confident for a headmaster."

(Rean) "Being fair, she was just a nun from what we were told by Jeralt."

(Aigis) "Affirmative, she also was very weak and could not leave Garreg Mach often."

(Towa) "...S-So, if that's the case, how is she walking around out here carrying her sword no problem?"

The four stared at her while Diluc was explaining the group's plan.

(Rean) "Lahabrea did mention she was chosen to be resurrected for a reason...Did we ever find out why?"

They were silent.

(Kazuma) "Tch, even dead Those Who Slither are a pain in our ass. We never get straight answers from them"

(Aigis) "Well, that wasn't Those Who Slither, that was Byle-...Er, Lahabrea who did the resurrection himself."

(Towa) "Regardless, I think we should ask this ourselves another time."

(Diluc) "...And so, we think splitting up is the best way to approach this threat."

(Sitri) "Well..."

(Jean) "You have our word that nothing will befall any of your students."

(Kurt) "And mine as well."

(Helena) "To be fair, this would be a good way to know how we all fight considering this is our first assignment together."

(Sitri) "Fair enough...Very well, we shall split into teams.

(Rean) "I think it'd be best to mix and match teams."

(Aigis) "Agreed. Based off initial data, I will configure the teams as follows:

First Team will consist of: Rean, Sitri, Helena, Stefan, Kaeya, Amber, Altina, and Ash.

Second team will consist of: Myself, Kazuma, Astrid, Diluc, Jean, Venti, Kurt, and Juna.

Third team will consist of: Towa, Kairos, Elizabeth, Lisa, and Musse."

(Jean) "No objections from me."

(Ash) "Sounds fine."

(Musse) "Aww, I wanted one with Rean-"

(Rean) "You'll be fine under Towa's command. Besides, she was your homeroom teacher anyway."

(Lisa) "Ouch, shot down."

(Musse) "Doesn't mean I'm giving up!~"

(Lisa) "Oh, I like your attitude, love is such a powerful thing..."

(Towa) "Uh...."

(Elizabeth) "I had some slight objections being put in a group with you, Kairos, but now? I think I am glad to have at least someone familiar..."

(Kairos) "Ugh, the feeling's mutual."

(Rean) "Right then. We'll split up and meet at this point in the map if we don't find anything."

(Kazuma) "How are we gonna keep in contact if shit goes down?"

(Aigis) "Rean and Towa have their Arcus Units, and I believe the students of Garreg Mach have something similar."

(Stefan) "Yes, we were all given a communication crystal upon our entry for Sitri's group."

All the students of Garreg Mach pulled out a small flat crystal that faintly glowed blue.

(Kaeya) "We have our methods then. It's probably best we stop wasting time and get moving."

(Sitri) "Agreed. Everyone, remember to be safe. This may be only our first assignment, but do not underestimate the danger. Your lives could be thrown away if you're careless enough."

Everyone nodded and split up.

(Towa) "Alright, looks like we'll head to the site where it was first spotted. This way everyone."

Towa's group walked down a path deeper into the forest and slowly disappeared from sight of everyone else...

...

===

Doomguy's Base, Present...

Doomguy tapped his foot while listening to the Persona Users give their explanation of what was happening.

Apparently, Ryuji, Ann, Mitsuru, and Naoto fought off a group of hulking green creatures calling themselves "Orks" who came from Fodlan's Crystal Tower.

(Yu) "And that's about the gist of it."

(Yosuke) "Yeah, we weren't close enough to the scene and the news gets everything wrong anyway.."

(Futaba) "Even with my hacking I can't get a full picture, it happened so fast."

(Akihiko) "You still got any idea what's going on in Fodlan right now?"

Doomguy shook his head, and shrugged to the air, indicating for VEGA to speak for him.

(VEGA) "Unfortunately, no. There is too much interference for us to make contact with those currently in. That being the case, they are working to rectify this communication block, hopefully soon."

(Junpei) "So what, we're supposed to twiddle our thumbs and just wait?"

(Yukari) "And what exactly can we do, Stupei? If all of us just jump in guns blazing, who knows how long we'd be trapped, and how Fodlan would react!"

(Makoto) "Our entry and exit wasn't the most graceful after all..."

(Akira) "I have faith in everyone over there. It'll be up to us to keep our home safe."

(Chie) "Hey, who else has responded anyway? Seems not too many of us were able to make it in there."

(VEGA) "You are correct. The only ones to answer the call are yourselves, Rean, Elliot, Laura, Fie, Towa, and Kazuma."

(Morgana) "Anyone else?"

(VEGA) "The Denizens of Nazarick appear to be busy handling their world's politics, but they have acknowledged our call and plan to send whoever is available. The same goes for the remaining members of Class VII."

(Teddie) "Oh, how about Yuki-chan and the others?"

(Fuuka) "The School-Living Club?"

(VEGA) "I'm afraid nothing has been sent our way. Not even an acknowledgement."

(Rise) "I hope they're alright. Their world didn't exactly sound forgiving..."

(Kanji) "It's prolly' best they weren't here anyway. Not sure they'd be much help...Er, wait that sounds bad!"

(VEGA) "Negative. You are objectively correct, in terms of combat at least. Megumi and the School-Living Club were the least active members when it came to fights. Their efforts were focused on helping fleeing civilians and moral support. Neither of which we are sure is needed for Fodlan's current circumstances."

(Ken) "I'm sure everyone's fine. We should be worried less about how they are and more on how the Crystal Tower came to our world to begin with."

(VEGA) "We are currently looking into that as we speak. Please feel free to rest here until then."

The Persona users nodded and tried their best to relax, not knowing what the future would bring...

===

[Stilness of Night - Trails of Cold Steel 3 OST]

A few hours later...

Towa's group kept investigating the points of which the scouts had written on the reports, but they had found nothing.

No trace of any warning shots Marianne mentioned, its like they had completely erased the evidence.

The sun was starting to set, but thankfully it was still bright enough for them to keep looking untroubled.

Lisa was close by with Towa, looking with her and Musse while Kairos and Elizabeth investigated somewhere close by.

(Towa) "Hm...still nothing."

(Musse) "Instructor Towa?"

(Towa) "What is it, Musse?"

(Musse) "If I can ask, why is it that the people of this world hold such hostility against you?"

(Lisa) "I have been rather curious myself. It seems every opportunity those two in particular talk bad about your old group."

Towa looked up and made sure Kairos and Elizabeth was far away enough for her to continue.

(Towa) "Truth be told, our group was a mess. We kept coming in out of nowhere, and forming this massive superpower that threw a wrench into all the world leader's plans for...whatever they were going to do. World Domination? Separation? I have no idea."

Towa's eyes looked down as her expression darkened.

(Towa) "We lost a lot of friends during that war too, they gave their lives for a world they didn't know. But this place is home to us, just as much as it is to them..."

Musse and Lisa looked at each other but didn't say anything else.

Towa was doing her best to keep those memories out of her head. She had to keep a clear mind for this assignment.

Though, being told that their group was the reason a civil war was on the brink again, it didn't sit well in her stomach.

Towa's mind ached, thinking the possibility of losing even more friends to this world, which she was struggling to keep out.

Lisa walked towards Towa, kneeling down and rubbing her head.

(Lisa) "There there...I'm sure they'd understand if you told them. No need to fret."

Towa shot back up, a slight tinge of red as she put her hands on her hat.

(Towa) "ACK!"

(Lisa) "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle."

(Towa) "N-No you're fine, Miss Lisa! I'm just usually used to Rean doing that...Which, now that I say out loud, is kinda weird..."

(Musse) "Hmph, lucky."

(Lisa) "Is it weird? I was under the impression you were a couple with the way you acted."

(Musse) "I'm sure she'd like that!"

Lisa and Musse's smirks were flustering Towa.

(Towa) "T-That's not relevant, Musse! And Miss Lisa, we are NOT a couple!"

(Lisa) "So, you're available then?"

(Towa) "BWUH-WHAT?!"

Lisa failed to hold back a chuckle.

(Lisa) "Relax cutie, I'm just joking...Mostly."

(Towa) "Ugh, please just focus back on the task at hand!"

She began mumbling to herself.

(Towa) "You think I'd be used to this considering how much time I've spent with Angie and Crow..."

Lisa crossed her arms as she turned back to finding any signs of a fight.

(Musse) "...Thanks for doing that, Miss Lisa. I never liked seeing Instructor Towa get that down on herself."

(Lisa) "Figured no one does, from what I've gathered. By the way, have you found anything?"

(Musse) "Not particularly. Though that being said-"

Musse began speaking with Lisa who crouched down next to her, pointing at the trees in front of them.

(Kairos) "This question is only now appearing in my head, how exactly do they fight?"

(Elizabeth) "Now that you point it out, the only real weapon I see is on Musse's back. It appears to be some sort of...staff?"

They stared at the rifle that was strapped onto her, not sure what its function was.

(Kairos) "That makes sense, though it's shaped quite oddly. What's the point of that...lever, I think?"

Squinting at the triggerhair on Musse's rifle, he shook his head and turned to Lisa.

(Kairos) "And her. Everyone else from her group has a visible weapon, but she doesn't. All I see is a book."

(Elizabeth) "She could be a spellcaster, though what kind of magic user dresses like that?"

(Kairos) "Of course you judge them based on clothes."

(Elizabeth) "Oh stuff it! As if you're one to talk to ME about biases!"

Kairos and Elizabeth stood up, glaring daggers at each other.

(Kairos) "Hey, I was talking about their weapons!"

(Elizabeth) "And I'm talking about your little outburst earlier! Do you know how much you embarrassed all of us by-"

The went back and forth a little bit, Musse and Lisa pausing their conversation to listen.

(Musse) "How noisy."

(Lisa) "Well, we didn't find anything over here anyway, we might as well put a pause to it."

Towa watched them head towards Elizabeth and Kairos, and decided to watch what would happen instead of interfering. She knew Musse was a lot smarter than she looked, and Lisa seemed to be the same way.

(Towa) "So this is how Instructor Sara felt."

(Musse) "Is there a problem?"

(Elizabeth) "O-Oh, my apologies! No there isn't any problem."

(Kairos) "If you don't count her mouth as one."

(Elizabeth) "Silence yourself, or so goddess help me, I will silence yours!"

(Lisa) "My my, so feisty! You'll ruin those cute faces if you keep frowning so much."

That snapped Elizabeth and Kairos out of their spat and took them aback.

(Kairos) "C-Cute?"

(Elizabeth) "Feisty?!"

(Musse) "It seems no matter the world, people have the same reactions to these things..."

(Lisa) "It would appear so. It's nice having someone who understands, though."

Lisa and Musse smiled, making Kairos and Elizabeth feel slightly uncomfortable.

(Musse) "But back on topic, did you happen to find anything?"

(Kairos) "No, not really."

The two looked back down to the ground they were examining prior.

It was two trees that had snapped and fell to the ground, but there was no magical energy or weapon marks to indicate it had fell down by unnatural causes.

They were looking at the point where the tree snapped and fell over, hoping to find anything but-

(Elizabeth) "Kairos and I are well versed in magic, but we were unable to find anything that we could detect."

(Musse) "Hm...from what I see, there's nothing there either."

Lisa furrowed her brows as she gently pushed everyone to the side, taking a look herself.

(Kairos) "Miss Lisa?"

(Lisa) "...Instructor."

(Towa) "Huh? What is it?"

(Lisa) "I believe I found something."

(Elizabeth) "Truly?"

Towa walked over to the group and looked at the trees as well.

(Lisa) "I understand why no one has reported anything. This was caused by something from our group's world."

Everyone stood on edge.

(Lisa) "Our world has something we call 'Visions', powers granted to us by the Archons and allows us to attune ourselves to the elements and channel them into our will. Diluc and Amber have Pyro visions, letting them control fire. Kaeya has Cryo, Ice, Venti and Jean have Anemo, Wind. I, have Electro. Electricity."

Lisa rubbed her finger against the tree and looked at her finger.

(Lisa) "And on my hands is a very faint remnants of an Electro attack."

She stood up, grabbing her book.

(Lisa) "A very recent one."

Musse and Towa unsheathed their guns while Kairos and Elizabeth quickly looked around.

(Lisa) "I'm presuming you two cuties also wield magic?"

(Kairos) "Y-Yes. I'm proficient in dark magic skills."

(Elizabeth) "I am most skilled with white magic, but I am able to channel dark as well."

(Lisa) "Good. Because I think I know where our target is at."

Kairos and Elizabeth felt the hairs on their arms raise. The darkness of the forest started to glow with an eerie purple in the distance.

Towa got behind them and pulled out an ARCUS unit, calling Rean.

(Towa) "Rean, I think we found it! I'm sending our coordinates-"

A bolt of lightning shot down and almost hit her, making her scream and almost drop her unit.

(Towa) "AAH!"

(Rean's voice) "Towa?! Towa are you-"

BZZZZZRRRRT!

(Musse) "Target straight ahead!"

The cube slowly floated over to them, shooting out bolts of electricity in random directions.

(Musse) "I believe that first one was the warning shot the scouts were talking about."

(Kairos) "What the hell is that thing?!"

(Lisa) "Hmph. Nothing too dangerous, but still, don't let your guards down. We call it an Electro Hypostasis."

The shapes of the cubes floating around the core slowly shifted around, seemingly ready to change shapes at any time.

(Lisa) "It shapes itself into whatever it wants to attack, so be prepared for anything."

(Elizabeth) "You've fought these abominations before?!"

From Elizabeth's view, Lisa looked more annoyed than anything facing this...thing.

(Lisa) "A few times. They're normally docile until you approach, which makes Marianne's reports a lot more sense considering what's been harassing them."

The Cube seemingly stared at all of them, waiting to see if they would back off.

(Lisa) "I'm afraid my Electro vision isn't going to be as helpful as I'd like, but I won't let that stop me."

She flipped open her book, which began levitating in front of her.

The text in the book began to glow a dark purple as she turned to the group.

(Lisa) "But, I digress. The command is up to you, Instructor Towa."

(Towa) "If we let it go, it could be days before we can find it again, we don't let it slip away!"

Towa loaded her pistol and pointed at the Electro Hypostasis.

(Towa) "Engage the enemy!"

(Musse) "Understood, Instructor!"

(Elizabeth & Kairos) "Yes Ma'am!"

(Lisa) "Got it."

[Twice Stricken - Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers OST]

Musse backed up and pointed her rifle at the Hypostasis, taking the first shot.

The bullet predictably reflected off, and the four cubes flew into the air and into a rhombus shape, all aiming at the team.

Electric missiles shot out of the Hypostasis at speeds equivalent to Musse's and Towa's gun.

Lisa snapped her fingers and a electricity field formed around them, misdirecting the attacks and hitting in random directions.

Kairos and Elizabeth ran to the front, Kairos casting a fireball while Elizabeth had ice spikes form underneath it.

The first fireball caused a small explosion, blowing back some of the trees and scorching the grass while the ice spikes shot into the air and at the core of the Hypostasis, stopping the fire before it spread and piercing the core.

It made no noise of pain, though they could tell they were doing some damage to it.

The cubes quickly flew away from the spikes and towards them.

Towa fired her pistol, all aiming at a singular point the spike had pierced into.

Small bits of electricity chipped off, tho it began flying faster and dodged whatever was shot at it.

Lisa's spells were having no effect on the Hypostasis as it landed behind them.

(Lisa) "Get behind something!"

Musse and Towa dove for cover as more missiles shot out of it, Lisa standing behind a tree to hide from it.

Elizabeth did the same as well, but noticed Kairos wasn't moving.

Kairos stood out in the open still and tried to fire another fireball, but it quickly moved to the side, dodging the fireball as it hit the tree behind the Hypostasis instead.

The Hypostasis aimed at Kairos and shot a singular missile, too fast for him to dodge in time and hit him in the chest and sending him flying back into the tree.

He clenched his teeth in pain as the electricity rattled and sent a painful shock throughout his entire body.

(Elizabeth) "Kairos, you bloody idiot!"

She quickly grabbed his arm and dragged him behind cover before another barrage of missiles hit her.

(Elizabeth) "Why didn't you get into cover?!"

(Kairos) "Ach, thought I could hit it again!"

(Lisa) "It's not sentient enough to think creatively, but it's not stupid enough to fall for that again!"

Her brow furrowed further even more, knowing her spells would do nothing to it.

Musse poked her head out and pulled out her ARCUS unit, letting it analyze the Hypostasis.

(Musse) "Miss Lisa, your advice?"

(Lisa) "Keep hitting it with any elemental attack that isn't Electro-Er, thunder!"

(Musse) "Understood, taking the shot! Kairos, Elizabeth!"

Elizabeth stood out of the way of Musse's barrel as her rifle began glowing a hot red.

Pulling the trigger, a single shot hit the core, making it stagger back and form back into it's cube state.

As miniature cubes shot towards them from the excess electricity, Lisa stepped out to the open and shielded them from the bolts on the ground shooting out.

Towa rushed over to Kairos and loaded another round into her pistol, shooting it into the air.

Kairos suddenly felt the pain in his body slowly fade away and looked to Towa.

(Kairos) "Thank y-"

(Towa) "Do that later, right now they need your help!"

(Musse) "Instructor, get down!"

Towa and Kairos saw the three of them dive out the way.

Instinctually, Kairos grabbed Towa's shoulders and shoved her down to the floor as laser beams shot out and spun across the forest, it spinning rapidly as it vaporized the leaves into smoke.

The trees were getting burnt, but thankfully not chipped enough to topple over, Kairos saw.

Once it was done, Kairos rolled into the open and got on knee, adjusting his glasses as he raised his hand and clenched it.

From the skies above the Hypostasis, a burning rock crashed itself on the Hypostasis, knocking the cubes that formed the laser into pieces as the core stood out in the open.

(Lisa) "It's exposed, attack now!"

Elizabeth stood next to Kairos and swiped her hands downwards, the air forming a sword-like shape and slicing through the core, making it slightly shatter and pieces fall off.

Musse's rifle glowed white as it fired a straight line of ice, going through the core.

Towa did the same as her pistol began to glow several colors, red, then white, then red again.

Lisa made sure to keep an eye on any of the excess electricity in the air, flicking her wrist and deflecting a bolt of lightning without looking at it.

It quickly formed back into shape, and stood for a moment as the shots reflected off it.

(Elizabeth) "What is it doing now?!"

The cubes broke off into smaller ones, forming a giant arrow-shape and-

(Lisa) "To the sides, now!"

Lisa jumped back as the Hypostasis formed into a drill-like shape and began spinning towards them, tearing apart any trees that was in its way.

Towa and Musse ran to the sides while Kairos and Elizabeth ducked as it barreled past them.

The trees it knocked over were falling down left and right, Musse almost getting hit by one.

(Towa) "ABOVE YOU!"

Elizabeth looked up and realized a tree was falling on top of her.

Lisa raised her book and a concentrated spell shot out, the strength of it rushing it forward as it collided into more trees and away from everyone.

When Lisa turned her attention back to the Hypostasis, she realized it had formed two giant walls.

Lisa's eyes widened as she tried to brace herself for the shock, the walls closing on her and the force sending her into a tree.

Lisa's body tumbled onto the floor and out in the open, her vision going in and out from the attack.

(Kairos) "Lisa!"

The Hypostasis began to form it's drill shape again while Kairos and Elizabeth rushed to Lisa's defense, shooting whatever spell they could as it began flying to them.

Musse and Towa tried to help with their guns, but they were having no effect.

As it got closer, Kairos tried to pick up Lisa to move her, joined by Elizabeth as it got dangerously close to tearing through them.

Although there were no trees nearby for it to be a hazard, they still couldn't move fast enough with Lisa in hand to get out of the way safely.

(Familliar boy's voice) "COMING THROUGH KIDS!"

Kairos and Elizabeth were tackled by Kazuma while Aigis got in front of Lisa.

(Aigis) "ATHENA!"

Her Persona appeared in front of the drill, the shield failing to be pierced as Athena raised its hand, and knocked it to the side, toppling trees as it bounced through the ground.

Aigis spun around and gave Lisa a hand, which she grabbed it and was helped up.

Kazuma got up and dusted himself off.

(Elizabeth) "Instructor?"

(Kazuma) "Yeah yeah, you're welcome, now get your asses up, that cube thing will be doing the same!"

Kazuma unsheathed his sword, letting Elizabeth and Kairos get up on their own.

As the Hypostasis was getting up and about to change forms, before the core was shelled off, Jean and Venti jumped from the top of the trees and used their Anemo Visions.

Jean first blew it into the air while Venti summoned a mini tornado, picking up the core and shredding it with the speeds of the wind.

Diluc ignited his sword as he slammed it down into the tornado, setting the wind ablaze with the core still inside.

Kurt and Juna jumped in as the core hit the floor, Kurt's sword dicing it to pieces while Juna used the force of her tonfas to dent it, making electricity shoot out with each strike.

It quickly got itself up with the cubes forming once more, this time shifting into a giant fist.

It swung first into Kurt and Juna, sending them flying back into Towa and Musse.

Then it shapeshifted into a pair of scissors, making the Vision users duck under cover as it almost cut them into two.

It finally formed a giant rectangle, slamming down in front of them and sending them into the air.

As the core revealed itself while the three landed on their feet, Astrid and Kazuma swung their weapons into it, Astrid piercing through it while Kazuma slashed it in half with his sword.

Aigis, Musse, Towa, Elizabeth, and Kairos readied their guns and spells, all opening fire together while Astrid and Kazuma dodged out the way.

The final bullet went through it, the core now full of holes, it began to twitch violently as it split into pieces.

It split into three prisms as the core remained invisible in the center.

(Lisa) "Destroy those prisms!"

Juna switched her tonfas into a gunner mode and pulled the trigger, shooting one prism to tiny pieces.

Aigis's Persona smashed another prism into the floor, completely eradicating any trace of it.

Diluc's flaming sword shot out a bird-like shape, turning the prism into cinders as he made a wide swing.

With the last of the prisms gone, the core began to twitch violently as the group formed together.

Lisa got in front of everyone and held out her hands, casting another field to block out the electricity that exploded into a bright purple, the skies turning from white to a dark gray, then the clouds finally disappearing.

[Words to Believe In - Fire Emblem: Three Houses OST]

Towa's team tried to catch their breath.

(Musse) "Whew, that was close..."

(Towa) "Now I'm reminded why Rean's the combat instructor..."

(Lisa) "Nonsense, you did just fine-...Ugh!"

Lisa fell to one knee, Diluc catching her in time.

(Diluc) "Hey, are you alright?"

(Jean) "You took a bad hit from the looks of it."

Jean looked at her back and saw a bleeding wound, as well from her head.

(Elizabeth) "Miss Lisa, I'm so sorry! If you didn't have to take your at-"

Lisa waved her hand in a dismissive manner, smiling through the pain now the adrenaline was wearing off.

(Lisa) "Don't apologize, cutie. Ol' Lisa will be just fine."

Jean and Diluc slowly helped her up while Venti turned to them.

(Venti) "Honestly, not bad for your first time fighting it!"

(Musse) "Thank you. Without Lisa, I'm not sure what would have happened."

(Kairos) "Yes, we owe much of our victory today to her-"

(Kazuma) "Yadda yadda, stop being so humble. Just accept the compliment and move on. Besides, far as Fodlan kids fighting the unknown go, you two ain't half bad."

(Aigis) "Indeed. We were only able to see snippets of the fight, but despite your differences you came to work together rather well."

(Elizabeth) "Why...T-Thank you Instructors."

(Astrid) "Wow, no love for you Instructor Towa."

(Towa) "Oh come on now, don't make this a competition!"

The group began to back and forth, Astrid moving to Elizabeth and Kairos.

(Astrid) "So, what's your impression of 'em? Kazuma and Venti just argued a lot the entire time. Was pretty funny though."

(Elizabeth) "They're not as uncivilized as I was expecting to be honest."

(Kairos) "Psh, who's judging on character now?"

(Elizabeth) "Shut. Up. Already."

(Astrid) "And now I get to hear you guys argue. Ugh, great."

(Musse) "...Huh, where's Instructor Rean and the others?"

(Everyone) "..."

Towa pulled out her ARCUS unit again.

(Towa) "Rean?"

...

Everyone stiffened when they didn't hear a response.

(Towa) "Rean?!"

===

Rean, Sitri, Helena, Stefan, Kaeya, Amber, Altina, and Ash.

Rean was looking for any signs of an attack before hearing his ARCUS unit go off.

(Towa's Voice) "Rean, I think we found it! I'm sending our coordinates-AAH!"

(Rean) "Towa?! Towa are you-"

BZZZZZRRRRT!

(Sitri) "Did something happen?!"

(Rean) "Yeah, Towa's team found it! She sent us the coordinates so we need to-AAAGH!"

Rean fell to one knee, reaching for his head.

(Altina) "Instructor?!"

(Ash) "The hell's going-DAGH! SHIT!"

Ash stopped moving and reached for his head as well, followed by Altina, then the rest of the group one by one, their heads pounding as their vision suddenly faded to white.

…

…

[Out of Time - Final Fantasy XIV OST]

The inside of the room was glowing a faint blue-white, two green haired individuals walking through them, though one was significantly taller than the other.

(Flayn) "Father, are you sure this is the way?"

Seteth's face scrunched up as he stared at one of the crystals in his hand. The directions it was pointing to was hazy at best.

(Seteth) "No...No Flayn, I am not sure. But we have to try something at least."

Flayn looked behind her, worried.

(Flayn) "Of course..."

They stopped themselves to what appeared to be a massive doorway. Seteth held the stone up to it and the door slowly began to open, light pouring out from the other side.

The two were about to take a step through the door before a shot of electricity bolted over their heads.

Seteth quickly raised the crystal up, and it glowed a bright blue before whatever was shooting at them disappeared.

Inside the crystal was a dark purple fog before it quickly disappeared with a white flash.

(Flayn) "What was that?!"

(Seteth) "Something we weren't looking for. Perhaps the deeper we go into the tower, we'll be able to find it."

Saying nothing else, they looked around as moving platforms shifted around them.

Seteth and Flayn stepped onto them as everything turned into a static mess, slowly fading out of view...

…

[Spiderweb - Fire Emblem: Three Houses OST]

(Towa's voice) "Rean?"

...

(Towa's voice) "Rean?!"

Rean hazily reached for his ARCUS unit, responding to a very concerned Towa.

(Rean) "Agh, we're here!...I think."

Everyone looked at each other, the headache slowly subsiding.

(Kaeya) "What in the world was that?"

(Amber) "Ugh, my head!"

(Altina) "Is...is that supposed to happen naturally?"

(Helena) "Unless we're in extreme stress situations where our physical bodies are pushed to the limit, no."

(Stefan) "And considering we just started our assignment."

Sitri began speaking in her head.

(Sitri) Sothis...?

(Sothis) "Agh, don't worry, I felt it too...Though, wasn't that?-"

(Sitri) Seteth and Flayn...

(Sothis) "Doubt anyone else would know what they saw besides you and Rean."

(Sitri) What were they doing in the Tower, I thought we cleared it by now!

(Sothis) "I have no idea, but we have to tell this to the other instructors."

(Rean) "...And that was the end of that...vision? Or something. I'm still not sure."

(Towa's Voice) "...Understood. Let's meet back up at Marianne's and tell her that we finished the job."

(Rean) "Roger that. And Towa? Good work."

(Towa's voice) "Heh, um...thank you."

Rean hung up the call and motioned for everyone to follow, everyone still out of it from whatever it was they saw.

Later...

(Aigis) "A vision?"

(Kazuma) "Holy shit, Seteth and Flayn are alive?!"

(Sitri) "Possibly? I'm not sure..."

(Rean) "It's still blurry in my head, and I'm sure the others agree."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

(Towa) "We should investigate once we get back, but..."

[Where the Heart is - Final Fantasy XIV OST]

(Towa) "I'm glad we were able to help out, Marianne!"

(Marianne) "Thank you so much for your assistance. As always, you're always rescuing us from dangers."

Marianne smiled and bowed.

(Rean) "Of course. If there's any other troubles, please call upon us to help if you need it."

(Sitri) "Thank you for your kindness."

(Marianne) "And as requested, we have the railroads to take you back to Garreg Mach. It should be a day's trip.

(Juna) "Man, it just feels like went to a different country instead of a world with how familiar it is..."

(Amber) "What's a railroad?"

(Musse) "Oh, you see it's-..."

Class VII and the Knights began engaging in a friendly banter, which gave Kazuma to groan.

(Kazuma) "A train?! Why the hell are we taking a train when we can teleport?!"

Sothis appeared for a brief moment when she made sure no one was looking in their direction.

(Sothis) "We'll explain it later, but for now just shut up and deal with it."

Rean and Towa laughed while Aigis had a smirk.

Kazuma was ready to cuss out Sothis before the students approached them.

(Kairos) "Instructors? I...would like to apologize for my earlier outburst-"

(Rean) "Don't sweat it."

(Kairos) "Huh?"

(Towa) "To be fair, it IS a little strange for a bunch of people to pop out of portals like this and boss you around. But that being said, we are your instructors for a reason!"

(Kazuma) "Some respect goes a long way, kid!"

(Astrid) "You look as old as we do..."

(Kazuma) "And YOU shutting up can go a long way!"

Aigis slapped the back of his head and nodded.

(Aigis) "Apologies for him. Although he is right to some degree. We are happy to be your instructors, no matter what we have done in the past."

(Stefan) "I look forward to your guidance, Instructors!"

(Elizabeth) "As do I. I will make the Blue Lions proud for having me as their chosen!"

(Helena) "Hear that Astrid? You shutting up means they'll like you more."

Astrid gently punched Helena in the shoulder, Helena's expression being deadpan from the delivery to the literal punchline.

(Astrid) "Same goes for you, smartass."

Marianne approached the Garreg Mach students and looked at Kairos.

(Marianne) "You've grown up so much despite the fact it's only been a few years. I hope in the future we can have a moment to talk, so we can catch up!"

(Kairos) "A-As do I Lady- Er, I mean...Marianne."

Marianne's smile made him unable to look at her in the eye and she turned to Sitri.

(Marianne) "It's right this way. Follow me everyone."

And in a few moments, the members of House Isekai stepped onto a train that took them to Garreg Mach, Marianne waving goodbye to everyone...

...

...

...

BING, BING BING BING, BONG!

[Life at Garreg Mach Monastery - Fire Emblem: Three Houses OST]

Today's instructions were done for the day, the doors being opened as students and guards went from position to position.

A good number of students went to their dorms while many others went into the mess hall.

Guards piloted massive Knight mechs out of the hangar and towards the Gates, practicing military drills and simply standing guard for any potential threats.

Kairos, Elizabeth, Astrid, Helena, and Stefan walked out their respective classrooms and towards the Hangar.

(Helena) "Last day of hanging with the Golden Deer...Can't say I'll miss them too much."

(Astrid) "I will a little, I was FINALLY getting used to the schedule!"

Kairos shrugged.

(Kairos) "It's not like we'll never see them again. We're still attending the same Academy."

(Stefan) "I'm a bit sad I can't hang out with my friends as much, but I guess that's the nature of an Officer's academy."

(Elizabeth) "Well think of it this way, we now have a new opportunity to go down in history!...Even though our instructors are those offworlders."

(Helena) "I still can't tell, do you like them or not?"

The banter went back and forth a few more times as they moved to the hangar.

The Imperial soldier in front nodded to them and let them pass.

(Stefan) "Oh, Kairos."

(Kairos) "Hm?"

(Stefan) "Your data from the fight with that...cube thing is recorded on your crystal right?"

(Kairos) "Yeah. What about it?"

(Stefan) "You should send that to the rest of us, so we can see everyone's fighting style."

(Helena) "Oh yeah, we didn't get to fight during that."

(Kairos) "Sure, one second."

Kairos took out his communication crystal and let it connect with Astrid, Stefan, and Helena's.

Stefan nodded and smiled.

(Stefan) "Thanks, I'm pretty excited to see what they can do!"

(Elizabeth) "Soon enough, we'll get to know how they are-"

(Recette's voice) "Yoohoo, over here!"

The five stopped once they saw Recette waving over to them excitedly.

(Tear) "Welcome. Your quarters are now finished."

(Astrid) "Dam-Er, Dang, it's only been like 3 days, and you're already finished?"

(Recette) "Yup! There's nothing that blood, sweat and heckuva lotta gold can't accomplish!"

(Tear) "The wonders of capitalism."

(Helena) "...Capi-what?"

(Tear) "Nevermind. This way, your instructors are currently in a meeting but everyone else is waiting for you in the room.

The five followed Recette and Tear into their barracks into an elevator, going below the hangar and storage floor...

Garreg Mach's Listening Chamber...

(Sitri) "The other team contacted me and let us know their task is done. They're currently on their way back on the railway and should be back within the hour."

(Towa) "It's crazy to know Slayer sent Elliot, Fie, and Laura to us!"

(Rean) "Duvalie being with them is sure going to make her a lot more irritable."

(Kazuma) "She seems like a bitch."

(Towa) "That's putting it lightly..."

(Aigis) "Regardless, it is good to have reinforcements backing us up."

(Rean) "...Valimar, can you confirm signatures of anyone else present in Fodlan?"

Valimar's voice echoed out of his ARCUS unit.

(Valimar) "...Affirmative. It would appear some of the Persona Users are present as well."

(Aigis) "Really?!"

(Valimar) "Ryuji Sakamoto, Ann Takamaki, Mitsuru Kirijo, and Naoto Shirogane, according to my scans."

(Kazuma) "How come no one else has reported this?"

(Towa) "Yeah, that is pretty weird..."

(Valimar) "I am still scanning, so I am unable to tell where they are. Analysis would take a day or so."

(Rean) "Just keep us updated Valimar."

(Valimar) "Of course. Speaking of which, it seems Duvalie's group is about to arrive."

(Rean) "Let's go ahead and meet them then."

The instructors nodded and left before Sitri's Crystal began beeping.

(Sitri) "Hold on, I have to take this. I'll be with you soon."

The four left Sitri and Sothis alone as Sitri opened it up, revealing a small reflection of Edelgard.

(Sitri) "Edelgard?"

(Edelgard) "Hello, Sitri. With the official reformation of House Isekai, we would like to assign your tasks for this month, as it was done when we were enrolled."

(Sothis) "So...why are you calling just by yourself?"

(Edelgard) "And that is my next point..."

...

As the train approached the station, Stefan saw Rean and the other instructors meet up with the rest of the group.

(Stefan) "...Even more of the offworlders."

He looked to see no one was watching him, and slowly snuck away from the group.

Everyone was distracted meeting Rean's friends to notice Stefan had disappeared into a corner.

Stefan looked at his crystal and saw the recording of Kairos and Elizabeth fighting the...whatever the hell it was.

Though, he was honestly glad no one was hurt.

He tweaked his communication crystal by turning a dial to the left and pressing in a specific combination with the buttons on it.

And with that, a voice popped up on the other side.

(Distorted Voice) "There are you. Goddess, we thought something happened. Status?"

(Stefan) "I'm fine, don't worry. And something did. House Isekai has returned."

(Distorted Voice) "...Say that again, it sounded like you said House Isekai."

(Stefan) "I did say House Isekai. It's the White Cloud Contingency."

(Distorted Voice) "...Keep your eye on them. And be careful. We all saw what happened to the poor bastards who underestimated them seven years ago."

(Stefan) "Understood. And you all be careful as well."

(Distorted Voice) "Godspeed."

Stefan nodded and hung up. He slowly blended back into the crowd and saw Kairos looking in his direction.

(Kairos) "Hey, there you are!"

(Helena) "That armor slowing you down or something?"

(Astrid) "I told you guys to wait up, he was falling behind!"

(Stefan) "Hah, yeah I got lost. This place is huge!"

(Elizabeth) "Goodness gracious, just speak up Stefan! Anyways, what do you think of Instructor Rean's colleagues?"

(Helena) "...I like that grey-haired one."

(Kairos) "Of course you would."

(Astrid) "T-That orange haired guy, and...and that blue haired lady! So hot...!"

(Kairos) "...What?"

(Astrid) "I-I MEAN-"

The four exchanged jabs with each other, Stefan occasionally throwing in lines as well, but he was far more concerned that the old members alongside new people of House Isekai were coming.

[Lost in Paradise - ALI]

(Stefan) "...Hmph."

He breathed in and out to calm himself.

(Stefan) No matter what happens, even with them here, they can't interfere...Fodlan HAS to be free from this rule!

===

PART 3: ENDED

STANDBY PHASE 1...

Gotta get it homie gotta move it If you gonna do it then, push everything to the side Everybody just talk nobody really do it You should keep a secret until you actually do it No need to double check with someone Use your judgement only, break the walls Let’s do flashy fake More Cool, keep it low, prove them wrong I won’t give up the fight in my life ‘Cause my life is living for love I won’t give up the fight in my life Stand off and groove on time Tokyo prison Going to relight your feelings When times get too rough Night and day are fading Going to relight your feelings There’s no time to explain Gimme your love Access to your love Oh yeah Lost in paradise Night and day are fading out When times getting rough Access to your love Lost in paradise Night and day are fading out Keep on dancing now Hеy hey hеy hey heyeah

[iturbide]

I do love hearing about Ace Attorney stuff. Would you like to share some thoughts on Crime of Passion?

I’m always down to talk Ace Attorney

Crime of Passion is a fairly major departure from my usual work, and not just because it’s for a fandom besides Fire Emblem.  Pretty much all of my long-form stories are heavily character-driven, and in particular on the relationships between characters; on top of that, a significant number of my works in general focus on how characters build those relationships (Affectionately Yours), maintain them (Controlled Chaos), or sometimes re-establish them after an absence (Kintsugi).  It’s not often that one of my stories begins at a breaking point between characters -- but that is where Crime of Passion opens: with Phoenix moments away from ending his relationship with Miles.

With a start like that, it’s understandably a story with a lot of pre-existing history between the major characters.  Crime of Passion sits solidly in AU territory, one where Phoenix never lost his badge and Miles chose to put down roots for a while, meaning the two attorneys started working together more regularly (barring the prosecutor’s frequent business trips).  The routine workplace contact eventually led to more frequent personal contact, too, and for Phoenix -- who has always had feelings for Miles of some kind -- this just ended up reinforcing and gradually changing them into something else, distinctly different from the childhood friendship and courtroom rivalry-turned-partnership.

I like to imagine that Phoenix has always been decently in touch with his own feelings; it’s part of what gives his internal commentary so much bite, since he both knows and admits when he’s bluffing and grasping at straws.  He’s also someone that loves deeply and without reservation: he pulls out all the stops for Maya every time something happens to her, and that’s not even addressing the fact that he ingested potentially poisoned evidence in  an attempt to keep Dahlia from going to prison (though he was young and stupid and lovesick back then, we can go a little easier on him).  So when he recognizes his feelings for what hey are, he sits on them for a bit, unsure of whether to act considering the nature of their professional relationship...but eventually he decides to get it out in the open, come what may.

Miles is...a very different person from Phoenix.  Miles spent his formative years in the von Karma household, where perfection was everything and anything less was seen as a failure.  That environment of fierce competition and exacting precision gave him every advantage when it came to making a career as a prosecutor...but it also stunted his emotional growth, since feelings most often got in the way of success.  Control is tantamount to him, particularly over his personal life and ultimately himself; for that reason, in particular, he tries to abstain from close interpersonal relationships, preferring working and professional relationships (like with Detective Gumshoe) or pleasant, casual acquaintanceships (like with Lana Skye).  When lack of control and “unnecessary feelings” led him to fake his own death and not once, but twice leave the country to get away from those attachments, it’s pretty obvious that the man has problems handling his own emotions.

So when Phoenix came to him with that awkward confession of feelings, Miles might have recognized it as an attempt at a romantic overture on the defense attorney’s part...but given his poor grasp on the finer points of personal feelings, ‘affection’ and ‘attraction’ were synonymous in his mind.  He proposed, effectively, a ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement, expecting that was the ultimate goal of Phoenix’s proposition and hoping that it would finally put his own continued emotional struggles to rest.

For Miles, it seemed to work: it was a closer relationship than he’d had in ages, and more long-term than any outside his sibling rivalry with Franziska, and the consistency and stability of it seemed to smooth out those jumbled feelings he’d had about the defense attorney since they met some five years prior.  But for Phoenix, who gives all of himself over to a relationship?  It felt nothing short of parasitic.  Miles still insisted on maintaining an emotional distance as he was used to, and Phoenix has some pretty steep emotional needs that can’t be met by an exclusively physical relationship; by the time he reached his limit, physical intimacy had lost much of its appeal.  With nowhere to safely vent his feelings of frustration, he bottled them up until they began to turn to resentment, which in turn led to the argument in court...and that was the point where he realized he had to cut his losses.  It just wasn’t worth it anymore to him.  He tried -- God knows, he tried -- but it’s not going to work, because he’s bleeding himself dry putting emotional work into the relationship and getting nothing back in exchange.

