#this one goes out to padded satin stitch. i think it will be worth it but it's gonna take much longer

[potatoesandsunshine]

doing embroidery is all fun and games until you open the pattern and have to immediately watch 15 tutorials on how to do the stitches

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

Hobbies and Holidays, Or The Halloween Fic

Yes, I know it’s June. I just like Halloween, man. Yuu’s quiet dedication to the finest of holidays sours when confronted with assholes who fuck around for clout.

Contains coarse language, attempted violence, sexuality and nerds being nerds. As always, if you enjoyed it or have any questions, let me know! I like talking with people.

~*~*~*~

"What's cooking?" Ace, cheery as could be, walked his way up towards your set up on the Ramshackle front lawn. "Is it curry? I hope it's curry."

"You might not want to stand downwind." You poked at the bubbling mess on the propane stove, sweat rolling down your back. A beautiful August day, perfect for your project. This sure as hell wasn't something you wanted to do indoors.

"Whaddya mean by that?" The breeze shifted towards him, and he turned an impressive shade of green, stumbling back with his nose covered. "What's in there?"

"Mice. I told you to keep upwind." You went in with a hand strainer, and scooped a pile of tiny bones onto a ratty towel.

"Why are you boiling mice?" 

You mirrored his are-you-goddamned-stupid-or-something face back at him. "I wanted the bones. I went to Sam, but he said he's not allowed to order in dermestid beetles after last time, so I gotta do it the old-fashioned way."

"That's absolutely disgusting,” her said, the disgust and disbelief plain on his face.

"Don't we all know. Grimm fucked right off when the ghosts showed me the mouse graveyard."

"And your first thought at a pile of rotten mice was 'ooo, free bones' like some kinda crazy necromancer?"

"Yup." You scooped out another pile of bones. If you left them in there too long, they'd simply dissolve like in a cooked fish. As it was, you'd have to find a way to strengthen them. Maybe dip them in resin?

"Why am I your friend, again?"

"Because you feel responsible for me."

"Yeah. And you're fun when you aren't being weird and doing shit like taking cemetery pictures."

"I'll stop taking the pictures when I stop finding good grave iconography."

"Yeah, weird. I'm going to leave you to be a gross little maggot by yourself today."

"I'm not eating them."

"They're stewing in a pot."

"To get the meat off!"

"Yeah, whatever. See you at supper. I hope you don't stink."

"We'll find out, won't we?" you muttered, sotto voce, but he was already gone.

~*~*~*~

It was a beautiful day in September, and you heard him far before he knew you had. When you turned to look at Idia, floss wound around your fingers, he started. "Is my stealth that bad?"

You gave him the ghost of a smile. "You're not as quiet as you think you are." He hasn't cottoned on that you can hear what's in his headphones, if they aren't set just right on his head, and you aren't about to tell him. The face he makes when you pick him out so easily was too good to lose.

He nodded, fidgeted, looked at the spread on the table. "What are you doing?"

"Well, she's got to dry. So I'm working on this pattern until the top coat goes on."

'She' was a currently eyeless, disembodied head, that you'd picked up along with her body in a second hand store for a pittance. You'd unstrung her, scrubbed her clean, and now were putting on a face to match her sweet if imperious expression, a bratty princess of a girl in miniature. You hadn't realized you'd liked dolls until you'd seen her. But, when you had, your breath fled your throat in the same way it had only once since coming here.

He looked, but knew better than to touch. He did a little bit of craft work himself, mostly model painting, and wasn't about to muss your hard work. "She's... nice?" He didn't quite get the appeal, despite having two vinyl dolls you knew of stowed carefully in their packages under his bed. When you'd asked, he just muttered that they were anime characters and didn't come out except for photos because something something collectibles something resale value. Boys.

"I could do better. But it's enough. Thank you for letting me borrow the painting set up."

"Y... welcome." He squinted at the embroidery, finally noticing something. "Are those bones?"

In the center of each withered, poisonous blossom in your embroidery hoop, you'd stitched a tiny vertebra to serve as the center. "Yeah?"

"Why?"

"Why not?"

He wasn't ready to push it any further. "If you want..." He hesitated, and stumbled, and you waited until he just brought out his tablet to tap it out on a screen instead. "You can come do that in Board Game Club, if you want. There's a window. Azul shouldn't mind."

"I'll join you after I gear up and put the sealant on her. Thank you for inviting me." You gave him your best, most dazzling smile. "You know how much I like when you include me in your stuff. I know it's not always easy for you; how shy you are and all."

He squeaked and looked away, and you continued. "I should be there in about an hour. Make sure Azul doesn't keep up trying to wager me in chess. I can't fucking play worth a damn and he knows it."

He smirked. "He likes easy marks. Maybe try and get goo-"

You flicked a bone at him, and it hit him square on the nose as he yelped.

~*~*~*~

Welcome, October. Coolness and colour, a certain something on the breeze that felt like a home you'd never let go. Even if it hadn't quite hit the dorms the same way as they main area of the school. (Those little fairies that ran the weather machine didn't seem to believe in seasons for the dorms, or perhaps Crowley gave them a chewing out after the spring?) In amongst the Heartslabyul roses, you'd think it was still summer, and you weren't one to let a day of warmth go.

"Oh, in this chapel of ritual, smells of dead human sacrifices from the altar..."

"Stop that."

You looked up at Riddle, who'd found you in your secluded corner. "Why?"

"You can't sing and the lyrics are awful."

"Is there a rule against that?"

He nodded. "The queen gets to approve all music."

"Ah, of course, mine rosen liege. My petaled monarch. Emperor Rosa." A collar appeared on your neck, and you did not slow down. "Cardiac Sovereign. Dauphine De la Coeur. I can do this all day, Riddle; that collar don't do shit cause I ain't magic."

The colour was high on his cheeks. "Is it your job to annoy me?"

"Oh, you got me. I wake up and spend every moment thinking 'How do I best piss off Riddle Roseheart? How about I stand outside his door and blast nightcore from a boombox?' "

He narrowed his eyes at you. "Stop joking."

You laughed. "Yeah. I only do that with Shoenheit."

That managed to get a bit of a smile out of him. "Why are you being a pest over here, and not at your own dorm?"

"I'm just doing crafts, man."

"While sitting on the grass."

"Yeah, man. Won't be any grass to sit on soon enough. Made sure to not be on the croquet grounds or anything."

He looked at the mess of foam and ribbon around you. "What are you even doing?"

You looked down, and back up at him. "Crafts?"

"More specifically, before I kick you out for being awful."

