#❥⠀﹙ hermidetta. ﹚⠀what remains in a garden but the dandelions we once wished on and their ghosts?

[aubins]

cont. / @hermidetta

They can never say she doesn't surprise them. Certainly, the last thing Yuri expects is for her to turn to them and immediately start choking on a pastry.

“Bernadetta?!” It brings a new meaning to taking someone's breath away, even if they've never meant it so literally. They say as much as they rush to her side with a frown, looking her over even if she no longer seems at immediate risk of choking to her death. “Breathing all right?” they prompt, gaze narrowing. “I'm not going to be named your would-be assassin again, Bernadetta. Don't make me take you to the infirmary.”

But if she has the breath to be stumbling over her words and stammering nonsense, then she has to be fine. “Degenerate Bernie?” they repeat, a brow raising. Just what was going on in that head of hers? What Yuri would give for even a small peak at it, though they have to wonder if they would even understand any of it.

“Mhm,” Yuri hums dryly as she says something about having another engagement, takes their hand anyway. Idly, their free hand reaches up, tucks those violets hanging from her head back behind an ear.

They mimic a buzzing noise once she's said her piece, snorting. “Wrong. People like Yuri do, actually, with people like Bernie. Otherwise I wouldn't have sought you out.” She could say things like this a thousand times and their answer would never change. “It comes with being friends with me, so no takebacks on it now.”

And they laugh, but not to mock. Never to mock her. The corners of their eyes crease as they do, tugging her closer with their interlocked hands. “Hm, but it does feed my ego to hear how super extra gorgeous you find me.” And they sober, just long enough to say, “You're beautiful too, Bernadetta.” Their free hand raises, presses a finger to her lips before she can interrupt. “Shh— I'm not taking protests.”

“Now, teach me a dance,” they finally say, hand falling to hover at her waist. “All I know are boring ballroom dances from Faerghus. They're no fun.”

[aubins]

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　—　𝒇𝒊𝒏.

what's behind curtain number 3?

recovery / the one you thought you lost

[aubins]

a kiss on the corner of the mouth,  hoping for more but expecting nothing — because how can she? how can bernadetta ever assume? she is scared, always so scared, and not of yuri—no, never of yuri—but of trespassing where she may not be welcome because she would sooner bury herself than do that to them. a repulsive thing like her has no business yearning. (they have already suffered too much.)

so after what feels like ages in some nerve-wracking limbo, of fidgeting with her armored bear stuffy, bernadetta finally ducks her head to peck its fluffy snout. she does her best not to choke and sputter as she flips the plush around and nudges it against yuri's face. ashen eyes squeeze tight, awaiting their verdict. another heart-stopping laugh at best, a noise of irritation or disgust at worst? she can survive either way, she thinks, all because it's yuri.

a kiss on the corner of the mouth, hoping for more but expecting nothing　╱　another kiss prompt

Their laughter is birdsong, head twisting to press a proper kiss back to Sir Bear Stuffy's snout. How sweet of her; how silly of her. If she wants one for herself— if she wants anything, really, that they can provide, and even if she wants what that they cannot— Bernadetta need only ask. Yuri would do anything for her if she asked.

“Bernadetta~” they hum her name with a small, secret smile, a hand coming to rest on the plush's head to gently push it down. Yuri has to tease— it is as expected as the rising and setting of the sun or the pushing and pulling of the waves— affection woven into the lilting syllables of their amusement.

The mockingbird presses the back of a hand dramatically to their forehead, shaking their head. “Look at me, Bernadetta,” they moan in exaggerated despair. “So lonely that I have to turn to a stuffed animal for company!” Even then, they cannot hide the curl at the corner of their lips. “If only someone could help with that, hm?”

Slowly— always slowly, always with enough time to let her get away, if she wanted to— Yuri leans forward. Reaches a hand up tentatively to cup her face, head tilting in silent query. How could she not know by now? She would never be unwelcome, not when it was she who accepted them back into her life with such open arms when they had been prepared to face the gallows.

For all the grace she has extended to them, they only wish she would offer even a fraction of it to herself.

“You can ask,” they murmur, holding her gaze. And maybe there is a part of them that needs her to ask, a part of them buried under all the confidence they'd built up as walls that needs to hear her say it, just to know for sure. “Anything— ask me for anything. The answer will always be yes.”