And even after he comes to this decision, these feelings don’t even get voiced for weeks because of that whole murder attempt.

The good news, though, is that Miles uses his time in the Detention Center with Phoenix’s murder hanging over his head to think hard about the relationship, and the last thing the defense attorney said to him before the sound of gunshots sent him racing downtown.  He might have a poor grasp on his own emotions, but with nothing to do but reflect it becomes increasingly clear that he’d been missing the pattern in Phoenix’s behavior -- or rather, wilfully ignoring it.  By the final day of the trial, he wishes he had behaved differently...and when Phoenix appears to return from beyond the grave, he resolves to do better.

And he hopes that Phoenix will give him the chance to do so.

[mandakatt]

Fire Emblem Three Houses Fic - Without you - Ashe Ubert/Felix Hugo Fraldarius

A/N: I got shown @badthingshappenbingo​ by a friend of mine, and requested my own card. 

One slot down, many to go!

Characters: Ashe Duran/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Dedue Molinaro, Mercedes Von Martritz Warnings: Missing Character, Presumed Dead, Injury, Blood and Injury, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort - I promise you, there is a happy ending! Word Count: 2517 Summary: The battle at Gronder field would be one that would haunt Felix for the rest of his life. Because after the smoke cleared, he'd realized that he'd gotten separated from Ashe...and that was a mistake that cost Ashe his life. And now, Felix must figure out how to go on without him.

“Hey, Fe…” 

Felix stopped on his way to the training hall, his head slowly turning to glare at Sylvain. “What?”

Sylvain blinked at him as he came to a stop before he gave him a gentle smile. “C’mon, don’t be like that. I just…” and he went a little wide eyed as Felix glared at him harder, almost angrily. “I just wanted to see if you wanted someone to train with today. That’s all.”

Felix took in a deep breath before huffing softly and looking back at the training hall. “Fine.” and without another word pushed his way inside. He moved to where he always kept his training sword before pausing as Ashe’s bow sat propped up against the rack. His hand trembled a little as he stared at it before he clenched his hand into a fist and angrily snatched his sword off the rack. He growled under his breath as he pulled it free of its sheath and tossed that to the dirt before turning his head to look at Sylvain. 

“Right then, I guess we’re doing this the usual way huh?” Sylvain gave him a cocky smirk as he picked up a lance then moved to take up a stance. “Come on then Fe...show me what you’ve got.”

“Stop talking!” Felix growled as he rushed at him, striking at him with such fury in swing that he could actually feel the lance almost rattle in Sylvain’s grip. 

It was a strike that Sylvain was used to, but damn if that extra oomph behind it didn’t surprise him. He quickly corrected his stance, countering with a strike of his own before he spun it, and managed to score a good hit with the shaft against Felix’s ribs. 

But if it hurt or not, Felix never reacted to it.

Felix moved back and went after him again, blow after blow rang out loudly in the hall, followed by Felix’s angry shouting at each strike, but honestly, Sylvain didn’t care. This was the first bit of emotion he’s seen from him in days. Ever since--

“Pay attention!” and Felix brought his sword around, striking him hard enough in the side that it almost knocked the wind out of him. 

“Ah! Fuck!”

“I said,  pay attention! ”

“I am!” Sylvain smirked at him, taking a step back to take up another stance. “I already managed to hit you once, that says something right…?”

Felix growled and rushed in again, though Sylvain could tell that he was growing more and more angry as his strikes were getting sloppy, and when they had to actually cross weapons once he noticed the dark circles under Felix’s eyes. He blinked at him then scowled. 

“Have you been sleeping…?”

Felix visibly tensed then growled, pushing him off. “I’m fine.”

“Fe--”

“Shut up Sylvain. I am fine.” Felix rubbed at one of his eyes before he huffed and took up another stance. “Just--”

“No, you’re not fine.” Sylvain interrupted, a scowl on his face. “Fe. Come on. You know he--”

“Do not say his name,” Felix snarled then suddenly charged in, grunting loudly when his sword bounced off the shaft of Sylvain’s lance. “Do not say anything about him! Do not tell me he would be worried! Do not tell me that he would tell me that I need to rest! Do not--” and he growled as his voice cracked as he rushed him again. “--Do not tell me that he would want me to take care of myself! He is no longer here. What he wants doesn’t matter anymore!”

Felix suddenly swung wildly, almost as if he’d lost the grip of his blade. Sylvain took a step back, dropped his lance and suddenly wrapped Felix up in his arms. 

“Let me go!”

“No,” Sylvain clung to him just a bit tighter. 

“Dammit Sylvain! Let me go!” Felix tried to swing at him but all Sylvain did was hold him tighter, his face buried in his hair at the back of his head. He snarled and squirmed only to cry out louder. “Get off me!”

“No.”

“Sylvain!”

“I said. No.” 

Felix growled, his entire form trembling as Sylvain clung to him, and he suddenly remembered that the last time Sylvain had held onto him in such ways was when Glenn--and it was like all the strength went out of his limbs. His sword clattered to the dirt as he hung his head. He felt his entire body tremble as his legs gave out from under him, and it was then he realized the noise he heard in the hall was a noise that  he  was making. 

He was sobbing so hard he could barely breathe. 

“I’ve got you, Fe. Let it out…” Sylvain said softly as they sank to the ground on their knees.

“If… If I had been there…”

“Shhh…” 

“I...every time I go to sleep. I see him. I’m so close but..I just...I  can’t --”

“Keep breathing Felix,” Sylvain said softly as he gently held him against his chest, lightly rocking him. “Keep breathing...” 

“...I can’t do this… I can’t… This nightmare has to stop…”

Sylvain looked pained for a moment as Felix continued to sob in his arms, only to realize when it got quiet that Felix had actually cried himself to sleep. With a sigh, he slowly scooped him up into his arms to carry him back to his room. 

“Sylvain?!” 

Pausing on his way, he gave Dimitri a little bit of a smile as the Prince came running up. 

“Is he alright?”

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “He will be eventually anyway.”

Dimitri looked sad for a moment before he nodded his head. “Do let me know if there’s anything I can do?”

Sylvain gave him a gentle smile. “You’ll have to ask him when he wakes up but...yeah. I’ll try.” and he continued on his way. 

Once in Felix’s room he sort of gasped softly at the state it was in. He had to pick his way through the things that were laying haphazardly on the floor on his way to Felix’s bed before placing him gently in it, and covering him up. He knew if he woke alone that Felix would sort of shut down again, so…

“You do know there are other ways of getting me to clean your room, right?” 

Sylvain chuckled softly to himself as he started to pick up the floor. Books, and knickknacks that looked as if they had been thrown at the wall in anger, and he had to be careful to not cut his fingers on something that looked like glass, which might have actually been what was left of one of the cups from the kitchen.

He paused however when he heard Felix shift with a groan from the bed behind him.

“Hey…” Sylvain called gently as he got up from what he was doing and moved over to the edge of the bed to sit down on it. “Hi there.”

“Sylvian?” 

“We’re in your room. You kinda passed out after I hit you pretty good. Sorry bout that!”

Felix gave him a bit of a skeptical look but sighed as he slowly sat up, and leaned against the headboard. His head was absolutely throbbing, but he wasn’t sure if that was from all the crying he did, or if Sylvain had actually hit him and he didn’t remember. 

“I--”

“Yeah! Just a second,” Sylvain called cheerfully as he got up from the bed to answer the door, to find Dimitri and Dedue on the other side of it. “Oh! Well hello there Your Highness. Nice of you to come visit.”

Dimitri gave Sylvain a gentle smile before looking over at Felix. “I am sorry to interrupt, but, we brought you some tea, and...company if you want it.”

“I don’t.” Felix huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Aw c’mon Fe, don’t be like that. The least you can do is drink the tea that Dedue made you.” Sylvain gave him a gentle smile, and noticed that Felix looked at his room in surprise. “Besides, I told you that I was going to help you clean up today, remember?”

“...right.” Felix blinked as most of the mess he’d made of his room was at least straightened, things were put away, and it looked almost as if the room was the way it had used to be before---he sighed deeply then looked over at Dimitri, and Dedue. Then huffed. “Fine, just bring it in and leave it. Then leave…”

Dedue nodded gently and brought in the tray to set it gently on the night table by Felix’s bed. He said nothing as he simply poured Felix a cup, and added just a little milk to it, the way he liked it before passing him the cup and saucer, and Felix blinked at it. 

“...how did--”

“Ashe spoke of you fondly. You were quite the subject of many of our conversations. From what you would like to eat, to how you disliked sweets, to how you took your tea.” Dedue watched him quietly for a moment. “I believe that I have come to know you a little better because of that.”

Felix’s hands trembled enough that the cup rattled gently against the saucer and he had to hold it then with both hands to stop it from doing so. He set it down on his lap and sighed deeply. 

“....why bring that up?”

“Because,” Dedue said softly as a soft gentle smile pulled his lips upwards. “No one is truly gone if you remember them.”

Felix blinked and looked up at Dedue, his eyes wide in surprise for a moment before he realized that Dedue was speaking from experience. He, out of everyone here except for Dimitri, probably understood the loss he was feeling, and with a sigh he looked back at the cup of tea in his hands. 

“Oh! You like milk in your tea huh? That’s...I’ve never tried it. Is it good?”

“See for yourself.”

“Oh fr-from your cup?” Ashe blinked at him and timidly took it from his hands, to take a sip. He then blinked. “Wow...I see. The milk actually makes the pine taste a bit more subtle, almost sweet in a way. I learned something new today! Thanks Felix!”

Felix felt his eyes burn, and he brought one hand up to rub at one of his eyes with a knuckle, as he groaned. Crying wasn’t going to get him anywhere. It didn’t bring anyone back from the dead no matter how much you cried for them to come back. 

The dead were dead and that was it. 

Ashe…

Ashe wasn’t coming back.

He took a deep breath before slowly bringing the tea up to his lips to take a sip, the gentle warmth of it seeping into his bones from the inside. 

“Oh! Good morning Felix. I have your tea waiting for you!”

“So you’re really not into sweets huh?”

“Here, it’s a sweet that we used to make at the restaurant. Haha, don’t give me that look, I promise it’s not sickly sweet, but it goes great with tea. The tea you like..uh...specifically.” 

“See!”

“I’m glad you liked it. And of course, I’d love to make them for you again.”

Felix found himself for the first time in days smiling gently at the cup of tea in his hands, and it was then he realized that Dedue, Sylvain, and Dimitri hadn’t left yet. With a sigh he slowly looked up at the much larger man. 

“...thanks.”

“I am happy to assist.”

Dimitri looked a little relieved and smiled at Sylvain when suddenly a shout caused him to turn on his heel. 

“Your Highness!”

“What is it?”

“A group of Mercenaries have arrived, with someone in tow.”

Dimitri looked confused a moment before looking back at Sylvain and Dedue, then gently nodded his head. Felix had gotten up quickly huffing at the concerned look that Dedue gave him. 

“I’m fine.” 

The four of them hurried quickly to the gate, only to be surprised as the men from Duscur, those same men that had saved Dedue, came walking in. Though the last of them was slow to enter, as they were helping someone to walk that had a hefty limp, but Felix recognized that shock of silver hair anywhere. 

“Ashe?”

The men stopped as the silver haired man lifted his head. He had one eye shut as that side of his head was stained with blood, his right ankle looked pretty badly twisted, and he had his arm around his middle, staunching a wound at his opposite side. 

“H-Hey...s...sorry I’m late...I kinda...got held up.”

“Ashe?!” Felix called again, and when he saw that smile, he rushed forward, pushing through the group of men to get to him. His arms went around him gently, but tightly, a hand fisting in the back of his hair as the two of them sank to the ground, and he buried his face into Ashe’s neck. 

The tears had started again, but he no longer cared. 

“Ashe!”

Ashe laughed a little, giving off a soft wet cough as he clung back to Felix as best as he was able to. “Y-yeah, it’s--ah!”

Felix immediately loosened the grip he had on him to draw his head back and look him over. And it was then that he realized just how hurt Ashe appeared. “Mercedes!”

“I’m here!” Mercedes called back as she pushed through the crowd that had gathered, quickly coming to Ashe’s side. She smiled at Felix brightly as her hands began to glow with magic as she started to heal the worst of Ashe’s wounds. “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”

“S-sorry to have caused trou--”

“Shut up.” Felix snapped at him, and though his words were harsh the expression on his face was soft, so full of concern for the man in his arms. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, do you hear me?”

Ashe let out a bit of a breathless laugh, and a soft wet cough before he winced a little, then nodded his head. “Y-yeah, I promise.”

“Good. I’m going to make you keep it just like the one that idot Sylvain promised me.” 

“Hey! We were kids when we made that!”

“Yes,” Felix confirmed, but never took his eyes off Ashe. “And so far, you’ve kept it. Same as I will. The same as Ashe will. Right?”

Ashe smiled softly, then lifted his hand to gently cup Felix’s cheek. “Ye-yeah, I promise. For as long as I live.” 

“Good,” and Felix moved close enough to once more hide his face against his neck, but he made sure that he wasn’t in Mercede’s way. His voice trembled, as he softly spoke against his skin. “...please, don’t go where I can’t follow.”

Ashe’s hand moved to the back of Felix’s head as he closed his eyes and sighed. He’d made it back, he was home, and with a smile he promised him softly. 

“I’ll always come back to you, Felix. I promise.”

[roman-writing]

A Study in Hospitality (3/?)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses / Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Marianne von Edmund

Rating: T

Wordcount: 7,657

Summary: There’s a new student at camp half-blood. Hilda, daughter of Aphrodite, has been tasked with showing her around. A Percy Jackson and the Olympians AU

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

Hilda had a weird dream. Weirder than usual, that is.  

Normally, there would be flying, or all of her hair and teeth falling out, or being rushed to an event but not being able to find anything in her closet except piles upon piles of Doc Martens. You know. Nightmares. The fuzzy, barely half-remembered kind which she awoke from with a grumbled "- the hell?"

This dream had no fuzzy edges. It was crystal clear, like seeing through a fisheye lens. There was a vaulted stone crypt with an altar shaped like an empty bed, but there were no windows or doors along the walls. She stood in the middle of the room, and every breath was an icy mist, pale clouds from her mouth that faded into nothing. 

Hilda shivered. She blinked, and her mother loomed over her. Aphrodite was ten feet tall and utterly inhuman, with eyes like a meadow in spring. She was draped in a pale lilac dress that shimmered when she moved. 

"Tell me, darling," she murmured, and placed her hands upon Hilda's shoulders. Hilda had never felt so dwarfed in her entire life as she did in that moment. "How would you like to die?"

"What?" said Hilda, the single word accompanied by a plume of lung-warm mist. 

And then Aphrodite's hands were around her throat. She squeezed, and Hilda choked. Reaching up, Hilda tugged at her mother's wrists, but no amount of demigod strength could hope to contend with the real deal. 

"My little girl," Aphrodite smiled, and she sounded so soft, her hands like cold dark iron. "Off to be a big hero."

Hilda kicked her feet. She did not know when she had been lifted off the floor, until suddenly the ground was no longer beneath her, and her legs dangled. She gasped for air. Her head swam.

Her mother's voice was a whisper at her ear now. A golden curl of Aphrodite's hair brushed against Hilda's cheek. "Just remember: don't -"

Something knocked against the bed, and Hilda wrenched awake with a wheeze. Her vision still reeled. She clutched at her chest. In the middle of the night, she had tangled herself up in the blankets. Now, she kicked herself free. 

"Yo, wake up already," Sylvain said. He leaned a shoulder against one of the posts that held her bunk bed aloft. "Lorenz told me to tell you that this week's chores list are on the corkboard by the door."

Finally rid of the sheets, Hilda sank back down to her bed. Her heart was still racing. "Thank you," she gasped.

At that, Sylvain's eyebrows rose. "Thank you?" he repeated, incredulous. "Are you sure you're feeling okay there, Hilda? I think the last time you said 'thank you' to me when we traded duties for a week so you could get to second base with that blue-haired kid from Ares cabin."

Closing her eyes, Hida inhaled a deep breath. Air had never tasted so sweet. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just -" 

She waved at him to leave her alone. He shrugged, and sauntered off without another word. 

Dreams with gods weren't exactly uncommon, but Hilda was hard-pressed to remember the last time she'd had one. Most gods took a general disinterest in their half-mortal children. Aphrodite was no exception. Hell, Hida had only ever met her mother in person three times before, and that was considered a rarity even amongst this crowd. Most demigods were lucky to meet their divine parent once in their entire lives. Or unlucky, depending on the circumstances. 

Hilda had always considered herself fortunate to be so favoured. Being the favoured kid -- along with Holst -- had always been something to flaunt. After that dream however, she wasn’t sure she wanted to see dear old mom again any time soon. Even if it was just a dream. 

Which, of course it was. Just a dream. Just a really weird dream. 

With a groan, Hilda clambered out of bed. She yawned, and rubbed at her eyes as she dragged her feet over to the line of self-contained bathroom cubicles at the far end of the cabin. She shut and locked the door behind her. She already had her toothbrush in her mouth, when she caught sight of herself in the mirror, and froze. 

Her eyes widened. Toothbrush still sticking from the side of her mouth, Hilda leaned forward to more closely inspect her reflection.  

There were bruises at her throat. 

--

The bruises mostly vanished before breakfast. Being a demigod had its perks, like quick healing. But the bruises still managed to freak Hilda out in the meantime. 

Seriously. What the hell? Being a demigod was supposed to be about being near indestructible, having cool powers, and doing backflips with swords. Not whatever the fuck this was.

Before she could even reach the dining pavilion however, Hilda was assailed en route.

"Hey! Hilda! Wait up!"

She turned, irritated. The dining pavilion was close enough that she could smell breakfast. Plus, she'd had a pretty shit morning, all things considered. She wanted food.

"What now?" Hilda asked.

Claude jogged up to her. His usual bow was disguised as a garishly coloured headband. Somehow, he managed to make it work; he had enough confidence to pull off even the most outrageous outfits. If Hilda hadn’t known better, she might have thought they were partly related.

He stopped at a comfortable distance from her. "Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"Proving that it can even happen to the best of us." Hilda made a 'hurry up' motion with her hand. "Now, what's up? My stomach is angry today, so make it snappy."

If anything, Claude took on a more relaxed air. "Far be it from me to come between you and a meal. But I'll be quick. It's about Marianne -"

Hilda rolled her eyes. "Gods, not this again."

"Just hear me out." Claude raised his hands and then made a gesture as though parting a curtain for a grand finale. "Poseidon's daughter."

"Really?" Hilda said, her tone flat and completely unimpressed.

"Oh, c'mon! Think about it." He began to tick off items on his fingers. "Causes earthquakes. Loves horses. Suspiciously avoids going into water around others. The trident on the coin you were telling me about."

"A weird broken trident," Hilda corrected.

"Right. A trident. Also, you've got a lot of hickeys on your neck, just so you know."

Even the mention of the bruises fading at her throat made Hilda's blood run cold. She lifted the collar of her shirt, and grumbled, "Yeah. Thanks."

"I thought you weren't seeing anyone right now? The only person I ever see you hanging around with these days is -" And then Claude's eyes widened. "You're canoodling with the new girl?"

At that, Hilda let out a snort of laughter. It was so utterly ridiculous an idea, that it drove the recent memory of her nightmare right from her mind. She clapped him on the shoulder, and hung on as she continued to laugh. "Okay. Thank you. Really. I needed a good laugh."

"Well, if it's not her, then who is it?" Claude's mouth widened into a smirk. "I do see you being cornered by Seteth an awful lot. That would explain things."

Hilda shoved at his shoulder. "Ew! Gross! As if!"

He still managed to take the time to pat her on the back in a manner that was both friendly and patronising at the same time. It made her think of her brother. "It's okay. I get it. He's got the hot dad thing going for him. Some people are into that."

"Okay. I'm leaving," Hilda huffed, and -- true to her word -- spun around in her heel and marched off, nose in the air.

Claude called after her, "Just think about what I said! About Poseidon! And dad bods!!"

"No, thank you!" Hilda waved over her shoulder without looked back, then pushed past one of the draped banners that hung between the pillars of the pavilion.

The pavilion had no official entrances. Shaped like an ancient temple without walls, it could be entered on any side that had a gap between the pillars. The campers within were shielded from the elements by a mixture of magic and long lengths of cloth, each bearing the colours and emblems of the various gods and goddesses represented at the camp. When Hilda passed beneath the banner of Aphrodite, she could smell myrtle in spring, and feel the brush of dove's wings against her skin.

It was early enough in the morning that there were still quite a few people seated at their respective tables. That in and of itself earned Hilda a few curious turned heads and waves in her direction. Normally, she didn't wander into the dining pavilion until the very last second. She would laze around in bed, and then use a late breakfast as an excuse to stave off chores for as long as possible. 

Now, she waved back at one or two people. On the walk over to the Aphrodite table however, she paused. Lysithea was just finishing up scraping leftovers into the central brazier. The coals spat and popped, but nothing more. Just as Lysithea was setting down her plate and making to leave the pavilion, Hilda stepped in her path. 

"Good morning, Lysithea!" Hilda said, far more peppy than she actually felt, but needs must. "Aren't you looking scholarly today!"

Lysithea arched an eyebrow down at her. She was the youngest in their age bracket, but she was still taller than Hilda, which irritated Hilda to no end. "What do you want?"

Hilda tried for a look of wide-eyed innocence. "Do I need to want something from you? Can't a girl just be nice and say hello? And maybe flirt shamelessly a little?"

"I already have a girlfriend. So, I'm not interested. Thanks." And with that, Lysithea started walking away.

Hilda had to scamper to get back into her path and stop her from going too far. "Okay, okay!" Hilda said, her voice dropping back to its usual timbre. "I may have been hoping to ask you a few questions. But it's because you're soooo smart, and I was just wanting your opinion on something that's been bugging me lately."

Lysithea only squinted in reply.

"You don't belive me?" Hilda asked. And, okay, so maybe she added a little breathless quality to her voice. Some habits are hard to break, alright?

"No."

"Well, don't worry. You're very cute, but you and Edelgard are safe from my many charms."

Sighing, Lysithea checked her watch, which was turned inwards to her wrist. "You have three minutes. Don't waste them."

"Right. To business, then." Hilda squared her shoulders, and cleared her throat. Her voice dropped another note or two, until it more closely resembled comfortable, unaffected speaking range. Also so that other people couldn't overhear. "You know the new girl? In Demeter Cabin?"

"I know of her," Lysithea replied. She crossed her arms, already tapping her fingers. 

"Doesn't it seem strange? That she's in Demeter Cabin, I mean. She's not like any other Demeter kid I've ever met before."

"Not everything about the gods and their half-mortal children are as they seem to be," Lysithea said. "You, yourself, for instance seem the epitome of any child of Aphrodite, but people would be foolish to assume you are without cunning."

"Aww, I thought you said no flirting?" Hilda made sure her grin had a flash of dimples. 

At that, Lysithea's cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, but her glare could cut glass. "Unless you want me to hex you three ways to Sunday, I suggest you continue with your line of questioning. Promptly."

“Geesh! You’re no fun!” Hilda made a face, sticking out her tongue. “Okay. Forreal, though, after that whole earthquake thing, I saw her talking to an owl, and I thought she might be, y'know, inclined towards your family.”

“That’s it? An owl?”

“Well, she can also use weird magic, too! Like you!”

Lysithea rolled her eyes. “Yes, because there is no variation of the skills within my half-siblings, whatsoever.” 

“Listen,” Hilda used her very best brook-no-nonsense tone, which was very no-nonsense-brooking to be honest. “She was talking with an owl. And I just want some answers. Don’t you want to know, too? I know you know that something’s weird here. And I know you know that I know that you like knowing things.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Lysithea sighed. “Not all gods have sacred birds. Obviously some of them do. But also some of them have very similar sacred birds. Hestia and Dionysus, for example, with the turtle-dove and dove respectively.”

“Yeah. Okay. But -”

Before Hilda could continue to pepper her with questions, Lysithea interrupted, “Are you sure she was actually talking to the owl?”

Hilda bristled. “I know what I saw!”

“I’m just offering up potential solutions to your problem. Maybe she was just talking to herself, and the owl happened to be there.”

“Both times? When I saw it, and when Raphael saw it?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you think that’s too much of a coincidence?”

“No.”

“Not even just a teensy little bit?” Hilda held up her thumb and forefinger a hair’s breadth apart.

The muscles of Lysithea’s jaw bunched up. “No. Now, unless you have anymore questions -” 

“Well actually, I’m so glad you said that, because this paper Manuela gave us on the transformation of demigods into mythological Heroes is really tough, and I was hoping you’d explain to me how the god parent in question chooses their heirs to become -”

“Great. Bye.” Lysithea turned on her heel and stalked off before Hilda could squeeze another word in edgewise. 

“Hey! Wait!! Lysithea!” Hilda let her hand drop when it became imminently clear that Lysithea was not going to turn back around under any circumstances, short of a portal to Hell rupturing the earth in twain. Which was a shame, really. Hilda was actually curious about the answer to that question.

Sighing, Hilda shoved her hands into the pockets of her shorts, and blinked in surprise. There was a piece of paper rustling against her fingertips. She pulled it out, curious as to what she had left in her pocket -- she didn't recall leaving anything in there. When she pulled it out and unfolded it however, she made a noise of exasperation. 

Claude's cramped handwriting read: 'find out more about our mystery girl. ps - give the Poseidon thing a chance. you know I'm right.'

Hilda threw the piece of paper towards the lake. It fluttered in the breeze, and landed against her shin. In a fit of frustration, she picked it up, crumpled it into a ball, and then chucked it again. This time it very satisfyingly landed into the lake, and sank beneath the surface of the water. 

When had he even managed to sneak that note into her pocket? It must've happened when they spoke this morning before breakfast. Bastard. 

Not that Claude didn't have a point. Poseidon did seem to be a good bet. Something about the idea didn't sit quite right in Hilda's mind, though. Then again, she had never met a child of one of the Big Three gods. So, maybe Claude's theory had merit. 

Midway through the week however, it became more and more evident that the last thing Marianne needed was scrutiny. She needed socialisation. At the very least she needed a hug. Though, Hilda was ninety-seven percent sure that Marianne would sooner crawl out of her own skin than let someone give her a hug. 

As usual, the two of them were forced to team together for chores throughout the week. On top of that, this week was all about paired activities. About having a buddy, and doing lessons and things with them. Things like: climbing a hundred foot wall in less than two minutes while your partner belayed for you, and canoeing in paired races across the lake, and sparring until either a) their muscles turned to mush, or b) first blood. 

You know. Good wholesome camp stuff.

The first day’s activity Hilda was sure they would win. She knew for a fact that some of the Athena and Ares kids had a deadly fear of heights, but Ingrid took the cake in that exercise, beating the rest of them by a good fifteen feet. The second day’s activity they also lost, which meant that Claude's Poseidon theory was looking thin. Hilda made silent faces at Claude across the beach until he shook his head and mimed a response at her. 

And the activity on the third day ended with Hilda moaning about being too delicate for this kind of strenuous exercise in the middle of the afternoon. It didn't matter that Marianne kept losing their sparring match on purpose, or that there was still a jagged patch of grey rock in the ground where the arena had been repaired earlier in the week. 

By the middle of the sparring lesson, Hilda leaned against her axe, and frowned. "Are you even trying?"

Marianne held her Celestial bronze sword loosely in one hand. Her form was atrocious, but in a way that belied an underlying understanding of swordsmanship itself. Only someone well-trained in the art could do something that terrible. It had to be on purpose.

"What do you mean?"

With one hand, Hilda pushed her sweaty bangs out of her face. "Well, you obviously know how to use that," she said, pointing towards the sword. "But you pretend that you don't. Are you trying to make me feel better by letting me win, or something?"

"No," Marianne mumbled.

"Because, trust me, my ego can take it. It's totally fine."

Marianne's fingers tightened into a fist around the sword hilt. "I never doubted that."

"So, what's the big deal?"

"You underestimate yourself," Marianne said. "You're very strong."

"Thanks. I know. Which is why you shouldn't feel like you need to hold back so much." Hilda lowered her voice slightly. "Didn't we talk about this in the woods the other day? I told you, I'm not made of glass. None of us here are. You're among people like you now, remember?"

Still, Marianne dropped her eyes and refused to meet Hilda's gaze. She nodded in silence, but said nothing. 

Hilda hefted her axe to her shoulder, shrugging against the weight as though the heavy Celestial bronze were as light as paper. "Well, come on, then. Hit me with your best shot." She said it in a sing-song tone, and bent her knees slightly as though in anticipation for a blow.

Marianne swallowed nervously. "I don't -" she started to say, but stopped. Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, before she continued, "I don't like hurting people."

"Who said I was going to get hurt, huh?"

After a long pause, Marianne lifted her sword once more. It was a half-hearted attempt at coming en garde, but at least her form was correct this time. Hilda used the flat of her axe to swat Marianne's sword aside. It did not fall from Marianne's hand, but it did leave her wide open for an attack. 

Hilda advanced a step forward, forcing Marianne to take a step back in order to keep distance. "Don't be like that. Hit me back. Make me work for it."

Rather than raise her sword, Marianne continued to retreat while Hilda walked towards her. "I thought you didn't like to work."

"Yeah, but there's something about you that makes me think putting in the effort isn't so bad."

Marianne blinked. "Why?"

"I don't know. It's weird. You’re weird. I kind of like it." Hilda shrugged, and swung her axe again. 

With movements sinuous as a shadow's Marianne slipped out of Hilda's range, easily dodging the blow. Her sword still hung at her side, held loosely in her hand. They were starting to circle around the other pairs of sparring partners now, moving to avoid anyone. Hilda darted forward, swiping at Marianne with her axe, attack after slashing attack, all of which met nothing but air. 

"You know," Hilda said, "Not all confrontation is bad. Sometimes sucking it up, and facing someone down really does make life materially better.” 

“I think you and I have had very different life experiences,” said Marianne. 

After basically chasing Marianne all the way around the area twice, Hilda could feel the sweat beginning to collect dust and grime from the arena. In stark contrast, Marianne hardly looked like she had done anything more than take a leisurely stroll. Her dark eyes were steady and unblinking, reading Hilda’s every movement with the familiarity of someone who had seen years of combat training. 

They had amassed a bit of a crowd. Some of the other campers had stopped their own sparring to watch. Hilda continued to chat casually, even as she swung her axe at Marianne, knowing that her attack would be dodged yet again.

"Have you considered a haircut?" 

Marianne stepped to the side, and circled around Hilda, forcing her to flail her axe in a broad horizontal sweep for the follow up attack. "No. Why?"

"No reason. I just think it would look good on you, is all."

"I like my hair long."

"That's fine. You can keep it long. I'm just thinking a trim. Your bangs are hiding your eyes. Bangs are supposed to be a framing device for your face! Not hide it!"

With a thoughtful hum, Marianne actually parried with her blade, but did not counter attack. "I'm not sure."

"I can show you later, if you want?" Hilda offered, while bringing her axe down so hard it buried itself into the arena floor. She had to tug it free with a grunt. "I think you'd look really cute."

"Oh. Well, I don't know about that." Marianne dodged the attempt at flattery with as much skill as she dodged everything else. 

"Do I look like I don't know what I'm talking about?"

"No. I think you look very stylish."

"Exactly. Which is why you should totally let me give you a makeover one of these days."

"Hmm," said Marianne dubiously. 

"That wasn't a 'no'," Hilda pointed out. She shortened her grip upon her axe to make smaller more controlled movements with it, none of which connected. "Tell you what. Let's play a game. If I can land a hit, then I give you a makeover. And if you disarm me, then you can -- I don't know -- push me into the lake."

"I don't want to push you into the lake."

"Then, what do you want?"

For a moment Marianne mulled that over. She tapped the flat of her sword against her thigh. "Sorbet."

Hilda grinned. "Deal!"

Marianne nodded, and agreed in a far softer tone, "Deal."

This time, when Hilda swung her axe, she feinted. She twisted her shoulders one direction, then changed her footing at the last second so she could bring her axe down to exactly where Marianne had moved. Except this time, Marianne's sword arced up in a gleam of bronze, expertly guided into the groove between axe and handle, so that when Marianne flicked her wrist with a twist, it wrenched the axe handle from Hilda's hands. 

Or at least, it would have, had Hilda not hung on to the axe for dear life. 

Eyes wide in surprise, Hilda stumbled forward. Faster than even the semi-immortal eye could follow, Marianne reached forward with her spare hand, grabbed the long-handled hilt of the axe above Hilda's own grip, and yanked. At the same time, she delicately planted her foot into the middle of Hilda's chest, and pushed. 

The next thing Hilda knew, the air had been knocked out of her, and she was flat on her back. 

A dark shape blotted out the sun, and for a moment it seemed that the shadow Marianne cast while standing over her extended across all the earth. She blocked the sun like the moon during an eclipse. It hurt to look at her. 

Then Hilda blinked, and the moment passed. 

“Sorry,” Marianne said. 

She extended her hand in a silent offer. It was the reverse of last week, when Hilda had helped her to her feet. Without thinking, Hilda reached out and grabbed hold of Marianne’s hand, allowing herself to be hauled upright. A few people were clapping and laughing on the sidelines.

“Are you alright?” asked Marianne. Her hand lingered for a second -- as frightfully cold as it had been the last time they had touched -- before she snatched it away. 

Hilda smiled. She brushed a hand down the front of her own clothes as if wicking off a bit of water, and in a flurry of magic all of the dirt and sweat melted from her, leaving her as clean and fresh as though she had stepped from a shower not five minutes ago.

"Never been better.” She bent down to pick up her axe from the ground, transforming it back into a pair of sunglasses, which she perched atop her nose to complete the look. “Looks like I owe you an ice cream. Or sorbet. Same difference. Want to leave early, and get some now?”

Marianne stared at her. "Was that -" she asked slowly, "- your plan all along? To leave early?"

"Why, are you accusing me of something, Miss Marianne?" Hilda gasped, feigning offence. Then, she lowered her sunglasses just enough to wink over them. "So. Sorbet?"

The corner of Marianne's mouth twitched, but that may have just been a trick of the light. “Yeah. Okay.”

--

If there was one single class that Hilda hated most, it was flying class. The act of flying itself wasn't a problem. In fact, she rather liked it. Especially as a means of convenient transport. Like airplanes. Or helicopters. Or maybe hot air balloons, but those were on thin fucking ice. 

Riding a pegasus, though? No thank you. She would rather wear gumboots and flannel to the Met Gala. 

When Hilda tried to slip away from the class however, she was cornered by Seteth, who was -- unfortunately -- the teacher for that day's lesson. 

"Going somewhere?" 

Hilda froze. She pretended to cough, and turned around, trying to look as haggard as possible. "Oh, Seteth. I'm so glad you asked. I just feel absolutely awful today. I really should sleep this bug off."

Seteth's ageless eyes never left her face. His expression remained fixed and stern, but in a way that somehow made it seem that he was an instant away from a knowing smirk. Like he could see right through her lies. Which, annoyingly, he probably could. 

Damn Titans. Damn pegasi. Damn flying class.

"Now, that is a shame," Seteth said. "Seeing as how, as far as we know, you are the only one Marianne is comfortable touching."

Hilda blinked. "I - uh -? I guess? And also I really don't see how that is relevant."

"Allow me to explain. We are pairing off in today's class, and training for aerial battle manoeuvres." He cocked his head to one side. "Seeing as it would be inhospitable to leave Marianne on the ground while everyone else participated, I was hoping you would do us the kindness of being her partner for this exercise."

"Oh. Well. That's - " Hilda floundered. But before she could even fumble out an excuse, Seteth continued speaking. 

"No matter. If you say you are ill, then you are ill."

Surprised and simultaneously suspicious, Hilda said slowly, "Yes."

"Which is why I must ask Mercedes to heal you. To ensure you are in top shape, of course."

At that, Hilda grimaced. Healing magic when you were actually sick or injured was all fine and dandy. But when you weren't actually sick or injured, it felt -- well, bad, to be perfectly honest. Not that it hurt, so to speak. Just that it felt like someone shoving a tube where it didn't belong in the search for whatever it was that acted as the source of your illness. 

"That won't be necessary -" Hilda tried to say, but Seteth was already turning to wave Mercedes over. In horror, she watched as Mercedes joined them with a concerned look on her face. 

"Mercedes," Seteth said. "Hilda isn't feeling so well, and I was hoping you might assist us, as I do wish for her to partake in today's activities."

"Of course!" Mercedes replied, as cheerful as ever to be helpful in any way. 

With a groan, Hilda allowed her face to be grasped between Mercedes' hands, and her vision was filled with white light. After a very uncomfortable moment, in which Hilda felt like a swarm of flies were crawling beneath her skin, Mercedes let her go. 

Smiling, Mercedes said, "There. Good as new."

"Gee. Thanks." Hilda had to swallow past the magically induced cotton-mouth. 

Mercedes turned to Seteth. "Is there anything else you need?"

"No. Thank you," Seteth said, looking every inch the smug bastard Titan that he was. He wasn't even trying to hide the little smile now. "That will be all."

Mercedes ducked her head in a nod, then trotted back over to the red-haired Athena girl, Annette, and the roan pegasus mare they were going to be riding together. Meanwhile, Seteth continued to watch Hilda. He gestured towards the line of yet unclaimed pegasi. "If you would be so kind."

Grumbling under her breath, Hilda stomped over to where he indicated. Marianne stood apart from the others. Most of the camp members had given up trying to interact with her after a few weeks of being met with awkward silences and constant apologies. When Hilda approached however, Marianne's head lifted. 

"Hi," she greeted with a little wave of her hand. "I thought you said you weren't feeling well?"

Hilda sighed, dragging a hand down her face. "Yeah. Well, Mercedes fixed me up, so now I'm back."

"Oh, good. I'm glad."

"Glad? Really?"

Marianne was wringing her hands together, and darting nervous glances at the other campers. "Well, I - one of the other campers came up to me and asked me to be his partner, and I was afraid Seteth would make me do it."

"Would that be so bad?"

Marianne refused to offer any further explanation. 

"Who asked you?" Hilda asked.

Marianne pointed, and Hilda followed where she indicated. Claude. Of course it was Claude. He saw them looking in his direction. He smiled and waved. 

"He's not so bad," Hilda assured her. 

"I'm sure he isn't. He seemed very nice, in fact."

"And?" 

"And -" Marianne continued at Hilda's urging. "- I don't like spending too much time around people."

Hilda sighed. "I see we're still not past that. Ah, well. Baby steps."

"What?"

"Nothing. Nevermind." Hilda looked down the line of pegasi, who were idly grazing while waiting to be approached by an assigned pair. "C'mon. The sooner we get this over with, the better."

"Alright."

Students were being herded towards the pegasi by Seteth and his daughter, Flayn. Pairs of campers had being to approach a pegasus, and some of the more animal-inclined members were already mounting. Hilda straightened her pink-lensed sunglasses upon her nose, and perused the quickly diminishing selection. 

Minty was unmistakable, with his ivory pale coat and black legs. Hilda made a beeline away from him. There was no way she was going to be saddled with that asshole. Before she could approach the nearest pegasus however, another pair swooped in beside it. 

"Hey!" Hilda said in outrage. "Find your own pegasus!"

Both Edelgard, the head of Athena cabin, and Lysithea gave her reproachful looks that were near identical. Followed by Lysithea saying, "I thought that was your pegasus."

She pointed at Minty. 

Hilda scrunched up her nose. "Ew! No way! What would give you that impression?"

"Because you are often seen talking to him at the stables?" Edelgard answered, as though that were obvious.

"Yeah. Sure, but that doesn't mean he's mine."

Edelgard and Lysithea shared a look, then a shrug. "If you say so," said Lysithea. 

"I just did!" 

Behind her, Marianne cleared her throat softly. "Um -? Hilda?"

Hilda turned. "What's up?"

"I think all of the other pegasi have already been taken."

Hilda looked around. Sure enough, Marianne was right. Swearing loudly, Hilda closed her eyes and tilted her head back to the sky. "Why me?" she groaned.

"I'm sorry -" 

"No, not you, Marianne." Hilda let out a long frustrated exhalation. Then, squaring her shoulders, she marched over to Minty, with Marianne drifting in her wake like a shadow. 

"Hey!" Hilda called out. "Future Glue!"