You held up a padded frame, that you were carefully wrapping a satin ribbon around the many bars of it. "What does that look like?"

He just glared instead of admitting he didn't know, so you got to your feet and held the frame over your chest, the shape clarifying by being pressed over what it mimicked. "It's ribs. It'll tie on with more ribbon. Might put beads and stuff on it too."

He looked for a beat before nodding. "For later this month?"

"Indeed."

"... Continue, then. But be quiet!" 

He was nice enough to remove the collar before he left, but not nice enough to leave it off as soon as you resumed singing to yourself once you'd assumed he was out of earshot.

~*~*~*~

"Hey, Lil?”

"Yeah?"

You looked over the riot of cheery pumpkins and Far East aesthetics that had sprung from your lawn. "You should've asked me, first."

Lil smiled at you. "But then you would have said no."

"I wouldn't have. But," you guestured to the papier mache dragon, "Really, my dude? This isn't what I would have picked at all. I'm not going to match."

"You're working on a costume? Already?" He lit up. "What's it going to be?"

"You'll see."

"Do I get a costume?"

You looked down at your not-cat. "Grimm, I didn't think you'd want one."

"I do now!" He scrambled to your shoulder and tugged at your hair, wailing. "Costume! Costume!"

You rolled your eyes. "Stop that, before I sell you to Lil to practice recipes on."

~*~*~*~

Grimm was no help. He changed his mind every few minutes on what he wanted. At least your incorporeal roommates were a sweet help, finally gearing him up with a hat by the beginning of the week.

"Do you still need one, Yuu?" The middling ghost, the one neither plump nor skeletal, seemed concerned.

"No, babe. I've been working on this since..." August, you think. "I'm good. I hope I can get a week out of it. I could at least do a different face each day."

Realization dawned across his face. "That's what that was for? I see. I guess you won't need..."

Oh, he made you a costume. Layers and layers of rotten gauze from the curtains, a spindrift take on the bedsheet ghost. 

"Hey, I can use this, don't worry. Can you stoke the fire? I've got to dye this to match, I'll need some water boiled."

~*~*~*~

There's too many fucking people. You don't know any of them, they're loud, and they cram in wherever you need to go. But their fussing over you, their asking for pictures is nice. If only...

"Hey, are you lost, kid?" You lean down and reach a hand out to a fearful-looking six-year-old. "I can help you find someone who can help?"

He promptly burst into tears and collided into Floyd as he ran away.

"Hey there itty bitty. You need an adult? Hold on." Even with Floyd... being Floyd, he was a hell of a more welcome sight to the kid, and soon had him balanced on a shoulder to yell for his parents. "Who's under all that?"

"Your favourite shrimp, you overgrown string bean."

Floyd make an o of surprise and flicked the veil up. "It is you under all that! See, kid, She's not scary. She's pretty."

The kid simply eyed him dubiously before going back to trying to wave his parents down to get away from these lunatics.

All your hard work paid off beautifully. A mass of bones, beads and decay, a beautifully jeweled skeleton crowned with a fine halo of gold-and-bone spines and dried flowers. You rattled gently with every step, eyes staring out from a painted skull. They only thing you regretted was Riddle catching you earlier. Even if he hadn't intentionally steered it that way himself, everyone would assume you'd intentionally went to match Heartslabyul. Even more, now that you'd turned those curtains into a veil, even if you'd stuck all the bone and garnet drops you could onto the edges.

"Thank you, Floyd." You leaned up towards the kid. "Didn't mean to scare you, little darling."

The kid just stared at you in fear, and fortunately his parents came along to claim him, leaving you and Floyd by yourself.

"Shrimpie~" He'd scooped you up to replace the kid in his arms before you could protest. "You're so cute like this! Let's go to the alchemy room."

"What's in the alchemy room, Floyd." At this point you were used to him just... hauling you wherever. And you’d found that if you went along with the lighter end of it, he took you seriously when you said no. Weirdo he was, he'd at least gathered that you'd hang out willingly if he didn't push it.

"Oh, well you look so nice! You'll look much nicer in the water tube than the dummy we have in there."

"There are several reasons that can't work, Floyd. Least of it is I only breathe air."

"You're a ghost right now, you don't breathe at all."

"This outfit would not survive a dunking. I'm not sure it'll last the week if I don't repair it every night."

He kept smiling at you. "Even better! Wearing nothing at all on Halloween! Everyone would take even more pictures."

"Yeah yeah, and you have nothing at all in your room if I want to speed that up." You flicked his nose. "Put me down and we can walk over and check how it's going."

"Excuse me?" A stranger. "Can I take a picture of you and your boyfriend like that."

"I'm not her boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend. Go ahead though."

~*~*~*~

"What are you working on?"

Idia's voice was slightly muffled under the pumpkin head. "People kept calling my projection 'cute'. Idiots! They don't know the true fear of Pumpkin Hollow. So I'm adjusting the projection mapping so it's less cute, and more accurate."

"Hm. It seems fine to me as it is."

"You would think that. You don't care if there is a cuteness to things that are scary."

"There's beauty and sweetness in even death." You thought for a moment. "This is for that series you sat me down for? You got mad when I played with the toys?"

"Those. Are. Collecta-" he stopped when he whirled on you, faltering into silence. You really wished you could see the face he was making, he made such sweet faces, especially when he looked at you. You craved them, wanted him to look only at you with those expressions.

You smiled at him. "There's no use in leaving a toy in a box! I don't buy anything I don't intend to play with."

"Ah. Errrrrrrrrghhhmmm." He turned back to his work, took a deep breath, and turned back around. "You watched them, would you give me feedback?"

"Sure. Could you lean down a little?"

He did, and you carefully pulled off the pumpkin, revealing - nothing. No head at all.

You laughed. "Turn that off."

"Why?"

"I just opened your box. Time to play."

He made a strangled noise and started back, looking this way and that. "Right now? Anyone could come in!"

"Just for a moment! How can I give you a kiss if I can't see where I'm aiming?"

His head flickered into view, with a face full of mischief. "... Just one?"

~*~*~*~

"What happened to your makeup?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, model boy." You looked Vil up and down. "You're actually pretty hot like that. It's a miracle."

"Of course you would only find me attractive when I look like a corpse." He rolled his eyes hard enough to sprain. "Do I need to go lie down in a glass coffin too? Stay very still while you actually work up the courage to touch me?"

You snorted. "You wish I would touch you, you overblown jackass."

"With you looking like that? I'd die."

"Bite me, asshole."

"You'd like it if I did."

Your tone grew playful. "Is that a promise for later?"