Anything for her. Only ever for her.

[aubins]

??? huh?? huh. oh, great. ok but you had to know it was coming. there is the faintest sound of sniveling at their feet. then without warning bernadetta wails yuri's name, flies, and latches onto their leg with all arms and legs just like a koala. “YURI WE'RE ON THESE ISLANDS AND THEY SAID THERE ARE PEOPLE WATCHING OUR EVERY MOVE AND BERNIE'S IN A ROOM FULL OF STRANGE MEN AND SHE CAN'T FIND DOROTHEA ANYWHEREANDTHEHhhhHHHRGHGHGGHHGAAaAaAaAAA—”

Of course they know, even before the purple blur lunges at them and attaches to their leg. These days, it seems as though all Yuri has to do to find her is turn their head toward some strange shuffling nearby and Bernadetta von Varley will inevitably appear. And just like clockwork—

They stumble back a step at the collision, perhaps even two, but they are still decidedly calmer than she is when they say, “Hello, Bernadetta.” A hand comes to settle atop her head, their next exhale an amused huff of a laugh. Not even a second in and words are already spilling from her mouth like a waterfall. “You're fine— just take a breath. Nothing's even happened yet.”

She says something about people watching them and strange men in her room and not being able to find Dorothea— and they untangle the knots of her babbling one by one, fingers absentmindedly stroking through her hair. “Anyway, I haven't seen anyone else here except for us and our hosts, so don't put too much stock into it.”

Though, after all the strange occurrences these past few years, Yuri doesn't believe their own words as much as they'd like to. But Bernadetta doesn't need to know that. “Besides”— a snort punctuates the words— “you're the best hider I know, so I think you'll be fine no matter if it's people watching you or strange men in your room. But I'll come to run them off if you need me to, yeah? Don't worry that pretty little head of yours about it too much.”

“Ladybird's not on my team either, so that's already two of the four down. I'm sure it won't take long to find her.” Knuckles rap gently against her head, brow raising. “I'll help you look, so get up already. I can't carry you around on my leg everywhere— you have to walk.”

[aubins]

WHEEZES AND BLEATS AND TRIPS OVER HERSELF LIKE 2 TIMES TRYING TO SPRINT TO YURI WITH A WHOLE BASKETFUL OF JUICE BOXES and falls a third time face first on the ground by their feet. she kind of just lays there for a second too don't even worry about it. but then bernadetta lifts her head and finally holds up the fuit juice. yuri they hurt you

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” A lurching step is taken in her direction, quickly aborted as a knee buckles under their own weight. The venom in their irate hiss is oft reserved for their enemies, but their own body has turned traitor for the moment under the weight of their injuries. “Careful!” they instead call to her sharply, though not yet scolding, but— too late. Bernadetta is already sprawled across the floor a few paces away.

Their next, tentative step holds steady, and they cautiously pick their way toward her as soft, tired laughter slips from their lips. On shaky legs do they sink down to their knees by her side, head shaking. “Bernadetta,” they chide gently, “I said careful. I'm not going anywhere. You'll hurt yourself at this rate.”

They'd had to baby her as children too, so in that sense, they suppose, some things never change. It does seem to be a day for musing on memories— first the Battle of the Eagle and Lion of their academy days, now their days with her in House Varley.

If only such nostalgia did not taste of blood.

“I'm fine, all right? It looks much worse than it actually is.” Not all the blood is theirs, and the small scratches and tears in their uniform only serve to paint an even worse picture than reality. But the healers had swiftly given them a once over the moment they were able. A bit of rest and they'd be back on their feet like normal soon. What Yuri really wants right about now is a warm bath and some clean clothes.

Of course, all she can really give them is the fruit juice that always seems to go around, but some sugar is a start.

The juice is taken from her, then set aside in favor of offering her their hand in its place. “Come on, up you go. You didn't hurt yourself anywhere, did you?” A pause, looking her over as they remember: “Hey, where did that sign of yours go?”