Two black-tipped ears swivelled at the sound of Hilda's voice, and Minty lifted his head. He was still chewing on a tuft of grass, when his voice filled their heads. "Well, if it isn't my old nemesis, What's-Her-Face. And -" Minty's nostrils flared. "- Carrot Girl."

Coming to a halt before him, Hilda rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. We all have a mutual loathing of one another. What's new?"

"I don't hate you," Marianne said from beside Hilda. 

"That's nice," Minty replied. "But you didn't bring carrots this time."

"Uhm, no. Sorry."

He snorted, then lowered his head to keep eating, utterly disinterested in their presence. 

"Let me handle this," Hilda said to Marianne, then rounded on the pegasus. "Now, listen up. None of us want to be here. But we have to be, or else that guy -" she jerked a thumb over her shoulder towards where Seteth was helping a frantic-looking Hubert onto the back of a pegasus "- will get mad. So, unless you want to buy a one-way ticket to Horse Hell, or whatever, I suggest you cooperate for the next hour or two. Got it?"

The pegasus swished his dark glossy tail, and at the same time stomped one of his back hooves. After a long moment of grass-chewing and contemplation, Minty finally said, "Fine. Get on."

Well, that was easier than anticipated. Hilda didn't even have to wheedle, which was a shame, really. She felt like her wheedling skills were starting to get a bit rusty, and it was always good to practice on something that was immune to charmspeak. 

Hilda held out her hand in a gesture for Marianne to go first. Partly because she was trying to be nice. But mostly because she didn't want to be the one in control of a sentient magical animal. That sounded like way too much responsibility. She'd rather let someone else take the reins.

Not that there were actual reins. Pegasi didn't take very kindly to that kind of thing. They preferred their communication to come in the form of verbal or psychic. Or rude gestures. It really depended on what the situation called for. 

Hilda had expected to need to help Marianne up, but Marianne lifted herself atop the pegasus' back with a sudden surge of grace. She shifted slightly once on his back, tugging at her track pants a bit. She still wore Hilda’s ill-fitting clothes; Hilda would have to call up her brother to see what was taking him so long to send new clothes. 

At the added weight, Minty shuffled his wings, but otherwise remained still. He continued to eat. On the other hand, Hilda tried to haul herself into place twice before giving up. Being short and trying to mount a big horse creature was the bane of her existence. Marianne extended her hand, and pulled at Hilda's wrist, and Hilda nearly went careening over Minty's back onto the other side. She barely stopped herself, but only by grabbing onto Marianne's shoulders. 

Immediately, Marianne stiffened. Which meant Hilda stiffened, and jerked her hands away as if burned. "Sorry."

"It's alright," Marianne mumbled, but she kept her head ducked, and her eyes firmly fixed on the way her fists were clenched around great handfuls of Minty's dark mane.  

"Is it okay if I -?" Hilda held out her hands, but did not touch Marianne's waist. 

A moment of hesitation before Marianne nodded. Even so, Hilda did not immediately touch her. 

From the direction of the stables, Seteth's voice rang out. "Campers, you should now all have mounted your pegasi. I want you to do a lap to the dining pavilion and back, before getting into your pre-determined aerial formations over the lake."

He droned on and on with instructions. Hilda made a miming gesture with her hand that mimicked his incessant talking. Peeking over her shoulder, Marianne saw, and made a funny noise at the back of her throat, before quickly turning back around. 

"Don't fly over the forest," Seteth finished with the usual warnings. "And be back in no later than two hours. If you should need assistance, I will be riding behind you. Now, go."

The literal second he said 'go', Minty spread his wings. Previously Hilda had not properly admired the true breadth of his wingspan. He had always kept them neatly tucked up against his flank every time she had encountered him in the past. Now, seated atop his back, his wings spread a good fifteen feet in either direction, and all of a sudden Hilda felt quite small. 

When he lifted his head, and then reared up on his hind legs, Hilda wrapped her arms around Marianne's waist with a yelp. 

"Is that really necessary?" Hilda asked.

He did not answer. Instead, he charged forward to get a running start, and then his wings swept downwards. With a mighty gust, they were airborne. Air rushed past them as they gained altitude with every downward stroke of Minty's wings. 

Hilda kept her eyes squeezed shut. Her hands firmly grasped each other around Marianne's narrow waist, and she had the side of her face pressed against Marianne's back. She could feel the tense of muscle against her cheek, but Marianne did not try to shuffle away or tell her to stop. 

It wasn't until they started to travel in a horizontal line again that Hilda dared to open her eyes and lift her head. She nudged the side of her face against Marianne’s shoulder to straighten her sunglasses. They were midway along the pack of other campers, with more than enough room to spare between each pegasus. Hilda relaxed a bit, letting loose a breath she had been holding since they took off. 

"You don't like flying," Marianne commented, and it was not a question. 

"Not really, no," Hilda said. She looked down at the ground, and admired the view far below. "I mean, I like the act of flying itself. Heights aren’t a problem. If I were flying a plane, it would be totally fine. Or a creature that wasn't, you know, sentient. I just don't trust that a pegasus won't do something dumb just for the hell of it."

"Minty wouldn't do that," Marianne assured her.

"Yes, I would," said Minty. 

Hilda pointed at his tufted ears, which were angled back so he could eavesdrop. "Mind your business, asshole."

"You're on my back. You are my business."

"Whatever." 

They didn't even make it back from the pavilion for the first lap. As they flew over the lake, Minty glided downwards, drifting far below the other pegasi until they were just a meter or so above the water.

"Hey, uh -" Hilda said, peering up at the other paired groups far overhead. "Why are we flying so low all of a sudden? Not that I don't appreciate standing out from the crowd, but -"

Minty did not answer. Instead, he just kicked his back legs. Hard. Hilda, who had loosened her grip around Marianne's waist, was jostled so forcefully that she didn't have time to even scramble for a better hold. She just fell right off his back and into the water.

Hitting the lake was a cold shock. Hilda struck out at the water, and swam furiously back to the surface. She gasped for air, treading water. Her sunglasses had been dislodged, and she could see the faint glimmer of them sinking into the clear blue of the water below her.

Glowering at Minty, who was flapping his wings to hover in place over her, Hilda spat against the water lapping at her chin. "Oh, you're going to pay for that. Look at my hair! And my clothes! And you made me lose my axe! Do you know how much time I spent making -?"

Minty flapped his wings in such a way that the very tip of his longest flight feathers skimmed the surface of the water, and splashed her in the face.

"You -!" Hilda spluttered. "Asshole!"

She tried to splash him back, but missed wildly. He was too high up to reach. On the pegasus' back, Marianne was covering her mouth with one hand. She was holding back an odd, strangled noise. When it escaped from behind her hand, she quickly turned her head aside to hide her face.

She was, Hilda finally realised, laughing at her.

"Oh you think this is funny, do you?" Hilda asked.

It took Marianne a second to compose herself, and even then her answer sounded strained. "No. It's -” Marianne bit her lower lip, and her voice wobbled suspiciously. “It's terrible. What an awful thing to have happened."

"Uh-huh.” Hilda nodded at the pegasus, and said, “Minty, dump her.”

“What -?” said Marianne. 

If a pegasus could grin, then surely Minty was grinning right now. He dropped his back legs, and gave a single strong flap of his wings. Eyes wide, Marianne scrambled at his mane, but couldn’t hold on. She slowly slipped down his back, and plunged into the water a few meters away from Hilda.

Marianne’s head emerged from the water with a gasp. Her hair was plastered to the side of her face, the messy bun beginning to unfurl from its braid at the base of her neck. Hilda lifted a hand, and splashed her. Marianne sputtered. She tread water with the clumsiness of someone well and truly unaccustomed to swimming. Hilda smirked in triumph at the look of absolute shock on Marianne’s face. 

“Now who’s laughing? Huh, punk?” Hilda said.

Some indescribable expression crossed Marianne’s face. Hilda watched her go on a face journey -- bewilderment, irritation, amusement -- before landing finally on resolve. It was the most expressive Hilda had ever seen her. And it took Hilda utterly by surprise when Marianne actually splashed her back. 

“Oh, it is so on.” 

Hilda put a bit more force behind her next splash, spraying a broad stream of lake water right at Marianne’s head. Marianne’s high pitched squeak was well worth another faceful of water pushed back at her. Minty continued to hover and watch their fight until, with Marianne’s help, Hilda managed to grab hold of one hairy pastern and drag him half into the lake. He floundered like a cat in water, flapping wildly until he was in the air once more. But by that point Hilda was laughing so hard she inhaled water and started to cough, while Marianne patted her on the back. 

When they finally made it back to shore, they were panting slightly. Marianne clambered onto the beach and sprawled on her back, with Hilda doing the same beside her.  

Breathing heavily, Hilda said towards the sky, “I told you I would take you swimming in the lake.” 

Marianne laughed aloud, then quickly covered her mouth with her hands to stifle the noise. Her eyes were still crinkled at the edges. The sight hit Hilda like a blow to the chest. Or maybe that was just heat of the sun beating down on them high overhead. 

She looked away, and tried not to think about it too hard. 

The shadow of a pegasus drifted along the ground nearby, as Seteth landed on the beach. He dismounted, and walked over to them. Arms crossed, he tilted his head. “While I am glad to see you two having such a good time, I am hard pressed to condone skipping a lesson.”

Hilda pointed towards Minty, who had landed further along, and was shaking himself off like a dog. “It’s all his fault, Your Honour. I swear it.”

“Please, do not refer to me as such. That is a very particular title reserved for other deities far outside my jurisdiction.”

In response, Hilda lowered her hand so that it was a half-hearted salute by her head. “Understood, my lord.”

Marianne made that strangled sound again. Her hand was clapped over her mouth, and her shoulders were shaking. 

With a sigh, Seteth shook his head. After they received a thoroughly tepid scolding -- which was just enough time for them to start to dry off beneath the noonday sun -- Seteth urged them back into the air to finish the lesson. Before that however, he had a few whispered words with Minty, which neither of them could overhear. Whatever he said must’ve worked though, because the pegasus behaved for the remaining hour or so.

It wasn’t until they were back at the stables that Marianne’s usual sombre air returned. It was incredibly out of place with her rumpled clothes, and the coils of hair that had slipped from their trappings and curled gently at the nape of her neck. Still, her dark eyes were warm when she offered Hilda a little wave of goodbye as they parted ways for the day. 

Hilda waved back, “See you tomorrow!”

Her hand was still held halfway in the air as she watched Marianne walk off towards the cabins. 

When someone clapped Hilda on the back, she nearly leapt out of her skin. Claude came up from behind, and draped his arm around her shoulders so they could watch Marianne glide away together.

“Good trick with the water,” he said, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Now, we can cross Poseidon off our list.”

“Right,” she replied without any real feeling. Not once did she take her eyes off Marianne’s retreating form. “Yeah, I totally meant to do that.”

Hilda half expected Marianne to turn back, to steal a glance over her shoulder. She didn’t. 

[krisseycrystal]

rated: g+

fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses 

prompt: “Voice Breaking” + Marianne von Edmund

requested by: @kohakhearts

THANKS TAYLO FOR THE HEART-BREAKING PROMPT...Marianne deserves only nice things rly but uh, I guess when she already has a pretty severe “everything is always my fault” complex in-canon that makes her prime angst material even outside of it so.....

here have this sad thing in the meanwhile

more prompts are still available so hmu if u see anything u’d like!!

o - o - o

Cathedral Glass [Read on AO3]

o - o - o

Lysithea doesn’t see the blast so much as feel it in the earth beneath her boots. The instant the sharp boom shakes monastery stone, all of the students sitting at the tables run to the windows lining the dining wall. Someone shouts, “By the goddess! It looks like a rebound!” and Lysithea moves.

Memories of her own past ill-met spells flash through her mind. She pushes beyond the murmuring, completely useless cathedral maids and hurtles into the grand corridor of the reception hall. 

Her boots hit the bottom of the stairs.

“L-Lysithea?”

Her white hair fans around her shoulders. Relief crashes into Lysithea so hard, she doesn’t catch the rest of what her classmate asks. Her mind supplies over and over again new recollections, fragmented memories of practice matches and battles against bandits and how Marianne had always been there, right behind them, ready with a hand extended and white magic on her tongue. 

“There’s been an accident at the training grounds--a spell gone amok!” Lysithea explains. “Come on--we need all the help we can get over there!”

“Oh no!” Marianne balks. “But, I don’t know how I…” 

And Lysithea doesn’t understand it. She doesn’t understand Marianne’s hesitance. She doesn’t--cannot-- understand why Marianne suddenly won’t look at her.

“We could really use your help before things get out of hand!” she insists. “Come on! Hurry!”

But Marianne seems only intent on standing with her head bowed and her capable hands idly folded in front of her skirt.

Lysithea bites.

“Fine then--forget it. I’ll go on my own! You can just stand there and stare at the wall.”

And that which is usually too quiet and too soft, too shaky on its way out of Marianne that it could never be of a breakable matter because it’s too formless, too much like water--such a tremulous and fragile thing already--suddenly, it booms. Marianne’s voice bursts and shatters like glass. Lysithea is forced to listen to the shards of Marianne’s voice, breaking under the teeth of her words.

“I’m sorry! I can’t do anything right!” 

And Lysithea freezes as guilt fills her, thick as tar. 

Marianne runs in the opposite direction of the rebound spell and towards the dorms. 

Shouldn’t have said that. 

She knows; she knows.

o - o - o

Later, Lysithea follows Marianne’s path to the dorms and apologizes. She decidedly stops biting; perhaps youthfully like the child she refuses to acknowledge she is, she has been careless and aggressive with her words. She wants to take the wounds back, but the damage is done. Lysithea still can only hear the cracking of Marianne’s voice again and again as she says, “It’s all my fault. It’s always my fault. The accident was probably my fault too!”

Shouldn’t have said that.

What does Lysithea say now?

o - o - o

What was supposed to be a simple clean-up turns into a fog-enclosed ambush in the remains of the battlefield against the minor lord Lonato and his rebel soldiers. They take down the mage behind the fog, but when the forest clears, no one is happy to see the man’s weathered face as he sits high on his horse, dressed in antiquated armor that hasn’t been used for years until the need of these recent attacks.

Lysithea knows the professor regrets bringing Ashe now.

They corner Lonato. Ashe’s hands shake on his bow as he aims it at his father, though he is careful to keep the width of his shoulders safe, pressed to the wide bark of a hiding tree. As much as he can, Ashe covers Raphael who charges forward with a cry from his stretched mouth and his gauntleted fists swinging. 

Quick as a flash, Lonato strikes Raphael down.

Lysithea is in the cover of the underbrush when she sees the bright burst of red. Raphael doesn’t even shout as he falls. Her hands fly to cover her mouth.

It hits her a second after she hears the mad rustle of leaves beside her that she should do something. She knows a healing spell, doesn’t she? She can--she could--

“Marianne!”

Lysithea hears the professor’s voice the same instant her delayed mind recognizes that the blue flashing in front of her is recognizable. Marianne moves like a forest spirit through the clearing, ignoring the heed in her teacher’s voice.

“Raphael! It’s okay!”

It is the second time Lysithea has heard Marianne’s voice roar louder than a whisper.

It is the only time she has not heard it break.

Marianne’s hand lands on Raphael’s unbloodied shoulder. Her booted feet stumble onto the broken stone pathway behind his hunkered form. Light bursts around them as Marianne casts her magic. 

Above their heads, Lonato brings up his spear again. His horse rears back.

Marianne throws herself over Raphael’s head, wrapping her arms around him.

There’s a quick and quiet flit.

Lysithea doesn’t even see the arrow fly.

She only sees its feathered, tapered end protruding suddenly from a thin gap in Lonato’s armor, where his chest plates meet his shoulder guards. She watches as the minor lord’s face slackens from shock to something else, something that no longer moves, as his body falls back off the rump of his panicked horse.

Ashe’s hands shake as he pulls his bow back to his chest.

o - o - o

“You did it,” Lysithea says later that night, urgently, hoping that Marianne can hear her through the door she refuses to open. “Don’t you see? You did something good, Marianne! You saved Raphael!”

“I did something awful.”

“How can you say that? Because of you, our classmate is alive!”

“But Ashe killed his father! His own father, and it’s all my fau-- ” 

Marianne’s voice breaks.

Again.

Lysithea curses the shut door. She tries the handle, but just as it was five minutes ago, it is still firmly locked. She pushes her palm against the center of the ornate wood, but it doesn’t bend. Is there a spell she could use…? 

“How?! I don’t understand this mad insistence of yours, Marianne.” And Lysithea has refused to say those exact words in so many years, ever since her hair was first burned white; they taste dusty on her tongue, now. “How could that possibly be your fault? It was Ashe’s decision. It was his hands that loosened the arrow, not yours!”

“But I was there! If I hadn’t--if I hadn’t rushed them--” She’s trying. There’s a strange twist of both hope and pain in Lysithea’s chest at the sound of Marianne’s stumbled speech. Marianne has always been soft-spoken, but this mutilation of her words is something else entirely. “If I hadn’t--d-done what I--”

“--if you hadn’t done what you did, Raphael would be dead.” 

Marianne doesn’t say anything to that.

Lysithea takes a long, deep breath. With both hands pressed flat to the face of the door, she rests her brow in the space between her thumbs. She stares at the toes of her boots and swallows. 

What does she say now?

“You…aren’t responsible for the choices other people make, Marianne,” she murmurs. “Not Ashe’s choice, or the choice of the mage who’s spell went wrong the other day, or…the choice I made to say what I said, too.” 

Lysithea’s hands fall to her sides.

“You’re only responsible for your choices. And what you chose to do today…saved the life of someone who’s very important to us. That’s amazing. You should be proud of that.”

Lysithea almost falls forward.

In the new space between the door and its frame peeks a wane, tear-streaked face. A wolf-grey eye peers out, wetly shimmering like mercury. Marianne takes a thin breath and lets it go.

“I was so scared.”

“We all were.”

“I didn’t think, I just--”

“--you did the right thing,” Lysithea insists. “And doesn’t that, above all else, show that you’re a better person than you think you are?”

Marianne doesn’t answer.

And they will talk about this more. Lysithea knows they will; she has a very good feeling that they need to. But when Marianne finally opens the door further and holds out her arms for Lysithea to crash into, she pictures the repurposed rose window on the southern face of the cathedral.

She thinks she knows how stained glass came to be.

[mlmdarkfiction]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Ship: Hubert Von Vestra/OC

Fic Description: Hubert cares about Luis. Cares about his feelings, his consent, and his pleasure. The last thing he would want is to hurt the other man. Especially when it comes to something like this, something that would result in him giving both his control and trust to Hubert.

Author Comment: I started writing this fic in February and just got around to finishing it. I'm trying to remind myself it's okay to sometimes be self indulgent and just write things involving oc/canon or just writing things for myself. If anyone does like Luis though I plan to write a rather large multichapter fic sometime relatively soonish involving lots of Fire emblem ocs...so there's that! In the mean time enjoy some soft Hubert.

Possible Content Warnings: NSFW, Hypnosis, Hypnosis Kink, Magic Used In Sex, There’s no actual sex but erect dicks are present and mentioned

Read Below:

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” 

Hubert’s voice is soft as he looks up from his position on the bed to his husband. Only like this, with him sitting, is he actually shorter than the other man. The moment his eyes meet Luis’ red though, he knows that the other wants to go through with this. 

Despite what everyone else, even some of their so-called ‘friends’ believe, Hubert cares about Luis. Cares about his feelings, his consent, and his pleasure. The last thing he would want is to hurt the other man. Especially when it comes to something like this, something that would result in him giving both his control and trust to Hubert. 

He trusts himself, of course, but...he wants to make sure Luis trusts him too. 

“I am.” 

Luis smiles down at Hubert. He likes it like this, when Hubert is seated on their bed, and he is still standing. It makes him feel bigger for once, it’s a nice change of pace to feel like the powerful one. 

He cups Hubert’s cheeks. His own hands are cold, but it doesn’t stop Hubert from leaning into the touch.

Luis’ answer, it’s what Hubert had known the other would say, but still...there is a validation in the fact that Luis trusts him that feels wonderful, the soft affection feels wonderful. 

Luis is smaller than Hubert. 

He always has been, and although he’s grown quite a bit since their time in the Officers Academy, it’s doubtful he’ll ever be as tall as Hubert himself. 

The other man's upbringing, even though he was, technically, a noble himself, left him scarred both emotionally and physically. And because of it, his growth had been stunted, leaving Luis much smaller than their peers.

That’s why Hubert is gentle as he pulls the other man into his lap. 

He can’t suppress the smile slowly creeping onto his face when he feels just how hard Luis is already. Hubert has barely touched him, and in fact hasn’t touched his dick at all, and yet the other is already fully erect. 

It was usually like this though.

The mage wonders if Luis’ erection is the cause of actual excitement for what’s to come, or if he, like always, is just so eager to please Hubert that his body automatically follows suit. 

“We need a word,” 

“A word?” Luis interrupts before Hubert can finish explaining. 

He shifts Luis silently, the man's thighs now on both sides of his lap, straddling him. His hand brings one of Luis’ into his own where he pulls it to his lips kissing Luis’ tan, scarred knuckles. 

“Yes, a word,” He says after the act of adoration, watching the way Luis giggles softly at it. It’s his way of reacting to soft intimacy, something Hubert will never understand and yet always appreciate all the same.

Even after explaining to Hubert that he doesn’t just want, but needs the man’s adoration and praise, Luis still seems...surprised and elitated every time Hubert actually gives him it. 

As if to this day, after four years of being married, Luis is still surprised to find that Hubert loves him. 

“We need a trigger word,” He continues, explaining, “Something we won’t say by accident, that way you’ll be safe getting in and out of the space.” 

Hubert is taking this as seriously as he does everything, even with Luis flush in the face and seated on his lap.

“Right...a word…” The sentence is more of a soft hum than anything else, only audible because of the closeness of their bodies. 

“What about sweetheart?”

“Sweetheart?”  Hubert repeats, trying the word for himself. It does fit. 

It’s not a term either man uses for one another. Their terms of endearment, although drastically different, generally don’t involve the phrase. 

Hubert is, in a way, a far more formal lover. His nicknames tend to be traditional; Love, Dear, or simply Husband.

Luis’ are like the man himself, far more on the emotional side, nicknames like ; Darling, My Love, Dearest, and a wide array of cheesy variations of Hubert’s name. 

“Sweetheart could work.” Hubert decides looking down at the smaller man still upon his lap. “I just thought it was cute, you know?” Luis isn’t looking at Hubert now, his eyes cast down bashfully as he takes one of the mages hands into his own, linking their fingers together. 

It’s so cute Hubert is momentarily stunned unable to react. He is hit with just how much he loves the other man. 

There is a slight pause before his gloved freehand grabs Luis’ chin, tilting it up so that he’s facing him. The silence makes Luis’ nervous, so Hubert makes it quick, only a moment of staring into the red orbs he loves so much before their lips meet.

Luis’ lips are soft. They’ve always been soft, despite the numerous scars and calluses that cover the man's body everywhere else. And even as soft as they are, Luis has never had any issue with kissing Hubert’s own chapped lips. 

It seems, in fact, that Luis quite enjoys kissing Hubert,if the soft moan he gives is any indication. Though...the moan may entirely be the cause of Hubert moving his thigh to rub against the straining bulge in Luis pants. When they part Hubert is smirking. 

“Let’s begin then, focus on me.”

And ever the obedient husband, Luis does so. 

The magic itself is stupidly simple. Hubert had been able to master it in less than a day. Hubert keeps Luis’ eyes on his, even as the soft glow of the dark magic begins to illuminate them both, and then…

“Sweetheart.”

If Hubert hadn’t practiced beforehand, if he hadn’t first tried the spell on someone else, he would have been worried about the way the light seems to leave Luis’ eyes. 

A tentative hand finds its way to his husband's thigh, where it then begins to rub gentle circles, trailing close to, but never actually touching his clothed erection. “How are you feeling?” 

Luis will answer honestly, Hubert’s research on the spell has found. 

“Weird.” His voice is utterly emotionless, and soft. 

“Good weird?” The hand remains gentle, not wanting to spook the man under hypnosis. 

“Yeah…”

“Good.” 

He is prepared to stop as soon as Luis gives the word, as soon as anything seems off or uncomfortable. This is far less about his own pleasure, and more for that of Luis. After all it had been him to ask, having found out about the spell, while researching for one of his books. 

“Then...Strip for me.”

“Ah?” It’s a soft curious noise that leaves the soft parted lips, and although his movement is sluggish and off, Hubert helps Luis off of his lap and to his feet. 

What occurs is far from the sexy strip tease Hubert had been expecting. In his hypnotized state, Luis is too sluggish to actually unbutton his shirt, and so it takes a moment before Hubert realizes he needs to intervene. 

He does so, gloved hands reaching to the silk material, buttons removed one by one to reveal Luis’ scared chest. 

As one hand removes the shirt entirely the other allows a finger to trail gently down one of the scars, resting just above Luis’ hip bone. 

Normally Luis is far too high strung and nervous to allow Hubert to stare at him like this. To really examine him, and his body. 

The first time Hubert had seen him nude, Luis had cried. Tears caused by anxiety and fear. 

He worried that the other would find him, the damaged state of his body disgusting. 

It’s better now, somewhat, but even after countless reassurances Luis is far from completely soothed, still far from allowing Hubert to gawk at his naked form. 

And seeing him now, truly for the first time and without restraint, Hubert realizes just how beautiful his husband is. He is beautiful not in spite of his scars, but because of them. 

Scars caused by abuse, by his own crests destructive power, they meant that Luis was a fighter. 

The muscles in the man's chest and stomach clench and flex under the gentle trailing of finger tips, and Hubert doesn’t miss the full body shudder that comes from Luis. 

It could be considered teasing, something Luis hates within the bedroom. 

He’s always needy, always wanting, always begging Hubert to just give him everything he has, but not now. 

Now he’s flushed and silent and shirtless, staring at Hubert through half lidded eyes. 

“You’re lovely.” Hubert reassures, although really there’s no need. He’s hoping that perhaps, the conscious layer of Luis left underneath the hypnosis may be able to hear it, may take to heart his words, and finally truly believe the depth of Hubert’s adoration. 

He can only hope.

“I love you.” 

It’s so much easier to express himself like this, when there’s no chance of embarrassing himself. 

“So much.” 

His hands are already getting rid of Luis pants and under clothes, and despite the very excited cock in his immediate vicinity Hubert’s attention instead goes to the other man's thighs. 

The flesh of his thighs is just as scared as the rest of Luis’ body, but it does little to stop Hubert from covering the skin in kisses of adoration. 

Hubert’s own actions cause him to blush, something he would be unable to do perhaps, if he knew Luis was fully aware, but here and now it’s okay to let himself go, to worship his husband in every way which he deserves.

Pale lips repeatedly pressing to the darken thighs. 

He only stops himself when he hears the fervent moan from the man above him. The other’s cock is leaking precum like a faucet, and from how tight Hubert’s own pants feel it’s clearly time for him to move on.

Hubert doesn’t waste time changing. There’s simply no point. He unzips his pants, and pulls his own cock free from it’s confines. It’s lithe, skinny but a total 7 inches in length, and very veiny, totally different from Luis’ own cock. Unlike his husband, Luis is smaller and smooth, barely 5 ½ inches, but incredibly thick, so much so Hubert almost needs to use both hands to stroke him. 

“On my lap.” 

The order obeyed, Luis carefully finding himself on Hubert’s lap, legs spread on either side, both cocks inches away from touching. 

Hubert considers, for a moment, bucking his hips upward to nudge his cock. He’s curious as to how Luis would respond to it, but he holds back the urge. 

He’s far more interested in seeing Luis’ reactions to their main act. And the other man had already gone through the trouble of preparing himself beforehand. 

Gloved hands go, groping at the other's soft bubble butt. There’s a slight slickness, the lube Luis had used before, it dampens Hubert’s gloves, but he doesn’t mind as he finally begins to remove them. 

Stained black fingers dance across the soft skin. He takes a deep breath before…

Hubert doesn’t order Luis to kiss him. 

He doesn’t need to. The moment their lips connect Luis is kissing back. 

It seems the spell has broken. 

Perhaps Luis was simply too strong, or Hubert lost his concentration, or a mix of both factors. 

Spell broken or no, the other man is eager.

He moans against Hubert’s lips, hips rocking gently forward, his cock lightly pressing against Hubert’s own. 

It’s a familiar sensation. 

A familiar neediness and urgency. 

When they part Hubert’s not at all surprised to see that bashful yet loving smile looking up at him. 

Luis arms wrap themselves around Hubert, he leans in head resting on the others shoulder. 

“Love me?”

Both a request and a command from the smaller man. 

Always “love me” always “can we make love” always romantic always soft. 

Everything Luis needs, and everything Hubert would never willingly admit to needing in return. 

“Of course.” 

Soft.  Dutiful. 

Hubert refuses to disappoint.

[bluehairedlordwrites]

To Love and To Lose

Series: Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Characters: Felix, Sylvain, Ingrid

Prompt: Sylvain tries to get Felix to ask a girl out, but when he falls for a certain someone, Sylvain later hears grim news about the one his friend admires.

Rating: SFW, PG-13 (drama, violence)

Notes: This is my first in a series of many short stories about Fire Emblem: Three Houses. While I am still capable to write about other series’s, Fire Emblem will always be my number 1, and Three Houses school environment and lovable characters lends itself to be so easy to make short stories out of.

I’d also like to add that while I think of myself as a decent writer, my syntax and grammar can be a bit off at times, so if you spot anything wrong, please let me know, I’d super appreciate it!

And as always, let me know how you felt about the story as a whole. I put a lot of love into writing and I really hope it shows. Likes and re-blogs are always welcome <3

Also! If you have prompt ideas for short stories you’d like to see me tackle, hit up my inbox with the plot premise and series and I’ll see if I can make it happen.

Okay, that’s it. Thanks for reading!

It was a slow weekend in the Garreg Mach monastery. Lunch had only just begun. The stoic swordsman Felix sat down and quickly began to stuff his meal down, eager to go back to the training grounds. After the Duscur bear slab managed to make its way into his stomach, Felix stood up and began his walk back, only to be interrupted by an old friend of his.

“Woah there!” his friend said, raising his hand up to stop the swordsman.

“Sylvain.” Felix addressed. “Can this wait? I’m busy.”

“Ah ah ah!” the red haired skirt chaser wagged his finger in Felix’s face. “I believe YOU have a debt to repay.”

“Ugh...” Felix responded disgruntled. “That whole thing? I was hoping you would just forget about it.”

“How could I?” Sylvain rhetorically asked before answering it himself. “The deal was if I beat you in a sparing match, you’d ask a girl out.”

Felix reached for his training sword tied to his waist.

“How bout a rematch then? If you beat me this time, I’ll ask two girls out. If I win, this whole things off.”

Sylvain laughed. “Sorry, no can do. I don’t beat you very often, and I won fair and square last time.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I wasn’t feeling very well last time, so a rematch is-“

“Oh shut it and come with me.” Sylvain interrupted, taking his friend by the arm.

“Wh-Hey! Unhand me!” Felix demanded.

The two friends, although Felix may have been hesitant to use that term for Sylvain again, began to head towards the Entrance Hall of the monastery. The hall was filled with tables where several groups of friends partook in casual conversation about classes, battles, other classmates, and a wide variety of other topics. Sylvain gestured Felix to a seat, which he took, albeit begrudgingly.

“Now you wait here, I’ll be right back.” Sylvain told his friend, who rolled his eyes and sighed in response.

After a moment of silence where Felix sat, deciding whether or not to just run away, cut his hair, and change his name to avoid this whole situation, Sylvain returned with a woman at his side. She was an average height with short red hair, and an earnest smile.

“This here,” Sylvain introduced, patting her on both shoulders, “is Nora, a former flame of mine. As it turns out, I owe her a favor, and you will help me repay it.”

“Oh great.” Felix responded, sarcasm pouring from his mouth. Sylvain turned to Nora.

“Nora, this is-“

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius!” Nora finished Sylvains sentence. “Son of Lord Rodrigue Fraldarius! Of course I know him!”

“Oh look at that!” Sylvain said excitedly. “You already know so much about each other! Well, I’ll leave you two alone so-“

“So, you want to marry me because of who my father is then correct?” Felix accused.

“Wh-what?” Nora asked perplexed. “N-no, I-“

“Then why did you have to name him? You can’t hide it from me. You don’t even know who I am. Quit wasting my time, girl.”

“You... you... UGH!” Nora yelled. In an instant, she turned on her heel and stomped away angrily. Then, it was just the two of them again.

“Oooookay.” Sylvain broke the silence. “I definitely didn’t even have a chance to walk away, but y’know what, we can work on that.”

“Oh quit wasting your time, you idiot.” Felix snapped. The black haired nobleman jolted to his feet, lifting his bag over his shoulder.

“Woah woah, where you goin’?” Sylvain asked, standing in his friends way.

“To the training hall. To actually be productive. Now step aside.”

“Like hell I will! You still owe me!”

“I talked to her didn’t I? The deals been settled.”

“Yeah, you talked to her. For just enough time to scare her away. The deal was you would ask a girl out, NOT make one go cry in her room for the rest of the day.”

Felix grunted, walking towards Sylvain and bumping him out of the way. Not accepting this as a conclusion to their debate, Sylvain followed after him.

It wasn’t long until the two boys made it to the training hall. Felix turned around to see his childhood friend following a mere feet behind him.

“Would you go away already?” he ordered. “I already told you it’s not happening.”

“No can do Fraldarius!” the son of the Gautier family responded. “Not until I see you ask out a girl. And for REAL this time.”

“How many times do I have to say-“

The two boys bickering was brought to an abrupt halt over the sound of a young woman grunting loudly and the sound of shattering wood. The two immediately turned to the source of the noise, and saw a shorter girl with long black hair and sharp brown eyes. In her hand was a sharp longsword, and in front of her was the remains of a test dummy. Felix’s eyes widened at the scene in front of him, as the girl casually flipped her hair out of her eyes, beads of sweat visibly flying off her face.

“Who... is that?” he asked slowly.

“Oh boy... I know her.” Sylvain answered, albeit disgruntled. “That would be Violet von Schwarz of the Black Eagle house. She’s one of the only girls in the monastery who’s rejected me more than once. All she cares about is training, and she can bit of a hardass, so-“ he paused for a moment, looked to Felix, then to Violet, then back to Felix, then smiled, “On second thought... maybe she’d be perfect for you. Go get em tiger!”

Sylvain patted his friend on the shoulder, then thrusted him forward. Felix’s face went bright red as he stumbled forward, then quickly regained his posture. The girls eyes darted over to Felix, and their eyes met.

“You.” Violet said, her voice cold as ice. “Grab me another training dummy will you?”

“Wh-what?” Felix replied shakily. “Who are you to boss me around?”

“What was that?” she responded sharply. Felix’s spine shot straight up.

“N-nothing!” he said, shakier than before. “Please, allow me.”

He darted over to the storage closet nearby and pulled out a wooden training dummy. As he brought it over, he saw Violet pull out a rag and wipe the sweat off her forehead. Felix’s face turned a bright pink, as he placed the dummy in position in front of her.

Sylvain covered his mouth to avoid letting a laugh sneak its way out. He took a few steps back, wanting to give them space, but desperately wanting to hear how this situation unfolds.

“So, I don’t believe we’ve met.” Violet noted. “I’m Violet. You?”

“W-wait.” Felix halted the question. “You don’t know who I am?”

“If I did would I have asked dumbass?”

“R-right, of course.” Felix replied, his face hitting a familiar shade of red.

There was a pause of silence.

“... Well?” she asked again impatiently.

“O-oh! Right!” he responded, shaking his head.

“F-Felix Hugo Fraldarius. Son of Rodrigue-“

“Yeah I didn’t ask for your whole family tree thank you.” she interrupted.

“S-sorry.” Felix apologized quickly.

More silence.

“So then. Are you gonna go train or do you plan on staring at me all day?”

“A-actually, if you don’t mind... I would like to observe your fighting methods. The fact you were able to obliterate that training dummy is an impressive feat on its own. Maybe I could show you some more tricks. After all, I’m at the top of my class in sword fighting techniques.”

“Oh yeah? Alright, watch and learn, Mr. TopOfYourClass.”

Violet began to strike at the dummy in a myriad of fashions, while Felix watched from behind. Every swing of her blade was carried with both strength and purpose, not a single strike split away from her intentions. Felix was only able to slide in a few notes of critique, but each one felt like mere nitpicking. She was a near flawless fighter in his eyes.

Soon enough, the monastery church bell rang, signaling students to begin their way to their next classes.

“Well, guess that’s all for today.” Violet deducted. “I better head to class before I get another lecture from Edelgard about being late. But hey, it was good to talk sword with a fellow sword fighter.”

“Y-yes, I suppose it was.” Felix replied. He watched as she began to pack her belongings away and head for the door, when suddenly, a jolt of bravery overcame him.

“W-wait!” he yelled over. She turned to look back at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Um...” he stuttered. “I’ll... I’ll be here tomorrow too, so... if you want a sparing partner or something. If you want of course. If you don’t, that’s fine.”

Violet let out a slight smile, causing Felix’s face to go the deepest red it’s been all day. “Yeah... maybe I will. I got a mission tomorrow, so maybe I’ll be back then. I look forward to cleaning the floor with you tomorrow.”

“Oh please.” Felix challenged back. “You won’t stand a chance against me.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to go all out... see you then Felix.”

At the turn of her heel, she made her way towards the classrooms. Felix, completely entranced, watched every step she took until she was out of sight.

“Attaway to do it buddy!” Sylvain broke the silence, startling his friend.

“S-Sylvain?!?” Felix yelled. “How long were you standing there?”

“I never left! And I’m so glad I didn’t leave, or I would have missed you asking her out!”

“Idiot... I didn’t ask her out, we’re just sparing together tomorrow. Nothing more.”

“Ohhhh is that right?” Sylvain replied sarcastically. “Well, if that’s the case, then that means you still have to ask a girl out.”

Felix appeared stunned at first, then looked like he was going to respond, but ended up sighing in defeat.

“... Fine. But only if it gets you off my back.”

———————————————————————

The next day blew by in a breeze, and lunch time was already upon Garreg Mach. After a brief sparing match against Ingrid, Sylvain ended up getting a cut on his arm, so he decided to head to Manuelas office to get patched up. As he stood outside her door, he heard voices from inside the room. Curious, he leaned his ear forward to see if he could overhear anything.

“I’m so sorry Lady Rhea... I really did everything I could, but the wounds were too severe. Trying to heal them now would only prolong her suffering.”

Sylvain recognized that voice as Garreg Machs nurse Manuela, even through her shaky and teary voice.

“I understand Manuela. You did all that you could.”

Archbishop Rheas voice was calm as ever.

“I’ll send word to her parents... Goodness.. we cannot allow anymore students to be put in peril like this anymore. This is the third one this year.”

Another voice, Sylvain deduced to being Rheas head advisor Seteths voice.

“I will pray to make sure the poor girls soul finds her way to the goddess.”

“Thank you Lady Rhea... Thank you.”

Curiosity turned to worry, Sylvain took a step forward and peered into Manuelas office. Just as suspected, Rhea, Seteth, and Manuela all stood circling one of the beds, on top of which laid a body.

“Oh no...” Sylvain said quietly. He slowly and quietly inched to avoid detection, then when he knew he was out of audible range, he dashed downstairs.

Forgetting he even had an injury, Sylvain ran through the courtyard by the classrooms and into the training hall. There, as expected he saw Felix, swinging his blade away at a wooden dummy. His swings were slow, but heavy, which was unlike his normal swift strikes. Sylvain could tell something was wrong.

“Hey, Felix.” he started. “Is... everything okay?”

Felix didn’t respond at first, instead deciding to swing two more times. Then, he paused, but didn’t turn to look at his friend.

“She didn’t show up.” Felix responded, each syllable as sharp as the last.

“Is... that so?” Sylvain said, knowing that answer was coming.

“I don’t get it. Women flock to me normally and I push them away. Now the one time I show vulnerability, I get... betrayed!”

Upon saying ‘betrayed’, Felix took another heavy swing at the dummy.

Sylvains stomach was in knots. He couldn’t bear to see his friend like that. He knew the truth of why Violet didn’t attend their planned training date, but he didn’t know which would hurt more; Felix believing that he was led on and ultimately cast aside, costing him any ounce of confidence he had in finding love again, or the truth, which may be just as grim for him to hear. Eventually, the guilt inside of him shoved the words out of his mouth.

“Hey... buddy...” he began.

“Don’t.” Felix interrupted. “Haven’t you done enough? Just leave me alone. I’m obviously not worth the time for some people.”