"Ugh." His shudder was too exaggerated to be anything but an act. "Go ask your ugly little playmate for a bite, we all know what gross shit you get up to."

"You're just mad it's not you."

He pointed a perfectly manicured nail at your painted nose. "You're just mad I want nothing to do with you."

"Then why are you even talking to me?"

"I- why am I talking to you. Go away."

You did, but not before pulling on his cape to wrinkle it.

~*~*~*~

You had a dreadful feeling things were about to get worse. Call it intuition, or paranoia. But with any luck, that would change after a good night's sleep.

(It did not.)

~*~*~*~ These fuckers were getting exhausting. What a grand idea, picking unknown flowers to stick in your hair for selfies! That wasn't an excellent way to come down with a hideous case of contact poisoning at all. You had to swat one girl's hand away from a bed of monkshood, reciting symptoms of aconite poisoning at her until she stalked off in a huff. 

And futzing around with the decorations! The only reason you didn't outwardly congratulate Leona on trying to rip apart a bunch of tourists was that murder is supposed to be bad, no matter how irritating and disrespectful the murder victims were. Even you knew better than to go around fondling random ears and tails! 

(That's why you'd made the anatomy books in the library your friends. Far more polite than going up to a fellow student and saying, "May I feel around your skull for a few hours to satisfy my scientific curiosity? No one at home has ears like that and I'm very curious about the underlying muscle structures." )

Better see what's going on everywhere else.

~*~*~*~

You got up in tiptoe and lightly touched his arm. "Hey, Floyd?"

"??? Yes, Shrimpie?" His face instantly brightening, he dropped the absolutely delighted Magicammer he'd had pressed to the shelf and turned to you, leaning in as you crooked your finger.

You whispered in his ear, "Why waste magic on them when you can do so much more with your fists?"

He shone like the sun as he pressed his cheek to yours in lieu of something more intimate. "You always know just what to do."

~*~*~*~

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE."

The crowd of idiots instead turned on you with flash photography. "Another ghost! This'll get so many likes!"

"I MEAN IT!" Blinking away the spots from your eyes and casting all good sense to the wind, you grabbed a fire poker from inside your bedroom door and started swinging. They laughed and clapped - and only stepped back when you got the damned thing stuck in the wall while taking a swing.

"What an excellent show!" And more. Fucking. Pictures. How in the fuck Vil deals with this shit without murdering everyone in a hundred-foot radius, you'd love to know.

"I SAID-" yank "GET THE FUCK-" yank "OUT OF MY HOUSE!" The force of finally pulling the poker from the wall sent you careening onto your ass, and Grimm only stopped long enough to laugh at you before resuming his own ineffective charge. You stumbled to your feet, muttering. "Stupid little mother fucking fucking fucking fucking fucking fucking..."

"Oh, it's a chase game! Let's go!" And they all fucking scattered into different rooms as you watched them in disbelief.

"I am going to kill everyone in this building and then myself for good measure."

~*~*~*~

"Leave."

"Aren't you going to scare me, Miss Ghost?" This last idiot was joyfully skipping around a bedroom that you'd had the ghosts empty out, nattering into her phone. A livestream, you think.

You're in you goddamned pajamas. "Sure. We don't use this room because the floor's not sound. Get the fuck out and leave before you fall through to the next floor."

The girl instead started to hop in place. "Oooooo, so scary! You'll have to try better than that!"

You rushed her. You probably would have throttled her (and wound up with a new ghostly roommate in the process) but as she backed up, your leg went through the floor where she'd weakened it, which left her cackling. 

"You weren't kidding! Bye now!" And she just fucking left you there like the wretched asshole she was.

~*~*~*~

"I'm so sorry, Yuu."

"Nothing to be sorry about, Mal."

He rested his head on your bare knee and looked up at you. "If I hadn't picked your home as a stamp location, people wouldn't be invading this dorm, and you wouldn't have been injured."

"You fixed me up, didn't you?" He was the one who had pulled you rightways, and shut the scratches on your leg. Of course, he could have left your socks on to do that, but hey, those had been fixed too. You reached down and put your hand on his cheek, rubbing circles by his eye while he stared up at you like an adoring dog.

"This was supposed to be fun for you, so you could have a perfect Halloween."

"That's still a few days away yet. There's still time. And hey."

He blinked up at you as you leaned your face in close, flushing faintly as you did. "Any luck, we'll all make it to November without assault charges."

~*~*~*~

"Yuu?"

You subconsciously growled like a rabid animal as you turned to Lilia with your eye twitching.

"By all the queen's powers." He shrank back. "You alright?"

"Magimons broke the lock on our bedroom and shook her awake last night." Grimm was, by some miracle, in a better mood than you; content to be a comforting weight in your arms and be your anger translator.

"They took," you added, "my groceries."

Lil looked at you in blank shock. "What about the wards on your doors?"

"That's for magic, not fucking morons with no sense of personal space." If you made it through 'til November without actually biting someone's throat out and getting put down like a mad dog, you'd be sincerely surprised. "You of all people should know that."

"Hey, I put them back up after I drop in. You want to go sit with Malleus today? I think you need it."

"Nope. If I snap at him he'll take it to heart. Or just kill everyone who's not staff or student because they upset me."

"No he wouldn't."

"We both know he would."

"He would not because that would be bad press for the kingdom."

"... well, damned if I ever though I'd say this, but thank god for politics."

~*~*~*~

You stare at the empty plinths as everyone started yelling and scrambling. You look to the rubble of the statues, the bases, to Cater, and back to the rubble, nudging what may have once been a staff with you toe.

"And it's not even for a fucking political movement."

~*~*~*~

"Yuu, if we can get rid of the magicam monsters, we can have the party!" Grimm smiled up at you, all sharp teeth and blue eyes. "Aren't you happy?"

You didn't have the heart to tell him that at this point, you'd rather they'd just cancel everything and simply sleep through till All Saint's. Fuck your costume work. Fuck the party. Fuck everything. If you see another jack o lantern you will smash it. Fuck this holiday. You're so tired.

"Yuu, do you have ideas on how to drive the magicam monsters away?"

You stared past Cater's ear because you didn't feel like looking anyone in the face. "Tried to brain a few with a fire poker. Th'just thought it was funny."

This was met with the sound of air sucked through teeth, and a warm hand on your shoulder. "Come with me please!" And Ortho pulled you away with the force of a vaudeville hook.

"You're having a very bad time!" So sweet, so earnest. Right now he was the only person here who could be that chipper and you not want to put their nose out the back of their skull.

You gave him a weary smile. "What was your first clue, honey."