[aubins]

amidst all the clamor and ruckus, some purple creature is vaguely crawling about in the background. it seems to be bernadetta. with a giant sign. with a cartoon doodle of yuri's head. with a caption that bernadetta herself is bleating pathetically at the top of her quivering lungs: "YURI PLEASE DON'T DIE YURI GO YURI GO GO YURI (WHO WILL STAY VERY ALIVE AND UNHURT)" or something along those lines. they may not be able to see her but incredible that she came out of her room for this

Beyond the clamor of the battlefield, there’s the expectant rumbles and cheers of the audience, calling out in support of houses and students alike. There’s no one here to cheer for Yuri— and it’s not like they’re expecting there to be. Like Constance, Hapi, and Balthus would drag themselves all the way to Gronder just to—

The sound of their name has their head snapping up, momentarily distracted as their gaze shifts from the newly felled opponent across them toward the direction of the voice.

Even if they can’t quite see her, they can hear her just fine. They can see that sign of hers just fine too. Is that drawing supposed to be of them?

Yuri can’t help it. How absurd! Laughter bubbles from somewhere deep in their chest, a giddy sort of amusement they haven’t felt in a long time. Their opponents must think them insane.

But they still raise a hand to wave in Bernadetta’s direction before throwing themself back into battle with a grin.

Staying very alive isn’t even a question, but they’ll have to see about staying very unhurt too. She insisted, after all.

[aubins]

wheezes. rasps. bleats and hacks even. it seems like every week she's getting more and more scraped up. jumping off a cliff straight into the ocean, though, is probably the most ridiculous stunt she's pulled yet. it's nothing more patches and coping can't fix, so bernadetta drags herself to yuri once again. despite everything she's okay.

with a huff and a pout that's never truly angry, the ribbon (cleaned and dried, of course) goes from her chest back to theirs when both of her palms lightly urge it against them. it's giving animal crossing hamster villager stomping. they're even on an island, go figure.

"yuri, you big old"—ah, fuck, still so stupidly gorgeous wait that's not the point don't get distracted bernie you degenerate—"meanie! s-some good luck! you got to go again to the island bernie wanted while she got doomed with her last pick! the most impossible task! completely impossible! but, but she really wanted to see you again, and she had to keep her promise, so she did her best..."

fidget, fidget. the rest of her expression falls, leaving naught but a soft frown and knitted concern between her brows. gray eyes flit over them as discreetly as bernadetta thinks she's being, which is hilariously not discreet at all, scouting their person for any injuries or signs of wear similar to her own.

"...are you okay?"  she pipes up, head still slightly ducked from the weight of her own timidity.  "we... we both made it really far. i didn't mean what i just said, either. i don't think i could've gotten through this week without your ribbon. thanks for lending it to me."

so she has to return the favor, doesn't she? bernadetta hesitates, always far too unsure of herself, always so certain she is unwelcome, but she retrieves something from her pocket. stitched by hand, it's a charm just for them: lilac, just like their eyes, and shaped into a tiny bird stuffy.

"you have to return this to bernie when we make it back to the academy, okay?"  they don't. in fact, she'll just shake her head and stall it again if they ever try, moving the goalposts farther and farther—next week it'll be another week before yuri needs to "return" it, and then another week after that.  "... it's important."  (you're important.)

“I’m not old,” comes the affronted response, even as their hand comes to rest over where her own come to press against their chest. Solid and real against them, they can reassure themself with the fact that she’s here. She’s okay. Yuri doesn’t dare to ask for more. The corner of their lip twitches slightly, unable to play more straight-laced when they feel the laugh bubbling in their chest. “Hey, if you wanted to get chased in circles by some gargoyles, I would have happily switched places.”

That ribbon and the title it bestows upon them tend to bring more trouble than they do luck, but Bernadetta need not know that. “Anyway, my bad. Guess the luck’s non-transferable. I feel pretty lucky, after all. I won my game, my team’s almost caught up to yours in points, and”— most importantly, or rather, the only actual important point to Yuri amongst them all— “you came back to return my ribbon.” You came back to me.

Albeit a bit… Their brows crease together. “You know, I think I ought to be asking you that. I was the one in the ruins with all the monsters, right? Why do you look like you’re the one who’s gotten all scratched up by them?” But she’s right, isn’t she? They’ve both gotten this far. Just a bit longer, and maybe they’ll finally get some answers. Yuri smiles, their hand moving to pat her on the shoulder. She is braver and brighter than she gives herself credit for. “Don’t sell yourself so short, Bernadetta. I didn’t even give you any of my luck. That was all you.”