“Felix.” Sylvain restarted his though, this time much stricter. “Violet didn’t not show because she doesn’t like you. She didn’t show up because... she was killed during her mission. I saw her body in Manuelas office earlier, and... I came over to tell you.”

The hall got quiet. All that could be heard was the distant chatter from outside, alongside the flapping wings of the wyverns and pegasi that flew overhead. Felix’s grip slightly loosened on his sword, but he still did not turn to face his friend. Sylvain, desperate to fill the silence, began to speak, starting with an apology.

“Felix... I’m so sorry.”

Not a second after Sylvain got the last word out, Felix let out a powerful shout and swung his sword down, chopping the wooden mannequin in half. Sylvain covered his face to avoid wood shards flying into his eyes, then peeked between his fingers as he watched Felix quickly march away.

“C’mon, wait!” Sylvain begged. “Let’s talk about this!”

His words fell on deaf ears. Felix was already out of sight. Sylvain let out a heavy sigh, feeling responsible for breaking his friends heart. He knew the only way to make it right was to help him out, and he wasn’t going to stop until his friend felt better.

———————————————————————-

“He’s gotta be in here.”

Sylvain and his and Felix’s dear friend Ingrid stood outside Felix’s dorm room, expecting this to be the only place they could imagine him being in.

“Let me take care of this.” Ingrid said. She tapped her knuckles to the door. “Felix? We know you’re in there. Please come out. We just want to talk.”

No response.

“C’mon man.” Sylvain added. “I know I really messed up. I’m sorry. Let me help you feel better. You, me, and Ingrid can go train for as long as you want, then enjoy a feast on me!”

Still no response.

“Felix...” Ingrid bit her lip before continuing. “I... Look, you and I are the ones who understand losing someone we love the most. When Glen died, all I wanted to do was disappear for ever. But I knew that I had responsibilities to my friends, to my family, to my house, to my kingdom... I couldn’t just brush all that away. And you and I both know Glenn would never have wanted us to just give up... and I think Violet felt the same.”

There was a long silence. Sylvain shifted side to side, beginning to feel that either Felix was never going to respond, or he may not even be in his room at all. Finally, the two of them heard a voice from behind the door.

“Idiot... I didn’t love Violet, I only just met her. Glenn was my brother, and I loved him more than anyone... so...” His voice grew hoarse, as if he was about to cry. “So... so why does this hurt just as much?”

“Look...” Sylvain began, after letting out a heavy sigh. “Love is complicated. Sometimes its fast, and sometimes it takes time to grow. But this obviously really hurt you. I shouldn’t have pushed you into going through with this, I... really just wanted to make you happy. Like how we used to be.”

There was another pause. The two heard footsteps coming from inside, then with the turn of a lock, the door opened, revealing the now red, slightly puffy eyed swordsman. He didn’t make eye contact with them and quickly rubbed under his eyes with his sleeves.

“It’s... not your fault you fool. She was... too reckless. I was hoping to have taught her about that today but...”

He let out another sigh.

“… I guess I was too late… and… that must be what hurts so much.”

“Felix…” Ingrid responded sympathetically. “You know it’s not-“

“You don’t-“ Felix snapped quickly, paused, then continued, “-… know that. Neither do I… but it’s too late now anyway… just… I…”

Another tear rolled down his cheek, which he quickly wiped away once again.

“I can’t do this again… I can’t lose someone I lo-…care about… again. Which means… you two better not die on me. That goes for Annette, Ashe, Mercedes… yes, even the boar prince and his mutt… I can’t lose anyone like this again.”

“Awh jeez buddy.” Sylvain said softly. He turned to Ingrid, and a slight smile slowly stretched over his face. “C’mon Ingrid, I think he needs a hug.”

Ingrid nodded, and they moved closer to their friend.

“H-hey, stop!” Felix ordered. “Enough of that, I don’t do- hey!”

It was too late. The two of them squeezed Felix into a tight embrace. After a few moments of struggle, he stopped, paused, then laid his arm across the both of them.

“Fine… just… just this once.”

The three friends remained in an embrace for quite some time. Could have been seconds, could have been hours, possibly days. Felix couldn’t tell anymore. Even when the two of then finally removed their hands from him, he never really let go.

END

[sacrilegiovs]

(  josefine  frida  pettersen  ,  cisfemale  ,  she  /  her  ,  fire  emblem  :  three  houses  )  *  &.  i  know  it  must  be  scary  for  you  ,  edelgard  von  hresvelg  ,  after  not  surviving  the  takeover  .  to  turn  into  someone  like  edelle  hjördis  ,  a  twenty-four  year-old  code  enforcement  officer  at  city  hall  ,  right  here  in  castle  town  .  just  remember  that  you  are  as  ambitious  as  you  are  relentless  ,  and  to  be  wary  ,  be  safe  ,  be  true  to  who  you  are  :  neutral  through  and  through  .

hi  demons  it  me  ,  a  piece  of  garbage  !  this  is  ,  uh  ,  VERY  spoiler  heavy  so  …  i’m  sorry  ab  that  JSDHFNDJDHC  here’s  a  pinterest  board  for  edelgard  tho  bc  i  luv  my  daughter  !! 

TW.  food  /  drinks  ,  blood  (  pinterest  )  +  child  abuse  &  death ment.  /  trauma  (  intro  )  .

BEFORE  CASTLE  TOWN  .

edelgard  von  hresvelg  .  the  fourth  daughter  of  the  emperor  and  out  of  all  her  siblings  she  was  the  only  one  born  with  a  (  minor  )  crest  of  seiros  .

however  when  she  was  nine  ,  edie  and  her  mother  were  taken  by  her  uncle  to  the  holy  kingdom  of  faerghus  .  unbeknownst  to  her  back  home  ,  the  insurrection  of  the  seven  was  taking  place  —  reducing  her  father  to  nothing  more  than  a  political  puppet  .  her  own  uncle  was  one  of  the  key  conspirators  .  though  her  mother  eventually  married  the  king  of  faerghus  ,  edelgard  continued  to  live  with  her  uncle  .  during  her  time  in  the  kingdom  ,  edelgard  befriended  dimitri  and  the  two  spent  a  lot  of  time  together  ,  unaware  they  were  step-siblings  .  soon  after  she  turned  twelve  ,  edelgard  returned  to  the  empire  …  without  her  mother  .

then  shit  got  real  .

imagine  going  home  after  three  years  only  to  find  that  your  father  has  been  stripped  of  his  power  .  imagine  going  home  after  three  years  only  to  be  subjected  to  painful  experiments  with  your  ten  siblings  .  the  adrestian  nobles  supported  the  crest  experimentation  performed  by  those  who  slither  in  the  dark  ,  no  matter  the  cost  of  it  .  it  wasn’t  them  or  their  heirs  ,  so  why  should  they  have  qualms  ,  right  ?  now  ,  imagine  your  father  ,  who  was  rendered  practically  powerless  ,  objecting  and  trying  to  stop  it  with  all  he  had  left  …  but  ultimately  being  unable  to  do  anything  besides  sit  back  and  watch  this  relentless  torture  of  his  children  .

all  in  the  name  of  crests  .

most  of  her  siblings  were  driven  mad  or  died  from  exhaustion  .  in  the  end  ,  edelgard  was  the  only  one  to  survive  and  retain  the  sanity  that  had  been  lost  by  many  other  hresvelg  siblings  .  because  of  her  success  ,  she  bore  a  second  crest  now  .  the  crest  of  flames  ,  and  a  major  one  at  that  .  due  to  the  stress  that  having  two  crests  brought  ,  her  natural  brown  hair  turned  a  silvery  tone  .

and  her  view  of  crests  ,  the  church  of  seiros  ,  and  the  caste  system  of  fódlan  were  altered  forever  .

she  arrived  at  garreg  mach  monastery  to  complete  her  education  when  she  was  seventeen  ,  and  was  resolved  to  reclaim  what  her  father  had  lost  .  her  admittance  marked  the  first  time  in  ages  since  a  member  of  the  hresvelg  family  sent  a  member  to  the  officer's  academy  .  she  would  soon  become  the  house  leader  of  the  black  eagles  .

sometime  before  meeting  byleth  ,  edelgard  took  on  the  guise  of  the  flame  emperor  ,  and  her  suit  used  agarthan  technology  to  heavily  distort  her  voice  for  protection  purposes  .  believing  that  she  would  have  a  straightforward  time  unifying  fódlan  without  the  future  leaders  of  the  kingdom  and  the  alliance  in  her  way  ,  she  hired  bandits  to  assassinate  dimitri  and  claude  ,  respectively  .

a  quick  deviation  from  background  telling  .  to  be  honest  i  feel  as  if  this  act  in  particular  highlights  just  how  young  and  ,  ultimately  ,  inexperienced  edelgard  really  is  —  because  she’s  so  quick  to  put  an  assassination  attempt  on  the  table  .  how  she  made  a  seemingly  solid  enough  plan  ,  yet  despite  everything  ,  it  still  failed  .  we  have  to  remember  the  fact  she  was  a  teenager  in  the  beginning  .  a  child  .  yes  ,  one  willing  to  commit  murder  because  she  saw  it  as  the  most  viable  option  ,  but  a  child  nonetheless  .  however  ,  it  also  showcased  how  ruthless  she  can  be  .  ruthless  in  the  sense  that  she  won’t  stop  at  anything  to  get  from  point  a  to  point  b  .  in  edelgard’s  case  ,  she  felt  her  goals  were  far  greater  than  her  own  personal  feelings  .  towards  dimitri  ,  towards  claude  ,  towards  …  well  ,  everyone  (  as  we  see  during  the  conflict  of  the  holy  tomb  ,  specifically  during  the  black  eagles  run  .  she  didn’t  want  to  fight  her  friends  ,  but  she  wasn’t  above  giving  the  order  to  kill  anyone  who  tried  to  stop  them  .  she  was  already  resigned  to  the  notion  that  ,  in  order  to  fulfill  her  chosen  path  ,  she  needed  to  do  things  she  didn’t  necessarily  want  to  do  .  )

ok  ,  back  to  your  regularly  scheduled  programming  .

as  mentioned  ,  she  needed  to  strategize  in  ways  that  she  may  not  have  enjoyed  .  teaming  up  with  those  who  slither  in  the  dark  ,  irregardless  of  her  own  hatred  and  disdain  for  them  ,  was  a  huge  one  .  they  had  a  common  enemy  :  the  church  of  seiros  .  and  as  they  say  ,  the  enemy  of  my  enemy  is  my  friend  .  with  full  intention  of  turning  on  them  once  her  war  against  the  church  was  over  ,  edelgard  allied  herself  with  the  very  people  who  were  responsible  for  her  trauma  .  for  the  greater  good  ,  she  undoubtedly  told  herself  .  it  had  to  be  done  .  in  my  own  personal  view  of  edelgard  ,  she’s  pragmatist  .  meaning  the  church  /  crests  /  caste  system  were  the  focal  point  of  her  takedown  ,  and  what  she  may  logically  be  able  to  achieve  .  she  could  only  wage  one  war  at  a  time  .  plus  ,  with  TWSITD  believing  she  is  an  ally  ,  in  theory  it  would  be  much  easier  to  get  to  them  …  opposed  to  if  they  were  still  completely  in  the  shadows  .

equality  through  force  .  it  might  not  be  the  best  choice  ,  but  it  was  a  choice  that  edelgard  considered  long  and  hard  .  it’s  pretty  implied  that  edelgard  believed  in  meritocracy  ;  none  of  that  birthright  bullshit  that  the  caste  system  brought  upon  fódlan  .  and  certainly  no  more  crests  dictating  who  and  who  wasn’t  a  suitable  leader  (  a  prime  example  being  miklan  :  she  outright  expressed  sympathy  towards  him  ,  even  called  him  an  impressive  leader  ,  despite  not  having  a  crest  of  his  own  .  )

now  i  would  like  to  point  something  out  .  actually  ,  a  few  things  .  i  recall  most  clearly  in  silver  snow  ,  it  was  said  that  edelgard  DEMANDED  that  her  father  relinquished  the  emperor  position  to  her  ,  when  in  fact  ,  that  wasn’t  necessarily  correct  .  we  can  see  her  coronation  as  emperor  if  byleth  chose  to  go  with  her  when  they  had  high  enough  support  .  if  anything  ,  her  father  appeared  to  be  understanding  when  she  convinced  him  .  however  despite  the  obvious  antagonistic  viewpoint  characters  had  on  her  in  silver  snow  ,  the  only  route  she  was  clear-cut  painted  as  a  true  villain  …  was  azure  moon  .  the  same  route  it  was  confirmed  she  had  many  long  thoughts  and  presumably  discussions  about  how  to  proceed  with  her  plans  ,  before  she  settled  upon  throwing  the  entirety  of  fódlan  into  a  war  .  her  declaration  of  war  against  the  church  of  seiros  and  all  its  allies  was  not  a  whim  .  does  that  make  it  right  ?  no  ,  i  don’t  believe  she  was  right  for  pulling  everyone  into  that  chaos  .  but  whether  she  was  right  in  the  way  she  went  about  it  or  not  ,  she  wasn’t  entirely  wrong  either  .  the  church  wasn’t  an  innocent  party  !  edelgard  only  had  half  truths  ,  which  can  be  just  as  dangerous  as  knowing  everything  or  nothing  at  all  ,  if  not  more  .

but  that  all  being  said  ,  i  am  pulling  edelgard  from  crimson  flower  .  because  regardless  of  her  actions  ,  i  still  didn’t  feel  it  was  right  to  paint  her  solely  as  the  villain  when  she  wasn’t  the  only  one  who  made  severe  mistakes  .  we  have  seen  she  is  capable  of  expressing  guilt  and  remorse  for  her  actions  .  however  unlike  most  ,  edelgard  knows  she  cannot  waver  from  the  bloody  path  she  picked  .  it  goes  back  to  what  i  said  earlier  ,  of  her  being  resigned  to  the  fact  .  personal  feelings  needed  to  be  pushed  aside  in  matters  of  war  ,  especially  this  far  into  things  .  for  her  to  give  up  would  mean  all  this  bloodshed  was  for  nothing  .  she  couldn’t  do  that  .  not  just  for  her  own  ideals  ,  but  for  fódlan  itself  .  even  speaking  beyond  unification  under  adrestia  rule  ,  it  would  have  been  worse  for  her  to  say  ‘  okay  no  more  war  ’  without  any  resolvement  ,  and  for  things  to  ‘  go  back  to  the  way  they  were  ’  despite  that  not  being  a  logical  reality  ...  it  would  make  everything  cheap  ,  like  it  never  mattered  to  begin  with  .  no  ,  she  intended  to  see  her  plans  out  even  if  it  killed  her  .

she  dug  her  grave  and  she  was  fully  prepared  to  lie  in  it  .

in  crimson  flower  ,  she  was  lucky  to  survive  it  ,  and  i  would  call  the  war  a  pyrrhic  victory  in  any  case  .

after  byleth  abandoned  the  church  to  stay  with  her  ,  edelgard  organized  her  former  classmates  into  an  elite  task  force  that  was  known  as  the  black  eagle  strike  force  (  although  BEST  ,  black  eagle  strike  team  ,  was  right  there  …  an  opportunity  missed  ,  i  suppose  )  .  despite  all  her  efforts  ,  they  spent  the  next  five  years  locked  in  a  bitter  stalemate  with  the  kingdom  and  the  alliance  .  though  with  byleth’s  return  and  aid  ,  she  was  able  to  swiftly  conquer  the  leicester  alliance  .  instead  of  killing  her  old  friend  ,  edelgard  spared  claude  and  forced  him  to  go  into  exile  .

after  beating  back  an  attempt  by  the  church  to  retake  garreg  mach  ,  edelgard  began  military  operations  against  faerghus  in  earnest  .  she  first  conquered  arianrhod  ,  a  fortress  on  the  western  border  between  adrestia  and  faerghus  .  afterwards  ,  she  began  a  direct  march  for  fhirdiad  .  dimitri  and  rhea  moved  to  intercept  her  at  the  tailtean  plains  ,  but  rhea  was  driven  off  and  dimitri  was  slain  in  battle  *  —  an  execution  by  her  own  hands  .

the  group  finally  arrived  in  fhirdiad  ,  and  rhea  ordered  the  city  burned  to  the  ground  in  order  to  slow  them  down  and  transforms  into  her  ultimate  form  ,  the  immaculate  one  .  edelgard  ,  byleth  ,  and  the  black  eagle  strike  force  engaged  her  in  battle  .  ultimately  ,  the  empire  emerged  victorious  and  rhea  was  slain  .  with  all  of  fódlan  under  adrestia's  dominion  ,  edelgard  finally  began  the  reforms  she  always  wanted  to  bring  to  the  nobility  and  the  crest  system  ,  and  began  a  silent  war  against  those  who  slither  in  the  dark  .  *

(  *  -  basically  just  copypasta  from  her  wiki  because  i  didn’t  feel  like  rewriting  it  JDHBSFCBHDHN  )

AFTER  CASTLE  TOWN  .

the  memories  of  edelle  hjördis  are  different  .  edelgard  von  hresvelg  doesn’t  exist  ,  and  there’s  no  reason  for  edelle  to  believe  otherwise  …  right  ?

the  only  child  of  a  well-known  politician  ,  edelle  is  expected  to  follow  his  footsteps  .  and  she  did  ,  sort  of  .  it’s  on  a  smaller  scale  for  now  ,  working  as  a  code  enforcement  officer  at  city  hall  —  she  says  it’s  a  stepping  stone  ,  solidifying  groundwork  for  the  bigger  leagues  .  if  she  ever  gets  there  .  code  enforcement  isn’t  easy  in  any  capacity  ,  and  it  renders  her  particularly  busy  .

everything  is  fine  .

yet  she  can’t  help  feeling  like  there  are  missing  pieces  .  like  maybe  somewhere  ,  somehow  ,  she  has  siblings  in  some  form  .  like  a  hidden  family  that  her  father  keeps  secret  from  her  and  prying  eyes  of  public  media  .  maybe  it’s  all  loneliness  carved  from  parental  absence  .  a  scenario  created  in  her  mind  to  ease  her  from  the  gnawing  feeling  of  solitude  .  that  must  be  it  —  there’s  no  other  explanation  .

everything  is  alright  .

there’s  this  dream  that  haunts  her  so  frequently  .  perhaps  if  she  finds  a  name  to  the  face  ,  she  can  lay  him  to  rest  properly  .  there’s  an  indescribable  sorrow  that  follows  the  execution  of  this  man  —  one  she  doesn’t  understand  ,  one  she  doesn’t  know  if  she  even  wants  to  understand  —  but  it’s  one  she  can’t  seem  to  shake  .  it’s  persistent  and  makes  its  presence  known  in  her  mind  ,  and  all  she  wants  is  for  it  to  vanish  .  farewell  ,  king  of  delusion  .  she  remembers  saying  those  words  (  was  it  truly  her  ?  )  in  this  vision  .  she  doesn’t  know  how  it  can  be  real  ,  it’s  impossible  ,  but  it’s  as  if  her  hands  were  sticky  with  metaphorical  blood  that  never  leaves  .  her  stomach  churns  in  response  if  she  thinks  too  much  of  it  ,  so  she  tries  to  ignore  it  .  it  doesn’t  easily  work  ,  but  she  has  to  try  .

she  remembers  taking  classes  at  castle  town  university  as  a  political  science  major  .  in  rare  moments  ,  she  found  herself  doodling  little  portraits  of  people  —  not  that  they  were  really  any  good  ,  or  that  she  even  showed  anyone  .  but  if  someone  looked  at  the  back  of  her  notebooks  ,  they  can  surely  find  a  badly  drawn  figure  or  two  .

she  doesn’t  know  what  this  weird  crown  is  that  she  randomly  has  ??  unbeknownst  to  her  ,  it  was  her  —  edelgard’s  —  crown  as  adrestia’s  emperor  .  she  just  …  had  it  one  day  ,  and  that  was  that  .  it’s  hidden  in  her  closet  at  home  ,  as  she’s  unsure  of  what  to  do  with  it  .  curiosity  bested  her  a  few  times  and  yes  ,  she  has  tried  it  on  for  size  .  it  fits  almost  too  perfectly  ,  like  it  was  meant  for  her  .  there’s  something  missing  .  there’s  always  something  missing  .  edelle  can  never  figure  out  what  ,  though  .

all  in  all  ,  despite  the  differences  ,  edelle  is  still  as  ambitious  and  relentless  at  achieving  her  goals  as  edelgard  was  .  only  thing  is  ,  she  doesn’t  realize  the  extent  of  it  .  stubborn  until  the  very  end  ,  edelle  can  be  described  as  a  workaholic  for  the  most  part  ,  but  there  are  peaceful  moments  where  she  takes  time  for  herself  and  those  who  manage  to  get  close  to  her  .

uh  idk  what  else  to  write  so  that’s  it  for  now  .  we’ll  see  what  happens  in  the  future  .

FUN  FACTS  .

edelle’s  birthday  is  june  22nd  ,  aka  canonly  edelgard’s  birthday  (  22nd  of  the  garland  moon  )  ,  which  makes  her  a  cancer  sun  .  as  a  cancer  rising  and  water  sign  sun  in  general  ,  myself  ,  i’m  really  not  surprised  .  this  is  kinda  self  drag  lol  but  water  signs  are  notorious  for  being  manipulative  and  knowing  when  to  use  the  cards  to  their  advantage  ,  and  that’s  exactly  what  edelgard  does  .

although  this  being  said  and  being  the  astrology  heaux  i  am  ,  if  i  had  to  assign  her  moon  +  rising  signs  ,  i  would  probably  say  capricorn  moon  (  show  a  lot  of  initiative  ,  in  it  to  win  it  .  do  not  want  to  feed  into  another’s  beliefs  about  victim-hood  .  can  excel  in  things  that  require  cold  blood  and  seriousness  .  )  and  scorpio  rising  (  likely  to  experience  life  as  a  constant  series  of  obstacles  or  crises  .  confronting  darkness  in  the  outside  world  through  facing  extreme  situations  .  others  may  find  you  somewhat  inscrutable  ,  mysterious  or  just  hard  to  read  ;  likely  to  play  your  cards  close  to  your  chest  .  )

she’s  still  5ft  2in  ..  we  love  the  shorties  in  this  house  ,  ok  !

unlike  edelgard  whose  hair  was  originally  brown  ,  edelle  always  had  her  signature  white  hair  .  although  ..  she  does  have  a  slightly  “  goddess  green  ”  tint  if  you  look  at  her  character  portraits  closely  .  personally  i  believe  it’s  due  to  her  crest  of  flames  ,  since  the  color  is  vaguely  reminiscent  of  sothis-byleth  .

the  mention  of  her  drawing  little  pictures  of  people  comes  from  the  fact  she  drew  a  portrait  of  byleth  in  crimson  flower  ,,,

nightmares  by  all  time  low  was  another  song  i  had  in  mind  for  edelgard  ,  i  won’t  even  lie  ...

[roman-writing]

the jaw of lost kingdoms

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Edelgard von Hresvelg / F!Byleth

Rating: M (mentions of past abuse)

Wordcount: 6,557

Summary: She thought of all the ways it could have gone wrong. How much she had lost. How much more she could have lost. Not just kingdoms. Worse than nations. What she clung to -- a dog worrying a bone, lock-jawed and drowning -- but what still slipped away.

SPOILERS for the Crimson Flower route

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

"I have the face of a young executioner. 

I am the last temple, 

the communal dressing room

where girls wear nothing underneath, 

where you find yourself on your knees 

offering up 

both throat and key."

— Rosebud Ben-Oni, I Am Your First World Problem

--

Edelgard had been sitting upon the Imperial throne all day, and her lower back ached. The pain was not helped by her outfit, severe and too-tight, bedecked with curling horns in place of a crown, and crimson-lacquered armoured plates in place of silk. It had been designed to inspire fear, not comfort. Indeed, when the designer had fitted her for the first time, he had tried convincing her to leave herself space to breathe. Edelgard in turn had glared coolly at him, and ordered him to tighten the corset another centimeter. His face had paled. He had ducked his head with a mumbled apology. He did not mention human comforts again. 

On a good day, this outfit wavered on the bleeding edge of what she could handle. On a day like today, Edelgard folded herself into it as if folding herself into the brazen bull. She counted down the seconds until she could be alone and shed these layers like a snake. 

It took every measure of self-control to not hasten her stride. She could not afford another slip now. She had already forgotten to eat that morning, and had been scolded by Hubert for her transgression, grave as it was.

Her footsteps clacked and echoed down the great halls of the Imperial palace. Hubert stalked at her side, always one step behind her, like a shadow that lengthened in her wake as the sun fell. Even stooped to murmur in her ear, he towered over her shoulder, blade-thin, gaunt, and hawkish. And if she had felt vaguely light-headed before, it was nothing compared to what she felt at his next words in his report.

“The newly appointed ambassador to Brigid arrived earlier this afternoon. And your uncle has delivered you a gift to your personal quarters.”

Edelgard could not help herself; her stride faltered. “What?”

Immediately, Hubert stopped. “Do not worry, Your Majesty. I have scoured it for any sign of tampering or traps, be they magical or otherwise. I confess, I was a little disappointed to find nothing at all wrong with it.”

A small furrow wrinkled her brow, and Edelgard resumed her walk towards her personal quarters. “What is it?”

“A piece of furniture. And a rather gaudy one at that. I would have sent it to the kindling piles, but we can’t rightly refuse it. Not yet. Not without rousing his suspicions.”

“Hmm,” she said.

The late setting sun slanted through the arched colonnade, filtering through the stained-glass windows and painting her in stripes of bold colour. The summer heat prickled against her skin even at this late hour. She could feel the sweat gathered between the wings of her shoulder blades, at the backs of her knees, the crook of her elbows, and the nape of her neck. She had to resist the urge to shrug against her outfit. She endured the heat as she always did, with vigilant silence.

Hubert’s report was, as always, timed to perfection so that it finished just as they arrived at the entrance to Edelgard’s personal quarters. He left her there, not daring to come inside, as courtesy demanded. And he was unfailingly courteous, even when she wished he would not be. She dismissed him with a nod. Servants opened and closed the doors for her. Inside, a half-legion of ladies-in-waiting dropped into deep curtsies upon being in her presence.

Edelgard spared them not a glance. Her gaze already roved around the chamber for anything out of place, but there were no new pieces of furniture that she could see. Perhaps it had yet to be delivered. Perhaps it resided through one of the doors and into the vast complex beyond; this was only the receiving chamber, after all. In times of convalescence or emergencies, she could conduct matters of state from this very room without alerting any scandal. Her rule had not come to that. Yet.

The most senior lady-in-waiting straightened, and began leading Edelgard through the rooms without needing any instruction. Stiffly, Edelgard followed. Being in her personal quarters at the palace did nothing to relax her. If anything, it achieved the opposite effect. She stood too straight, too poised, hands clasped and chin high, as though posing for an official portrait or a new profile for coinage.

One of the sitting rooms had a balcony overlooking the capital, its walls wrought entirely of windows that flooded the space with light and air. She was not led to that room. She delved far from it, trailed by a host of ladies-in-waiting past numerous parlours and studies, past the personal armoury and bedchamber -- the latter spread with a massive four poster bed -- and into the ablutions chamber. 

The room was barrel-vaulted and sheathed entirely in gleaming stone. Here, no sunlight could reach. To compensate, numerous candles had been lit, their flames wavering over pools of pale, melted wax. The air was cooler here, but not by much. The bath had already been drawn. Water steamed within the great claw-footed marble basin. A rune at its base glowed a dull coal-red, maintaining the water’s temperature for as long as she required.

Edelgard halted in the centre of the chamber, a streak of scarlet against a backdrop of immaculate white. It quickly became apparent what gift her uncle had presumed to give her. In a room made all of stone, a wooden vanity had been placed along one wall. It was a gilded monstrosity, its panels hand-carved and darkly stained. It would have taken seven strong men to lift, and even then they would have struggled to bear it to and fro. 

Worst of all was the mirror perched atop it. Silver-backed and enormous, there was no hiding from it in this room. Her lips pursed. She could see her reflection narrow its eyes fractionally, could see the coldness wash over her face and settle into her skin like a mask until she looked like she had been carved from polished marble -- a statue brought to life and draped in cloth to appear human, always striving, never achieving. 

She quickly looked away. "Get rid of it."

"But -?" 

Edelgard did not repeat herself. She did not have to. 

A number of ladies-in-waiting were attempting to lift the vanity, but it refused to budge. Gold-gilded wooden legs squealed a centimeter across the stone floor. Her teeth clenched. She could feel the muscles strain until her jaw ached. 

He had done this on purpose. He knew she hated -

“Stop,” she ordered, and the ladies-in-waiting froze, waiting for her command. “Just cover it. I will have it moved later.”

There followed a collective sigh of relief, then silence. Nobody dared speak without her permission. The senior lady-in-waiting conducted the others in absolute silence. A pale sheet was draped over the vanity, but it was large enough that the legs were still clearly visible. 

Edelgard faced away from the vanity. The doors to the chamber shut, and ladies-in-waiting began the ritual of disrobing their Emperor. Edelgard remained standing throughout the entire affair, though she cast a sidelong glance towards the stone seat beside the folding screen. It was almost amusing: after a whole day upon an uncomfortable throne, and all she wanted to do was sit back down.

It began with her cloak. No less than three ladies-in-waiting were required to unclasp and lift the heavy mantle from her shoulders. Carefully they folded it away as though handling the imperial flag, while two others unbuttoned her outer coat to reveal the kirtle and yet more layers beneath. The most senior lady-in-waiting stood behind her upon a stepping stool to unweave the complex ramshorns hairstyle. Even while Edelgard was wearing her heeled boots, the lady-in-waiting probably did not need the stool. Edelgard was short enough to make such things unnecessary. 

Even as a student back at Garreg Mach Monastery, Edelgard had used her station to secure herself private ablutions and rooms. Before she had been the head of her respective House, some of the other students found this preferential treatment at best odd or at worst grossly unjust. Rumours circulated. She did nothing to stop them. They suited her. And besides, they soon faded. Few could remember such frivolities now.

There was a moment in the ritual when they all knew the stop, to leave her alone and still mostly clothed. She would do the rest without them. It was not customary. Custom demanded they strip her bare and scatter her with rose petals while she soaked in the water and their ministrations. 

Hang custom.

It was not that she did not trust them. All of her personal staff had been hand-picked and vetted by Hubert himself. There could be no doubt as to their loyalties. It was only that she did not trust them with this. 

One of the ladies-in-waiting however, the newest and youngest of the lot, did not know this crucial step of the ritual. Either she had not been informed, or she had simply forgotten. It mattered not. She reached for her Emperor’s gloved hand. The moment Edelgard registered the touch upon her fingers, she snatched her hand away and jerked a half step backwards, nearly knocking the senior lady-in-waiting from her perch.

Everyone in the room went still. The transgressor’s face was downturned, flushed and bright with a mixture of mortification and visceral fear at having erred so wildly. 

Edelgard’s eyes were cold enough to burn. When she spoke, the room’s occupants shivered. “Leave me.” 

A flurry of quiet activity. They moved to carry some of her clothes and most of her armour away, but she glared so fiercely that they ducked their heads in bows and scurried away with empty hands. The door shut behind them, and still Edelgard found it difficult to breathe. She blamed the corset.

All that remained of her outer layers were a single pauldron and the modified farthingale. She hated herself a little for the way her gloved fingers trembled at the straps holding the red-lacquered plate into position. 

It had been years. She should be over this by now.

The armour dropped to the floor with the clang of stone against metal. She kicked the hoops of her farthingale aside. Only one half of her hair had been successfully undone, a curtain of tangled white over one shoulder from where it had been tied in a braid not moments previously. Edelgard yanked out the pins and decorative horn from the other side, hard enough to hurt. The dull pain grounded her. She tossed each ornament and stay to the ground as well. The horns gleamed in the low candle-light like monstrous golden teeth. 

She was loosening the whale-bone corset when there came a tentative knock at the door. 

With a small grunt, Edelgard tore the damned corset free and dropped it alongside the other garments. She put as much steel into her voice as possible. “I do not require further assistance, Bess.”

The voice that answered did not belong to her senior lady-in-waiting, but it was familiar all the same. “I’m afraid it’s not Bess.”

Edelgard’s eyes widened. It took her so long to work up a response, that Byleth’s muffled words came through the door again. “Of course, if you still want me to leave, that’s fine, too.”

Before she could properly think through the implications of what she was doing, Edelgard had crossed the room and pulled open the door. 

Byleth blinked down at her, and something almost like surprise crossed her features. It was difficult to tell with her. “Oh. I thought you’d be -”

“You thought I would be…what?”

Byleth shook her head. “Nothing.”

A tense silence fell. For all that she had rushed to open the door, now Edelgard stood at the threshold, unsure of what to do.

As if she could read her mind, Byleth said, “Should I come back later?”

Edelgard opened her mouth, paused, then shook her head. “No. You might as well come in.”

She only widened the door enough for Byleth to slip inside before shutting it once more. She did not lock it. There were no locks on any of the doors in her personal quarters; she forbade them. It was utterly irrational, the lingering fear. Even if it was to lock the monsters out, it felt too much like locking them in. 

There was little chance of being disturbed, unless an emergency arose. Her ladies-in-waiting knew better. Not even the newest addition to her staff would presume to intrude. Especially not after what had transpired here today.

Byleth had not ventured far into the bathroom. She stopped by the stone seat strewn with ivory velvet and cloth of gold. The imperial double-headed eagle had been carved into the seat’s low curule-like back, so that it appeared almost to be a throne, a miniature of the one Edelgard occupied in the grand throne room three stories below them. Edelgard had never sat in this one. She far preferred the cushioned seats in one of her sunlit studies. 

“Long day?” 

Byleth had always been difficult to read, and that had not changed much. One of her hands was resting on the back of the chair, but she was looking down at the mess of armour and clothing on the floor.

Edelgard sighed. “No longer than usual.”

That awkward silence again. It itched at her like a blanket made of rough-spun, lousy wool. 

It wasn’t that they had never been alone together before. They had. Edelgard could feel the ring Byleth had given to her not more than a week ago, strung from a chain around her neck beneath the remaining two layers she wore. The circle of metal warmed against her sternum. Much as she would have liked to wear it upon her finger, it would not fit beneath her gloves. And she could not risk certain parties knowing that she had a heart, or that it belonged so wholly to a single person.

Her uncle and those that slithered in the dark had much to answer for. She had never relished bloodshed, but a thrill shot up her spine at the thought of wielding the executioner’s axe while her uncle bowed his head over the block.

One day. Hopefully sooner rather than later. But not yet.

“Is everything alright?”

The question jerked Edelgard from her darkly-inclined reverie. Byleth was studying her with that piercing gaze, as though she were picking Edelgard apart into pieces that could be reassembled later.

Edelgard shook her head. “I’m -” she searched for the right word, “- impatient. That’s all.”

“I find that hard to believe. You are one of the most patient people I know.”

At that, Edelgard huffed out a bitter laugh. “If only you knew.”

Byleth’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly. It was so small a thing that Edelgard nearly missed it. Not long ago, even that much expression would have been all but impossible for Byleth to achieve. “You can tell me, if you’d like.”

For some reason that made her chest ache. Edelgard had to look away to compose herself. “Maybe -” she cleared her throat. “Maybe some other time.”

“As you like.”

Byleth never pushed, always waited. The irony did not escape her -- that Byleth would say such things when she herself was the most patient person Edelgard knew.

Byleth tilted her head towards the deep marble basin full of water. “In any case, I shouldn’t keep you from your bath. Would you prefer I sit here? What’s under this thing, anyway?”

“I - Please don’t touch that.”

Byleth’s hand fell without question from where it had been lifting up the sheet that covered the vanity. “Alright.” She cocked her head to one side, curious and waiting.

Edelgard had never been good at asking for things. She was accustomed to delivering orders, or otherwise manipulating her opponents to bend to her will. Fighting a war was easier than begging for scraps of affection from a woman she had pined after for years.

Her cheeks burned. Romance had never consumed her thoughts in the past. Not like this. Now, all it took were a few fumbling covert kisses in the last week to turn her into an indecisive wreck. Kissing Byleth in a shadow-clung corner of the palace was a far cry from asking her to do -- whatever this was. She did not rightly know herself, which only infuriated her all the more. 

Slowly, as if Edelgard might bolt at any moment, Byleth crossed the room to stand before her. She placed her hands on Edelgard’s stiff shoulders, a warm, gentle weight. Edelgard stood perfectly still, not daring to breathe, not daring to blink out of some irrational fear that it might shatter whatever illusion this must have been.

“Your ladies-in-waiting aren’t here.” Byleth trailed her hands down Edelgard’s arms. “Would you like me to help instead?”

The very thought made Edelgard’s mouth go dry. She had to swallow in order to speak. She almost made the mistake of explaining that her ladies-in-waiting never helped beyond this point, but cut herself off before doing so. “I would. Yes.”

Wordlessly, Byleth’s fingers curled around one of Edelgard’s wrists. Edelgard did not even realise she had clenched her hand into a trembling fist until Byleth lifted it, pressing a kiss against the back of her knuckles. The warmth of her mouth transferred through the layer of white silk. 

She had lost a glove once at the Monastery, and spent nearly an hour anxiously clenching her hand into a fist and tugging down the sleeve of her uniform until Hubert noticed the problem. He had promptly stripped off one of his own gloves and offered it to her with a courtly bow. She had not hesitated to put it on, and as she had pulled it over her wrist, shame and relief had washed over her in equal measure. The rest of the day was spent worrying if anyone noticed the discrepancy in her glove sizes, after which she rushed to the market at the first opportunity to purchase a new pair for herself. She had been delighted beyond measure when Byleth found the lost item weeks later, and returned it to her. 

Now, Byleth turned her hand over and gently unfurled each of Edelgard’s trembling fingers. When she began to slowly tug the glove free, Edelgard could feel herself tense, every muscle going taut. It took an unspeakable effort to not snatch her hand away, to not shrink back, arms cradled to her chest, and beg Byleth to leave.

The white silk fell away to reveal skin just as pale, and at the centre of her palm a puckered, circular scar as though something had been driven through her hand. Edelgard could not stop the shaking. She waited for some sort of reaction, some noise or comment, but Byleth gave away nothing. Long cool fingers stroked along the lines of Edelgard’s palm, moving up to push aside the fabric of her long sleeve and reveal the uneven bands of scar tissue around her wrist, orne from years of chafing against the manacles that had bound her underground.

Byleth dropped the glove to the floor. The other soon followed. Edelgard’s sleeves were billows of snowy cotton without the constraints of her armour, and Byleth unbuttoned them until they could be folded neatly back up to the elbow. The scars that extended all up Edelgard’s forearms were too uniform, too precise to be anything but deliberate. Byleth’s fingertips ghosted along the patterns of ropey scar tissue. She stopped when Edelgard flinched from the touch at the sensitive crook of her elbow.

“Is this alright?” Byleth murmured.

Edelgard had to swallow down the lump in her throat, and still her words held a rasping burr. “Yes. I’m just - I’m not used to being touched.”

Or seen. She spent most of her life clad in irons or in steel. The only skin she showed to the world was her face and the unblemished top of her spine. 

Byleth’s hands fell, and for a brief panicked moment Edelgard feared she may have given the impression she neither liked nor wanted this. Her mouth dropped open to speak, but words failed her when Byleth sank to her knees and placed a hand to the back of Edelgard’s leather-clad calf.

“May I?”

Edelgard did not trust herself to form words. Her only answer was to lift her heel from the ground, and allow Byleth to slowly work the knee-high kidskin boot from her leg, like peeling the rind of a fruit. Edelgard lost a bit of height with one boot gone. She sucked in a sharp inhalation when Byleth’s thumb stroked gently against the damp cotton stocking at the hollow of her ankle.

Byleth did not rush through anything. It seemed to take an age for the second boot to slip free. The only thing Edelgard could hear was her own uneven breathing. One of the flames on the opposite wall sputtered upon the wick, and Byleth reached beneath the hem of Edelgard’s frock for the clasp that held the stocking against her upper thigh. 

Edelgard temporarily forgot how to breathe, and she did not even have the excuse of the corset anymore. 

When undressing herself after her ladies-in-waiting had departed, Edelgard never gave any thought to ceremony. Undressing and bathing were and always had been exercises in shame. She would race to cover herself up once more, barely drying herself off before yanking a clean frock on, the dry cotton clinging to her still wet silhouette.