"She keeps kicking in her sleep. When she sleeps. And she's all snappy and horrible!"

You gave Grimm a single light warning shake. "Shut up, Grimm."

"Would you like to stay over so that you can rest properly?" He was hovering directly in front of your face. "Maybe if you're somewhere you won't be woken up, you'll feel better."

You raised an eyebrow and stared over at Idia, who was trying very hard to pay attention to both your conversation and his. "Shouldn't you clear that with someone first?"

Ortho rolled his eyes, the effect on his little boy face frankly hilarious. "Oh, he'd be so upset you have you over. Deeply so. He wouldn't get a wink of sleep with you there." He leaned in. "Except he would, because you wouldn't do anything to keep him up with me there, would you?"

You wheezed. "You think so little of me, Ortho."

"I like you very much even if what you both get up to is gross."

"Of every boy in this school, Yuu. You picked that one."

Ortho glared down at Grimm. "That is my brother you're talking about."

"Stop it. Can we check back in?"

~*~*~*~

"So we're going to run round and scare the piss out of them?"

Jade nodded. "That is the idea, yes."

"... Can I help?"

"Of course, Yuu." Jade smiled his smile that didn't reach more than a millimetre beneath his eyes. "But we've agreed you can't have any blunt objects. For everyone's safety. And the school's reputation, of course.."

"... Yeah, that's for the best."

~*~*~*~

"Can you guys watch Grimm for the evening?"

"Of course." Mal beamed at you from his seat on the Ramshackle steps. "Where will you be that he doesn't want to be?"

"I don't like the horse."

"You ride horses?" Idia was sitting between Mal's legs as Malleus carefully arranged the bright hair into a high ponytail.

"Epel taught me." You paused for a minute. "Do you?"

"Mother made me learn. I haven't in years."

"Makes sense." He didn't like the outdoors, after all. "Mal, how'd you convince him to let you touch his hair? He only lets me do that in private."

"It will look nicer coming out of his pumpkin helmet if arranged higher." Mal crooked his mouth and dragged his lacquered nails along Idia's scalp, making a soft noise when Idia gasped, shivered and abruptly stood up.

"Nope nope nope nope no more of that-"

"May I at least put the elastic in?" Mal held up a black band. "It's fireproof."

He instead snatched it and ran for the library as fast as he could without cracking the armour. You and Mal watched him leave.

"Hm."

"Mal?"

He was still watching the blue light vanish into the distance. "I think I can see the appeal." His dreamy smile gained a sharp edge. "What a delicious sound."

You snickered. "God, I know, right? You should hear some of the other ones I've got out of him."

"You're both disgusting."

~*~*~*~

You hadn't worked out an actual story for this one, just your ghostly roommates and Grimm telling everyone to leave the statues alone. But some asshole, wearing aviator shades and the ugliest piecemeal hoodie you'd ever seen, mounted a plinth to start taking selfies. And once that started, more got the idea, and joined him, trying to nudge the statue away to make room.

So, that's where you came in, pulling into sight at the end of the drive, in tarnished gilt and rotten splendor, jeweled Death on a pale horse.

Sunglasses looked at you and froze, before snapping another picture.

Fucking pictures. You're so sick of pictures.

You snapped the reins and nudged your heels, and who knew anyone on two legs could move that fast? Though potentially being run down by a warhorse was great motivation to move thine arse, as it were. And, thank god, everyone else booked it out the gate after him. 

It only took a little maneuvering to lock the gate while still up on a pale horse named Beans, and now? Time to take him to his stable and go the fuck to sleep. Maybe through past tomorrow. Fuck Halloween.

~*~*~*~

You were riding your merry way when a familiar voice called out to you. "You dropped some loot!"

"What did I lose, Idia?" His little speakers mimicking the clang of armour were working overtime as he jogged up beside you. Once he reached you, he held up... a shoe.

"Huh." You looked down, and you had indeed lost a shoe while charging down a bunch of Magicam-obsessed assholes on a warhorse. "Thank you." That's when you gave Idia a level gaze, and stuck you leg out at him.

He swallowed back his noise of shock, and shaking, took your stockinged foot and slid the shoe back into place. 

"Good boy."

He was turning from shell pink to a deep red that rivaled the roses in Heartslabyul. But that didn't mean he didn't know how to keep playing when emotions were high. Before letting go, he leaned down and kissed the top of your foot.

Now it was your turn to go red; a wonder the painted skull didn't simply melt off of your face.

~*~*~*~

"Shrimpie~"

You took a breath and prepared yourself. Scoopsies was inevitable.

True to form, Floyd had his whole conversation with you in a bridal carry. "We're gonna have the party!~ We chased them all away!~"

"That's..." Honestly, despite all the rage and pain this week had caused, you were rather happy about the news. "Nice."

"Ah - where'd your face go?" He leaned in, and you stopped him from getting too close with a finger pressed to his lips.

"I didn't feel up to wearing everything." Your embroidered gown and painted skull was replaced with a simple back veil and black dress. "I kind of hate this whole holiday right now and I'm ready to kick the next pumpkin I see."

He nodded, kissing your fingertip as he did. "I can help you after. But we need this all for the parade." He brightened. "You should paint up and get on the horse again for it!" He smiled, full of dreamy fondness and not a small amount of hunger. "I heard what you did to the magicam monsters... I wish I could have seen."

"Hey, I heard you didn't do too badly yourself." You leaned in conspiratorially. "Anyone pee themselves?"

He smiled like the sun post-eclipse. "Yup!"

~*~*~*~

Epel had been nice enough to help you kit out Beans in a fancy black harness, so in amongst the crowd of costumed students, you were both equally eye-catching. And hell, pictures weren't so bad right now. People were keeping a distance, murmuring to each other as they aimed their cameras. You thought you were getting a dirty look or two from Vil for stealing his thunder, but he had himself on the prow of a ship! It wasn't comparable.

"So," you said, leaning down a little, "How are you handling this?"

Idia looked up at you, you thought. "The mask makes it easy. They're looking at the costume, not me."

"I'm glad it helps. I wish you'd take it off, but you being comfortable is more important."

"What? You want me to ruin the effect by taking the mask off? Clearly you have no respect for the holiday." His voice had the sweet, bubbling quality that came when he was excited and happy, and it warmed you to hear it.

"Oh, no, of course not. But why would I want to taste a plastic kiss,” you said, reaching a hand down to run the trailing ribbon of his hair through your fingers, “when I could taste you instead?"

You had to give him credit, he only faltered for a moment before continuing. "Right now? In front of everyone?"