Bernadetta never needs to return any favor; Yuri will never come to collect from her. She could have lost their ribbon, tossed it out to sea, set it aflame, and so long as she was all right, they wouldn’t have minded. But she had promised them to return it, so here it is anyway, just as pristine as it had been when they handed it to her just a week ago— honestly, it’s might even be cleaner than it had been previously. As she goes to dig through her pocket, they take the chance to stuff it away in their own. They’d have to return it to its place on their uniform once they got back to the sheep’s dormitory.

When their attention returns to her, it's to a small, lilac bird stuffy being offered to them. Yuri blinks once, glances at Bernadetta then back to the charm, and laughs quietly, a hand closing over it. “A cute little fella, isn't it? Does it have a name?” they hum, a small smile curling at their lips as they cradle the small stuffy gently in their hands. It's important, she says, and that's all she needs to. What's important to her is important to them too. They'll guard it with all they have.

(And they do not hear the second, unsaid meaning to it, because for all the charm and confidence Yuri carries, they are long used to their importance being valued by what they have to offer. And, in the end, they do not think they offer very much to Bernadetta at all.)

“I'll protect it with my life, then, if it's so important.” And Yuri tucks it away, this time with more reverence than they had treated even their uniform ribbon. “After all, I can't go losing something you've given me when you returned my ribbon in such great shape.”

Then their smile sharpens into the points of a grin, arm slinging around her shoulders as they all but collapse against her. “Now, Bernadetta~” they drawl, “I don't know about you, but I'm not planning another beach vacation any time soon. Come enjoy the island with me one last time before they shoo us off to play games, yeah?”

Wordlessly, magic sparks at their fingertips as they ease their weight off her, a brief, blinding light that seems to take some of her scrapes and scratches with it when it fades. They continue on as though it hadn't happened, “Tell me about your supposedly impossible task, and I'll tell you about those damned gargoyles. I mean, I know I'm pretty and all, but I didn't think my charms extended to monsters...”

(Yet maybe all the time Yuri finds themself wanting to spend with her is their way of saying she's important to them too.)

[aubins]

she is rasping and literally crawling toward yuri with big wet eyes because the week has been very unkind to her and she's a little scraped up from getting caught in a wilderness trap but don't even worry about it. however! she reaches them and her fluffy head perks up.

"yuri! yuri, we weren't on the same island last week, and bernie didn't want to miss you just in case—" rustle, rustle. from her belongings, she fishes out a lilac-ribboned box. inside there is makeup, carefully curated and dorothea-certified of course, along with a flower accessory she'd made herself. its blossom is the color of their eyes, which she is doing her very best to meet now, thank you very much.

(in fact, she's trying so hard that it pinches her brow just slightly. eye contact will always be her worst enemy but god if she isn't pulling out all the stops to show her earnestness. they deserve that much and plenty more.)

"happy, uh, early birthday...!" the gift is ushered into their possession. then her arms flap at her sides, and she blurts: "please don't get eaten by alligators, okay?! wait, are there alligators on this island? w-well, don't get eaten by anything! please. um, yes." nod, nod. "i don't get this whole competition thing, but you're still bernie's dear friend. and bernie really, really wants to keep being friends by the time your next birthday comes, too."

a pause. then, lips curl into a silly, fond smile that bernadetta can't help but make. "a-and it doesn't have anything to do with this weird island, but, um... you make me happy. so i hope this makes you happy, too."

Yuri Leclerc does not celebrate their birthday.

Sometimes, there are exceptions. Like the treats and surprises of a certain red-haired girl or the odd greeting here and there from Abyssians who have known them for long enough to learn it. Yet no matter how routine these exceptions start to become, they will always be just that: exceptions. Because, for so long, the day they'd said was theirs never really was their birthday anyway. Because, a long time ago, the boy who was born on their actual birthday died on the streets of Adrestia.

“Bernadetta,” is their hummed greeting as their gaze flicks over her, pleased— well, always pleased, really, to see her, and even more so when she appears to be in relatively one piece— their usual smile curling at the corner of their lips. “That for me?” they ask, tone teasing as she fishes the box from her belongings. It's not even my birthday yet, is the follow up, already upon the tip of their tongue when—

“Happy, uh, early birthday...!”