Byleth’s hands, roughened with callouses, brushed against the naked skin of her inner thigh, and Edelgard had to steady herself by gripping Byleth’s shoulder, tight. Of all the acts Edelgard had heard about or read about occurring between two people, this felt by far the most intimate. Byleth on her knees, revealing Edelgard piece by excruciating piece. By the time Byleth had dragged the stockings down her legs, Edelgard was clutching her shoulders like a lifeline, biting her lower lip, and praying for buoyancy in a sea of drowning heat. 

The scars stretched all along the column of Edelgard’s legs, terminating with the same circular scars at the tops of her feet as were in the palm of her hands, as though she had been affixed to a wooden structure by iron nails. Edelgard had screwed her eyes shut, trying to imagine she was not trapped in a room that felt too far underground to be located four stories in the air. 

Byleth’s shoulders gave way beneath her grip, and suddenly Edelgard had nothing to hold onto. There was a soft touch at the top of her foot. A hiss escaped her, and her eyes snapped open to find Byleth bowed and pressing a kiss to her ankle, where a pink line was scored into her skin. Byleth’s mouth followed the scar up, up, all along her calf and to the curve of her knee, until Edelgard had to clench her teeth to keep a whimper from escaping. 

Her frock was still partially laced shut, but it had slipped down one shoulder to reveal a network of scars. They intersected at the base of her sternum, branching out from her heart like the boughs of a tree, apple-red, or perhaps like a nest of serpents curling ‘round. 

Byleth paused to speak, and her words tickled against the skin of Edelgard’s thigh. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Praise isn’t really necessary,” Edelgard gasped.

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No.”

Byleth hummed a wordless note. For a moment she said nothing. Her fingers stroked along the webbing of scar tissue as if in admiration.

“I’m so glad,” Byleth whispered, her words slightly muffled against Edelgard’s leg. “I’m so glad you let me in.”

She was not speaking of this room alone. Edelgard’s fingers curled in her lash-dark hair. Byleth worked the frock over Edelgard’s hips, and pinned the fabric at her waist with her hands. The heat was suffocating. It must have been the marble tub still filling the air with drifts of steam, like eddies of water until the entire chamber seemed submerged. Edelgard could feel the flush darkening her skin, mottling her cheeks and neck a rosy hue.

Byleth kissed the notch in her hip, and Edelgard tightened her grip. One of Byleth’s hands trailed down to nudge aside one of Edelgard’s legs, a gentle encouragement to widen her stance. The frock draped across the backs of her knees. Edelgard felt a sense of unreality as she bent one knee to lift her foot just slightly off the floor.

It was difficult to remain still, when Byleth’s head moved between her legs. Her hands were fists against the back of Byleth’s head, holding her in place. The rest of the room might as well have not existed; it faded into a vast expanse of white marble and white noise. Edelgard hardly registered the echo of her own harsh panting. Byleth’s mouth was a constant heat, warm tongue moving ceaselessly against her. Edelgard squeezed her eyes shut so she would not have to see her own scarred legs bracketing Byleth’s black-clad shoulders.

She could not stop the jerk of her hips with every slow swipe of Byleth’s tongue, accompanied by a sharp gasp encloistered behind clenched teeth. They were enshrined in a golden-tinged mist that rolled about their ankles from a bath filled with holy water to anoint the last Emperor of Adrestia. Edelgard had never been one for prayer -- not for many years now -- but the sounds that escaped her could only be described as wordless pleas, until she came with a stifled cry.

When Edelgard’s thighs began to tremble, and she was half bowed and shaking, Byleth pulled away. Edelgard nearly staggered upon unsteady legs, but caught herself against Byleth’s shoulders. Byleth remained kneeling on the floor. It could not have been comfortable. The stone must have been cutting into her knees.

“Wh-What -?” Edelgard rasped. “What brought this on?”

Byleth hummed against Edelgard’s inner thigh. “Do I need a reason to want you?”

Swallowing thickly, Edelgard opened her eyes. Byleth’s cheeks were flushed, her mouth slick. A curl of dark hair was plastered to the side of her neck. For all that, her gaze was steady, focused.

Edelgard frowned. “You are awfully cool about this.”

“You’re wrong.” Byleth teased the skin of Edelgard’s thigh between her teeth. “I’m so nervous.”

Edelgard’s breath caught in her chest. “You could have fooled me.”

“Could I?” One of Byleth’s hands still cradled the back of Edelgard’s knee. Edelgard twitched when she traced a senseless pattern there with her fingertips. “I thought you might prefer me like this, based on your reactions this last week.”

“What do you -?” 

Edelgard did not finish that sentence. She had hoped Byleth would not notice how she had shied away anytime she tried removing her gauntlets and gloves. How convenient it was that they never had a moment of time to spend along together. How Edelgard always had some important duty she had to attend to without delay when their kisses had grown too heady. 

“Was I wrong?”

It took Edelgard a moment to reply. “No. But is this what you want?”

The corner of Byleth’s lips twitched in a small smile. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Edelgard gave a fistful of Byleth’s hair an admonishing little tug. “So flippant for one on their knees.”

That earned a soft laugh against her hip. Byleth grinned into her stomach, then rose to her feet. "Shall I bathe you as well?"

A thrill of fear shot down Edelgard's spine. "No," she said too quickly and too harshly. Angling her body away, she smoothed the frock about her knees once more, and added, "What I mean to say is: I would prefer you join me, instead."

Byleth’s expression softened. “I’d like that.”

The moment Byleth reached for the stays of her own outfit, Edelgard averted her gaze. Watching her undress felt too sacred to witness. She fumbled with the last laces of her frock before pulling it over her head. The ring she left hanging around her neck on its chain. She never took it off, even while sleeping. She did not look around while Byleth continued to disrobe -- bits of armour and cloth falling to the floor in heaps of black silk, black gorget, black breastplate. Instead, Edelgard hoisted herself into the bath using the stepping stool left behind by her senior lady-in-waiting.

The water lingered on the border of too hot. She slipped beneath the surface regardless, ignoring the way her skin prickled and reddened. Her pale hair darkened to an aged ivory in the water, and she hastily doused her head. As she rose back to the surface, Edelgard wiped the water from her face, raking a hand through her hair just as Byleth was using the stepping stool to join her. 

The basin was enormous. It would easily accommodate three or four people. Normally, Edelgard huddled in one corner as though it had been partitioned off like the chamber of a heart, or perhaps like a cell, inviolable. On the other hand, Byleth sprawled, her arms propped against the sides of the marble walls, and her legs extended so that they encroached upon Edelgard’s usual empty space. Slowly, Edelgard allowed her own legs to stretch out. While there was enough space they could have not touched at all, Byleth purposefully tangled their legs together and ran her foot along the back of Edelgard’s naked calf.

The water was murky with suds and fragrant oils. A few flower petals drifted between them, gathering at the edges of the basin. Byleth rubbed one white rose petal between thumb and forefinger. “I’ve never had a bath quite as nice as this before.”

“Mmm,” was Edelgard’s non-committal reply. Her mouth thinned. She had told Bess that she wanted no fanfare whatsoever where her baths were concerned. Scented oils were one thing, but flower petals were beyond the pale. 

Byleth was watching her curiously. She was mostly obscured by refractions in the water, but Edelgard’s gaze drifted down nonetheless. Edelgard would never understand how someone could be so confident in nothing but their own skin.

“I feel I owe you an apology.”

Byleth cocked her head. “What for?”

“Being so -” Edelgard flicked a rose petal away from herself, her nose wrinkled. “- unavailable.”

“You don’t need to apologise for that. I know you’re busy.”

“Yes, but I want to make time for you. For us.” 

There was something vaguely guilty in the way Byleth toyed with a lock of her own water-darkened hair. “I may have asked Hubert about your schedule in order to find out when would be the best time to -”

Edelgard’s eyes widened. “You -? You mean you told him that this was what you were going to -?”

“What? No!” Byleth sat up straighter in the bath, sending ripples throughout the water. “I just wanted to know when you might be free without bothering you.”

With a sigh, Edelgard tipped her head back so that her neck rested against the lip of the basin. “I am sure he has already put two and two together. It’s not like I have been particularly circumspect about us. Not as much as I should have, anyway.”

Byleth’s eyes were dark and intense. “I trust that he would never let anyone do anything that was against your best interests. Not even me.”

“Some people might say that sort of presence in one’s life is stifling and unhealthy.” And though Edelgard drawled, her mouth was quirked in a fond smile. 

“If Hubert thought his presence was detrimental to your health, he would fling himself off the highest tower in the capital.”

Edelgard made a face. “I really should talk to him about that.”

Byleth grinned. “Face it, El: he’s a lost cause.”

The use of her family pet name still sent a flood of warmth rushing through her that had nothing to do with the heat of the bath. Edelgard could feel her shoulders relax incrementally. “You’re probably right.”

The silence that settled over them lacked the stiffness that had been present before. Edelgard looked on indulgently while Byleth gathered as many rose petals as she could. She even sent a few drifting along in Byleth’s direction with a flutter of her fingers against the surface of the water. 

Not once did Byleth mention the scars. She had her own, after all, though none as extensive or deliberately placed as Edelgard’s. Hers were little nicks and cuts from years of mercenary work in the field, where access to the healing arts were far less easy to come by than they were in monasteries or palaces. Indeed, Byleth never once mentioned any aspect of Edelgard’s odd behaviour. 

It could not have been a lack of interest. Edelgard could see those dark eyes following the complex patterns of scar tissue. She could remember the way Byleth had lavished physical attention upon them not moments ago; the phantom touch of her mouth made Edelgard shiver at the mere memory. 

She wanted to know the story behind every sword, ever arrow or dagger that had marked Byleth’s skin. The desire for that intimacy of knowledge washed over her like the tide. It was suddenly, urgently important that Byleth know something about her that others did not -- not even Hubert -- and the words spilled from her like a confessional. 

“When I was in captivity,” Edelgard grimaced even as she said it; she hated nothing so much as being akin to a songbird behind bars, “there were very few avenues of resistance I could employ. I tried them all. Refusing to sit still during procedures. Refusing to perform tasks. Refusing to eat. Refusing to bathe. They made me, of course. Eventually.”

Force-feeding was a less than pleasant experience; Edelgard did not try that for long. The last of the list had persisted for weeks, however. At least, until her uncle finally ordered her to be bathed by guardsmen. They stripped her and dunked her in freezing water, their hands rough, pushing her head beneath the surface until she thrashed and came up gasping, half-drowned and shivering. After that incident, she was treated to sumptuous bath experiences by ladies-in-waiting -- their tongues all cut out, so they could not speak to her or of her -- as though her uncle were trying to train a dog with the lash and sweets both. 

Edelgard was studying the ripples her hand made across the surface of the water. She did not have the courage to look up when Byleth asked, “And did they...do anything else?”

At that, Edelgard snorted with wry laughter. “Nothing like what you’re thinking, no. I was too valuable a prize to be ‘sullied’ so to speak. Especially when they planned to stud me like a virginal mare. I imagine they still entertain such schemes."

Truth be told, one of the guards had dared to peek over his shoulder once while she disrobed. Her uncle had slit his throat. The blood had trickled across the stone floor until it lapped against her feet like the tide against the shore. She had tread bloody footsteps all the way to the bath. The water had lathered, pink and foamy, around her until she could not tell if it was the heat that dyed her skin a blushed coral, or something else. 

She dared to glance up now, and an awful chill washed over her. “Please don’t look at me like that.”

Byleth averted her eyes, choosing instead to scatter the petals she had gathered together like a white cloud. They skimmed across the water in every direction. “I really am looking forward to killing them once and for all.”

Edelgard managed a grim smile. “That makes two of us.”

Shaking her head, Byleth dipped her head beneath the water and began to lather her hair clean with a bar of flawless, ivory soap upon a silvered dish that Edelgard knew from experience smelled of cloves and fresh rainfall. She waited patiently for Byleth to finish, at which point Byleth scooted the soap along the floor of the basin towards her. 

Edelgard cleaned herself as she always did: with brisk and thorough efficacy. Suds clung to the raised ridges of her scars with every pass of the soap, bringing them into sharper relief against her pale skin. By the time she was finished however, Byleth had tilted her head back, her throat and chest bared. Edelgard was loath to hurry her; not when Byleth looked so at peace. 

She thought of all the ways it could have gone wrong. How much she had lost. How much more she could have lost. Not just kingdoms. Worse than nations. What she clung to -- a dog worrying a bone, lock-jawed and drowning -- but what still slipped away.

But for now, in this moment, at least she had this. The past she arrayed like a fan of knives, placing each memory with the blade pointed away as if in the hope they would not cut, and all the while her hands bled.

“Look at my hands,” Byleth had lifted her arms to inspect her hands above the water. “I look like I’ve been pickled in brine.”

In surprise, Edelgard glanced down at her own hands to find that her fingertips had gone pink and wrinkled from exposure to the water. She could not remember that happening since -- well, since before she had been forced to undertake the Crest procedures. She always took baths quickly, never lingering longer than absolutely necessary. 

“We should probably get out,” Byleth said even as she closed her eyes and sank down a little further, so that the water reached her neck. The motion meant their legs were entangled more fully together. Edelgard could feel a naked ankle rub against her outer hip. 

It was distracting enough to make Edelgard’s breath hitch. She let her hand wander down to stroke lightly against Byleth’s knee, watching for any reaction this might illicit. Byleth opened one eye, and flexed her leg beneath Edelgard’s touch.

For now, those who lingered in the shadows could wait. She had far better prospects in her immediate future.

Edelgard patted Byleth’s knee, then rose, dripping, to her feet. “Come along, then. Let us repair to another room.”

“Any room in particular?” Byleth asked, standing to follow.

Fluffy white towels were neatly folded into cubby holes inset along one wall. Edelgard crossed over to grab a few, one of which she tossed in Byleth’s direction. “I know of at least one that has a rather spectacular bed, if I do say so myself. And I know that of the two of us, only one has been properly taken care of this evening, which is -- quite frankly -- grossly unjust.”

“How very charitable of Your Majesty.”

Towel wrapped around herself, Edelgard strode over to Byleth. She had to rise up on her toes to kiss her, but by the time they parted, Byleth’s spine had bowed to accommodate her. Edelgard teased her thumb against Byleth’s lower lip, and murmured, "Let it not be said that I am not a generous Emperor."

--

NOTES:

I am aware that with my mention of farthingales and all that, Edelgard wouldn’t have been wearing a corset but a precursor called “stays.” I elected to stick with “corset” under the basis that I wanted my audience to know what the heck I was talking about.

[roman-writing]

A Study in Hospitality (2/?)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses / Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Marianne von Edmund

Rating: T

Wordcount: 7,886

Summary: There’s a new student at camp half-blood. Hilda, daughter of Aphrodite, has been tasked with showing her around. A Percy Jackson and the Olympians AU

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

"I heard about your little 'weed killer' accident." Claude made air quotes with his fingers. "Is that really the best you could do? Weed killer?"

Hilda was in the armoury. She was sharpening her favourite axe, which -- she had to admit -- was a brave moment for Claude to approach her. She slapped the power button to stop the wheel that spun the belt grinder, and tested the edge of the curved blade against the hair on her forearm. 

The hair didn't cut. The blade wasn't quite ready yet.

Lifting her personalised pink safety goggles away from her face, Hilda glanced over at Claude. "You know, it's funny you should ask about that, actually."

"Oh?" Claude leaned forward a bit. His eyes held a hungry gleam, the same he always got when he was curious about something that refused to immediately provide all its secrets.

"Yeah. I was just thinking about how it was none of your damn business."

Hilda slammed the goggles back into place, and flipped the switch to start the belt grinder again. Sparks flew as she expertly angled the blade of her axe against the grinder, making Claude jump back a step or risk singing his clothes.

Claude raised his voice slightly to be heard over the sound of grinding metal. “Oh, c’mon, Hilda! Weed killer? You really expect me to buy that?”

“Yup!”

“You have got to tell me. Not knowing is killing me.” 

“And you came to cry on my shoulder? Wow. You must really be desperate.” 

“Well, where is she now?”

Hilda shrugged. She paused to dip the axe’s blade in water before continuing to grind. “No idea. I haven’t seen her for a few days.”

“I thought Seteth had arranged your schedules so that you two shared everything together.”

“Yeah, and she’s just bailed on the back end of this week. And you know what? I respect that.” Hilda stopped the belt grinder again. She tested the blade, and deemed it suitably sharp for hacking off monster limbs. 

Claude was leaning against a nearby wooden pillar. He played with an arrow from one of the legion of quivers that lined the walls. The shaft twirled easily between his fingers. “Won’t you even tell me about what exactly Seteth told you to do.”

With a much put-upon sigh, Hilda perched the safety goggles atop her head. She turned the axe over so that the head was firmly on the ground, and she rested her elbow against the pommel. “Fine. Since you’re being such a pain. I’m supposed to be hospitable, or whatever.” 

“Sure, sure.” He used the arrow to gesture towards the surrounding armoury. “Which is why you’re here. Leaving her all alone. Makes sense.”

Her mouth opened, but every witty retort died on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes narrowed. “Hang on. Did Seteth send you?”

Claude gave her one of his signature lopsided grins, and held up his hands in surrender. The arrow dangled between his fingers. “You caught me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” 

“He wants you to prep Marianne for next week’s lessons.”

“Did he at least say where she was?”

At that, Claude shrugged. 

Groaning dramatically, Hilda tossed her gloves and protective glasses onto the nearby work bench. She then hefted the axe in one hand. A press of her fingers against key points in the long engraved handle made the axe fold into itself until it had turned into a pair of pink sunglasses, which she then perched atop her nose.  

When she turned to leave, she paused. Claude was still watching her as she glanced over her shoulder. “Hey, Claude. Have you ever known a Demeter kid whose magic kills flowers? By accident, I mean.”

His expression did not change a whit, but something keen flashed in his eyes. He feigned thoughtful contemplation, then answered, “No."

“Yeah,” Hilda began striding away. “That’s what I thought, too.” 

--

Of course, Marianne wasn't in Demeter Cabin. Hilda was beginning to think that Marianne never actually spent any time in her own damn cabin. Almost like she didn't feel at home there. It couldn't have been that the other Demeter kids were mean to her. They couldn't be mean to a fly. The idea that they could bully anyone, when they felt bad about saying something mean to plants -- like, really? plants? -- was laughable. 

But still. Regardless of why Marianne was never in Demeter Cabin, it was a pain in the ass. Hilda groaned, and stomped away. She checked the woods, the only place she had actually seen Marianne go to by choice. Which was weird in and of itself, because nobody liked the woods. They were dark, and damp, and literally crawling with monsters. Thankfully though, Marianne was not to be found there either. At least, not along the edges of it. 

And so it was that Hilda started the arduous task of working her way through every major site in camp half-blood. She interrogated the pegasi for a good ten minutes. Minty was particularly unhelpful, and told her that he had never heard of Marianne, which was clearly false. 

He did remember the carrots, though. Crystal clear memory of that. And did Hilda happen to have brought more perchance?

Fucking pegasi. Typical. 

As she was storming from one of the rear stalls however, a pair of quiet voices gave her pause. Quickly Hilda backpedalled, and hid behind the stall door.

“Did you bring the carrots I asked for?” Minty asked, sticking his head into her space.

“Fuck off,” Hilda hissed. 

“Wow. Rude. And in my own stall, too.”

She pushed his head away, and tried to listen to the voices drifting over from near the coach house, where the pegasi were draped in tack to carry chariots. When she peeked out to see if she could catch a glimpse, Hilda could just make out the slope of Seteth’s profile as he spoke to Marianne. 

“You are still struggling with your new environment, I see.”

“I’m sorry.”

Seteth sighed, “I know your childhood was sheltered. Your father enrolled you here because he wished you to understand what it was like to live among others. He tasked me with ensuring not just your safety and instruction, but also your personal development.” 

Marianne continued to hold her silence.

Seteth waited, then said, “I am talking about making friends.”

“I -” Hilda could hear Marianne swallow past an obstruction in her throat before she could speak. “I don’t know how to do that.”

Oh, come on. Even after Hilda had thrown her a friendship bone and everything? What more did a girl have to do? Write it out in a binding legal contract?

For a moment Seteth made no reply. Then he asked very softly, “Has anyone been -” he seemed to mull over the right word, “- inhospitable towards you?”

At that, Hilda bristled with indignation. He may have not mentioned her by name, but he didn’t have to; she could tell from his tone alone that he was referring to her. 

Inhospitable? As if!!

Marianne shook her head. “No. Everyone has been very kind.”

Hilda nodded along enthusiastically from her hiding spot, even though neither of them could see her.

“Hmm.” Seteth sounded like he did not believe her. “But if they weren’t, you would tell me?”

Silence.

“Marianne?”

“Yes,” Marianne said. 

“Good. That’s all I ask. Now, I shall leave you to your own devices. Remember to come to dinner this time, please. It is not good to skip meals, even for one such as yourself.”

Marianne gave no reply, but she must have given some indication -- Hilda could not see if she nodded from this angle -- for Seteth strode off in the direction of the armoury. He had to walk past her hiding spot, and she plastered herself against the wall. When she was sure he was gone, Hilda hesitantly leaned forward to peer out again.

“Oh! Hey, it’s that weird girl with the carrots!” Minty shoved his head and neck past Hilda to get a good look out the door, and in doing so he squished her against the wall even further. “Do you think she brought more?”

“If you step on my Loubotins, I will turn you into glue,” Hilda growled. Her sunglasses had been knocked askew on her face. 

“Your what?” Minty swung his head around, tilting it to look down. “Nice shoes, by the way. Very shiny.”

“Exactly.” 

She pushed him away, straightening her sunglasses and extracting herself from the stall. It took a great deal of skill to avoid any patches of pegasus dung on the ground. If Hilda had known she would’ve been hanging out in the stables today, she would’ve worn her work boots, which she had bought especially for these situations. 

Having successfully extracted herself from the stall without making a complete mess of everything, Hilda looked up. And Marianne had vanished. Poof. Like smoke. 

“Shit,” Hilda muttered. 

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” Minty said, not sounding sorry at all.

“No, not you!” 

Shooing him away, Hilda marched off towards Marianne’s last known location. The air smelled faintly rotten, but that may have just been pegasus droppings. It was difficult to tell.

She couldn’t have gotten far. Even by magical means. Magica had its limits, after all. Hilda individually tapped the high heels of each shoe against the dusty ground, frowning at a few smudges of stubborn dirt that required a bit more magic. Then, clean and fetching as ever, she set out once more. 

It made a bit more sense if Marianne was new to this whole demigod shtick. Some kids had a real rough time learning of what they were. Hilda wasn't one of those kids. Her older brother was a child of Aphrodite as well. Their father was something of a favourite of the goddess. Hilda had grown up knowing what she was, and how to use it.

For her, being a demigod was pretty damn great. And all those kids who struggled? Well, she was sympathetic, for sure. But she just couldn't relate.

Hilda found Marianne by the lake. She was sitting on a stretch of driftwood that looked like sun-bleached bone. Her elbows were tucked firmly into her sides, her hands clasped in her lap, watching a group of oreads and naiads playing. In her outdated formal attire, she looked like an antique doll that had been wound up with a spring-loaded mechanism.

Approaching on silent feet, Hilda waved a hand in front of Marianne's face and said in a sing-song tone, "Heyooo!"

Marianne started. She leaned away when Hilda plopped down on the log beside her. "Oh. It's you."

"You sound so enthusiastic to see me! I'm touched." Hilda placed a theatrical hand over her heart. She followed Marianne's gaze towards the group of nymphs. "They look like they're having a good time." 

“Yes. They do.” 

Marianne sounded a little wistful. On anyone else, the emotion would have been written clear as day across their face. Normally, Hilda could read people like an open book. But with Marianne, she had to really prise the book open. Like trying to read an old paperback when it was windy outside; the pages just kept trying to fold over one another until the book was shut. 

Good thing Hilda had the right kind of magic at her disposal. She didn’t know what Marianne must’ve looked like to everyone else. 

“You know,” Hilda drawled. She leaned back, and stretched her legs out before her. “I did promise to take you for a swim.”

Marianne’s gaze snapped down to her own feet. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt them.”

“Oh, pffft. It’s a big lake. There’s enough room for two more people. At least.”

At that, Marianne’s eyes wandered once more towards the waterline, where the lake lapped up against the pebbly shore. “I don’t really have any appropriate swimwear.” 

A wave of relief swept through Hilda. She grinned. “Is that the problem? You should’ve said so sooner! We can totally get you some new clothes!” 

“Where?” 

Hilda leaned in closer and lowered her voice as if telling a secret. “I have my ways. Alright, so. Wardrobe.” Turning sideways so that she faced Marianne, Hilda held her hands pressed together beneath her chin. “I notice you wear a lot of dresses. Which is totally fine. In fact, you look great in them.”

Marianne seemed more confused by praise than anything else. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome. Anyway, my point is, this week has just been, like, orientation stuff and chores, but next week is when classes start. Do you happen to have anything -- anything at all -- that’s more, you know -” Hilda tilted her hands so that her fingers were all pointing towards Marianne’s current outfit, “- athletic?”

Marianne mulled over the question for a moment. “I have a chiton.”

A chiton. Like, from honest to god Vogue 330BC.

“Oh, boy.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, Hilda said, “Okay. That’s fine. We can deal with that. We’ll just take you to the armoury. Two birds, one stone. And all that jazz.”

Marianne’s brows furrowed. “Why would the armoury have clothes?”

“It doesn’t. It’s just going to be our first stop. Right after you show me all the skeletons you have rattling around in your closet.”

At that, Marianne’s eyes widened. Her face, if it was at all possible, went even paler. “Wh - What? Why would you think I -? I don’t -!”

With a snort of laughter, Hilda rose to her feet. “It was a joke. Let’s head on over to Demeter Cabin. I want to see what sort of overhaul your wardrobe needs.”

It was a short trek to the cabins square. Marianne let Hilda do the knocking. She tried to hide behind Hilda despite the fact that it was her own damn cabin, while Hilda banged her fist against the ivy-clutched door. 

"Looks like nobody's home," Hilda said, when they received no response. She turned to Marianne, then gestured towards the door. "Would you do the honours?"

"Oh. Sure." 

Marianne reached past her, and grasped the door handle. The woodgrain darkened for an instant -- or maybe that was just the passage of a cloud between the sun and earth -- before the door creaked open. Hilda frowned down at the handle, but now it looked perfectly fine. 

"Huh."

"What's wrong?" Marianne asked. 

"Oh, nothing," Hilda said. She pushed the door open, and it swung inwards. "Though I don't know why I'm the one going first."

"Politeness?" Marianne said after a second of thought. 

"Nice try. But I'll buy it, I guess."

The inside of Demeter cabin was awash with sunlight. The wooden walls were overgrown with plants, and vines trailed from the rafters. The bunk beds grew from the floors. Bundles of herbs were hung to dry from the windowsills. Warmth wrapped up the space like a cosy fireplace in winter. It was like stepping into a cottage in another world after days of long hikes across the mountains. Hilda had the sudden urge to curl up with a cup of floral tea, and maybe sleep for a week. 

In other words, it could not have less resembled Marianne if it tried. 

When Marianne followed, stepping into the cabin after Hilda, the door shut on her heels like a dog snapping at her calves. She started, her shoulders hunching, but she tried to mask the motion by clearing her throat. 

"There was," Marianne said in the most unconvincing manner possible, "a - uh - breeze."

Hilda nodded slowly. "Right."

She had to internally remind herself that she was supposed to be hospitable. Accommodating. And also that she was supposed to be looking over a wardrobe, which was actually far more exciting a prospect. 

Hilda turned back to the cabin. "So, which station is yours? Let me guess." Closing one eye, she pointed a finger and trailed it around the room as if trying to lock onto a target. She stopped when she was pointing at a bed all the way in the back corner, shrouded in the only pool of shadows in the whole place. "It's that one."

"How could you tell?"

"I have a gift for these things," Hilda said dryly. 

She strode across the room until she reached Marianne's station. A chest of drawers leaned lopsidedly against the wall, and there was a bar for Marianne to hang some clothes out in the open. 

Hilda pointed at the chest of drawers before touching it. "Can I -?"

Sitting down on the edge of the bed as though unsure if it even belonged to her, Marianne nodded. 

Hilda opened drawers. She rummaged. She was very good at rummaging. At least, she normally was. In this instance however, there was very little to rummage through. 

A few stockings. Some old-timey pantaloon things. Was that a petticoat? At least that explained how Marianne's skirts always managed to maintain such excellent shape all the time. 

A few more sets of dresses were hung from the bar. Hilda pulled each back to get a better look at them. She had only seen Marianne wear two since her arrival. And always Marianne wore a gold pendant strung from a white ribbon around her neck. No other jewelry or accessories. Two of the other dresses were far more elaborate. Not in their cut -- they all made her look like an old Christian priest -- but in their fabric and embroidery. Heavy velvets with fine hands. Needlework in the richest gold that shimmered along every edge. Like she had expected to attend a ball, or an emperor's court. 

"Is this everything?" Hilda asked. She still held onto the edge of one of the fine gowns, stretching the hem of its skirt, which rippled like black water in the afternoon light. 

"Mostly." Marianne leaned over and pulled from beneath her pillow a set of pajamas which were an eggshell blue so pale they appeared almost white. 

Or, hang on. Not pajamas. A nightgown. With an ankle-length hem, and a lace collar, and sleeves gathered into loose ruffles at the wrist. 

Hilda let the dress drop. Its heavy velvet hems swung from its hanger. "Okay. I lied about the armoury being our second stop. We need to go next door stat."

"Alright?" 

Marianne appeared puzzled, but she rose to her feet, and followed Hilda from Demeter cabin. It was a hop, skip, and a jump over to Aphrodite Cabin, which only had Sylvain lazing about in it, pretending to be sleeping. Hilda swatted at him with a pillow until he -- and the girl hiding under his bed -- left. 

"There," Hilda tossed the pillow back onto Lorenz's bed, and walked over to her own bunk. "Now that we're alone, you can try on some of my stuff."

Marianne remained standing while Hilda pawed through her own dresser, which was literally overflowing with clothes. Shoes were piled up in a mountain beneath the bunk bed, and an additional series of bars had been strung up for the multiplication of raw stuff in Hilda's wardrobe. 

Tossing various pieces of clothing across Lorenz's nearby bed without a care for his personal space -- he wasn't here; he wouldn't care unless he found out -- Hilda said, "You won't fit them perfectly, but it's better you have something for next week until I can get you some stuff in your own size. Try some of those on, and let's see how you go."

For a moment, there was silence behind her. Then, the gentle rustle of fabric. She could hear the slump of cloth to the ground, but did not look around until Marianne gently cleared her throat.  

Hilda turned. She cocked her head to one side and scrunched up her nose. On her, the black track pants and branded t-shirt combo were trendy in a casual kind of way -- she could make anything look good just by virtue of proximity to herself. On Marianne however, the track pants stopped well above her bare ankles. Marianne stooped and tugged at the hem of the t-shirt in an attempt to cover her stomach more. If she straightened to her full height, the barest glimpse of skin at her waist would have been visible. 

At least it would have, if not for the fact that Marianne had opted to wear an additional long-sleeved, high-collared turtleneck beneath the shirt. And she still wore that weird gold pendant over it as well. The entire effect made her appear gangly and out of place, like she had experienced a sudden growth-spurt. All knees and elbows. 

“It’ll just have to do for now,” Hilda sighed. She waved towards the small pile of clothes that she had accumulated on Lorenz’s bed. “Keep them. Wear them. Return them. Or don’t. Whatever.”

“Are you sure?” Marianne asked. She was still fiddling with the end of the shirt, twisting one of her hands in the fabric. 

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get some more clothes in for you late next week. Luckily, you’re on the blue team.”

“Why is that lucky?”

“Because you look great in blue. Also because that means we’re on the same side. I mean -” Hilda plucked at her own blouse. “I look way better in red, but that would require me to cooperate with the Ares boys. So, you know. Needs must.” 

“Could you please -?” Marianne made a twirling gesture with her fingers. 

“What?” Hilda blinked. Then it hit her. “Oh! Sorry! Yeah.”

She turned back around, and could hear the whisper of fabric against skin. She removed her sunglasses, and toyed with them. She polished the pink lenses on the edge of her blouse. It would only take a flick of her wrist to extend them into an axe once more. Which reminded her.  

“Hey, do you have a weapon?” Hilda asked, perching the sunglasses back upon her nose. She remained facing her own bunk bed and closet explosion across the ground. 

“I have a sword,” said Marianne.

“Oh, good! You can use that during training exercises and classes, then.”

“No.”

Hilda paused. She had to resist the urge to sneak a peek over her shoulder; it was so much easier to read people when she could actually look at them. And Marianne was hard enough to read with magic, let alone without visual cues. “No, as in: no, you are unable to use a sword? Or no, as in: no, you are unable to use that sword?”

More shuffling and soft cloth noises. For a moment, the only reply was the creak of a floorboard as Marianne shifted her weight from foot to foot, until finally she admitted, “The second one. And you can turn around now.”

Hilda did so. Marianne was back in her own dress. Her hair was still a disaster of a messy bun. 

“Okay. Cool. Cool cool cool. We’ll just get you a different sword, then. Or maybe a scythe,” Hilda joked. “Just to make your mother proud.”

"My mother?" Marianne repeated, her brows screwing up in confusion. Then her eyes widened. "Oh! Yes. I mean - um - of course. Demeter. My mother."

Alright, that was just plain suspicious. And obvious. For being such a mystery, this girl sure was a really really bad liar.

Hilda feigned nonchalance. "And your father?"

"Oh, well, he's -" Marianne pointed to the ground beneath their feet, and Hilda's eyes widened in understanding.

"Sorry," Hilda said with a grimace. 

"It's alright."

"Who was that guy, then? The one that dropped you off in the limo?"

"Oh, him." Marianne wrung her hands together. "That was my adopted father. In a sense. It's complicated. He's a - well - a banker? Sort of. We don't really need the money, but he primarily handles loans during his day job. With - um - big stakes."

“Sure.”

So, Claude had been on the mark. She was a rich heiress. Ugh. He was going to be so insufferable when he found out. What a pain.

Wait. It also meant she was an orphan. Half-orphan. That counted, right? Did that mean they both won the betting pool? 

Marianne shuffled her feet nervously. As if on cue, something clinked to the ground. Hilda looked down. A few coins scattered around, fat and gold and gleaming, as though they had spilled from Marianne's pocket. Marianne flushed, her cheeks going pink. Quickly she crouched down, and began scraping together the coins from the ground. 

One of the coins rolled towards Hilda, coming to a halt by her feet. She bent down to pick it up, but hesitated before touching it, though she could not explain why. The coin seemed to resist her fingers, like it weighed far more than it should. Its face was worn smooth, as though from years of being rubbed by an anxious thumb in someone’s pocket. Upon it Hilda could just make out the emblem of a disfigured trident with only two prongs instead of three. When she turned the coin over, the other side bore the symbol of a cornucopia.

Or maybe it was a bearded face. Honestly, it was so time-worn she could barely tell.  

Hilda straightened. "You - uh - you dropped this."

"Thank you," Marianne mumbled. 

She held out her hand, so that Hilda could give it back without touching her. The coin fell into the centre of her palm with a heavy thud. She closed her fingers, and the coin vanished. Like some sort of mortal magic trick. 

Alright. That was enough weirdness for one day. Hilda was going to make this conspiracy-theory bullshit go back to normal if it killed her. 

Hilda squared her shoulders and marched over to Lorenz’s bed. “C’mon. Let’s go gear you up.”

She helped Marianne gather up all the clothes she was lending her, and carry them over to Demeter Cabin. And after that, she dragged Marianne over to the armoury to pick out some basic armour and a new sword. Marianne thanked her about twenty times on the way. Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration. But she still thanked Hilda way too much. It was enough to make Hilda feel uncomfortable. 

Couldn't a girl just be nice for the sake of being nice? And for the sake of a good grade? 

"It's fine. Don't mention it. No, really," Hilda said, adding a bit of nervous charmspeak into her words. "Don't."

The magic washed over Marianne, but she merely blinked. "Okay. Sorry."

Now, that was just plain weird. Titans like Seteth, and pegasi, and major gods, sure. They were immune to Hilda's charms. But -- and she didn't mean to toot her own horn -- but she really was Very Good at charmspeak. The best, even. Better than her brother anyway, and he could convince a billionaire to part with their last dollar.

Apparently however, Marianne was utterly immune. 

Hilda dropped a heap of leather armour onto Marianne's bed. "Alright. Well. I'll see you later."

--

The last thing Hilda wanted to do on a hot afternoon was sit out in the sun and work. Toil, even. This was officially in the 'toiling' category. Overhead the sky was a blue so pale it hurt to look at with the naked eye. The sun wasn't even that high up yet, but already Hilda could feel a bead of sweat gathering between her shoulderblades. Her bra would need to be peeled off later today. Ugh. 

She leaned back on her hands. She, along with a host of other students all in her age group, were gathered together in the amphitheatre. The stone offered no respite from the sun's merciless heat. Pale marble burned beneath her hands and through the sheer fabric of her very short shorts. Hilda did her best to make sure the naked skin of her thighs did not actually touch stone. 

Professor Manuela was delivering some sort of instructions to the class. Hilda wasn't really listening. She lent half and ear to the usual drivel about health and safety or whatever, and cast the rest of her attention towards complaining bitterly under her breath.

"I mean -- really -- we can't, like, opt out of these things?" she grumbled. "If I throw Dimitri onto his back, that means I should be exempt from every practice until the end of time."

"You haven't thrown Dimitri onto his back, though," Claude pointed out. 

"Hmph. Details. Details." 

Dimitri himself, the head of Ares cabin, sat a few rows in front of them. Their conversation passed right over his head. Which was lucky, really. He had a calm exterior, but Hilda knew better. She'd seen that wrathful streak of his in the forest once. 

To be fair, there had been a few big scary monsters involved, and he had single-handedly staved off half of them without any regard for his own personal safety. So, like, wrath it up, War Boy.

Manuela had stopped her pacing, and was now contemplating her students. She pointed at two of them to be the first sacrifice of the day to the arena, and Hilda almost had a heart attack when Manuela pointed in her direction. 

"Mr. Riegan, if you please," Manuela said, then pointed at Dimitri. "And Mr Blaiddyd. Could you both please come down for our first demonstration?"

Hilda breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank fuck." She slapped Claude on the shoulder as he rose to his feet. "Try not to lose a limb!"

Claude flashed her a broad beaming smile, as well as a middle finger. She returned the smile and waved cheerfully as he sauntered down the steps towards the arena floor, drawing his bow from his shoulders as he went. 

"Um -?" said a soft voice beside her.

Hilda half jumped out of her skin. She had forgotten Marianne had been sitting to her left this whole time. It took all of her vast reserves of skill to make a graceful recovery. She lowered her pink sunglasses down the bridge of her nose so she could meet Marianne's eye. "Sup?"

At least today Marianne somewhat blended into the rest of the group. She was wearing a set of clothes Hilda had given to her, while doing her best to cover as much skin as possible. She clutched her new bronze sword between both hands, the leather scabbard well oiled and tended, even if it was plain. She tilted the sword a little. “When you mentioned we would be using these in classes and things, what you meant to say was -?”

Hilda nodded towards where Claude and Dimitri were squaring off under Manuel’s instruction. “You know. Fighting monsters, and sparring, and stuff.”

Marianne’s grip on the scabbard tightened. “What if someone gets hurt?”

With a shrug, Hilda dismissed the idea. She pushed her sunglasses back into place. “There’s usually someone around with healing magic. The worst I’ve seen is a scratch or two. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” 

In the arena, Claude managed to hold his own for a surprisingly long time. Too bad an open arena really wasn't suited to his fighting style. Had there been places for him to hide and use the geography to his advantage, he would've won. No question. 

As it was, he peppered Dimitri with blows and arrows from a distance until, with a roar, Dimitri closed the distance between them. Hilda gave a sympathetic wince as Dimitri's spear swept Claude's legs out from under him, and he fell onto the ground with an audible thump. 

"Ooooh that's going to leave a bruise," she said, inhaling a sharp hiss of breath when the butt of Dimitri's spear swung down. "Not the face! Not the face!!"

Claude rolled out of the way, and the blunted spear end smacked against the dusty ground of the arena. Manuela called the sparring session to a halt, awarding tips and pointers as she saw fit. She had to go up to Dimitri and place a hand on his shoulder to stop him from stalking after Claude. 

The wild look in Dimitri's eyes faded, and he lowered his spear. Then he lowered his head to Claude, sweeping his hand to his heart and murmuring something Hilda couldn't hear. An apology probably, based on the way Claude waved him off with a grin. 