"I would if you'd let me, right now." You lowered your voice. "And worse."

He stifled a groan and only walked funny for another ten minutes.

~*~*~*~

"I thought you didn't like horses." The stables were in sight, but Idia had turned up, surprising you.

He rolled his eyes, and held his arms out. "Dismount, fair maiden."

What.

"I mean it. Your Pumpkin Knight awaits."

You shook your head, voice soft. "Baby, no."

"I'm trying to be romantic. Like your novels."

"Idia."

He stared back at you, sour-faced. "What."

"I outweigh you by at least sixty pounds."

"I can do this. I carry Ortho around all the time."

"Ortho's chassis is mostly fibreglass and aluminum. I can carry Ortho. I think Grim could carry Ortho."

He took a step forward. "Do you want me to leave you on the horse or not."

"His name is Beans." But, you managed to dismount into Idia's arms, where he stood stock-still and trembling.

"Kkc."

"Babe? Put me down before your back goes out."

His knees gave out first, and he crumpled beneath you as you both yelped.

"You alright?"

"hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

You crawled off his chest and he could actually breathe again.

"Better?"

After a few breaths, he managed a weak smile. "Maybe kiss it better."

Beans beat you to it, snuffling at Idia's face to make sure he wasn't dead.

~*~*~*~

You are not much of a party person. You like them, but the ideal party is a few friends hanging around in the same room, chatting at a reasonable volume and then going home to go the fuck to sleep. This was a little much.

But you know what this party had that you hadn't seen in what felt like years? Cute girls. In cute costumes! You've been flirting your ass off, with decent success; it turns out that the Magicam Live you did with Vil weeks ago had paid off in the form of smiles and fluttered eyelashes as girls crowded around you to hear tales of how fucking obnoxious you could be in this school and get away with it because you had friends in high places.

At least, until you caught something out of the corner of your eye, and you stopped. "Hey, I gotta check on someone - raise your hand if you like boys. Okay, you see -" You stopped and pointed at your poor, unsuspecting target. "With the blue-black hair and the painted spade? That's Deuce, he doesn't know how to talk to girls worth a damn, so give him some slack. But he's a sweetheart, you won't regret it."

"What about the redhead?"

"Ace is a prick but he's delightful. Chat him up too." With that, you went to check on Idia, huddled into a corner after an attempted force-feeding.

"You alright, babe?"

He nodded. "They're too much. But I'm alright now."

You leaned back against a nearby chair, looking him up and down. "You sure you aren't going to eat anything? I don't think anyone's going to care too much if you have your face out."

He remained completely still, and you realized you could hear a faint whirring.  "Idia. Have you been using the robot double all evening."

"... I swapped out ten minutes ago."

You made a noise and he flinched. "I was going to swap back in after it calmed down!"

"... No you weren't."

"Okay, no I wasn't. But I was there for a while. I have proof, I brought plates back with me."

"You could have just told me. It's been a hell of a lot for you, I know what you're like."

Idia - well, his robotic avatar - shrugged. "If you're going to lecture me... come by and do it here."

You stopped. "You really want me to yell at you in person?"

"I want you to come by. If you want. You can stay as long as you want... if you want. I have snacks, and movies, and games that even you could play."

You snorted. "Oh, the siren call of a fucking nerd trying so hard to woo his chosen..."

"I changed my mind actually, you can't come."

"Aww."

"... That's a lie." He paused. "You can even take the Yume Twins out."

Those vinyl dolls he never let you touch. You throw your veil back and kissed the stupid plastic pumpkin head. "It's a date."

~*~*~*~

"Yuu?"

You peered at Malleus from around a stack of Tupperware. "Mal?"

"You.. enjoyed it all, despite everything?"

"Despite everything." You hefted the stack towards him. "Would you like to help? I want to grab stuff from the party that'll keep at room temperature."

He absently flicked a finger, sending the dishes swirling around to settle in a stack in midair, before placing a hand on your shoulder. "I have a... request."

"Anything," you said, and you regretted saying it as his breath hitched.

"Would you..." His voice faltered, and instead he simply wrapped you in a tight embrace, leaning down to bury his nose in your hair. You could feel him, chest heaving, scenting your greased hair through tulle, murmuring something against your scalp.

"Malleus."

He stopped, but did not move.

"No spells."

"You would not forgive me if I tried." You could feel his smile against your hair.

"I would not." You pulled back enough to look at him, and nearly froze at his besotted gaze before he schooled it into his more usual face. "Mal, you know you only feel this strong because I'm your first friend, right?"

"Does it matter? It is sincere."

And that makes it so much worse. "You know I don't feel about you like that."

"..." The grief that flickered across his face was enough to shatter a stone heart. "To stand with you and hold you is enough."

And they said fairies can't lie. They could, they were just terrible at it.

"You said you were going to ask for something?"

"... Not anymore. I doubt you would give it."

He vanished into thin air in a swirl of wind, and the Tupperware clattered to the steps, the spell holding them gone.

~*~*~*~

The nice thing about Idia's room is that, being a prefect, he had an attached bathroom to scrub the paint off of your face. It was a monochrome murder in the sink, splatters of grey with the occasional pinprick of red where you'd disturbed the new bumper crop of pimples from painting up as a skull for a week. Thank fuck that was over with. Even if the day proper had been lovely, the events of the week had thoroughly soured you on Halloween.

"You alright?" Idia poked his head in, long since divested of armour.

"Yup. How'd you get that shit off so fast? You got a suiting-up machine hidden somewhere?"

"It's less complicated than you'd think. Cosplay magic."

"That's nice. Unbutton me."

"... wha."

You looked at him via the mirror, meeting his wide eyes and shimmying in place. "Unbutton me. I can't reach them all myself."

"How'd you get that on every day?" He hesitantly walked behind, eyeing the row down your back as though it would burn him at the touch.

"I have roommates, remember?"

"Mmh." He finally undid the first three, before flicking his gaze back to yours in the mirror. "A... Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't ask, otherwise." You kept looking, as he took a breath and resumed. "Idia."

He paused.

"Keep going, I'm just going to chat at you for a bit." Two more. "You know I..." How to phrase this. "I don't intend to stay mint on card forever, you know. You can take me out and play."

He twitched, but kept going. "Maybe I don't want to damage you. There's only one of you, after all."

"I'm not so breakable." You had one side of you face completely clear, the other still smeared grey in the creases. "Would you rather stay mint condition, yourself?"

"..." He took a moment to gather himself, staring at the exposed skin of your back. "Maybe I want to... admire a bit. Get to know my- your- Uh."