And Yuri blinks, stunned for a moment, because no, they think, they will never quite get used to these exceptions. Even as Bernadetta shuffles the gift into their hands, babbling that they shouldn't get eaten by alligators, if there even are any— “No,” they think they hear themself say automatically, first instinct always to reassure, “I haven't seen any alligators. And I won't get eaten, so don't even worry about it.”— and that they're her dear friend— “...ah?” is the only sound they make in response to that one, a little quiet and a little confused, because there's no automatic answer to it, not one that they want to give to such a genuine effort anyway.

They glance at the box now in their hands for a beat, then pull it open gently, as if afraid it might break. “You didn't have to,” Yuri says, gaze immediately attracted to the collection of makeup within. They know, of course, what it costs, and suddenly mean it doubly so. “Must've cost you a pretty penny. You should've spent it on yourself.” And even if some people would say it just to be humble, humility has never been one of their features. They know what they do and do not deserve.

After all, Yuri is no stranger to gifts like these. Makeup and jewelry offered to them because only the finest of accessories should decorate the most beautiful dolls— and never for free, of course, because nothing in this world is ever for free, and they are quite used to trading both face and body.

They kept them all, no matter how they loathe them sometimes. They may be prideful, but they are not foolish. There is a trunk under the floorboards beneath their bed in Abyss filled with their hoard, bountiful enough to convince someone they are a magpie and not a mockingbird. Bountiful enough to remind them that, now, the Savage Mockingbird can take a noble's expensive gift and slit his throat while wearing it if they wanted, then toss it without a second thought to disappear within their collection.

But while Bernadetta is a noble, she is not like them. (But how do you know? asks a voice. Yuri silences it. They just do— they must believe that.) Not because of this island, she says next, and as much as Yuri can guess where her mind tends to spiral to, they wonder if she can do the same. Because they would have thought it next, yes, wondered about an objective handed to her in the interim that perhaps needed completing or some other game their hosts wanted to play. Even with the reassurance, they might have still wondered.

But maybe it is because it is Bernadetta, because she had known them before they were Yuri, and know all the secrets and vulnerabilities that come with that, because no matter how many times she says she has forgiven them, Yuri is used to bracing for betrayal, that the mockingbird pauses. Briefly, yet completely and utterly struck still mid-flight.

And then they believe her, even when the first instinct ingrained in them is not to.

“It...” they start, then pause. Correct themself. “You make me happy, Bernadetta. With or without the gift. But thanks for thinking about my birthday.” Because it's nice to be thought about, in the end. If it needs to be put simply for her, without the mess of their past, then it— and she— makes them happy. Bernadetta doesn't need to know the rest. Yuri grins, then plucks the flower accessory from the box to hold out to her. This one, they can think about without straining their smile. No shadow haunts it; this one is just Bernadetta. “Help me put it in my hair?”

Next birthday, we'll still be friends. But they do not say it aloud. This one is a promise all for themself. Yuri resolves not to break it.

[aubins]

@hermidetta　|　Winter is any child of Faerghus’ mother as much as their blood, ushering children home and locking doors behind them, lighting fires in the hearth and bidding family and friends alike to gather close. But for as old a friend this blizzard is, Yuri is no less susceptible to the cold for it. The inside of their tent is no warmer than the outside, but the wind doesn’t get in, at least.

“It should hold,” they announce, dipping back inside. Their tone is more doubtful that they intend, but they’re loathe to trust anything less than the solid structure of four walls and a roof over their head. A hand brushes the snow from their hair with a sigh. “At the very least until this blizzard lets up.”

Whenever that will be. They can hardly set out until morning anyhow, too dark now for Yuri to trust that they’ll find their way home even if it did let up. “A fire would be nice,” they mutter, but they’d rather not burn the tent down by accident. They hadn’t packed expecting to stay anywhere overnight, never mind anything to keep warm enough in a blizzard. It’s not even winter, for saints’ sake. The best they’ve got is a spare change of clothing.