As the two of them shook hands, Manuela's eyes sought out two more contenders from the crowd. Hilda ducked down as far as she could in an effort to avoid her gaze. It worked. 

"Miss Ordelia, and Miss -" Manuela cocked her head. "-von Edmund. If you would both be so kind."

In the front row, Lysithea rose to her feet without hesitation. She bore no weapon, nor did she reveal one as she stepped out into the arena, dusting off her skirt. Meanwhile, Marianne shot Hilda a panicked look. 

"Go on!" Hilda urged. "Kick her ass!"

Marianne grimaced. Or perhaps that was her trying to smile. Still, she loomed to her feet, holding onto the sword as though she had already forgotten which end she was supposed to point at the enemy. When she started to pick her way down the stairs, Hilda scooted over to join a few of the Hermes and Hephaestus kids who sat nearby. 

"This should be interesting," said Ignatz. His leaned forward in his seat, his thick spectacles refracting the light. "I hope Lysithea doesn't completely wipe her off the map."

At that, Hilda lifted her hands to her mouth and called out, "Don't go easy on her, Marianne!"

Marianne's shoulders hunched up a little more around her ears, but her stride lengthened; she walked with a bit more purpose. But only a bit. 

"Yeah!! You can do it!" Raphael yelled beside Hilda, as eager for a brawl as any Ares kid despite the fact that his father was Hermes. Then he lowered his voice to a rumble, and asked, "So, who is that? I’ve seen her around, but -?"

"It's the new girl in Demeter Cabin. Though Claude has his doubts about that," Ignatz explained, not looking away from where Marianne and Lysithea were squaring off; Marianne was tugging her new sword free and placing the scabbard carefully on the ground. 

Hilda turned to the both of them. “Do either of you know what she even does in her free time, anyway? Because I’ve pretty much only ever seen her at meals, or during chores.”

Ignatz shrugged. "Prays, mostly."

With a snort, Hilda said, "Who prays when you can just ring up mom, and talk to god?"

"Apparently she does."

"Well -” Hilda was at a loss. “What the hell."

"I saw her talking to animals the other day," Raphael added.

Hilda gave him a flat stare. "You're joking."

"Nah, I swear! She was talking to a bird!"

“Is that even something Demeter kids do? Talk to animals?”

He shrugged.

"What kind of bird?" asked Hilda. 

"I dunno." Raphael scratched at his broad chin. "An owl? It was up on a branch, and it looked like it was listening when she talked."

“What is she? A child of Athena now? Auuugh!!” Hilda let her head drop into her hands. Her voice mumbled against her palms. “Tell Claude I give up.”

“Tell Claude what now?” said a familiar voice beside her; he had returned from his sparring match. 

“You win,” she groaned, dislodging her sunglasses so that she could rub at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “You’re right. Marianne’s an unknown entity. Forever. Mystery solved. You’re welcome.”

Claude patted her on the back. The side of his face was already blooming with a fresh bruise. “I’m sure we can get to the bottom of this. Now, move over, won’t you?”

Hilda made a face, and shuffled over. 

Down in the arena, Marianne lost before either she or Lysithea could break a sweat. But rather than appear disheartened, Marianne seemed relieved at the outcome. She sheathed her sword, while Lysithea frowned down at her own hands then at Marianne, as though puzzled by something. When Manuela instructed them to shake hands, Marianne instead inclined her head in a weird bow, like the one Seteth had offered her upon her arrival at camp. Lysithea, utterly flummoxed, returned the gesture, but continued to shoot Marianne funny looks as they walked back to their seats. 

It certainly wasn't the most invigorating sword-fighting Hilda had ever seen. That was still reserved for Petra when she was filled with battle-lust during a mission to the outside world -- a sight Hilda would never forget; it haunted her dreams. In a good way. 

But while it wasn't a flashy show of strength and skill, there could be no doubt that Marianne had some skill with the blade. Lingering beneath the surface. Like looking at something at the bottom of a fast-flowing stream, it was distorted yet in plain sight. 

Hilda opted to not mention anything, when Marianne returned to sit beside her. Instead offering enthusiastic praise -- which was taken up by Raphael -- and a high-five -- which was also taken up by Raphael, since Marianne still refused to touch people. 

“You went easy on her,” Hilda said, loudly enough for Lysithea to hear. Lysithea glowered, but made no reply. 

But Marianne only said, “She is very magically talented.”

Which wasn’t denying what Hilda had said at all. 

--

Nothing at all remarkable happened over the course of the next week or two. Classes. Chores. More classes. More chores. Boring. Unless you counted cool-headed, snide Hubert screaming like a little girl during pegasus-riding training. 

Hilda would have to make sure to actually give Minty some carrots for that.

Midway through the third week of camp, Hilda and the others gathered in the amphitheatre for some magic sparring lessons under the beady eye of the resident pedantic satyr and overall magic enthusiast, Hanneman. Hilda seated herself midway up the steps, confident that she wouldn’t be called upon for any demonstrations. 

Sure, she had magic. But Hanneman always liked his magic big and loud. The kind where you flung explosions, and branches, and ice, or whatever at each other in the arena. Hilda’s kind of magic involved batting her eyelashes so effectively that the enemy just dropped their guard, leaving an excellent opening for her to kick them into the stratosphere. And for some inexplicable reason that magic wasn’t good enough for public demonstrations.

Not that Hilda was complaining. Far from it. She put her sunglasses on, propped her feet atop the step in front of her, and settled in for an afternoon snooze. 

Of course, Hanneman called upon some of the Athena kids first. Then moved along to a few Hephaestus kids. The usual nonsense. Fire. Sparks. War magic. Scorched craters in the arena ground. Yawn.

But as the latest student to perform a demonstration was sitting back down, Hanneman turned his attention towards someone new. 

"Miss Edmund," Hanneman said with a gesture for Marianne to stand beside him. "I understand you have some talent in earth magic."

Well, that was news to Hilda. The last time Hilda had seen Marianne perform magic, it had resulted in everything in a ten meter radius turning to withered ash. One look at Marianne’s face only confirmed it, however. She was doing that thing where she hunched up like a hermit crab hiding in its shell. 

“I’m not sure if -” Marianne started to say, but Hanneman shook his horned and bespectacled head. 

“None of that now. This isn’t a sparring match, so there’s no danger to you or anyone else.”

"But -" 

"You cannot be exempt from everything, my dear," Hanneman added, scolding lightly. He waved for her to join him again.

Marianne hesitated. She looked over at Hilda, who flashed a feeble thumbs-up. That seemed to be all the persuasion Marianne needed, as though she would only do what Hilda approved of in this situation. Or perhaps as if she were hoping Hilda would save her.

Hilda did not realise it might have been the latter until it was far too late.

Marianne slouched to Hanneman's side. He directed her to face the others, so that she wilted beneath the full attention of the amphitheatre. 

Gesturing towards their feet, he said, "No need to fear. I have known many children of Demeter during my time here. Just focus on the earth, and it will answer."

Her hands were clenched into fists at her side. She did not move. Her gaze darted from side to side, before finally she squeezed her eyes shut, and held out her hand. 

Absolutely nothing happened. For a long time. Hilda could hear someone in the row behind her yawn. The birds were chirping happily away in the distance, until suddenly they weren't. 

Hilda sat up straighter. The back of her neck prickled. An odd silence settled over the amphitheatre. Like sound-cancelling headphones. Like being plunged beneath water. A pressure rising up like the tide until it seized everything in sight. 

And beneath them, a faint rumble. 

"That's it," said Hanneman, encouraging yet calm. "Don't force it. Just ease the plants out, and they should grow."

Hilda had been around the magic of Demeter kids before. Hell, just last week she had convinced Mercedes to save her bacon with those flowers. This was nothing at all like that. 

Marianne's eyes remained squeezed shut, as though she were anticipating the blow of an open hand. Her outstretched fingers trembled, and suddenly the earth erupted beneath her feet. Fissures split the surface with a sound like thunder, cracks extending in every direction. Some of the other students leapt to their feet, and scrambled back as the ground yawned open. It swallowed up columns, great chunks of marble and debris falling into a mephitic chasm that continued to widen. 

Hilda grabbed another student, who almost went careening into the chasm, hauling him back onto solid rock. In the arena Hanneman was yelling. Marianne's face was screwed up in a sustained flinch. When he grabbed her by the shoulder, she jerked. And in a flash of eerie light, Hanneman was flung backwards. His body crashed into the side of a pillar, and the ground went still.

Plumes of dust distorted the air. People coughed and waved, trying to see through the murk. From here, Hilda could just make out Marianne with her hands lifted to her mouth in horror. 

"Sorry!" she said, over and over. "I'm sorry!"

Marianne rushed over to Hanneman, reaching out to touch him, but stopping herself from doing so. His only response was to groan something wordless. Something dark matted his grey hair, and one of his curled horns had snapped, oozing red. 

The dust began to settle, and with it silence. Everyone stared. Marianne seemed to shrink before their very eyes. Before anyone could speak, she turned and fled. The moment she was gone, pandemonium broke loose. A few of the students raced over to Hanneman, Mercedes foremost among them, her hands already aglow with a healing spell. 

Claude looked at Hilda. "Child of Demeter, huh?"

Hilda pursed her lips. "Now's really not the time, Claude."

"On the contrary," he gestured to the gaping wound in the ground, splitting the amphitheatre nearly in twain. "I think now is the perfect time to be asking these questions." 

A pillar crumbled and crashed to the ground. Hilda winced. “Okay. Yeah. Fine. But I’m going to go find her before we start debating.”

“Good luck! Try not to get swallowed up by another freak earthquake.”

Already, Mercedes was helping Hanneman to his feet. Or -- hooves. Same thing. Another student, a red-headed Athena kid by the name of Annette, was repairing his spectacles, and handing them over for him to don. Before anyone could notice her absence, Hilda slipped away in the ensuing chaos.

Outside of the amphitheatre, Marianne was nowhere to be seen. With a sigh, Hilda started off towards the woods. 

When Hilda finally found her, Marianne was perched atop a branch halfway up a tree. She was talking quietly, but when Hilda approached, she fell silent. An extra set of eyes peered from the branches above her, wide and golden. An owl. Early evening shadows gathered around the woods, clustering around Marianne as though she were a magnet for twilight. She hugged her knees to her chest, and sat, completely still. 

The owl took flight when Hilda drew too near. It vanished into the surrounding trees. 

Hilda placed her hands on her hips, and craned her neck back to look up. “How the hell did you even get up there?”

There were no branches between the ground and the branch Marianne sat upon. And that branch was a good twelve feet in the air. Maybe more. 

Marianne peered over her knees down at Hilda. “Why did you follow me?”

“Well, that seems like a weird question.” Hilda gestured at where Marianne sat. “Then again, you are halfway up a tree after having turned some of the amphitheatre into rubble, so. Y’know. If it walks like a duck and acts like a duck.”

Marianne stared. “Then,” she said slowly, “it climbs trees?”

Hilda couldn’t keep a snort of laughter at bay. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“That satyr -?” Marianne asked. “Is he -?”

“Who? Hanneman?” Hilda scoffed. “He’s fine. Satyr’s have notoriously thick skulls. It would take more than that to kill him.” She beckoned. “Now, can you come down? I’m going to get a crick in my neck.” 

That only seemed to make Marianne curl in upon herself more. If anything, the branch looked further up now, though Hilda had no idea how that could have been possible. 

"You shouldn't spend so much time around me. Bad things happen around people who spend too much time with me. And I -" Marianne swallowed. Then she mumbled against her knees, "I think you're nice."

"Well, that's awfully sweet of you. Really. But I think I'll be fine."

"Hilda -"

"Listen. I'm a half-blood. Apart from your demigod step-father, all the people you spent time with must've been mortal, right? I’m tougher than I look. Now, come down, and we can go back to your cabin. I won’t even drag you to the dining pavilion. In fact,” Hilda wheedled, her voice lilting into a sing-song tone. “I’ll go get you a platter and bring it over, so people don’t stare at you. If that’s what this whole fleeing into the woods thing is even all about.”

For a moment there was silence as the offer was considered. Nervously, Marianne tugged at the long sleeves of the shirt Hilda had given her. “Can you - Can you turn around? I don’t want to do it while you’re watching.”

Truth be told, Hilda had been anticipating needing to catch her on the jump down. But with a bemused shrug, Hilda turned around on the spot. Behind her, she could hear the faintest rustle of the wind through trees, or perhaps a draught flickering through torches along a dimly lit corridor. When she turned back around, Marianne was sitting on the ground in the exact same position she had been in while atop the branch. Knees curled up to her chest. Hands firmly chained about her ankles.

Hilda held out her hand as a silent offer to help Marianne to her feet. To her utter shock, Marianne actually took it. Her fingers were soft and very very cold. 

Hilda tightened her grip, and hauled Marianne upright. “Geesh. You’re freezing.”

Immediately Marianne pulled her hand away, clenching it into a fist at her side. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” Hilda tilted her head towards the direction of camp. “C’mon. Let’s go back.”

[roman-writing]

two, across (8/8)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Lysithea von Ordelia

Rating: T

Wordcount: 14,256

Summary: Lysithea can barely keep afloat under the workload of giving undergrad lectures and finishing off her PhD thesis. Meanwhile Dr. Hilda V. Goneril is somehow both the laziest person as well as the most successful young professor she has ever known. It’s absolutely aggravating.

Author’s Note: Please be aware that one of the previous chapters has adult content, but that this chapter does not.

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

According to Hilda -- whose opinion is the only one that counts in this matter, thank you very much -- they have been dating for over a year. It's very important that they've been dating this long, because Hilda has always refused to bring anyone home if she hasn't been dating them for at least a whole year. Meeting the family is no joke. Especially when it's her family.

They are big. They are loud. They are legion. And they are big. Did she already say they were big? Well, they are.

"Jesus, that man is big," Lysithea mutters under her breath.

Hilda glances around the airport terminal, and immediately spots him. It’s difficult not to. His head and shoulders stick out above the rest of the crowd waiting for loved ones to disembark. 

He wears the same faded plaid and jeans combo from forever ago. Even though Hilda knows from experience that the clothing size is all XXL, he still manages to give the appearance that his broad shoulders and biceps will burst through the seams at the slightest provocation.

He sees her, and waves.

Returning the wave, Hilda sighs. She adjusts her pink-lensed sunglasses, and shoulders both her and Lysithea’s bags. “Yeah. That’s him alright.”

Hilda begins to stride through the crowd towards him. Lysithea trails along in her wake. “Wait. Seriously? That’s your brother?”

“I’m, like, ninety-nine percent sure.”

When they get close enough, Holst envelops Hilda in a hug that lifts her a good foot off the floor, crushing the air from her lungs. She grunts.

“It’s good to see you!” He places her back on the ground, but doesn’t let go of her shoulders. His brow furrows, and he gives her a once over. “Are you not eating enough? Look at you. Skin and bone.”

“Lay off, would you? You sound like Uncle Herrick.” Hilda shrugs his hands off, so she can readjust the bags before they fully slip down her arms.

“You know he and everyone else want to come over this weekend, right?”

“That better be a joke, Holst.”

“You rarely visit, and everyone wants to see the menagerie. Who am I to tell them they can’t see you?”

“I told you: no cousins! No uncles! Just you and dad!” As she lists them off, she drives a finger against one of his bulging pecs, and glowers up at him. “You two are enough to scare away potential suitors as it is.”

Holst is entirely unrepentant. “If they can’t handle me and dad, then there’s no way they could survive you.”

“Oh, fuck off.” 

Throughout the entire exchange, Lysithea has been standing to the side, watching them, silent. When Holst’s head swings in her direction, she blinks owlishly. 

Everything Lysithea thinks, she wears on her face. Every thought. Every passing notion. Even from a distance, Hilda can always tell what's running through her head. If a student asks a question that Lysithea thinks is dumb, her tiny shoulders will hunch up around her ears like she's trying to physically restrain herself from saying aloud what she really thinks.

Hilda likes to play a game. It is a dangerous game. One that involves saying increasingly outrageous things just to see what new expression it might elicit on Lysithea's face. 

So far, she is winning.

Right now, Lysithea looks belligerent. Her lower jaw is held forward the way it does when someone tall doesn’t notice her existence, and nearly walks over her. Hilda had seen that happen once in a grocery story. The man had fled from Lysithea’s wrath like a dog with its tail between its legs, while Hilda had gleefully witnessed the whole thing from the sidelines. 

Holst must notice the look in Lysithea’s eyes, too, for he holds out his hand almost warily. “You must be Dr. Ordelia. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Holst.”

Immediately, the tension melts from Lysithea’s shoulders. She clasps Holst’s hand, and her own is utterly dwarfed by Holst’s massive paw. “Just Lysithea, please.”

Hilda rolls her eyes, and grumbles at her brother. “Wow. Really?”

Holst pulls his hand back, and gives her an innocent look. “What?”

“Why don’t you ever call me doctor? Huh?”

“I changed your diapers.”

“Well, whoop-de-fucking-do. You change one diaper, and suddenly twelve years of academic experience means fuck all.” Hilda tosses him one of the bags. “Here. Make yourself useful, Muscles for Brains.”

Holst catches the bags as though he had been expecting them to be flung at him much earlier. He smiles, and his teeth are as annoyingly perfect as ever. He has always looked like a poster boy for dentistry aimed at young veterans with hereditary gigantism. Square-cut jaw. Brown-eyed. Sandy-blonde hair that’s somehow immaculately coiffed and artfully messy all at once. She wants to ruffle his hair just to mess it up, but she knows it will only make him look better. Curse their good genes. 

He draps an arm around her shoulders, and ignores her squawk of protest to pull her into another bear hug. He kisses the side of her face. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Duh. I’m amazing. And you need to shave.” She shoves at his face to very little effect. “Your stubble is all scratchy.”

Holst lets her go. He runs an experimental hand over his jaw. “Thought I’d go for a clean lumberjack look. Is it not working?”

“Do you have dad’s straight razor at the house?” Hilda asks, waiting for his nod. “I’ll fix you up tonight, then. Now, where are you parked? I need a shower and a change of clothes.”

Jerking his head, Holst begins walking in that same direction. “This way.”

He leads them out and across the parking lot. The pickup truck that he drives gleams like it is owned by a pampered business executive and not a jock wannabe. When Holst tosses one of their bags into the cab, he says, “You two packed light.”

“I had to smuggle seven extra outfits from Hilda’s bag when she wasn’t looking,” Lysithea says, pulling at one of the door handles to open it.

“And she let you live?” Holst lets out a long appreciative whistle. “She really must love you.”

“I like to think so.” Lysithea’s tone is dry, but she flashes Hilda a small smile that warms all the way down to her toes.

For all the vehicle’s oversized cab -- with factory made sides no less, which Hilda has always told him are useless because she’s right -- it has no proper backseat. Trust Holst to buy a utility vehicle with literally no utility upsides. He could fit a whole five more sheep in the tray if he’d bought the model she recommended. What a waste. 

“Smallest goes in the middle,” Holst informs Lysithea as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “Normally that’s Hilda, but today it’s you. Them’s the rules.”

Lysithea shoots Hilda an incredulous glance. “You’re the small one in the family?”

“The littlest of them all,” Holst confirms with a grin.

Hilda gives him the middle finger, which only succeeds in making his grin widen. She clambers into the vehicle after Lysithea, who is small enough that she needs a boost to get her up the first step.

“She’s also the only girl. Various aunts who married into the family don’t count,” Holst adds while he does up his seatbelt.

“This explains so much,” Lysithea says in an almost wondrous tone. 

“Yeah.” Hilda slams the door behind her. “Like how it’s a miracle that I turned out so awesome when I was raised by these bozos.”

Holst doesn’t start the car until everyone’s seatbelts are in place. He checks, like an absolute dad. Only then does he turn the key in the ignition. The engine rumbles to life.

“Excuse me,” he murmurs politely to Lysithea as he reaches for the gear stick. It’s between her knees, and she has to widen her legs a bit so he can throw the truck into gear.

“How far is your family’s place from the airport?” Lysithea asks.

“Forever,” Hilda answers, already gazing out the window in glum anticipation of the long drive.

“About three hours.” Holst flicks on the radio. “Middle seat gets control of the tunes. Don’t let Hilda bully you into picking a pop station.”

“At least there’s one upside to this seat.” Lysithea reaches forward and begins fiddling with the dials. She switches from the news station that Holst prefers and which never fails to bore Hilda out of her mind.

Hilda could have kissed her. Then, remembering that she is allowed, she does just that. She leans over to press a quick smooch to the side of Lysithea’s head.

Lysithea does not stop scrolling through various radio stations. “What was that for?”

“What? Is it against the rules to shower my super cute girlfriend with affection?”

“It is when I’m in the car,” Holst grumbles. He pulls on the steering wheel to round a corner, clearly indicating for the full three seconds as legally required.

At that, Hilda taps on Lysithea’s shoulder. “C’mon. Make out with me.”

Not even bothering to look away from the radio, Lysithea pushes Hilda’s face away with one hand.

Holst chuckles. “Okay. I like you already.”

“I’m very likeable,” Lysithea fires back without a moment’s hesitation. She tunes the radio to a classical station.

Holst’s expression brightens. He does not take his eyes off the road. “Oh! Mendelssohn!”

With a great groan of complaint, Hilda leans her head against the window. “Oh my god. I’m going to die in this dumb truck before we even make it to the hills.”

Her brother and her girlfriend start chatting about classical music, which is normally enough to send Hilda directly to sleep. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Except that now it’s noon, and she’s already had two cups of burnt coffee on the plane. Her leg jitters with caffeine. It’s going to be a long journey home. 

Fifteen minutes into the drive, Hilda is bored. She plays with the lock mechanism on her door, flicking the switch over and over in various patterns in time with the music. She makes it into a game, trying to find the best rhythm. 

“I’m amazed Hilda hasn’t tried to wrest power from the Radio Throne yet.”

Lysithea smooths an absent-minded hand over Hilda’s jean-clad knee. “She can pick the next station in an hour.”

“Thank god,” Hilda mutters. 

"Since you clearly have witch-like powers -" Holst begins. "No offence. I am simply stating a fact."

"None taken," Lysithea says.

"But since you clearly have witch powers, then perhaps you can convince Hilda to write to me more often."

Hilda locks and unlocks the car door a few more times. "I told you: I'm busy."

Holst lifts one hand from the wheel to mime little air quotes. "Busy. Is that what we're calling it these days?"

"Just because I take the time to look after myself doesn't mean I'm not working on a squillion things at once. It's called 'work life balance.' Look it up."

"Never heard of her," Lysithea says.

Hilda sticks out her tongue at Lysithea. "Yeah, I know you haven't, Miss Workaholic."

"That's Doctor Workaholic, I'll have you know." Lysithea turns back to Holst. "And I'll see what I can do."

"Traitor," Hilda says. 

It's not that she doesn't like receiving a constant stream of letters from her brother. It's just that he always comes off as so needy. She would rather be blonde than appear needy. 

Lysithea points to Holst. "Is that also Hilda's original hair colour?"

Holst nods. He runs a hand through his hair, which only makes it appear even more artfully disheveled. "It sure is. She's had it dyed different colours since the age of -- oh, I don't know -- thirteen?"

"Are there pictures?"

At that, Hilda snaps upright from her slumped position. She rounds on Holst with murder in her eyes.

He ignores her, like someone with a death wish. "So many pictures. I'll show you when we get there."

"Thank you. I'd like that," Lysithea tells him.

Hilda mouths at Holst over Lysithea's head. 'I'll kill you.'

She grunts when Lysithea elbows her lightly in the gut. "Don't be a hypocrite," Lysithea drawls. "I've heard it's very last season."

Before long, the cityscape outside gives way to sparse towns, then to nothing but trees and mountains as far as the eye can see. Which isn’t very far. A cold mist clings to the peaks, and flecks the windows as they begin to ascend. Slowly. Painfully slowly. Holst may be the proud owner of a douchebag truck, but he takes every switchback like he’s an old lady driving on the edge of a cliff. If she were the one driving, it would only take them two hours to reach the house.

Hilda isn’t allowed to drive with him in the car for a reason. But she only almost killed them on the road once! And it wasn’t her fault!

Okay, maybe four times. So what?? He’s such a big baby.

When Hilda begins to rummage through the glove compartment to find new means of entertainment, Lysithea absently reaches over to take her hand. Toying with Lysithea’s fingers provides enough distraction for exactly twelve minutes, at which point Hilda bends down to shuffle through her handbag for her phone. She unlocks the screen.

No reception. Fucking typical.

Flinging the phone back into her bag, Hilda crosses her arms with a huff. “For the love of god, please tell me you’ve installed wi-fi at the house.”

Holst pauses in his animated discussion of seventeenth century syncopation with Lysithea to say, “Sorry. You’re going to have to actually interact with family during your visit. It’ll do you good. You spend too much time on your phone as it is.”

Hilda buries her head in her hands. 

She feels Lysithea pat her on the shoulder in a commiserating fashion. “Do you want to pick the radio station?”

Immediately Hilda’s head jerks up. “Yes.” 

Lysithea lets her pick the music the rest of the ride into the mountains, and it’s the best because Holst can’t complain even though Hilda can see his jaw twitching in that way that means he desperately wants to go back to his boring news talk show. But middle seat picks the radio station. Them’s the rules. And if middle seat says Hilda gets to pick the radio station, then that’s set in stone, baby.

Hilda perks up when she finally spots the sign for the village of Locket, which heralds the last twenty minute stretch of drive to her family’s house. The afternoon has well and truly set in now. Hilda’s stomach growls at the sight of the local pub on the street corner. Its familiar faded sign is comforting in the way only unchanging things can be. 

People wave at Holst’s truck as they trundle along the main drag. Despite the mist still dampening the cool air, Holst stops the truck and rolls down his window at one point to exchange neighborly words with Uncle Henrick’s youngest boy, who Hilda remembers best as a sulky nine year old. 

“Who’s that?” Lysithea whispers for Hilda’s ears alone.

“A cousin. I’m related to basically everyone in this valley.” Hilda waves out the window as her cousin peers inside. “Hiya, Hayden!”

Hayden tips his cap back to get a better look at them. “Oh, hey, Hilda! Holst mentioned you’d be back in the area.”

“Just for the weekend,” Hilda confirms. 

“That’s a shame.”

Hilda lowers her voice so that Hayden and Holst can’t hear, “It really isn’t.”

Holst pulls away from the curb, not because someone is behind him -- there aren't enough people in Locket to rustle sheep let alone the will to use a car horn. Besides, chances are that if you honked at somebody, you'd get a telling off from your mother for being shitty to a cousin later that night over dinner. That or you just get into a good honest blood feud over firewood during wintertime.

No, the reason why Holst hurries along is because the sun is starting to set on the mountains to the west, and dad can't cook for himself anymore. Holst apologises to Hayden for as much, and Hayden waves them along with the promise to talk to Uncle Herrick for them about rotating some of the cows over to another field for grazing. 

Hilda hates that she knows exactly what they're talking about. Hell, her first ever degree was in large animal sciences before she realised that she never wanted to stick her arm up a cow ever again, thank you very much. 

The truck trundles along through the village. The main drag of Locket is the only paved road in these parts. Holst turns left and onto dirt. For all that Hilda berates her brother for his poor taste in vehicles, at least his truck can take all terrain. 

The side of her head bounces against the window, dislodging her sunglasses. "Are you trying to hit every pothole between here and the moon?”

“You know it's impractical to gravel everything apart from the driveway,” Holst counters. 

Their bodies sway as he hits yet another pothole. Hilda adjusts her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose with a huff of irritation. 

“I thought it was cute,” Lysithea says. “The town, I mean.”

“Village,” both Holst and Hilda say at the same time.

“It’s not a town,” Holst clarifies, when Lysithea gives them each an odd look.

Hilda nods, but only because the truck’s tyres are bobbing her up and down like a jackhammer. “Town is where the bigwigs live. Or, as we like to call them: ‘townies’.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Lysithea mutters under her breath. “How many people actually live out here?”

“About .09 people every hectare. Which is to say: three hundred and seven inhabitants,” Holst answers.

Hilda’s eyebrows shoot up over the rims of her sunglasses in surprise. “Oh, shit? Who died? Was it Great Uncle Hartwig? My money was on Great Uncle Hartwig.”

“You are vulgar for taking part in that betting pool.”

“But was it him?”

“No, it was not.”

Hilda raps her knuckles against the dashboard. “Damn.”

“Yes, we are all very sad that Great Uncle Hartwig is still alive,” Holst says dryly. 

The dirt road twists and turns all along the hills. They pass paddocks full of cows and mobs of sheep. The grass is so green it makes Hilda glad she'd brought her sunglasses, even though the sunlight is hidden behind the thick mist that shrouds the mountains. 

Holst rounds another bend, and the dirt road gives way to gravel. They drive along for another minute before the house finally comes into view. 

The house is everything that Hilda is not. Rustic, and tidy, and homey. It’s why she always frequents Claude’s bar. She likes the woodsy feel. It makes her feel at home.

Also, Claude is cute, and good company, with great taste in little underground live bands. Plus the drinks are killer.

Hilda undoes her seatbelt, and hops out of the truck before Holst even had time to shut off the engine. She offers a hand to help Lysithea down, and then reaches into the back for their bag. One of the herding dogs comes hurtling from the house towards them, and Hilda has to shoo it away. 

"No, Brindle! Down! Brindle! This is Gucci!!" Hilda pushes the dog away before it can make a complete mess of her outfit, but it's too late. There's already dog fur ingrained into the fabric of her black slacks. She sighs in resignation. 

Lysithea pets the dog when it snuffles around her feet, its tail wagging excitedly. She quickly retracts her hands, though. 

“Oh.” Lysithea scrunches up her nose. “He’s quite filthy.”

“He’s one of our working dogs,” Hilda points out. “We don’t let him in the house. I would recommend washing your hands before eating.”

Lysithea is already wiping her hands off on her skirt. “Noted.”

Holst is the first in the house. He bellows their arrival with a single "We're home!!" while taking off his boots in the narrow hallway that acts as an atrium. While Hilda and Lysithea are taking off their own shoes, they can hear another voice from further inside the house calling back to them. 

Hilda sets their bags down before walking further along. She makes sure Lysithea is following while they traverse the familiar twists and turns of the sprawling single-story farm house. Everything is wood accented. The white-painted walls and panelled floors and exposed beams. Everything is also properly sized for Hilda's family, which means that Lysithea looks like a pale doll walking through a human house. All of the shelving is higher, all the pictures hung at a level where Hilda and Holst can see but which Lysithea has to crane her neck to simply catch a glimpse of. And when they enter the living room, all of the furniture is massive.

Dad sits on his old leather armchair in front of the television. A stack of books and magazines are piles precariously at his elbow. An empty cup of tea teeters atop one the books. The television is on, but his gnarled fingers fumble with the remote for a few seconds while he figures out how to mute it without stabbing a million other buttons at the same time. 

Her father struggles to his feet. He has to push himself up from the chair, painstakingly slow. Hilda bites back the urge to help him; he would’ve hated it. Watching him makes her chest tighten, as though her sternum is trying to meld with her spine. 

He used to stand taller than Holst and just as broad. Her memories of him are always of a man with energy and exuberance to spare. Now he stoops. His hands shake, his fingers gnarled and worn to the bone beneath skin that’s paper-thin. 

Hilda hugs him as soon as he’s on his feet. He pats her on the back, then uses a heavy hand on her shoulder to steady himself. 

“You’re taller,” he says. 

“You’re shorter,” she replies. 

He squints at her, as though suspicious. His eyes are magnified behind the thick lenses of his glasses. Hilda dreads the day that her own eyesight deteriorates to that stage. Dior does not make prescription glasses that thick. Her amassed collection of sunglasses is already in need of a fresh trip to the optometrist as it is. 

His gaze swings past her and lands on Lysithea, who stands behind Hilda. He nods at her, a jerky motion more than anything else, and says, "You must be Hilda's new beau."

Lysithea clears her throat. "Ah. Yes. Hi."

"What he means to say -" Hilda fills in for her dad, "- is 'It's so nice to meet you, Hilda's super cute and awesome girlfriend! My name is Harald! Welcome to my ancestral home, where generations of Gonerils have been born and raised!"

"Don't call me Harald," Harald grumbles. 

"Dad. It's your name."

"It makes me sound old."

"You are old."

"Months without visiting, and then two minutes at home and already you slander your poor martyred father." He gestures at Lysithea and then at Hilda. "You see what I have to put up with?"

Hilda puts her hands on his wrists. "Okay. I'm going to drop you to the floor now."

"My point exactly." Rather than complain, he pats at her arms. "Help me back into my seat."

She does. It takes a while. His legs don't want to support him properly, and his back doesn't seem to want to bend. 

"Where’s your cane?" Hilda asks, when she's finally got him situated back in his chair. She turns to where Holst is leaning in the kitchen doorway. “Holst, where’s his cane?”

Holst shrugs. “I saw it before I left.”

From the sidelines, Lysithea reaches behind a chair and produces a darkly polished wooden cane. “Is this it?”

Hilda takes it, and props it against the armrest of her dad’s chair. “Stop losing this.”

“It makes me look old.”

“Oh my god. Dad.” 

He ignores her. "Hilda, go help your brother make dinner."

Hilda whines, "Holst doesn't need my help. He's fine."

"Actually -" Holst begins from the kitchen doorway.

"Nobody asked you," Hilda says. Then she grabs the bags she had set on the ground. "Besides. I need a shower, and to give my girlfriend a tour of the place."

Dad grumbles, but he's now expended too much energy trying to sit back down to really argue. Once upon a time she would have needed to really wheedle her way out of making dinner, but these days all it takes is for her to be out of sight. Dad can't go racing after her anymore and haul her back over his shoulder to do chores while she pounds her tiny fists ineffectually against his back. Though in truth she wishes he still had that mobility. Seeing him like this is far worse.

Hilda tilts her head to one side, "C'mon. My old room is this way."

"It was nice meeting you," Lysithea says to Harald, who waves her away with a brief smile. 

Hilda has already started off down the hall, and Lysithea trots after her. Behind them they can hear the sound of the television starting up again in the living room. Hilda nods towards various doors and rooms as they go, giving a running notation of what everything is.

"That's the master bedroom. Dad sleeps there. Holst's room is over there. There's the downstairs bathroom for the living room. Here’s my room. It has its own ensuite bathroom, so we don’t have to fight Holst for it.”

“Let me guess -” Lysithea steps into the bedroom, which looks exactly as Hilda remembered. “-They gave you your own bathroom because you spent so much time in it that nobody else could use it.”

“I am insulted you would even suggest such a thing!” Hilda tosses their bags onto the bed, and begins to unpack. 

“That doesn’t mean: no.”

“Anyway!” Hilda changes the topic by gesturing to the room at large while she hangs her outfits in the closet. “This is where I grew up. Surrounded by farmland sans internet. Starved for culture.”

Lysithea joins her in unpacking. “You’re being a bit dramatic.”

“Who? Me?” Hilda pulls out her spare hair dryer, along with a whole host of emergency make-up supplies that were packed alongside Lysithea’s medication case. “But seriously, though. The nearest library is an hour away by car. And that’s only if the rain hasn’t flooded the main road into Locket.” 

“Where’s the school?”

“With the library,” Hilda answers from the bathroom. 

She arranges all of her supplies, and sets down Lysithea’s travel cup on the sink counter so that Lysithea can use it for her morning Routine. When she emerges from the bathroom, Lysithea has neatly unpacked the rest of their things in all the exact places that Hilda likes them to be. 

Hilda points in the direction of the kitchen. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”

Mischief crosses Lysithea’s face, and she says, “No, thank you.”

Hilda narrows her eyes. “What?”

With a nonchalant shrug, Lysithea says, “Nothing! I just saw all those picture frames over the fireplace earlier.”

For a moment, neither of them move or say anything. Then, Lysithea makes a dash for the bedroom door. She’s out before Hilda can close her in, and prevent her from seeing said photos. Hilda almost catches her in the hallway, but Lysithea’s height means she’s slippery and sly and difficult to grab hold of. 

Harald barely even glances up when the two of them barrel into the living room. Everything in this house is Goneril-Proof anyway. They couldn’t break things if they tried. And Hilda and Holst had tried before. Many many times. 

On the mantlepiece over the smoke-blackened fireplace, there are a host of picture frames cluttering around the riverstone chimney. Lysithea makes a bee line for them. Most are family reunion pictures. The family is too large to photograph altogether, so they are sectioned off by age group. Hilda is the only girl amidst a mountain of boys. 

“Tell me about this one,” Lysithea demands as she picks one up.

With a sigh, Hilda relents and does just that. 

There are a few other more personalised pictures. Hilda points to each of the ones that Lysithea asks about. There's mom looking young with her sandy-blonde hair before the cancer took care of all that at the age of fifty-two. There's her parents getting married. There's Holst at his first shooting competition. There's a baby picture of Hilda all swaddled up (and the cutest image on the shelf, if she does say so herself). 

Hilda tells stories about each of her cousins. Dad pipes in from the peanut gallery to add corrections or embellishments. About how Hans busted her tooth when they were kids and had to share a bed. About how she waged war on the boys by weaponising cow pats. How she would do anything to win -- scratch, bite, cry, you name it.

Lysithea leans forward on her toes to observer a photo down the back. It's a picture of Hilda at the age of twelve, a baby-faced version of herself that she hardly recognises. Dad had snapped it after her first successful hunt with Holst. The two siblings are frozen in a pose over a freshly killed buck. Holst is looking at her rather than at the camera, a broad smile splitting his face in two.

In the picture, Hilda is caught mid sentence. She holds the rifle easily at her shoulder. Her jeans are torn at the knees. Her hair is dishwater blonde and loosely gathered in a simple ponytail at the base of her neck. Her plaid is baggy and rolled up at the sleeves to reveal her scrawny forearms. Her chest is covered in a high-vis vest. A pair of Holst's dark sunglasses are perched atop her head. She used to always steal them when she was younger. 

Slowly Lysithea picks up the picture. "You look so different."

"Ugh. I know. It's awful." 

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Please. Look at me. I'm wearing -" Hilda shudders in disgust, "- sneakers."

Lysithea’s thumb traces over the edge of the picture frame. “I would’ve liked to have known you then.”

Hilda snorts. “No. You don’t. Trust me. I was a little shit.”

“And you aren’t anymore?”

Making a face at Lysithea, she continues. “Very funny. Besides, you would’ve been, like, seven. And even if you had been my age, I probably would’ve picked on you so hard.”

“I doubt that.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Edelgard would’ve had me assassinated.”

With a huff of laughter, Lysithea says, “I can’t imagine you being mean to me in any lifetime.”

“Listen. That’s flattering. Really. But I’ve seen pictures of you when you were younger, remember? And I know what I was like back then.” Hilda picks up another photo, this one of Holst holding Hilda in one arm, and the Commonwealth championship trophy she’d won at the age of fourteen in the other. Her hair is dyed a sickening electric blue in the photo, and her makeup is way way over the top. 

“Alright, then. I’ll bite.” Lysithea gestures with the picture in her own hand. “Why would you have picked on me?”

“Because you were so cute. Obviously. I mean you still are,” Hilda assures her, to which Lysithea just rolls her eyes. “But back then, I would’ve been super jealous. And also very in the closet to myself.”

“Ahh,” Lysithea nods in understanding. “You’re were one of those.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I got over it. Thank god. Still took me until the age of sixteen or so to realise I wasn’t jealous of other girls, I just wanted to kiss them. And their boyfriends. You know. Because I’m not a coward.” 

Placing the picture back on the mantlepiece, Hilda scrunches up her nose. She runs her finger along the varnished wood, and it comes up with a thick layer of dust. “Ew. Nobody ever cleans around here while I’m gone!”

“At least it’s tidy,” Lysithea points out. She places the other picture back, and discreetly wipes the dust from her own fingers off on her cardigan.

“What’s the point of things being tidy if they’re not clean? Excuse me. I need to go yell at my brother for polishing his Olympic medals, but nothing else.” Hilda turns and starts to march towards the kitchen.

 --

In the end, she does wind up helping with dinner despite her best protests. Lysithea is no help, either. When Hilda pokes her head from the kitchen, it’s to find that Lysithea has sat down on one of the couches and is engaged in conversation with dad. And they seem to be having -- Hilda has to check her sunglasses to make sure they’re the right prescription -- a good time. Unbelievable. 

Hilda’s only consolation is that she manages to weasle her way out of doing the dishes. She only feels slightly guilty when Lysithea and Holst do them together, chatting all the while. She did end up doing the bulk of the cooking, after all. No matter what Holst claims.