You waited with a soft smile, until he found the words. "No one said you have to play straight away when you take something out of the package. Right?" He placed an experimental hand on the expanse of flesh between bra band and waistband, and did not draw away.

"Right."

"... Maybe I just want to hold you a bit before we play."

What a sweet boy you had. "Take all the time you need to. Even if we never play like that, I like you. Spending time with you is what I want."

You could see the motes of pink flickering through his hair. "Can I hold you now?"

"Of course."

He slid his hands under your dress, around your waist - then grabbed your soft, flabby tummy in both hands and squeezed. "Soft~"

You squealed with laughter. "What are you doing?"

"It's bare skin that's neutral territory," he huffed, before hugging your back to him and resting his chin on your shoulder. "And it's warm, too."

"Not so much as you. Keep me warm, will you? It's getting so damned cold at night."

He buried his face in your hair. "I can do that."

~*~*~*~

You woke to someone banging at the door.

"Son of a bitch." You managed to free yourself from Idia's sleeping grasp and make it to the door as a familiar voice started up. "Shroud, your tin can brother's already helping with clean-up, if you skip out because of a stupid game I will-"

You opened the door and looked levelly into Vil's face, which twisted in surprise. He gave you a once over (unshaved legs, mussed hair, boxer briefs from the men's section and a blue-black striped shirt that was clearly not yours) and then peeked over your shoulder at Idia (dead asleep, smiling faintly, possibly naked under the blankets). He kept looking between the two of you with increasing disbelief and horror, until he stepped back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Good for you."

"Thanks." Your face still hadn't changed.

"It's twelve thirty. If you're not both out helping clean up by three, I'm telling everyone."

"That's not much of a threat."

"Maybe to you. Shroud!"

Idia shuddered awake, bleariness washed away by terror as he saw Vil in the door and covered himself in the blankets.

"Be out helping cleanup by three or I'm telling everyone exactly why you're late." With that, he stalked off and you shut the door, mirroring his nose pinch.

"Dramatic bastard, ain't he? Even when he's being nice."

"How is that nice?" He only stopped shivering when you sat back down on the bed.

"Two and a half hours, Idia."

He blinked at you.

"How much can we do in two and a half hours?"

Realization dawned, and he started snickering as he dragged you in close.

[out-of-jams]

Desperate Times || Teaser #1 || jhs

↠ Desperate Times ↞ …call for desperate measures. You’re more than ready to lose your virginity, but have no one to give it to. When an attempt to bag a one night stand goes horribly wrong, your friends suggest breaking open the spell book to solve your problem. But maybe summoning an incubus wasn’t the best idea…

Warnings/Genre: Incubus!Hoseok. Witch!Reader. Virgin!Reader. Magic. Supernatural. Explicit language. pwp. Smut. Dom!Hoseok. Sub!Reader. Marking. Jealousy. Possessive!Hoseok. Incubus!Jungkook. Jungkook is a little shit. Warlock!Jimin. One shot.

Expected word count: 10-20k

Release Date: June 29th @8PM EST. Add yourself to the tag list here!

                                     Teaser:

“Shouldn’t you know better than to turn your back on a summoning circle, little witch?”

You froze, hand dangling halfway in the air from shoving your spellbook back into the bookcase. Pulse accelerating as your heart leapt to your throat, you sucked in a deep breath and prepared to turn around. Only you didn’t get the chance to. Not before a pair of hands slammed into the wooden shelves next to your head and caged you in. The supernatural being at your back wasn’t even touching you and his burning heat seared itself onto your skin.

At least you were assuming that he was, well, a he. His voice was a deep rumble--raspy in a way that could’ve utterly enticed you if you’d let it. It sounded like the first sip of an expensive glass of scotch: smooth, but dangerous if you had enough of it. And his scent, husky like the dying embers of a bonfire, enclosed the living room around you. Threatened to swallow you whole before you even laid your eyes upon his face.

“You never know what could come crawling out of one.” You could feel the air shift as he bent his head to murmur into the shell of your ear. And it took everything you had not to let the goosebumps rise from your flesh when his breath tickled your skin. No good would come of letting a demon know how much leverage it had over you. “Just how inexperienced are you, hm?”

Clearing your throat, you stared at the hard red spine of one of the books on the shelf in front of you. Traced the outline of the barely there stitching binding it together in order to force yourself not to let the demon bait you. Who knew what you’d managed to summon? What kind of power the creature at your back held. What he could do if you managed to anger him.

“I didn’t think it worked.” You attempted to sound nonchalant and gave yourself a mental pat on the back when your voice came out steady. “You took so long to get here that I thought nothing would answer.”

The demon responded with a breathy chuckle that caressed the hair at the nape of your neck. “Every incubus worth their hellfire heard you.”

You felt a little bit of the tension pinching the muscles between your shoulder blades relax at his admittance. At least you’d managed to actually summon what you’d initially set out to and not some hideous, flesh eating demon that would kill you before you could even open your mouth.

“Your soul could be smelled all the way from Hell.” His lips brushed your ear with each syllable of the gravely drag of his voice. “Even now the purity is practically bleeding from your pores. Such a temptation, little witch, that I had to fight my way to be the one to answer your call. So tell me, why have I been summoned?”

Squeezing your eyes closed quickly to work up the courage, you steeled yourself and blinked them open to slowly turn around. The light from the hallway next to your living room was the only thing that illuminated the demon standing before you. All of the candles that’d been lit inside each point of the pentagram you’d drawn on the floor were extinguished. Had died once he’d stepped through the portal along with whatever gateway connected Earth with Hell.

Even without sufficient lighting, the hard panes on his bare, sculpted stomach were completely visible. As was the hard lined “v” that peaked out from the low rise of his dark green satin pants. They looked so incredibly soft to the touch that you had to physically stop yourself from reaching out to see how they’d feel beneath the pads of your fingers. His feet were bare, sticking out from beneath the slight flare on the bottom of his pant legs.

Swallowing, your eyes took their time drifting up from his toned abdominal muscles, to the metal rings pierced through his nipples. Lines that made up letters and words you didn’t understand were inked in black into the flesh around his ribs that connected somewhere around his back and down past his waistband. And starting from the tops of his trapezius’, a single, steady line went down each of his arms and ended at his wrists.

He was slim in build, but had muscles in all of the right places. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths as you finally trailed your appraising gaze up the slender slope of his neck to take in his face. And all of the breath in your lungs left you like a deflated balloon.

You’d heard from older, more mature witches who were strong enough to succeed at summoning an incubus that they were incredibly attractive. They had to be, in order to bed the women they needed to sustain themselves on. But god, you hadn’t prepared yourself enough for just how magnetizing their appearances could be.