Instead of wasting time digging through their own belongings again, they draw closer to Bernadetta's side, peering over her shoulder. There are worse people to be trapped in a blizzard with— if anything, she's one of the better ones, one of the few people Yuri doesn't ever mind. A hand tugs the edge of their cape over their other shoulder with a faint shiver. “Got anything useful over there, Bernadetta?”

＊ woven back from violence .

anni '24 | heavy armor +1　 ▪ ▪ ▪ 　yuri & bernadetta

[aubins]

Quite quickly have the gardening shears become a familiar weight to his hands, settled perfectly into place within the steady rhythm of his routine. Trim the hedges, water the flowers, sweep the leaves: simple tasks for a boy who has never seen a place so alive in his entire life. Faerghus is not always kind to nature— or maybe it is nature that has always been unkind to his home. But Regulus adores the scent of fresh flowers in the morning irregardless, treasures the warmth of the sun upon his skin rather than the sharp sting of cold.

They are little joys he could never have back home. But of course there were many things here that were uncertain in Faerghus. Gold had been his temptation, its beguiling promises of a kinder life luring him away from the familiarity of home, but the promise of food and a warm bed at the end of each day holds far more sway over him.

Already, just once or twice, he has wondered if he should just give up on the assassination and stay. But then he remembers his mom, misses her kind smile and awful jokes, and remembers that home is not really a ramshackle house in that too-small town, but the gentle warmth of her embrace— and that is the home worth returning to. The reason he has journeyed so far from it to begin with.

Always for her.

“Jules!” There is a beat of hesitation, too long for any regular person to respond to their name, but the gardener has never made mention of it. Perhaps they never noticed or perhaps they never cared, but Regulus knows that he does not fit here. The lilt of his words too Faerghian, the angles of his face too foreign. Even the name he wears now had simply been stolen off a sign he saw in town, only to learn its owner was from Leicester. He couldn't have done worse at playing pretend unless he purposefully tried.

“Yessir?” comes the response a second delayed, the syllables slurred into one word as he sets his shears down and swings through the maze of flower bushes to find his boss.

The watering can is promptly shoved into his open arms without warning, a hand waving him toward the edge of the garden. “Water the roses over there for me, will you? And it could probably use some sweeping.”

And so he finds himself wandering off to another untouched part of the garden with awe in his gaze and a pep in his step. Regulus has only been here a few days, but it feels as though he'll never stop discovering some hidden corner of this place and it fascinates him like it only could a child.

Mom would like a garden, he thinks. Maybe not one as sprawling as this, but something small enough to be manageable and big enough to keep her hands busy. When he's done here, he can go home, they can buy a new house, and then they can grow one together.

He hums the first few notes of a lullaby idly as water sprinkles from the watering can to the flowers. Yeah, that would be nice.

＊ I'LL CHASE YOU IF YOU CHASE ME .

　 　❛　let's go to the garden / let's be kids again — yuri & bernadetta

[aubins]

Slowly, silently, Yuri lets her work through it on her own. They can almost count the beats of it on her face— here is the confusion, here is the realization, here is the humiliation. But they don't laugh— never, at her. And the mockingbird that always declares themself not to suffer fools simply waits patiently. They would wait forever for her.

Sweet little Bernadetta who mourned at the idea of their death when they thought they would have no mourners at all. Who expresses more joy at their being alive than Yuri ever has for themself. Was there any room left to wonder why they try their best for her? Soften that heart of theirs a little, let down their walls just a smidge. Small steps, but ones they would hardly bother to take for anyone else.

“I'm alive,” they repeat, a faintly amused note to their tone. A joke hovers at the tip of their tongue— much to the goddess' chagrin, I'm sure— but they swallow it. Yuri doubts it would be appreciated. Instead their gaze flicks to the hand that hold their own, smiles gently at the sight of it before turning their eyes back up to hers. “So are you. I'd say that's pretty great, yeah.”

It's a little strange— a little sad, maybe, is what they really mean— how easily Bernadetta rushes to assure them, how difficult it is to get her to accept that reassurance in turn. Still, they'll reassure her as many times as she requires, if it'll put that anxious heart of hers at ease. “I'm sure. We're friends again, aren't we?” they say, then add teasingly, “Besides, weren't you the one who wanted to be friends again? You can't take that back anymore, Bernadetta. It's too late.”