Instead, Hilda wanders back to her room for a shower. Short, because the hot water tank at the farm doesn’t last long, and she doesn’t want dad yelling at her on the first day of the trip. When she emerges from the bathroom amidst a billow of steam and wrapped in nothing but two towels -- one for her body, the other for her hair -- Hilda pauses in the doorway. 

Lysithea is curled atop the bed. Her legs are folded beneath her. She reads from a tablet loaded with more books than are contained in most libraries. Hilda knows. She's seen Lysithea's online library account. 

Hilda crosses the room, and jumps onto the free side of the bed. Lysithea does not look up despite the mattress bouncing beneath Hilda's weight. She is utterly engrossed in whatever book she is reading. 

"Whatcha reading?" Hilda asks. She takes off the towel wrapped atop her head, and pats her hair dry before tossing it back towards the bathroom. 

The tips of Lysithea's ears go an appealing apple red. "Nothing of interest."

Hilda immediately zooms in on the blush. It must have been a smutty book, in that case. "Oh, really? That's a shame."

Letting her hand smooth over one of Lysithea's knees, Hilda pretends that it's an idle motion. All the while she watches for a change in Lysithea's expression. The white stockings are fine beneath Hilda's palm. The corner of Lysithea's mouth twitches, and Hilda lets her fingers trail a little further up Lysithea's thigh. Just far enough to play with the edge of her skirt.

Still, Lysithea makes no comment. She continues reading in a valiant effort to ignore Hilda. 

"Soooo," Hilda drawls. Her hand continues to stroke along Lysithea's leg, but never too high to be considered indecent should they be happened upon by snooping older brothers. “Is my humble family abode everything you’d imagined and more?”

Lysithea taps at her tablet screen to turn the page in her book. “It sure is something.”

“Wow. Yikes. That bad, huh?”

“No, not bad. Just different. Not what I expected, knowing you.” 

“Would I fit in better if I wore cowboy boots and assless chaps?”

“I think you would rather die than be caught wearing something like that.”

“You underestimate the lengths I will go to for a bad joke.”

Lysithea snorts in amusement, and turns another page. “Well, if you do, then let me know. El would love a picture.”

“Oh, I’m sure she would.” 

A comfortable silence falls over them. Hilda memorises the pattern of the stocking beneath her hand. "I'm bored."

"Sucks for you."

"Can I go down on you?"

“Didn’t you just take a shower?”

“Yeah? And?”

Lysithea glances at her over the top of the tablet. Then she eyes the door. "How thin are these walls?"

Hilda taps her knuckles against the wall behind their bed. "Like bedrock."

From another room, they hear Holst sneeze. Clear as a bell.

"Surface bedrock," Hilda amends. "Compacted gravel, even. Okay, maybe more like asbestos. But that’s still a rock!"

Lysithea purses her lips, but there's a considering air to that particular furrow in her brow. It's the same expression she wears when she's offered one slice of cake too many, but is still tempted to eat.

"We don't have to," Hilda assures her. She swings her legs over the side of the bed. "I can go blow off steam by splitting wood."

"Is that a euphemism?"

"Nope." Hilda jerks her thumb towards one of the night-darkened windows. "There's an axe and a bunch of logs out back near the porch light. Out here, we always need firewood."

Just as she’s about to take a step towards the door, Hilda feels something pull at the edge of the towel. She turns. Lysithea has reached out and is pulling her back towards the bed. The towel is tugged free, and falls to the floor. Lysithea’s eyes have an intense look that never fails to make Hilda’s pulse spike. 

When Hilda flops back onto the bed beside her, Lysithea sets her tablet aside. She rolls over to straddle Hilda’s waist, steadying herself with hands at Hilda’s chest. 

“You’re going to have to be quiet,” Lysithea warns.

“I can be quiet! Can you?”

As it turns out, they both can. But one of the pillows suffers for it. 

--

Holst cooks breakfast the next morning. Hilda has to cut up dad's food for him, while bickering with her brother over the radio station, and Lysithea queries Harald about the farm. By the time Hilda is actually able to sit down and eat, her own food has gone cold.

Holst slides a cup of hot tea her way. "Here."

"Thanks," she sighs, taking a sip despite its scalding temperature. 

Holst lumbers into the spare seat beside Lysithea. He gently bumps her elbow with his own as he tucks into breakfast. "I thought you might like to go shooting this afternoon."

Lysithea blinks at him. "I've never handled any sort of firearm before."

"Don't worry. Hilda and I can show you the ropes." Holst winks at his sister. "Unless she's so rusty from living in town, that she can't tell which way to point the barrel."

In response, Hilda meets his gaze with a steely expression. "Oh, you're on, pretty boy."

"Excellent. I love wiping the floor with you."

"As if. I'm going to win, and I'm going to do it in style."

Chewing at his eggs and toast, Holst takes a moment to swallow before speaking. He gestures at Hilda with his fork. "You're not really going dressed like that, are you?"

Hilda rakes a hand through her long pink hair. "I said what I said."

He snorts. "Yeah. Alright. Sure."

"You couldn't rock this look, let alone do it while shooting."

Holst's chewing slows. He leans back in his seat, and pats at his mouth with a napkin. "Is that a challenge?"

She grins at him. "You bet your ass it is."

Dad stabs at his own eggs with a fork, and mumbles to Lysithea, "They've been this way since forever. You get used to it."

"If you say so," Lysithea says. She watches from the sidelines with an expression that is intrigued, but in a wary way. Like she half expects there to be bloodshed by the end of the day.

Rising to his feet, Holst tosses down his napkin. He points at Hilda. "You. Me. Bathroom. Now. Bring your girly hair products."

"Oh, fuck yes," Hilda breathes, shoving herself away from the table to stand. 

"Is this really a good idea?" Lysithea asks.

Neither Hilda nor Holst are listening. They are already racing each other to the restroom. Hilda has to take a diversion to shuffle around in her old room for the hair dye she had left behind from her last visit. After a minute or two of searching, she finally finds what she's looking for, and pushes her way into the bathroom, where Holst is draping a towel around his broad shoulders and getting his hair wet in the sink.

"Bleach first," Hilda instructs, leaning over the sink to help him. "We need to get your hair a lighter shade before putting any colour in."

He doesn't even ask what colour she'd picked. "Do your worst, Dr. Gonorrhea."

She brandishes the little bottle of bleach at him. "Call me that again. I dare you."

By the time they finish dying his hair, it's two in the afternoon. Hilda wields a hairdryer and a brush. Not that he needs to have his hair styled. Somehow, it always comes up perfect.

Holst admires himself in the mirror after she has finished. He runs a hand through his hair, which is now the same shade as her own. "Not bad."

“You’re welcome.” Hilda ruffles his hair, which only makes him look rakishly tousled. 

Leaning in the doorway, Lysithea says, "Now you two look like twins."

"Could be worse, I guess," Hilda shrugs and puts the hairdryer away. "Let's go shoot something." 

They take Holst's truck to an empty paddock facing the hills. There's already an Olympic sized skeet range in place there. Dad had installed it years and years ago, and Holst had been maintaining it ever since. 

Hilda takes out the munitions box, while Holst handles the soft shotgun cases. Lysithea follows after them with a wary expression when Hilda hands over hearing protection. 

"Keep them on unless the range master declares the range closed," Hilda says. 

Lysithea immediately puts the hearing protection over her head and ears. "Who's the range master."

"Me," both Hilda and Holst say at the same time.

Holst pulls a coin from his pocket. "Heads or tails?"

"Tails."

He flips it. Glimmer of gold and aluminium, which he snatches out of the air and slaps onto the back of his hand.

Tails.

Hilda pumps her fist in triumph.

“And what exactly does it mean to be a range master?” Lysithea asks slowly.

“It means you have to do everything I say.”

“It means she’s in charge of the safety of the range until she leaves.” Holst starts taking firearms from their bags and propping them up on the stands beneath the firing platform awning. “And that we have to do everything she says.”

“Surely not everything,” Lysithea says.

Hilda points at Holst without looking at him. “Give me five push ups.”

Lysithea watches in horrified fascination as Holst sighs, drops to the ground, and does five push ups.

“See?” Hilda says smugly. “It’s rule number five. Which brings me to the next point: Safety.”

Holst finishes setting up while Hilda gives Lysithea the ‘Goneril Family Gun Safety Talk.’ 1) No pointing guns at other people even if unloaded, or you get a punch to the mouth. 2) No pointing guns in any direction other than down the range, or you get a punch to the mouth. 3) Treat every firearm as if it’s loaded, or you get a punch to the mouth. 4) No alcohol or other intoxicants on the range, or you get a punch to the mouth. 5) Obey the range master at all times, or the range master will personally punch you in the mouth. 

“Why is there so much punching in this?” Lysithea asks after number five. “This seems like the opposite of safety.”

“It’s part of the time honoured traditions of the Goneril Family of Idiot Boys and Also Hilda,” Hilda says, still holding up her hand where she had been ticking off each rule on her fingers. “Lastly, number six: only load a firearm when ready to fire, or you -”

“- Okay. Yeah. I get it.” Lysithea says. 

“Good!” Hilda claps her on the shoulder and steers her towards the platform. “You’re first.” 

“W-Wait. Me?” Lysithea glances at one of the shotguns as though it will suddenly rear up and bite her. 

“Relax. It will be fun. I promise.” Hilda puts on her own hearing protection, the muffs bright red. “Range open!” 

Holst immediately follows suit. His own pair of ear muffs are the same colour and brand, but older and faded from years of use. He drops down into a chair behind them, folding an ankle over his opposite knee, watching with the claybird machine remote in his hand. When Lysithea shoots him a nervous look, he flashes her a thumbs up and a grin. 

Under Hilda's instruction, Lysithea sets the shotgun firmly into her shoulder. Hilda uses her hands to guide Lysithea's legs apart so that her stance is more stable, and then places her hands on Lysithea's waist to steady her.

"Whenever you're ready. Just tell Holst to pull, and go for the claybird." Hilda gently squeezes Lysithea's hips. "And remember: try to keep your movements fluid. Track the target."

"Shouldn't we be starting off with something stationary?" Lysithea asks.

"Animals aren't stationary when you shoot them for the most part. Now, go ahead."

Hilda can feel Lysithea take a deep breath. Lysithea shrugs at the firearm, and then barks out firmly, "Pull."

There's a two second delay before the target zips across the air. Lysithea fires immediately, flinching from the shotgun before she has even pulled the trigger. She would've been blown back onto her butt if Hilda hadn't been standing directly behind her. 

Lowering the shotgun, Lysithea rubs at her shoulder with one hand. "Ow."

"You get used to it," Hilda assures her. "This is a pretty light shell as well. Tuck the shotgun into the meat here -" she rubs at the right spot on Lysithea's shoulder. "- and lean into it a bit. But don't flinch! It’s a bad habit!"

Lysithea’s jaw takes on that familiar bullish slant, and she hikes up the shotgun once more. “Pull.”

She misses. And again. After the fifth try, she finally manages to clip the claybird, which sends a puff of bright purple smoke trailing through the air. Lysithea turns to Hilda and Holst, flushed with pride, and Hilda has to grab her arms and point the shotgun back down the range.

“Rule number two!” Hilda reminds her.

“Sorry! Sorry.” Lysithea grimaces apologetically. “Please don’t punch me in the mouth.”

“Rules are rules,” Hilda says resignedly. And then kisses her.

Behind them, Holst yells, “Boooo! That’s not how the rule works!!”

Hilda flips him off while she’s still kissing Lysithea. By the time she lifts her head, Lysithea’s cheeks have gone pink, and her grip has slackened around the stock of the gun. Hilda taps the shotgun with her finger, and murmurs, “Seriously, though. Don’t break the rules.”

“Y-Yeah. Got it.”  

It takes Lysithea a few more rounds to be comfortable enough that Hilda doesn’t have to keep a steadying hand at the small of her back. But Hilda does so anyway. She strokes her thumb at the divot of Lysithea’s spine. Lysithea’s next shot misses wildly.

“You’re very distracting,” Lysithea mutters. 

“I could be more distracting.”

From behind them, Holst cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “Rule number seven: No hands on butts, or you get a punch to the mouth!”

“That’s not a rule!” Hilda shouts back.

“It is now!” Holst stands and approaches one of the other stations beneath the platform. He picks up a shotgun from the rack, and tosses the claybird remote to Hilda. “Pull for me, so I can get a higher score than you.”

With ease Hilda catches the remote. “You talk a big game for someone who still hasn’t beat my high score.”

“Only one Goneril sibling has won an Olympic medal, and it’s not you.” 

Hilda gives Lysithea a quick peck to the cheek, before turning away from her to confront Holst. She crosses her arms. “If I win, you have to take us to the the pub for dinner with your hair the way it is.”

“Fine.” He loads two shells, and then snaps the shotgun into place. “And if I win, then you dye my hair back to its normal colour, and acknowledge that I am The Supreme.”

Hilda rolls her shoulders, cricking her neck back and forth. "Alright. Let's do this."

From the sidelines, Lysithea raises one of her hands. “Do I shoot as well, or -?”

“You see that over there?” Hilda points at a mound of dirt with what looks like a rack of spoons dangling from a steel bar. “That’s a reactive target. Go for those, while I show this guy who’s boss, and then we’ll go back to pulling for you. Or, you can put the gun down, and watch if you prefer.”

“Alright.” Lysithea breaks the shotgun in two, and throws the shells in one of the bins just like Hilda showed her. Much to Hilda’s surprise, Lysithea reaches for another two shells and loads them into the over-under barrels. 

Behind her, Holst clears his throat.

Hilda turns back to him. “Yeah, yeah. Keep your tighty-whities on.”

He shoulders the shotgun. "Pull."

She clicks the button on the remote. A three second delay, and two claybirds zoom out across the air. Holst's movements are fluid, controlled, and precise. He seamlessly tracks the projectiles one after the other, and utterly obliterates them.

"Pull."

In the end, it's a near perfect set. It would have been perfect had it not been for Lysithea sneezing to the side. Hilda could have kissed her, but Lysithea apologises so much that neither Hilda nor Holst believe for a second that it was done on purpose. Holst is a good sport when he's not facing off against family members, and he pats her on the arm good-naturedly. 

Finally, Holst offers the shotgun to Hilda. They swap out the gun and the remote. Hilda takes his position. She rolls her shoulders and adjusts her pink-tinted sunglasses to calm herself. The firearm is a familiar weight in her hands. Even years after giving up the sport, holding a shotgun in her hands feels like breathing fresh air. 

"Getting cold feet?" Holst asks. 

Hilda tosses her head, and sniffs. "You wish."

Lysithea has stopped shooting, and her shotgun is leaning up against the stand. She observes from the sidelines next to Holst. Suddenly there’s a prickle of sweat running between Hilda’s shoulder blades, despite the fact that the air holds a chill, and the mountains are shrouded in dense fog. Hilda wishes that she had opted to wear a scarf along with her classic Burberry trenchcoat. 

Turning back towards the range, Hilda says, "Pull."

It's a perfect set. Hilda celebrates like she’s fourteen again and just won a tournament. Holst drops down to his knees and clutches his pink hair with a groan. Beside him, Lysithea golf-claps politely, even as she assures Holst that she personally thinks he looks very nice. 

Pushing to his feet, Holst concedes defeat. "Guess dinner's on me."

"Damn right it is," Hilda says far more confidently than she had felt just minutes before. She unloads the shotgun, and then hands it back to her brother. "Here you go."

They trade, remote for shotgun again. "You don't want to keep going?"

"After that set? No way. Better to end on a good note." 

Hilda walks back over to stand beside Lysithea, who slips an arm around her waist and leans her head against Hilda's arm. She is warm, and her pale hair is soft. Feeling like she is floating on a cloud, Hilda kisses the top of her head. Hilda can feel a thrill of pleasure working its way into her lungs like she's taken a sip of warm tea. 

Another hour or so passes before the sun starts its descent, and the winds pick up speed. Hilda declares the range closed. They pack up, and clamber back into Holst’s bro truck.  

"Is your dad going to be okay on his own tonight?" Lysithea asks when Holst starts the truck.

"He'll be fine," Holst assures her. "I cooked him dinner already. It's in the fridge, so he can just heat it in the microwave."

The truck trundles its way down the one of many dirt paths that run along the farm to various paddocks. As they pass, a few curious cows lift their heads and watch them go by. The sheep shy away from the noisiness of the vehicle, but are otherwise unconcerned. Hilda strikes up a conversation with her brother about when he's planning on tupping this season and if that new ram panned out. Holst enthusiastically tells her everything about his plans. 

It takes a good twenty minutes to drive down to the main drag of Locket. The farm roads are steep in some places, and Holst drives like an arthritic grandma. By the time they arrive at the pub, the sky has darkened to a dark lavender grey, and Hilda is starving. 

Hilda holds open the door to the local watering hole. Holst goes in first, and is immediately flocked to by a group of local girls. From the doorway, Hilda watches, mouth agape, as her brother does the big bashful gentle giant act, and they all fall for it. Hook, line, and sinker. 

As he’s being dragged away by both hands, Holst mouths over his shoulder at her, ‘I told you so.��� 

Hilda rolls her eyes. She stomps over to a free booth, and sits down, followed by Lysithea, who sits across from her. When a waiter comes over to take their orders, Hilda gets the strongest drink she can find on the menu to go with their meals. 

"God,” she groans. “He's going to be so insufferable later." 

"You two really are related," Lysithea teases.

Hilda shoots her a warning glance. "Don't."

Holding up one hand in surrender, Lysithea grins around her soda. 

Their meals arrive. People periodically wander up to their booth to talk to Hilda. They use small talk and catching up with Hilda after so long as an excuse to snoop. Word of Lysithea has whipped through the small town like wildfire. Hilda does her best to shoo people away with her usual charm, or -- failing that -- painfully sweet passive-agressiveness. 

For the most part it works. There are still those that aren’t the least bit dissuaded, despite Hilda’s best efforts. Luckily, Lysithea is as immune to small country, backwater charm as ever. She takes every new introduction in stride, coolly shaking hands, and nursing her sodas. Meanwhile, Holst is making the rounds. The belle of the ball. As usual. 

Hilda sighs, and orders another drink along with an extra basket of wedge-cut fries. 

Lysithea abstains from alcohol, but Hilda indulges just a little. She doesn’t realise she’s a little buzzed until she catches herself watching Lysithea over the top of her glass, and thinking about all the ways she could try to get Lysithea to sneak around the back of the pub and make out with her. The thought of pinning her against a wall and slipping a hand through a gap in that button down shirt sends a flush rushing to Hilda’s cheeks, and a heat directly between her legs. 

Lysithea is, of course, oblivious. Even after all this time, it takes all of Hilda’s blunt straightforwardness to get Lysithea’s pants off. Or skirt. Whatever. She looks cute in either. She looks cute in anything. And in nothing. 

Someone puts money in the old jukebox, and Hilda is genuinely surprised when music starts to play. She and her cousin, Hans, had broken that piece of junk back when she was seventeen. She could still see the dents from here. Holst must have paid to have it fixed. That, or he will have fixed it himself, like the cool and honourable guy she had always admired, loved, yet also resented.   

Said cool and honourable guy is currently gesturing at them from across the pub. 

“What on earth does he want now?” Hilda grumbles, and Lysithea turns in her seat, craning her neck to look at Holst.

Holst mimes dancing with his beer, and then points at the two of them. 

Okay. His ‘cool and honourable brother’ status has officially been rescinded. 

A few other people have indeed begun to clear a few chairs away to make space for dancing. They are pairing off. One of the girls who had been fawning over Holst earlier is now dragging him onto the dancefloor away from his beer and conversation with cousins. Meanwhile, Lysithea has hunched up her shoulders and is studiously staring into her half-empty soda as though the idea of dancing in front of a bunch of strangers causes her physical pain.

Hilda plays a bit of footsie with her under the table until Lysithea glances up at her. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Fuck Holst.”

The song has changed into something a little more classic yet lively. Old rock with a heavy strain of twelve bar blues. 

Lysithea lifts her head somewhat. Her pale hair is done up in a loose bun at the base of her neck, so that she looks like an escapee librarian from the 1930s. She tucks a loose strand behind one ear. “We could, if you wanted,” she says, eyes darting to Hilda. “I know you like dancing, even if it’s not something in which I typically partake.”

She wants to. She wants to so badly there's an ache in her chest. But Lysithea is watching her with an almost wary expression, like she expects Hilda to leap up and drag her onto the dancefloor without a moment's hesitation. That alone gives Hilda pause.

A few months ago, she would have done just that -- grabbed Lysithea at the first say so, and danced until Lysithea was pink in the face and needed to sit down to catch her breath. Now however, Hilda sits, frozen, in her seat. The old plasticky booth is somewhat sticky against her legs despite the cold. In the summer time it would be warm enough that you would have to scrape her bare thighs off with a spatula. The idea of pushing Lysithea too fast is, as always, a constant fear in the back of her head, like the buzzing of a phone alarm reminding her not to do what she usually does and fuck this up.

"No," Hilda says. "I'm fine."

At that, Lysithea blinks in surprise and -- surprisingly -- disappointment. "Oh. Alright. Do you want another drink? I think I'll get another drink."

The words are on the tip of Hilda's tongue, burning at her throat, wanting to retract what she said. Instead, she holds up her empty glass and waggles it back and forth. "Just water, thanks. I think I've had one too many of these."

"Okay. Be right back."

--

It's not too deep into the night before Holst wanders over to their booth. He shares a few snacks with them. He downs another beer. When he orders a third pint, Hilda holds out her hand for the keys to his truck and he promptly passes them over without complaint.

“Do you really think you should be driving?” Lysithea points out. “You’ve had a few tonight as well.”

Hilda swings the keys around her finger. “Can you reach the pedals?”

Glaring, Lysithea snatches the keys from her. “Give me those.”

In the end, Lysithea is the one to drive them home. The headlights cast the farm road in eerie shadows, and she drives extra slow to try to avoid as many pot holes as possible. 

The downside to Lysithea driving is that Hilda has to sit in the middle (which is The Worst). The upside is that Hilda can keep a surreptitious hand on Lysithea’s thigh the whole way. 

Back at the house, Lysithea takes off her shoes in the long entryway. Holst's muddy gumboots are neatly lined up against the wall beneath the series of wooden coat pegs. Out of force of habit of being on the farm again, Hilda takes off her own stylish boots, and immediately sinks down three inches. It means that the top of her head now barely reaches Holst's shoulders. 

She is seriously considering putting heels back on, when Lysithea says, "I think I'll take a shower."

"Want some company?" Hilda asks. 

Lysithea hums a contemplative note. "I’ll just take an actual shower, thanks."

"Boring," Hilda says in a sing-song voice, but winks at her anyway. "I'll come to bed in a bit."

With a wave, Lysithea wanders off through the spacious living room and down the hall. The house is dark. Presumably dad has already gone to bed. Lysithea leaves on a trail of lights as she goes. 

Holst waits until the door to the bedroom is shut before going after Lysithea and turning off most of the lights in her wake. Another force of habit. Hilda herself had to resist the urge to the same. Instead, she stands by the old chair that her father favours. The leather is cracked and shiny from years of use, but none of them had the heart to throw it out. It’s too comfortable. It holds too much emotional value. 

A knitted woolen blanket is thrown over one of the glossy arms. As a kid, Hilda had always thought that mom had made it. It wasn’t until she was older that she realised mom was truly terrible at knitting and sewing, and that dad had made it all along. 

Despite the long shadows cast over the house, Holst manoeuvres his way back through the living room with ease. The only light is that of the moon, the porch, and the sliver of pale yellowish light from beneath Hilda’s closed bedroom door, where Lysithea is having her shower. Neither of them need light to wander this house. Not when the layout hasn’t changed in over thirty years, and every creaky floorboard is firmly ingrained in their every childhood memory. 

Hilda nods towards him. “You looked good tonight.”

“I look good every night,” Holst says. 

She rolls her eyes. “Shut up, and accept my compliment.”

“Thank you. I will.” The grin slowly slips from Holst’s face. He clears his throat, and rubs a hand at the back of his neck. “Hey - uh - can we talk?”

“Oh, no. What’s wrong?” Hilda asks, already expecting the worst. 

“Nothing,” Holst says. When Hilda just arches a cool eyebrow at him, he shrugs and lowers his arm. “I appreciate that you’re just here for the weekend, but we need to discuss dad’s will before you go.”

Hilda darts a look over her shoulder. Lysithea is already in the shower; she can hear the roar of the pipes. Still, the walls in this house are thin. She lowers her voice to a hiss. “Can we please talk about this some other time?”

His brow is furrowed, but he keeps his voice to a low rumble rather than the usual raucous level their family employs. “I don’t understand why you’re so dead against taking ownership of the farm.”

“Because I have things I want to do with my life that don’t involve the latest in Rotary Milk Sheds Magazine.”

Holst brandishes an admonishing finger under her nose. “Now, I won’t hear a bad word said about RMS Mag in this house.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” 

“I can’t keep doing this forever, Hilda. Uncle Henrick and his boys are helping me out when they can, but there will come a time when you need to step up to the plate. Dad won’t live forever.”

“Yeah, thanks. I know that.”

“You wouldn’t even have to visit more often than you already do,” Holst says, and he’s using that annoying older brother voice like she’s six again. “We just need to sign some papers, and then arrange for a farm manager to act in your stead for the time being.”

Shaking her head, Hilda strides past him towards the kitchen. “I need a cup of coffee.”

“We’re out of freeze-dried.”

“Fine! Tea, then.”

He follows after her. He has to duck through the doorway so that his head doesn’t hit the arch. “Caffeine this late at night isn’t good for you.”

Hilda flicks on the kitchen light. She fills the electric kettle with water from the tap, and sets it to boil. “I’m thirty-one years old. I have a PhD. I’ll damn well have caffeine when I want to have caffeine.”

With a sigh, Holst lets it go. He steps by her and makes a start into the dishes that dad has left in the sink, because these days dad is too old and shaky to be cleaning his own chef’s knives let alone running a farm. 

The kettle boils, and Hilda grabs the jar of teabags that’s been in the same place since she was born. “Do you want a cup?”

Holst shakes his head. He has a dish towel draped over one massive shoulder. “No, thank you.”

She pours only a cup for herself, grabbing the bottle of fresh milk from the fridge and adding a healthy dollop. The tea isn’t nearly bracing enough, but it gives her something to do with her hands that doesn’t involve nervously wringing them together.

Warm water sloshes in the sink as Holst scrubs at a plate. “You’re awfully antagonistic this trip. More so than usual, I mean.”

The tea is too hot to drink quickly, but Hilda takes a large slurp anyway. “It’s almost like I expected to be ambushed by inheritance talks the moment I walked through the front door.”

“You’re acting like this is the end of the world.”

“I like what I do.” The porcelain sears between Hilda’s hands. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I worked hard to get there.”

“I know that.” 

Silence settles over the kitchen. Hilda taps her fingers against the mug. Her rings clack. They can hear the hiss of the shower from the other room shut off.

After a long moment, Holst says, “Lysithea’s nice. I like her way more than that last guy you brought home. The short one with the blue hair.”

She shoots him a scathing look. “Gee. Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean it like -” He breaks off with a sigh. Pulling the dishcloth from where it is draped over one shoulder, he begins drying everything that he has just cleaned. “I just want to see you settled down with someone nice. And I think she’s very nice. You’re calmer around her. And I think she would make a good addition to the family.”

Hilda lightly swats one of his brawny arms. "You didn't say any of this to her, did you? Don't go scaring her off, you asshole."

"I didn't say anything!" Holst insists. Then he adds, "Yet."

Hilda points to the night-dimmed window. "I swear to god, I will go outside, grab an axe, and cleave you in half."

He waves the white dishtowel in surrender. "Relax."

"I really like her, alright? Don't screw this up for me."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Holst returns to drying the dishes. After a moment, he says, "Dad likes her, too."

That sends Hilda's stomach into a whirlwind of somersaults. Dad had never liked any of her previous beaux before. Then again, most of her previous beaux had been thick country boys, who were lacking in every category except the sack. She has always liked her men to be the same way: big, dumb, and easy to manipulate. 

Lysithea is, of course, none of those things.

And then Holst says, "So, when are you going to propose?"

Hilda chokes on her tea. Her face goes bright red. She doesn't need a mirror to know that her complexion is now clashing terribly with her clothes. She splutters. "That's -! Well, I mean -!"

"Haven't you thought of it?"

"I have," Hilda admits slowly. "And -- not that it’s any of your goddamn business -- but we've, y’know, talked."

"And you haven't put a ring on her finger yet? Oh, Hilda..."

Slamming her teacup on the bench, Hilda growls, "What? Why am I the one who needs to propose here?"

"Well, because you're -" he gestures at her with a wave of the drying towel. "You know..."

Her glower is sharper than the knives on the drying rack. "No, go on. Say it."

Holst has never had a very strong sense of self-preservation. It shows, because he does in fact continue. "You're a very forceful personality. Always have been."

“Forceful personality?! I am a delicate flower!" Hilda stamps one foot on the ground. "And maybe I'm the one who wants to be proposed to! Have you ever thought of that? Huh?"

"It's not me who needs to think of that," he replies dryly. 

That stops Hilda dead in her tracks. Her mouth works, but no noise comes out. Finally, she swipes up her cup of tea, and drains it dry. 

“I am just looking out for you,” Holst insists. “And don’t be an ass. Not about this.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” she says once she’s finished.

“No. You should be having it with her.”

She clamps her mouth shut so hard she can feel her jaw ache. “I’m going to bed.”

“Just -” he sighs, “- think about what I said. About everything.”

Hilda shoves the now empty cup in his hands for him to clean. “Good night.” 

--

Hilda sleeps poorly. She tosses and turns all night, and still wakes early enough to see sunlight creep through the window to the sound of distant birdsong. She whittles away an hour by curling up behind Lysithea, and sticking her nose into the back of Lysithea's neck. 

Lysithea remains asleep. She is warm, and soft, and smells like clean soap and freshly washed sheets. Her long pale hair tickles Hilda's face. Hilda wouldn't move for the world.

Eventually however, Hilda is very much awake. And when Hilda is awake, she cannot keep from fidgeting. When she feels her own feet start to twitch, she gets out of bed to ensure that she doesn't wake Lysithea.

Wrapped in a cosy last season sweater, Hilda creeps out of the room. She closes the door quietly behind her, and wanders towards the kitchen.

Holst is already awake. He is cradling a cup of freshly brewed tea. When he sees her enter the kitchen, he blinks in surprise. "You're up early. The pot is on. Do you want a cup?"

"No," Hilda yawns. She runs a hand through her hair, which is still slightly mussed with sleep. "Can I have your keys?"

Fishing them from his jeans pocket, he tosses them to her. "Going to the village?"

She catches them. "Just for a bit. I'll be back in a hot second."

"We need more bread. And can you pick up the mail?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm on it."

In the entryway, Hilda stomps her feet into a pair of ugly boots that are nonetheless very comfortable, and more importantly she isn't afraid to get them dirty. 

The mailbox for the farmhouse is over a mile away. Hilda doesn't get out of the truck, just leans through the open window to grab whatever is in the mailbox. It's a quick jaunt to Locket through the low-hanging fog. She picks up a few loaves of fresh bread and a local newspaper. 

By the time she makes it back home, Lysithea is awake and having a cup of tea in the kitchen with Holst. Stepping out of the truck, Hilda pauses outside. She can see Lysithea through the mist-clung window; she has dressed into casual clothes, but her pale hair is still cowlicked from pressing against a pillow for so long. 

When Hilda enters the house, and makes her way into the kitchen. She makes a point of putting down the bread, the newspaper, and the letters so she can run her fingers through Lysithea’s hair. It does little to tame the persistent cowlick. 

“Morning,” Hilda says. 

“Hey.” Lysithea does not tell her to stop, though her eyes do alight upon the newspaper. “Is this the local rag?”

"Mhmm. It's not the paper you're used to," Hilda says. Pulling her hand away from Lysithea’s hair, she flips a few pages of the newspaper over. "But it has a halfway decent crossword! Want to do it with me?"

Lysithea surprises her utterly by saying, "How about later? We can do it on the plane ride back this afternoon. Holst was telling me about one of the gentler walks on the farm. Think you can show me around?"

Holst himself has busied himself by taking the loaves of bread -- but for one -- and putting them into the freezer. The one he has kept out, he breaks into, placing a few slices into the toaster to start on breakfast. The moment his name is mentioned, he flips the bag of sliced bread shut, and reapplies the twist tie. "I can have brunch ready for you when you get back."

"Sure." Hilda tugs at a lock of Lysithea's hair. "You ready to go now? You might want to grab a jumper. It's chilly out there today."

A few minutes later, Lysithea is dressed in one of Hilda's oversized woolen sweaters. On Hilda it would have been just slightly too big, masking her bulky shoulders somewhat. On Lysithea, it could have acted as a dress. As they head out, one of the dogs thinks it can join on walkies, but Hilda shoos it away.

"We could bring him," Lysithea offers.

"Nah. He'll just be a pest." Hilda points back to the farmhouse. "Go on, Brindle!" 

Dutifully, the dog trots back, and flops beneath the shelter of the eaves. 

The house recedes as they go on their way. When Hilda had driven into Locket earlier, the fog had been thick enough to obscure the mountains and make the trees loom through like shadows. Now, the sun has begun to burn it away, giving detail to the world once more. Hilda guides them towards the gentlest walk on the property, but still she makes sure to take frequent stops. Lysithea's breathing only grows slightly laboured, but she has sounded more winded in bed to be honest. 

"Uuugh," Hilda's feet squelch through the mud and grass. She grimaces down at her old hiking boots. They keep all the muck at bay, but they also clash terribly with the rest of her outfit. "This is a disaster."

"I kind of like it." 

“Impossible. These boots are horrible.”

“I wasn’t talking about the boots,” Lysithea says behind her in a small voice.

Glancing over her shoulder, Hilda sees that Lysithea is trailing along in her wake. She looks -- and this really is strange -- nervous. Hilda doesn’t stop, but she does slow down slightly. 

"What is it?" Hilda asks. Her eyes narrow. "Did my dad say something to you. Did Holst?"

Lysithea shakes her head. "No. It's nothing like that."

"I'll kill him."

"Hilda, I swear. They didn't say anything. They've been nothing but lovely since we've arrived."

"Hmm," Hilda hums under her breath, disbelieving. 

Lysithea trots a few steps forward so that they walk side by side. She slips her hand into Hilda's and holds her fast. "Though I must admit -"

"Oh, here we go." 

"It's not bad. I just have to say that when we first arrived I was -" Lysithea takes a second to fish for the right word. "- puzzled. This place seemed so unlike you. I had a difficult time reconciling that you grew up here. But the longer we've stayed, the more apparent it becomes. You really are at home here."

"It's the boots." Hilda lifts one of the offending shoes as they walk like she’s goose-stepping. "They ruin my whole ensemble."

"It's not the boots," Lysithea says. Then, after a moment, she adds. "Well, the boots don't hurt."

"They do. Specifically, they hurt my eyes."

"Hey," Lysithea's voice has gentled. She squeezes Hilda's hand to get her to stop. 

They are standing in a clearing. The trees rise up on all sides. The grass is green and lush beneath their feet. Late morning sunlight slants through the low-hanging mist, and through the boughs of the trees can be seen the distant snowy mountain peaks bearing their misty capes. 

Lysithea's words are a soft murmur. "You've been so uptight during this trip. Is there something I can do to help?"

Hilda lets out a long breath she had not known she was holding. It escapes her in a rush of air. She glances back in the direction of the house, but they've put it far behind them. Nobody is following them. They are alone. 

"It's -" Hilda grimaces. "To be honest, I'm nervous."

"I already know that. I am a genius, you know."

Hilda laughs, but it's shaky and short and sharp. She has to clear her throat. Lysithea is still holding her hand, and her skin is cool against Hilda's own sweaty palm. "Every time I've brought someone back home, it's always turned out badly."

"Your family scares them away?" Lysithea asks. “Because I’ve met way scarier people. You remember Hubert, right?”

"Yes. No. Not always." Hilda shrugs. "It's just - nothing ever goes right for me after this step. And I don't want that to happen again. Not this time. Not with you. I kind of like you, you know."

"Yes, I got that impression, thanks." 

“Just a little, though. Can’t have people thinking I’m going soft.”

“Your secret is safe with me."

"So, yeah. I'm nervous. And you know what the only thing I can think of is?"

Lysithea cocks her head to one side.

"That I really really should've danced with you last night." Hilda lightly smacks her own forehead with her free hand. "I've been kicking myself over it all day."

With a smile, Lysithea shakes her head. She turns Hilda's hand over, and seems to be deep in thought for a moment. Then, she says, "We can now, if you want."

"Here?" Hilda gestures to the gently sloping woodland around them. "And without music? What do you take me for? A loose woman?"

"Oh, shut up, and dance with me already." 

Lysithea has to reach up to grab Hilda's other hand and bring it to her waist. Hilda's mouth goes dry. Her heart flops around in her chest in a dumb romance novel kind of way.

She's supposed to be past this point in the relationship already. She’s supposed to be restless and distant. She's supposed to be bored. It terrifies her that she isn’t. 

Lysithea hums under her breath. It's a warm sound, surprisingly light and airy. She tends to only ever sing if she thinks nobody else is around. Even Hilda only hears Lysithea singing softly when they're in separate rooms in the apartment. Usually when Lysithea is in the bathroom for her morning routine, or in the kitchen brewing coffee.

It’s not a dance so much as it’s a sway. Hilda guides them around in small circles to make it more of an actual dance. Lysithea never dances with her in public. Normally, Hilda has to coax her into dancing in the kitchen. She’s only done it in public once at Claude’s three months ago. A trendy new band was opening there, and the bar had been packed. 

The fact that she had been willing to dance with Hilda last night at the village pub is unprecedented. 

“Holst and I were talking last night.”

Lysithea hums an inquisitive note, prompting Hilda to continue.

“Not going to lie, it got a little awkward. He was basically trying to foist off the inheritance onto me. Dad’s not getting any younger, and Holst wants me to officially start to look after the estate. It’s such a pain.”

For a moment Lysithea did not reply. Then she asked, “And what did you say?”

Hilda exhales a long breath that she turns into blowing a raspberry. “Well, he’s very insistent. But I don’t think I can be responsible for something like that. I can barely look after a house pet, let alone a thousand cows.”

“That’s -” Lysithea blinks. “- a lot of cows.”

“You’re telling me.” Hilda leads them around in a slow circular pattern. The long grass catches on the edges of her hiking boots with every step. “Anyway, I haven’t decided yet. I wouldn’t have to move out here for, like, ten years to really take over, but still. It’s a big commitment. I don’t know if I’m ready to give up what I have to come back to this old place.”

“You could be the most stylish farmer on this coast, though,” Lysithea points out.

“Hmm. Tempting. But not very challenging.” 

"It's not a bad early retirement plan." Lysithea adds. "I kind of like the idea of just disappearing off the map one day. Though we would have to put a proper airstrip into Locket for El's jet."

"She can use one of the paddocks."

"I don't think jets work like that."

"She'll be fine."

"You know your brother is just going to keep worry about this until you give him an answer, right?"

Hilda rolls her eyes. "He's always worrying about something. Might as well make it something that will turn out right in the end."

Lysithea furrows her brow. "You never intended to say no to him, did you?"

"I am incapable of saying no. Especially not to a good cause. It's just a part of my giving nature."

Slowing to a stop, Lysithea studies her face carefully. “I hope I’m one of your good causes.”

With a snort of laughter, Hilda asks, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I -” Lysithea chews at her lower lip, one of her signature nervous ticks. “I may have overheard a little of your talk with Holst last night, and -”

When Lysithea begins to fish around in one of her pockets for something, Hilda’s eyes go wide. She has to turn around and catch her breath. It feels just like that time she was playing rugby in an empty paddock, and was kneed in the gut by her cousin, Hughes.

It's one of Hilda's worst-kept secrets, that she is flustered by genuine romance. The best way to avoid getting all blubbery over even the most cheesy of romance movies is to either a) not watch them at all, or b) tell horrible jokes throughout all the bits that would normally get her misty-eyed. 

It's embarrassing. It’s debilitating. It's something that would've gotten her severely mocked by a horde of male cousins since the age of zero.

“Hilda?”

Hilda peeks over her shoulder as if expecting a zombie to leap out of the bushes. Instead, it’s just Lysithea standing there with a little velvet box in her hand. Which is even more terrifying, arguably. 

“Is this -?” Lysithea tilts the box back and forth like she’s debating whether she should just chuck it and run. “Is this not the right time or place or -? Have I messed this up?”