The demon’s face was all angles and sharp lines and perfect symmetry. From his kissable looking heart-shaped mouth, to the perfect angle of his straight nose and the dark eyebrows that framed his features. His eyes were strikingly exotic; so dark that you feared you’d fall straight into them and never escape. Sharp, yet beautifully deep and so inhuman-like that the hint of mischievousness that lurked within their depths was tantalizing.

Brunette hair, wavy and long enough to both cover and expose his forehead, threatened to fall into his eyes as he tilted his head to the side. Two long ringed, red-so-dark-they-were-almost-black horns emerged from the sides of his head to curve a little at their pointed ends. They looked both rough and smooth and reflected what little light there was in the room. He still wasn’t touching you, but he didn’t need to in order to ensnare you.

“Like what you see?”

The incubus’ mouth pulled back in an amused grin to reveal two pairs of frighteningly sharp incisors. Ignoring the embarrassed heat that you could feel coloring your cheeks at being caught gawking, you met his intense stare head-on. “What’s your name?”

He raised an eyebrow and the slow movement of his tongue snaking out to wet his lips stole your attention. “What’s yours?”

Flickering your eyes back up and away from the temptation that was his mouth, you bit the inside of your cheek. Summoning an incubus for a witch at your novice level wasn’t advised for a reason. The pure power that radiated from him, taking up presence in your living room was more than enough to draw you in without him needing to try. To overwhelm your limited ability to hold demons at bay, to stop yourself from giving him anything and everything he asked of you.

His question was met with the same non-response that yours was. One’s name was the most valuable thing any being could hold. It was tied with your identity, the very soul that inhabited your body. With it, something or someone could manipulate you, cast magic upon you that could bind you to them in the worst possible ways.

You may not have been a very strong witch, but at least you weren’t stupid.

“I’ll ask again.” The incubus slid his hands along the shelf behind you until the flesh of his bare arms threatened to touch you. And his voice lowered itself into a dangerous murmur. “Why have I been summoned?”

Taking a deep breath, you both mentally and physically prepared yourself for the words that left your throat. “I want you to take it.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, little witch.”

“My virginity,” you whispered, forcing yourself not to look away bashfully. Any sliver of weakness and he’d take it and use it against you. “I want you to take it.”

His eyes darkened, sparked with something within their depths that you had no chance in deciphering. Lifting one of his hands from the bookshelf, he grasped your chin between his fingers and dragged the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip. It burned--deliciously.

“What do you want in return?”

“Nothing.” Your answer was spoken against his flesh with surety.

His tongue poked at the inside of his cheek as if he were trying to taste any hint of deception. “You want to make a deal without gaining anything? Do you know how valuable you are right now?”

Despite his words, he moved closer. Leaned down until his eyes were level with yours and his breath brushed across your face with each word that left his mouth. “Do we have a deal or do I need to summon another incubus who’d take it?”

You didn’t know where all of the bravado came from, but you didn’t care. Not when his eyes flared with heat that was nothing if not a silent promise to make you regret your snarky remark.

“Deal.”

The fire that flooded your veins at his acceptance only escalated the moment his mouth slammed against yours and sealed your fate.  

[velteris]

indulge me

post-episode 3: Princess takes Ange’s treatment into her own hands.

(i started writing this on August 28th lmao)

It’s been some time since she’s seen so much blood, come to think of it.

She used to dance till she wore great red sores in the soles of her feet, until they got used to it and she stopped having to bandage before every ball. There were always the odd papercut incidents, too, and needle pricks when her attention drifted while embroidering. But she hasn’t even had the luxury of a skinned knee for years now. A princess’s body was meant to be admired, adorned, not active.

Which makes it quite the shock when Dorothy pulls up the car and she sees her own face covered in blood.

Beatrice is making distraught noises, dabbing at Ange’s face with scraps of parachute. Ange bears it in taut silence; her eyes dart to Princess’s once, then away, resting somewhere above Beatrice’s head.

Princess bites her tongue, swallows metal and worry and a name that can’t be spoken now. Dorothy rolls over her silence and takes the first words instead: “What happened?”

“Beatrice decided to stow away,” says Ange as Beatrice bursts out, “It won’t stop bleeding!”

Dorothy swings over the side of the car. Belatedly, Princess opens the ignored car door, but for some reason, her feet carry her to the edge of the blooming parachute and no farther.

“Hold your bangs back for me,” Dorothy orders, suddenly sounding every inch of her age.

Ange obeys mutely. Dorothy slicks back a few bloody strands, fingers dyeing red, and inspects the sluggishly-bleeding head wound. She sighs and pronounces the verdict: “Deep but small. It’s probably only bleeding so much because of the sky-dive. Get in the car; we have bandages, but we can probably sew you up at base better.”

“Ange,” says Princess. Training straightens her back; instinct shivers down her arms. “Are you alright?”

“Don’t worry,” says Ange. Her eyes are cloudy. Princess counts the minutes between the phone call and their arrival, multiplies it by drip rate, and comes to an uncomfortably high amount of blood loss. “All Black Lizard Planet natives bleed like this. We’re fragile, you see.”

“Fragile my ass,” says Dorothy. “Come on, in you get. Beatrice, Princess, give me a hand with this parachute, it’s a dead giveaway.”

She spends the whole car ride planning, juggling what she knows of each of the other girls’ personalities and responsibilities. Here is a talent she’s cultivated over countless public appearances, sizing up her allies and enemies and in-betweens with three sentences and a well-placed smile, playing them against each other as best as she knows how.

So. To Dorothy, she says, “You must need to make your reports immediately. Please, allow us to take care of Ange’s wounds.”

Dorothy eyes her doubtfully. “Do you know any first-aid?”

She knows swiping cut fingers along dusty windowsills instead of a bandage, and pouring filthy, salty water over a chimney-sweep’s soot burns, and conning passersby into buying useless tonics of unknown chemicals with a sweet smile for enough money to buy a bread loaf. “I’m good at embroidery,” she says instead. “And Ange can instruct us, can’t she?”

To Beatrice, she says, “Beato, would you mind letting us be? I know you don’t like the sight of blood.”

As expected, Beatrice blanches at the mere mention, but she lifts her chin stubbornly. “I can help!”

Princess is so proud of her tiny follower. She also mentally apologises as she drops her voice from soft to severe and says, “Beato. I also need to speak with Ange in private, to apologise for your behaviour today. Ange could have been seriously hurt by your reckless decision.”