So, of course they're going to check on her. Of course they're going to worry, too, when she's nowhere to be found. When they find her fast asleep in the greenhouse instead of a bed. And, of course, they haven't forgotten.

“...Seems like you're far more honest when you think I'm dead.” How could they forget? The church, their false death, the flowers— all that pales into comparison to the horror of three simple words. He hurt me. Badly enough to scar her?

When beauty is your profession and trade, your body becomes a prize you cannot ruin. Not to say that others hadn't tried— a boy on the streets has little defense against others, and some had enjoyed the blood just as much as the pleasure. To keep themself unmarked had been a challenge of its own, and Yuri has exactly one scar to mar their skin. The person who gave it to them is sitting right there.

Hundreds of people could try to hurt Yuri badly enough to scar and no one would bat an eye. There had been no fancy healers or infirmaries for them. Yet how many could try the same with the heir to House Varley? And, even then, why wouldn't it be wiped away by a healer's careful touch or stitched together at a doctor's careful hand?

They know the answer to that question. Deep down, they know that there are only so many options. Yet the mockingbird only echoes, “He hurt you,” in lieu of saying it.

Maybe, sometimes, Yuri is a coward too.

what is a blossom but a fist,

saying i can't do this anymore ? — ( continuation )

[aubins]

i think you'll be doing the running, if anyone. but yuri swallows that, rolls their eyes in good humor all the while. bernadetta can have it for tonight, sure; they're more than happy to concede. “yes, yes,” comes their dry drawl. “get me to clean up after you. very cute.”

but no matter how they complain, yuri always eats the food she plops onto their plate. and they'll chase off any scoundrel that dares lay a hand on her too. whatever she asks of them, whenever she wants. how could they refuse her?

penance. this is their penance, they excuse, for the knife they'd put to her throat. otherwise, why would the savage mockingbird even bother to be half as compliant?

(it's too honest to admit to even themself that maybe they just like to indulge her.)

“mhm.” their voice is thick with amusement. still, they let her have this too. just for tonight, they'll let her have whatever she wants. “yep,” is the affirmation repeated with a stifled laugh, “all yours, bernadetta. congratulations, you've struck the yuri leclerc silly.”

not that it's hard—not for her. she is endearing to them, always, in a way that reminds them distantly of the innocence of their youth. before blood had been spilled in the garden, they had simply been jules and bernie. and, really, it had been simple.

life is no longer so simple, but here is yuri and bernadetta all the same. laughing and teasing beneath the stars—perhaps they're still the same ones they'd gazed upon all those years ago. her time is worth their whole fortune and then some to them, doesn't she know?

and so, yuri thinks, for the ethereal ball they'd missed because of their expulsion, this one makes up the difference in spades. what would it have mattered anyway had they been there all those years ago? there hadn't been anyone important. no one that they would have sought out and asked to dance. this is almost too good to be true.

their arms tighten around her, just a fraction. too good to be true. because tomorrow, yuri will disappear into the shadows of abyss again, and bernadetta cannot follow. like a fairytale princess that must vanish at the stroke of midnight, that is how it will always be. there is no dancing and laughing and making merry for people like yuri—this evening is the fantasy.

but it is not tomorrow yet. and yuri is exceedingly selfish. so tonight they are a wolf in sheep's clothing, enjoying the stars they so rarely get to see and the company they so rarely get to indulge in. tonight they are just one of many students in attendance at the ethereal ball, laughing and chatting and asking their friends to dance—and that will be fine; that will be enough.

(is it really? it has to be.) you see, yuri leclerc is very good at playing pretend.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　—　𝒇𝒊𝒏.

always, she forgives them. always.

it will never change. if yuri were to warn her about them, too, of course she would throw caution to the wind, no matter how much she has clung to it for her whole life, no matter how much of a disadvantage she suffers without it. bernadetta wonders if they ever underestimate just how adamant she is about her exceptions; and yuri, they are the very first exception to begin with.