“No,” Hilda breathes. Then, realising what that sounds like, she hurriedly tries to correct herself. “No! I don’t mean: ‘no.’ I mean ‘No!’ I mean -! Yes! No, it’s not not the right time or place. And yes, yes.”

She is blabbering. She’s too far gone. She can feel a tell-tale burning in her eyes, and has to swallow down a swell of tears. 

Lysithea stares at her, but if anything her expression is determined rather than completely baffled or put off by the way Hilda is rambling. She hesitates for only a second before saying, “I know you like a bit of showmanship, but I really don’t want to kneel down in the mud. Is it okay if I don’t -?”

“Yes!” Hilda is so excited she’s jumping up and down a little in place, and clapping her hands together. She sniffles. “Ohhhh! Open it! Open it!” 

“Edelgard may have helped me pick it out a few weeks ago. Because I’m bad at jewelry, and tend to just go for something I think looks pretty,” Lysithea admits as she opens the box to reveal the ring. 

It’s not gaudy, but it is eye-catching. Rose gold. Diamond. Pink sapphires. Without hesitation, Hilda sticks out her hand for Lysithea to put the ring on. For a moment Lysithea fumbles at the ring to pull it from the case -- it’s pretty firmly stuck in the velvet lining -- before slipping it onto Hilda’s finger. Her touch is warm and soft, and Hilda can’t keep the burning behind her eyes at bay any longer. 

“Please don’t cry. You’re going to make me cry.” 

“I can’t,” Hilda is already wiping at her eyes with her free hand. “Thank god I’m not wearing mascara.”

Lysithea laughs, but it sounds a little watery. She shakes her head with a grin. The silly cowlick still in her hair and the oversized jumper with a plaid collar poking through are so endearing that Hilda can’t help but kiss her. Lysithea’s hands grip the front of Hilda’s woollen sweater to pull her close. 

When they part, Lysithea breathes, “I’m so glad you said yes.”

“Was there any doubt?”

“A little.”

“I’m shocked. Appalled, even. That you could even dream that I would say no to you.” Hilda kisses her again, briefly this time. “Honestly, it’s like you don’t know me at all.”

With a huff of laughter, Lysithea pulls away, but drops her arm to lace their fingers together. She tugs at Hilda’s hand. “Come on. Show me the rest of the walk. And then let’s go home.”

[roman-writing]

two, across (2/?)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Lysithea von Ordelia

Rating: T

Wordcount: 7,678

Summary: Lysithea can barely keep afloat under the workload of giving undergrad lectures and finishing off her PhD thesis. Meanwhile Dr. Hilda V. Goneril is somehow both the laziest person as well as the most successful young professor she has ever known. It’s absolutely aggravating.

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

The elevators are broken. All of them. Lysithea stands on the ground floor with Hilda, staring at the yellow tape suspended over each of the elevator doors. Her heart sinks in her chest, and her grip slackens on her coffee. 

"Can you believe this?" Hilda whines, punctuating her words with a stomp of her foot on the ground. "Do they expect us to clamber up Everest to get to our offices every day? What bullshit!"

"It's only seven floors." Even as Lysithea says it, she is furiously calculating how many steps that would entail.

How many steps were there per flight of stairs on average? Twenty-five? Thirty? She usually starts panting at around thirty, and has to take a break at forty. Edelgard always knew to take long walks around cities or parks with extra breaks. Lysithea didn’t know how many times she would have to stop while climbing seven whole flights of stairs.  

"Maybe we can work from some ground floor offices," Hilda muses, taking a contemplative sip of the coffee Lysithea had brought her that morning. "I could kick Leonie out of the gym office space, and we could work from there instead? It’ll smell, but it’ll just be for this week. Until they get the elevators up and running."

It's tempting. It really is. And Lysithea is ashamed of herself for seriously considering letting Hilda do just that. 

Eventually however, Lysithea sighs. "No. We should just suck it up, and walk up the stairs."

Hilda whines again, but she's already trudging towards the nearby door marked with the symbol for stairs. 

"This is so inconvenient!" Hilda groans, pushing the door open and holding it until Lysithea has joined her. "And, you know what? Leonie wouldn't even mind! I mean, yeah, okay. She would mind. But I could make a great sales pitch about how it's just turning every day into leg day for the next week. She might buy that!"

Hilda continues on in that vein, and Lysithea listens with only half an ear. The stairs extend ahead of her, looming like a snow-capped peak, except these are gilded in white linoleum. The chromed handrails gleam with the sweat of too many generations of hands passing over them. Lysithea is reluctant to touch them, but knows she will have to eventually. 

On the other hand, Hilda has already begun the climb. She is still talking, and has made it halfway up the first set of stairs before Lysithea can gather enough courage to even start. 

The first floor passes without much issue. Lysithea tries telling herself that it won't be so bad; she can do this. Hilda's constant chatter acts like a balm. Her presence is almost soothing, in and of itself. 

The second floor is where Lysithea's hubris realises its potential. Her breath has grown laboured. She reaches for the handrail. Hilda is ahead of her by a good distance, but they're still on the same set of stairs together at least. 

By the third floor, Lysithea feels an all too familiar twinge in her chest.

By the fourth floor, Hilda's voice fades into a murmur of white noise, like static. 

By the fifth floor, Lysithea drops her coffee. She doesn't mean to. Her hands are trembling uncontrollably, and the takeaway cup slips from her fingers. The coffee goes splattering all over her shoes and black stockings. The cup tumbles down the stairs until it rolls to a halt and dribbles dark foam. 

Hilda's voice stops, and an awful silence descends over the fifth floor staircase. Lysithea is panting. She is bent over her knees, and clutching the handrail like it's a buoy keeping her afloat. 

"Are you alright?"

"Y-Yeah," Lysithea lies. She turns and sinks to the ground so that she is seated on the step she had just been standing on. She doesn't even notice that she's sitting in some of the coffee spill until it's too late, and by then she can't bring herself to care. 

Hilda's boots clack against the ground. She comes to stand behind Lysithea, and for a brief moment, Lysithea feels fear lance through her at the thought of what expression Hilda might be wearing. 

Finally, Hilda sits down beside her with a huff -- on the other side so as to not sit in the coffee. "Geesh," she says. "You listened to my moaning this whole time, when you legit were on the point of, like, dying behind me?"

Lysithea leans her head against the railing, relishing the cool press of metal against her forehead. "At this point, I'm used to listening to your moaning by now."

Hilda nudges their shoulders together to get Lysithea’s attention, and then wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "That's what she said."

With a groan, Lysithea shoves weakly at Hilda’s shoulder. "Shut the fuck up. You have the humour of a twelve year old boy."

In answer, Hilda wordlessly hands Lysithea her coffee cup, and then stands. She descends to the step just in front of Lysithea, and turns so that her back is facing her. Hilda pats herself on the shoulder. "Come on, then. Hop on and hold tight, spider-monkey."

Lysithea glares at Hilda’s back. "You did not just make a Twilight reference."

"I sure did. Now either hop on, or I'll leave you to crawl the last two floors by yourself. Up to you."

Lysithea purses her lips. She considers her options. Sighing, she clutches the coffee cup in one hand and wraps her other arm around Hilda's neck. She feels Hilda's hands slide under her knees as she crawls atop her back. When Hilda straightens, there’s a flex of muscle all along her back and shoulders. For all that however Lysithea is surprised at how soft she is. 

"If you tell anyone about this," Lysithea says, her voice dangerously low in Hilda's ear, "I'll kill you, and they will never find your body."

"How dare you threaten me with a good time."

Hilda jostles Lysithea a little to get her resting just so against her back, before turning around and marching up the stairs once more. As she does so, she steps around the spilled coffee so as to not get any on her designer boots. 

“I’ll need to give the janitorial staff a gift,” Lysithea mumbles against Hilda’s spine. 

“Cyril likes flowers. Little white ones that come in bouquets. Baby’s breath, or whatever they’re called. Which suits him, actually; he’s such a baby-faced guy.”

Lysithea lifts her head slightly to frown at the slope of Hilda’s cheek. “How on earth do you know that?”

Hilda flashes Lysithea a sly grin over her shoulder. “I make a point of being on excellent terms with janitorial staff wherever I work.” 

“Of course you do.”

The last two floors to their offices pass without incident. Apart from the fact that Lysithea can’t help but notice that Hilda smells nice. Really nice. So nice, Lysithea almost asks what perfume she wears, but keeps her mouth shut instead and demands to be put down the moment Hilda carries her up that last step. 

--

The elevators are down for the entire week. Everyday of that week, Hilda gives her a piggyback ride up the stairs. And everyday of that week, Hilda complains about the university’s health and safety policies.

“Seriously,” she says on Thursday for the fourth time, “you should complain to Judith about this. If you don’t, then I will.”

Lysithea huffs against Hilda’s shoulder blade. “I doubt the head of the biosciences department can make the university contractors work any faster.”

“No, but she can talk to Rhea on your behalf. Duh!"

"And what's the Dean supposed to do about it? Magically make the elevators work again?"

"Maybe! You don't know!" Hilda grouses, and she is excellent at grousing. “If nothing else, they should review their disability services. Or install a pulley system for you. Bucket and rope, that kind of thing.”

“Your thoughtfulness is as touching as ever,” Lysithea says dryly. 

“Or I could just -” Hilda pretends to drop her, loosening her grip beneath Lysithea’s knees.

With a yelp, Lysithea wraps her arms more tightly around Hilda’s neck. “No! I take it back! I take it back!” 

“That’s what I thought. Did Cyril like the flowers, by the way?”

They have resumed the climb, and Lysithea relaxes fractionally, safe in the knowledge that Hilda would not have actually abandoned her on the third floor stairwell. “He did. He still has them in a vase, I think.”

“Told you so!” Hilda says in that sing-song tone of hers.

“You’re insufferable. You know that?”

“You love it."

"I do not."

"And yet you continue to hang out with me. So, who's really at fault here, huh? Checkmate."

"That's -!" Lysithea splutters. "- completely illogical! How is it my fault that you tricked me into hanging out with you?”

“What do you mean ‘tricked you’?”

“You heard me.”

“Uh, we had a deal. That’s not tricking. Besides,” Hilda has to pause on the fifth floor landing to hike Lysithea a little further up her back, “You can’t steal a crossword in a communal newspaper. It’s literally for everyone to use.”

“Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean you can’t steal from a communal resource. That’s the definition of the Tragedy of the Commons.”

“So, you admit it? We’re friends?”

Lysithea snorts, and says sarcastically, “No, I prefer to let my nemesis carry me up flights of stairs every day.”

“Your nemesis sounds like a really cool gal. With amazing eyeliner. And impeccable taste in clothes.”

“And an ego the size of a planet,” Lysithea adds to the list.

Hilda ignores that comment. “You should totally let her give you a makeover.”

“Over my dead body.”

Hilda laughs, and the sound makes Lysithea’s stomach fizz like she’s had too much sparkling lemonade.  

It’s a good thing Edelgard and Hilda don’t know one another, Lysithea thinks. If Edelgard found out about this whole Almost-Fainting-on-the-University-Staircase (A.F.U.S.) debacle, she would be on the first flight over to scold Lysithea in person for being so careless. And Lysithea isn’t sure she could handle both Edelgard and Hilda in the same place at the same time. 

--

Edelgard’s monthly care package arrives in the office on the same day that Lysithea finally manages to arrange a meeting with her main supervisor. She enters Tomas' office, excited to finally get some guidance on all the hard work she's put into her thesis over the last few months, only to leave twenty minutes later with more questions than answers.

He is nothing like how he’d acted when she was still being courted by the university before this whole process began. Back then, Tomas had been charming, always with a kind smile and a twinkle in his eye. Now, he jabs his finger at her data charts and refuses to accept any answers she gives him regardless of how many different ways she explains the results. 

Lysithea is wandering listlessly back to her own office, cradling the latest drafted chapter of her thesis, when she sees Hilda striding towards her down the hallway.

"Hey! Lysithea!" Hilda holds up an enormous cardboard box that she’s carrying. "You got a package in the mail! And judging by the weight, your family sent you -” she lifts the box with both hands. “- a shipment of lead! It’s your lucky day."

"Oh," Lysithea feels her spirits stir somewhat at the sight of the package. "My friend sends me those every other month. It's probably full of food and new clothes."

At that, Hilda's eyes light up, the way they did when she figured out a crossword clue, or when they are walking down the street and she saw a pretty girl wearing an outfit she admired. “Well, I gotta see what’s in it now. Hang on -” her brow furrows slightly, and she looks down at the package. “A friend sends you gifts nearly every month?”

“Edelgard has known me since I was five. We’re basically siblings,” Lysithea says by way of explanation. 

The furrow in Hilda’s brow disappears. “Aww. That’s so cute!” 

Lysithea hums in wordless agreement. Normally, whenever Hilda called her ‘cute’ Lysithea would reprimand her, but she can’t be bothered today. She tries to slip past Hilda, and slope into her office for a much needed sulk, but Hilda steps in her way. 

“Bad meeting?” Hilda asks, and thankfully she has lowered her voice. 

The pages of the thesis chapter crinkle beneath Lysithea’s fingers. Even looking at all of Tomas’ notes scrawled across the first page makes her feel sick to her stomach. “He thinks the data is insufficient, and doesn’t correspond strongly enough with the overall thesis statement.”

Hilda frowns. “Then why didn’t he say anything at the time. You gathered it a year ago, yeah?”

“That’s what I said!” Lysithea bursts out, before ducking her head and lowering her voice to a surly mutter. “And Hanneman thinks the data set is fine, but whenever I point that out, Tomas just gets mad and reminds me that Hanneman isn’t my main supervisor.” 

“Hmm.”

For a moment that is Hilda’s only response. She shifts the box in her arms in order to reach up with one hand and lower her sunglasses from where they’re perched atop her head. Then, she nudges Lysithea towards the elevators with her shoulder. “C’mon. Forget Tomas. We’re going to lunch, and you’re going to open this great big box, and it’ll cheer you right up.”

“You’re only saying that because you want to know what’s in the box, aren’t you?” 

“I’m insulted you would even think that of me.” Hilda sniffs, then drums her fingers in a playful rhythm against the box in question. “It’s only part of the reason.”

“And what’s the other part?” Lysithea asks.

“I’m a woman of grace and mystery. You’ll just have to embrace that,” Hilda says as she lifts her leg to hit the button that calls the elevator with the toe of her boot. 

They go to lunch at a place down the road, because both of them are tired of the downstairs cafe, and if they have to order the same croissant sandwiches again one of them is going to scream. Hilda grabs a table outside in the hopes that they can enjoy the last good day of fall before the cold rainy season hits. The sun is watery, but Hilda drags the table a bit further from the shade, and Lysithea moves the chairs. 

They order, and their drinks come out. Hilda barely lets Lysithea take a sip before she places the package atop the table and all but bounces with anticipation in her seat.

"Looking at the two of us, nobody would guess that you're the childish one," Lysithea says. She grabs up a knife from the cutlery placed out for them, and starts to cut through the copious amounts of tape that Edelgard had used to wrap the box. 

"You say that, but I wish I looked as adorable as you." 

Lysithea pauses to glare at Hilda, but it sloughs off her like water from a duck's back. Lysithea continues cutting until she can finally prise the box open.

Predictably, Edelgard has stuffed the box full of more goodies than Lysithea could possibly consume or wear in half a year. Lysithea immediately goes for a smaller package of her favourite cookies, which have been padded with an assortment of clothes wrapped in expensive-looking tissue paper and bound in ribbon. 

She never recognised the labels of the clothing or accessories, but Lysithea always recognised the sweets. 

“Oh, wow,” Hilda breathes, as Lysithea peels back the wrapping of a biscuit elaborately painted with frosting. 

Closing her eyes, Lysithea sighs with pleasure as she takes that first bite. When she opens her eyes again, it’s to find Hilda watching her closely. "Do you want some? I thought you said I had too much of a sweet tooth for your tastes."

"Yeah, well, bring on the diabetes because those look amazing."

With a sigh, Lysithea holds out the biscuit she has already taken a bite of, but instead of taking it from her hand, Hilda leans over the table. She takes an extra big bite, so that when she leans back in her seat she triumphantly holds half of the biscuit in her mouth. Lysithea just rolls her eyes. If it were any other occasion, Lysithea would have given her a scolding, but even a glance into the box clearly shows that she won’t be running out of confectionaries any time soon. 

“Okay, what else you got, Lysithea’s friend?” Hilda asks the absent El, pulling the box towards her side of the table to sift through its contents. 

Lysithea finishes off the cookie, and is reaching for another when she stops. Hilda has gone stock still. Her mouth hangs slightly open. 

“What is it?” Lysithea asks.

Hilda does not immediately answer. She pulls off her sunglasses, and places them on the table, but her eyes never leave the box’s contents. She takes out one of the carefully lined pieces of clothing as though it’s made of gold dust and dreams. When she tugs the ribbon free, the gauzy paper falls open to reveal a black t-shirt splashed with bold red lettering. 

Hilda picks up the t-shirt to gaze at it in shock. There are dozens of other pieces of clothing similarly wrapped and stashed in the box. Lysithea doesn’t see what all the fuss is about. 

“Are you telling me,” Hilda says slowly, and her voice climbs with every word, “that this whole time, you had an uber rich childhood friend who sends you Valentino via air freight? Valentino?” 

“Yes?” Lysithea mumbles, wondering if this is some sort of trick question. “Is that a good brand, or something?”

She knows it’s a dumb question the moment it leaves her mouth. Hilda lowers the t-shirt just enough to stare at her over it. “Why don’t I ever see you wearing this stuff?!” 

“It’s -! It’s not really my style,” Lysithea says lamely.

“Not your -!” Hilda has to close her eyes and calm herself with a deep breath. Then, she starts folding everything back perfectly the way it was. “You’re paying for lunch. Consider it amends for your sins.”

“You can have the clothes, if you want?” Lysithea offers, picking up her soda. 

“You think I could fit into this? Look at these, and then look at your spaghetti arms.” For emphasis, Hilda lifts one of her own arms and pokes at the bulge of muscle at her shoulder. 

Lysithea is taking a sip from her drink, and makes an exasperated noise at the back of her throat. She puts the glass down. “You know I can’t go to the gym. I can barely walk five blocks without needing to sit down.”

“At least tell me what you do with all the clothes your mystery millionaire sends you.” 

Lysithea worries her lower lip between her teeth. Hilda gives her a look, and she admits with a wince, “I donate them to a shelter in town.” 

Hilda buries her face into the shirt she had just folded, and muffles a sound halfway between a scream and a sob in the fabric. 

Tentatively, Lysithea reaches across the table to pat the top of Hilda’s head. 

Hilda’s voice is muted through the shirt. “You’re going to be the death of me.” 

Lysithea pats her head some more. “There, there.” 

They have to clear the table, because the waiter is descending upon them with his arms laden with plates. Hilda swipes one of Lysithea fries before Lysithea can even reach for the condiments. 

“Okay, here’s the deal -” Hilda starts, but winces. “Ow! Those are hot!” 

“I feel less than zero sympathy for you right now.” 

“Fair. But you’ll sing a different tune when you hear of my super cool new deal.” Hilda snags another fry, avoiding Lysithea’s hand swatting down at her wrist. “I’ll read your latest thesis draft and give you feedback and all that jazz, if you do the same for an article I’ve just finished. You can come over to my place this weekend, and we’ll trade. It’ll be fun.” 

Lysithea places the condiment bottle aside, and picks up her fork and knife. “Why is everything always a trade with you?”

“All relationships should be equal and fair.”

Such a frank answer gives Lysithea pause. 

And then Hilda continues, “You know. The division of labour in society. Eat the rich.”

Lysithea aims a flat stare at her. “You’re already eating my lunch and my care package.”

Hilda grabs another one of Lysithea’s fries, pops it into her mouth, and winks. 

--

On Saturday evening, Hilda flings open the door to her apartment the moment Lysithea knocks. Lysithea hadn’t known what was an appropriate gift for her hostess, or if her hostess even technically required a gift, or if bringing Hilda soda when she was sick constituted a suitable substitution. In the end, she had defaulted to the latter of the options, and is now being dragged into Hilda’s apartment, empty-handed. 

If Hilda notices, she doesn’t show it. She shuts the front door behind them, and gestures vaguely to the apartment. “Welcome to my lair or whatever.”

On Lysithea’s previous visit, the curtains had been drawn and the lights dimmed so she couldn’t see anything apart from the impression of shapes. And perhaps it would have been better if that had remained the case. 

"Wow." Lysithea looks around at the wreckage. "Your place sure is...even messier than your office."

"Organised chaos, my brother calls it."

"Your brother is very kind."

"I think so, too. You want cider? I bought cider." Even without Lysithea's answer, Hilda is heading towards the kitchen. 

"I don't really drink much," Lysithea admits, picking her way carefully across the floor after Hilda so she doesn’t step on anything. 

"Oh, that's alright. You don't have to. I have soda, too!"

Lysithea blinks in surprise at Hilda's response, which had been immediate. In most social situations, Lysithea's adversion to alcohol was met with passive aggressive disdain or wheedling for her to join in the revelry. Hilda on the other hand, just starts pulling out various two litre bottles of sparkling lemonade and ginger ales, and arranging them on the counter in a single file formation like soldiers on parade. 

"I've got Schweppes. I've got Bundaberg. I've got Sprite. I've got Canada Dry. I’ve got San Pellegrino. I’ve got Perrier. I’ve got this new L&P stuff that my brother had shipped in from Australia or something, which I’ve been dying to try. Pick your poison."

Approaching the counter, Lysithea eyes the various bottles. Hilda has also pulled out a cider for herself, and is rustling around in a drawer for a bottle opener. Hesitantly, Lysithea picks up the cider and turns the bottle over in her hands. The glass is cold and misty from its time spent in the fridge. She goes to the back label and runs her thumb over the 2.4% ABV lettering. 

She can't even recall the last time she had alcohol. No, wait. That’s a lie. It had been on her eighteenth birthday. She had been allowed a single glass of champagne. It had a fresh strawberry in it, fizzing away at the bottom of the glass, and had tasted like dry unsweetened soda. 

Lysithea held the bottle of cider out to Hilda, who had finally found the bottle opener in her messy drawer of various cutlery, cooking knives, and spatulas. "Actually, I've changed my mind. I'll have one of these."

Slowly, Hilda takes the cider, and prises the cap free. “You sure?” She tosses the cap onto the counter, where it rattles around before settling in place. "Seriously, it's not a problem. No pressure. We're not, like, going out or anything. It's just us here, so -"

"This is fine. Thanks." Lysithea takes the bottle back, but doesn't immediately take a drink. She hesitates, and re-thinks her actions. 

With a shrug, Hilda turns to the fridge to pull out another cider for herself. "Alright. Up to you."

Switching the cold bottle into her off hand, Lysithea tugs at the strap of her bag over her shoulder to a more comfortable angle so that it doesn't dig into her skin. "So, uh - where are we doing this? Here?"

She nods pointedly to the kitchen table, which is piled high with grocery bags, library books, articles, makeup, empty mason jars, full mason jars, beads, jewelry, craft items, wire in various metals such as gold and silver and copper. Lysithea wanders closer to the table, clutching her cider. 

"You," she tilts her head to one side, "make jewelry?"

"Yup. It’s a hobby of mine." Hilda joins her. She puts down her own open bottle of cider, and picks up what Lysithea had originally thought was a necklace. She presses it to Lysithea's chest. "This sweater clip would look good on you by the way. Especially with one of those grandma cardigans you like so much. You should take it."

Hilda shoves the sweater clip into Lysithea’s free hand before she can complain.

"They're not 'grandma cardigans.'" Lysithea grouses. "They're just my cardigans."

"And you look very cute in them. You'll look even cuter wearing this. If you don’t want to wear the sweater clip with the cardigan, you can just hook them into the tips of your collars. Very chic right now. Or - ooh!" Hilda dives into one of the grocery bags, pawing through its contents. "I have a brooch in here that would make you look like some sort of Edwardian porcelain doll."

Lysithea scrunches up her nose. "No, thank you."

"No, no! I meant it in a good way!"

"I'm sure you did. But my answer is the same."

Hilda whines, but eventually relents. "Fine. Keep the sweater clip though. And don’t you dare donate it to a shelter!"

For a moment, Lysithea considers denying that request. Instead, she runs the fine gold chain between her fingers. Two clips hang from each end of the chain, molded from gold into the shape of little decorative pinecones with ivy leaves. 

Hilda is right. They would look good with her cardigans. And she does like cardigans...

"Thanks." Lysithea puts the sweater clip into a compartment of her bag, so that she won't forget that it's there. "So, can we clear this table, or -?"

Suddenly, Hilda stands between Lysithea and the table as if guarding her firstborn child from an evil witch out for blood. "No way! Don't touch anything here."

Lysithea crosses her arms as well as she could for someone holding a glass bottle. "What the hell do you think I'm going to do? It’s not like I can make it worse than it already is!"

"It's perfect! I know exactly where everything is!"

"Oh, yeah?" Lysithea lifts her chin, and issues the challenge: "Find me a pair of scissors."

Immediately, Hilda reaches into a bag and pulls out a pair of gleaming sewing scissors. The nice kind. The kind that Lysithea's mother would have yelled at her for touching as a child.

Sticking out her lower lip, Lysithea mumbles, "Yeah, ok. Fine."

Hilda waggles the scissors at her. "You're extra cute when you pout."

"Call me cute again, and I'm dumping this cider over your head."

At that, Hilda makes a face, but says nothing. She simply sticks the scissors back into the bag and out of sight. 

"I think I saw a couch under all the rubble of your living room," Lysithea says. But as soon as she takes a step towards the living room, Hilda interrupts. 

“Okay, I know we’re still new to this friendship thing, but we need to make one thing clear. All of this?” Hilda gestures towards the apartment in general. “Just looks messy, alright? I have a system.” 

Now, that, finally was something Lysithea could understand. She had a Routine, after all. Capital 'R'. And it sounded like Hilda's system came with its own capital letter, too.

"Please don't tell me we have to sit on the ground for this." Lysithea looks down at the kitchen floor. While cluttered just like everything else in the apartment, at least the floor appears clean. Hilda obviously washed stuff, she just didn't tidy it. 

In answer, Hilda picks up her cider and tilts the bottle towards the kitchen exit. "This way.” 

Hilda leads her not towards the living room, but towards her bedroom. When Lysithea realises what is happening, she freezes. 

"Uh -" Lysithea says eloquently. 

Hilda stops in the doorway to her bedroom, and shoots a puzzled glance over her shoulder. "Huh? What's wrong?"

Lysithea looks down at the cider in their hands, then at the bedroom beyond; she can’t meet Hilda’s gaze. She can feel her cheeks warming up, and knows her face must be going bright red. 

Hilda's eyes widen. "Oh! Oh! No, it’s -” She laughs, and Lysithea has never known Hilda to be anything but the epitome of confidence, but she sounds slightly nervous now. “It’s not like that. It totally could be like that, but it’s not like that. Tonight, there’s no funny business."

Even so, Lysithea squints at Hilda in suspicion. 

"I swear!" Hilda draws an 'X' over her chest with her free hand. "Cross my heart, and hope to die."

"I am starting to think you're actually two twelve year olds in a designer trench coat," Lysithea says. "How old are you, really?"

"Thirty this year."

Lysithea rocks back on her heels. "You're barely even thirty, and you were giving me shit for being twenty-four a few weeks ago?"

"There's a big difference between thirty and twenty-four. Six whole years difference, to be exact."

"Congratulations. You can count. Your brother must be so proud."

Hilda makes a rude gesture with her fingers, then walks further into her bedroom. "Don't even talk to me about it. The idea of turning thirty has seriously been playing havoc with my nerves. I'm going to be middle aged soon."

"Tragic," Lysithea drawls, following her inside.

"I'm being serious! I'm ancient! I could keel over at any second. You're going to have to put me into one of those old folk’s home, where they’ll dress me in scuffed kitten heels and outdated Chanel."

“I promise to polish your kitten heels for you when your crippling arthritis kicks in.” 

Hilda’s expression brightens. “Really?”

“No.”

“Tease.”

Hilda flops onto her bed. It's the only piece of furniture in the room that doesn't have mountains of stuff piled atop it. The chest of draws in the corner is almost entirely hidden beneath the sheer quantity of jewelry that Hilda owns. There's a work station that holds a laptop and a few charging cables, along with heaps of stray electronic devices that Lysithea can't even name. Lysithea would have guessed the table got some use, but for the fact that the chair in front of it is a sand-dune made of clean clothes that Hilda hasn't gotten around to putting away. 

The closet door is open, and shoes are spilling out in all directions. Innumerable jackets seem to be multiplying inside. More unopened shoe boxes teeter towards the ceiling. There's a narrow path between the shoes scattered along the floor that leads to the bathroom door, which is partially ajar. 

When Hilda jumps atop the bed, she bounces twice. She kicks her boots off and flings them in the vague direction of the closet, where they ricochet off the closet door. She places her bottle of cider onto the bedside table, and swaps it for a tablet that was charging there. She flicks the tablet on, and keys in the passcode.

When Lysithea still hasn't moved from her place in the doorway, Hilda glances up at her. "Well?" She grabs a pillow and makes a show of fluffing it up and propping it on the wall beside her, where she gestures to it as though to a throne. "Make yourself at home."

Slowly, Lysithea makes her way over to the bed. Where Hilda had jumped, Lysithea clambered. She nearly spilled her cider, and had to switch it between hands to keep from making a mess of the pink and white striped sheets, which are surprisingly soft. They smell like clean laundry and Hilda's perfume.

She shoves that thought aside brusquely. Clearing her throat, Lysithea slips her work bag from her shoulder and digs through it for her laptop. 

Something warm touches the hand holding her bottle, and Lysithea nearly jerks away before she realises that Hilda is taking the cider from her so that she can shuffle around in her bag without spilling anything. 

"Thanks," Lysithea mumbles, letting Hilda take the bottle for a second.

"Sure thing." Hilda hands the cider back the moment Lysithea has set up the computer on her lap. 

Between the two of them holding the bottle, the cider has begun to warm in their grasps. Lysithea takes a tentative first sip. It's sweet, pear-flavoured, and only has the mildest hint of alcohol. She takes another sip, and then balances it between her legs so that she can still type on her laptop.

“Alright, did you email me your article?”

“Already in your inbox since eleven this morning.” 

Hilda lounges back on her own pillow, sprawling over a good portion of the bed while she, presumably, opens Lysithea’s thesis on her tablet. She had summoned a tablet stylus from somewhere, and is jotting down notes directly onto the screen. 

Bracing herself with another swig of cider, Lysithea clicks on Hilda’s email, and gets to work. 

The silence only lasts for a few minutes, before Hilda’s tablet starts playing music, and she hums along. Lysithea purses her lips, but does not tell her to stop. The additional noise and lyrics means she has to read more slowly for full comprehension. Lysithea finishes her cider, and sets it on the bedside table beside Hilda’s now empty bottle. 

While they work, Hilda contorts herself into a number of poses on the bed. At one point she lies flat on her stomach, and swings her feet in the air. At another, she’s on her back with her head hanging off the edge, holding the tablet up and reading upsidedown. Later still, she sprawls on her side like she’s seated at some ancient Graecian banquet, her head propped on her hand, tapping along with her stylus to the rhythm of whatever pop song is playing.

Eventually, Hilda complains about wanting snacks, and bounces off the bed in search of something in the kitchen. 

She returns with a bag of potato chips, and the invitation, “C’mon. It’s been like two hours. It’s break time.”

Lysithea is still scrolling through Hilda’s article, arduously checking all of her references. “But -”

“No ‘buts’.” Hilda waves the now open bag of chips in Lysithea’s face so that she can’t see the screen properly without leaning far to one side. And even then, Hilda follows her head with the bag. “Relax. The article isn’t going anywhere. It’s not due to be published for, like, two more months.”

Lysithea closes the lid of her laptop and puts it aside. “I don’t know how you do it,” she says, reaching for a chip.

“Do what?” Hilda waits until Lysithea has taken a handful before turning the bag back towards her self. 

For a moment Lysithea can’t answer, because she’s chewing. Finally, she says, “You’ve got that -- that thing. You know. The -” Lysithea grasps at the air with one hand. “What’s that word? It’s Italian. Means you look careless but only because you practice looking careless.”

“Sprezzatura,” Hilda answers without hesitation. 

Lysithea snaps her fingers. “That’s it! Jesus, you’re good at that. No wonder you’re so good at crosswords.” 

Hilda pretends to primp and coquettishly twirl a strand of hair around her finger. “Thanks. I know.”

Lysithea snatches the bag of chips from Hilda’s hands. “Shut up. I wasn’t finished, so don’t look so smug.”

Hilda lets the bag go without any complaint, and says, "Go on, then. What other compliments do you want to render unto me?"

Lysithea sticks out her tongue at her. She knows it's childish, and under any other circumstances she would never have done so. But this is Hilda, and they're all alone. There's nobody else to judge. When it's just the two of them, Lysithea doesn't care if she looks childish -- Hilda would never think she was a child, regardless of her appearance.

"No more compliments,” Lysithea says. “And I could do with less of your strategic incompetence. It's incredibly annoying."

"You should try it sometime," says Hilda, reaching towards Lysithea’s lap to take a chip from the bag. She speaks while she chews, so that her words are punctuated with the crunch of crispy potato wafer. "It makes life so much easier when you don't have to worry about other people's expectations. Trust me."

Lysithea balks at the very thought. "No way! I couldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because!" she tries to think of a reason, but fails. "I just - I couldn't.”

Hilda goes for another chip. “I know you can do better than that.”

“I'm always worried about what people think when they look at me, because I've always been in the spotlight. I was taken out of the normal school system at the age of twelve and put into special programs. And even before that, it was a constant stream of performances. Whether it's with a musical instrument, or my education, or all the doctors -"

Lysithea’s eyes widen. She bites her tongue, when she realises exactly what she has said. Hilda has paused in her chewing, her mouth closed but her jaw almost comically jutting out to one side while she stares at Lysithea. 

“Th-That - What I mean is -” Lysithea stammers. She has to clear her throat, and then fixes Hilda with a hard look that doesn’t match the waver still present in her voice. “You didn’t hear anything.”

Hilda blinks. “Hear what? Anyway, I’m starving. Are you starving? Let’s get something more than this.” She takes back the bag of chips and rolls it closed, sticking a few fingers in her mouth to lick off the residual salt. With her other hand, she pulls out her phone. “How does pizza sound? There’s a place around the corner that doesn’t completely suck and can deliver in fifteen minutes.”

Already hunched back over her laptop, Lysithea answers with relief, “Pizza is fine. Nothing too spicy, please.” 

“Extra jalapeños. Got it.”

Lysithea can’t help but let out a small huff of laughter. 

It’s going to be a long night. 

--

Lysithea awakes to a sea of soft warmth. She blinks, bleary, and squints. Light streams through a window, washing the sheets a bright white. A tangle of pink hair peeks from beneath the sheets beside her, nestled into the neighboring pillow, and Lysithea freezes. 

Hilda. She is in Hilda’s bed. She had spent the night at Hilda’s.

She doesn’t need to look down at herself to know that she is still mostly clothed. Her shoes and sweater have been abandoned somewhere on the floor. She could vaguely remember getting rid of them sometime after they ordered a pizza but before they abandoned their work to watch a show on netflix. Not that they had paid the show much attention. Hilda had spoken through the whole thing, as if every scene were in desperate need of her constant narration.

After that, Lysithea only remembers the warm hum of the laptop between them, and the softness of the bedsheets, and Hilda’s voice lowering to a murmuring lull. She must have fallen asleep, and Hilda hadn’t been so cruel as to wake her and kick her out of the apartment at midnight.  

Empty bottles of soda and cider are scattered like a city skyline on the bedside table. Her laptop was long gone -- probably under the bed at this point. God only knows. The corner of Hilda's phone can be seen beneath her pillow, glinting in the light when Lysithea sits up in bed.

She needs to somehow make her way to the bathroom, but she is up against the wall, the floor at the foot of the bed is a wreckage of clothes, and Hilda is asleep blocking the only path to freedom. She decides to brave the mountain at the foot of the bed instead of crawling over an insensate Hilda. When she slips out from beneath the sheets and starts to edge further down the mattress however, Hilda rolls over, and Lysithea only narrowly escapes being clocked by a knee. 

Swearing under her breath, Lysithea manages to escape, and climbs down the slope of Hilda's clothes. She finds her bag at the foot of the bed, beside her laptop, and breathes a sigh of relief that it hadn't been consumed by the living organism that was Hilda's apartment. Grabbing the bag, Lysithea heads to the bathroom, and shuts the door behind her as quietly as she can. The lock is a one of those sliding bars that covers the gap between the door and the frame, and Lysithea slips it into place. 

The bathroom is, much to her surprise, clean. Apart from the copious amount of bottles and brushes and makeup and hair product and other cosmetic items that Lysithea did not know the names for, it's still clean. Towels hang from a heated rack along the wall, and the combined shower-tub gleams white. 

Unfortunately however there's very little space on the countertops. Lysithea silently debates what to do with her bag until she finally gives up and props it on the edge of the bathtub. She has to bend over to loot through it. She pulls out another smaller bag from within, a black hard-lined case with a red and white caduceus staff logo on the front. It’s only her emergency staff, the one she keeps just in case her day doesn’t go quite as planned. Like yesterday. And today. 

She unzips the case at the sink, but has to stop. Of all the products and bottles Hilda has accumulated, there's not a single empty glass, and she had not thought to bring some of the leftover soda from the bedroom. With a grimace, Lysithea flips the lid of the case up, and goes about part one of her morning routine.

The cavalcade of pills needs to be taken once every twenty-four hours. Most of the pill bottles sport warning labels about adverse effects when mixed with alcohol. She uncaps the first, and shakes a single pill into the centre of her palm. At most she can manage to swallow down two at a time, but it still seems to take an age. Especially since she has to keep moving the bag aside in order to run the tap and sip water from her cupped hands. 

By the end, the front of her shirt has water marks all down it, and she is wiping off her chin and hands upon one of the fluffy towels. The bottles of pills are all lined up on the small bit of ledge she had cleared upon the sink, and the larger case they usually were neatly divided into rests upon the floor. Lysithea puts the last cap back onto its corresponding bottle, twisting until she hears the child-lock mechanism catch. 

She catches sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her pale hair is a mess. She considers the odds that Hilda would mind her using one of the many brushes, before deciding to run her fingers through her hair instead. 

“It’s not weird,” Lysithea tells her reflection in the mirror as she tries to tame a particularly stubborn cowlick to no avail. “She’s a friend. Having friends and staying at their house is not weird. You used to sleep in El’s bed all the time.”

That much, at least, is true. And that was even at Edelgard’s enormous family mansion, where there were more rooms with beds than a hospital, let alone in Hilda’s one bedroom apartment where the couch was off limits due to an overabundance of electronics and tchotchkes. 

Her thoughts are interrupted by a knocking on the bathroom door. 

“Lysithea,” Hilda’s voice is a tired mumble through the door. “C’mon. I need to use the bathroom.”

Frantic, Lysithea swipes all of her pill bottles from the sink ledge and back into her main bag. She doesn’t bother to sort them carefully into their own little miniature case like she normally would, cramming everything into her bag and tugging at the zippers. 

Hilda's knocking intensifies. 

"I'm coming!" Lysithea calls. There's a pause, and then she adds, "If you say 'that's what she says' I will spray you with the shower head."

"You're no fun before you've had coffee in the morning."

Lysithea yanks open the door. Hilda is rubbing at one of her eyes. Somewhere during the night before they had fallen asleep, she had the sense of mind to wash her face and remove all her makeup. Without her usual dark eyeliner and eyeshadow, Hilda looks -- not plain, exactly. Vulnerable. As though she used cosmetics as armour. 

As she slips past her, Hilda says, "Coffee’s in the freezer. There's cereal for breakfast, if you want. Or leftover pizza. Just be sure to leave a slice for me."

"Yeah. Alright." 

The bathroom door shuts, and the lock clicks into place. Lysithea stands there for a moment, unsure of what to do. She really should eat something. The medication was supposed to be taken with food. She can stay for breakfast. It’s fine. It’s sensible.

Sleeping over at a colleague’s house, and sharing a bed, and quibbling over who gets the bathroom, and eating leftovers for breakfast together is not weird. 

It’s not weird. It’s worse.

It’s becoming part of the Routine. 

--

NOTES:

The pinecones on the sweater clip is a very oblique reference to Lysithea’s major Crest of Gloucester and the Thyrsus. In Graeco-Roman mythology, the Thyrsus is a staff with a pinecone at the end. 

also: tfw ur not-gf is too tiny to steal her designer clothes (TToTT)