It works, oh help her. Beatrice looks like a kicked puppy, but slinks off mumbling about preparing tea for them once they’re finished. Princess promises herself to make amends later and soothe Beatrice’s guilt.

But it’s all worth it when, finally, she can say: “Come here, Charlotte, put your head in my lap.”

Ange gives her an incredulous look. It doesn’t work as well when she only has one eye open. “I’ll get blood all over your clothes.”

Princess draws a towel over her lap and looks at Ange expectantly. Ange’s cheeks go from wan to rose-tinged wan; her one eye darts off to the side.

“Before you bleed out, please,” Princess says.

Ange obeys.

It’s a slow, hesitant process, and Princess treasures every moment of it, of Ange closing the distance between them. She sits on the bed, smoothing wrinkles out self-consciously; scoots a little closer, then a little further, like a cautious animal. Princess waits.

Her legs swing up onto the bed, and she turns her back to Princess. Ange’s neck is speckled with soot and airship grime. So is her hair, and Princess wonders if she can convince Ange to let her wash her hair.

Ange leans back, and stops as a drop of blood hits the covers. She opens her mouth.

“No,” says Princess, and cups one hand around the back of Ange’s head, puts the other hand on Ange’s sternum, and press-press-presses her down until her lap is full of grey hair and startled blue eyes.

(From this angle, Ange looks so young.)

Princess’s hand moves over her tools, selects thin cotton wipes and a small bowl of water. “Close your eyes,” she orders, and starts to clean Ange’s face.

It’s not too deep a cut, but head wounds always bleed like one. It curves up along Ange’s hairline till whatever hit Ange presumably met Ange’s braid and stopped, and tapers off over Ange’s eyebrow at the other end. A little blood wells up sluggishly when the wipe passes over the cut. The skin around Ange’s eyes tighten, but she says nothing and makes no sound.

“Sorry,” Princess whispers anyway - and at last, Ange makes eye contact.

“It’s alright. You’re doing fine.”

“You’re going to have to tell me what to do soon,” she admits. “I told Dorothy as much.”

With a concrete task, Ange relaxes. “You’ll need to stitch it. Dorothy gave you the first-aid kit? Good - give me an alcohol wipe while you sterilise the needle and thread…”

Princess works in near silence, keyed to Ange’s instructions. She only hesitates once - right before the needle goes into the skin - until Ange takes a slightly deeper breath, and it’s interesting how they haven’t been reunited for more than a few days yet Princess already knows that’s Ange for stop stalling. Then her hands fall into a familiar rhythm.

Thankfully, it’s only a few stitches. Eager to help though she may be, Princess doesn’t think she could have stood more than that minute of seeing Ange’s skin shudder under her hands, knowing that she’s hurting Ange. Ange’s grim silence only makes it worse.

“There,” she says lightly, trying not to show how shaken she was. “I don’t think it was badly done, if I might say so.”

Ange pats carefully at the stitches and nods approval. Then it’s just one more sterilising wipe and the small bandage.

“Thank you,” says Ange, peering up at her from her lap. Memory stabs through Princess’s heart; her face is sharper, the baby fat worn away, but Princess remembers seeing a little girl who carefully sticks a similar bandage onto her nose, grins at Princess, and runs off past the castle walls…

Princess smooths her thumb over the edges of Ange’s bandage. “Anything for you,” she murmurs.

This close, she can see Ange’s shoulders tense, her collarbones standing stark. Princess frowns and makes a meaningless soothing sound, carding her fingers through Ange’s bangs, trying to relax her.

“That’s… I’m sorry,” mutters Ange, trying to turn her head away. But Princess won’t let her run - not after they’ve finally found each other again. If she had to, she could make a guess at why there’s guilt written into Ange’s thinned lips, even though her instincts tell her not to press yet.

All she says instead is, “Don’t be,” as she leans down. She presses a long kiss against Ange’s forehead, carefully clear of the bandage, like a benediction. Ange inhales sharply under her. Ignoring Ange’s renewed tension and her own racing pulse, Princess holds the kiss until they both settle into this unfamiliar marvel.

Ange’s smiling for the first time since that rooftop reunion when Princess pulls away. “This is new.”

“Indulge me.” Princess does it again, partly to see Ange’s eyebrows wrinkle cutely, partly just for the thrill. “Can I help anywhere else?”

Ange’s eyes stay closed for a moment more before she breathes out and swings herself upright. Princess watches her go with a twinge of disappointment - till Ange turns around and offers up her left hand, like a parody of a dance request.

“I’d usually take care of this myself,” Ange admits. “But - since you’re offering, indulge me…?”

The red satin of her glove’s palm-side is mostly burnt away. In its stead, an angry red circle blooms on Ange’s palm, fanning out along her fingers. Blisters (thankfully small) trail the creases of the finger joints.

It takes Princess a moment to connect the dots. Ange’s right-handed, so she fires with her right, and the left is… “The C-ball?”

“They couldn’t quite work the kinks out of the prototype.” Ange’s mouth twists; not quite a smile. “Normally I’m more careful than this, though.”

Princess takes the proffered hand and bends over it. It’s a few delicate seconds as she works the glove’s tattered remains off without aggravating the burn further. “I’m afraid this is a little beyond my embroidery skills.”

“I’ll make Control give me one with better padding next time.” Ange plucks an antiseptic cream from the first aid kit. “Make sure to cover it all; it would be bad if it scarred and we didn’t match anymore.”

Princess hums as she smears the cream liberally over Ange’s burns. “Is that still necessary? Operation Changeling?”

“It’s a good backup plan,” says Ange. “If you’re ever in too much danger, I can still take your place. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Says the one covered in scrapes,” scolds Princess. Ange has the decency to look abashed as Princess finishes and wipes the excess cream carelessly onto the towel. It’ll need a good cleaning anyway. “Anywhere else, Charlotte? No - don’t give me that face, indulge me just a little more.”

Ange pats at her face, assessing the grazes on her nose, then at her ribs. “No - makeup can hide the rest. Thank you, Princess.”

Princess claps decisively. “Time for a bath, then,” she says cheerfully. “Might I call Beatrice for her help?”

“Wh - is this going to be a joint operation?”

“Your hair, at the very least. You can’t wash it well with only one hand.” Princess doesn’t wheedle. She prefers ‘gently encouraging and persuasive’.

Ange narrows her eyes at Princess, who affects her most innocent look. At last, she says grudgingly, “No Beatrice yet. Just… just you. Indulge me.”

And she thought she’d never get to see that spoiled, petulant princess again.

“Gladly,” says Princess, smiling uncontrollably as she goes to fill the bathtub.