"well, you'll be happy to know that bernie doesn't say that to just anyone! what do you take me for, huh?" she huffs, and again, with no real bite. never any real bite. not with yuri. "besides! if bernie ever runs into a scoundrel, give them five seconds with her and she's sure to run them off..."

because she thinks herself that unpleasant, at least. though, she trails off in a short beat of contemplation before smiling that same silly way she does when scooping her least favorite foods onto yuri's plate. "heh, or i can get you to do it!"

the smug smile doesn't last. she never stood a chance. yuri is just nice enough to play along with her, and by the time her moment is up, they've got her close enough for her to feel the gentle rumble of their throat when they speak. the motion wrangles the tiniest squeak out of bernadetta, her hands flying up to brace herself against their chest.

to say that her heart leaps is a gross understatement. it runs a marathon in a flash and overclocks before she knows it, pumping blood to her face in a way she hasn't known in ages. her streak of confidence is up and the devil has come to collect. double. yuri's chin is perched right on her head, right on her ugly hair, and her breath catches again for the millionth time that night. funny how they can pull out the dramatics about something that is deathly spot on for bernadetta herself. funny how it terrifies her, but she overcomes her body's stutter to ease into their arms anyway.

(always, she forgives them.)

"i... y-you...!" isn't she eloquent? and to hide her steaming face she manages to bury it into their neck. "if you can't beat that... i-it's just bernie's win, then, isn't it? yep." not really. she wishes she had that kind of sway, but she hasn't got a lick of charm to her name. she has to face it, and does. at least yuri plays along, bad as it is for her own heart. just for tonight, she gingerly lets her arms wrap around them, too.

"yeah," bernadetta concurs again in a murmur, something soft tugging at her lips. it cannot be called stealing when she willingly gives it—so despite how little it is worth, yuri can have all of the time she has. always.

[aubins]

“Careful you don't go around saying that to just anyone. You might run into a real scoundrel one of these days.” Ha! Some nerve they have. As though they aren't one of the people they should be warning Bernadetta against.

Though, she doesn't ever seem to take those the warnings anyway.

So they go easily, pulled along to her tune as she takes their hands, but it's the sudden change in their perspective that has their eyes widening just a fraction, their pulse leaping, and—

Yuri laugh and laughs and laughs, mirthful gaze peering up at his dance partner's pleased expression. No one ever makes them laugh quite like she does, from deep within their chest, with all the giddy excitement of a child. There's never a dull moment in her company. She holds them and not once do they doubt that she will not let them fall— well, not on purpose. Perhaps they shouldn't make her carry their weight too long. Even she was only so strong.

“Quite pleased, aren't you?” they hum, a twinkle in lavender eyes. But Yuri had asked and she had delivered. Of course, she does not disappoint. She never could. “Be still my heart,” they lament dramatically, throwing an arm over their eyes. “You've got it beating so fast that it's skipping beats. It can't be good for my health.”

And then, they lift themself up and out of her arm, curl their own around her shoulders to tug her close. Their head goes to rest on hers, the set of their shoulders slumping as the tension seeps from them. “Well,” they murmur, amusement coloring their tone, “how am I supposed to beat that?”

If she'll be on their side no matter the crime, then for now, Yuri will settle for stealing just a little more of her time. She'll forgive them for that, won't she?

"wh-what?! no!" perish that thought is her only thought, winning out against her other senses by a landslide. gray eyes snap wide open, along with her jaw, along with some truths. "you're the most beautiful person bernie's ever laid her degenerate eyes on, yuri! even when we were kids! i just—"

bernadetta curses whatever reflex in her makes her look yuri down, then right back up three times redder in the face. degenerate! degenerate! cantankerous heathen! stop looking at yuri like they're—like they're the last cookie on the plate, or something! that's your friend, bernie! they already deal with enough stares! because they always look good and all. wait, not that you're looking! aaaaah!!! aah! aaaaah!!!

ahem. a strangled clearing of her throat. as their distance whittles away, bernadetta mumbles, thoroughly teased and pouting, "y-you say that like it's something even worth stealing... but you know, you could commit every crime in the book and i'd still be on your side."

even when they're mean enough to make her lead. it coaxes another little noise of protest from bernadetta, but hasn't yuri always done so much for her? despite the brief affronted furrow of her brows, she's made up her mind. she's going to make yuri eat all those words. maybe. possibly. well, in all likelihood probably not.

but it doesn't stop her from trying, even though her heart is about to burst from her chest from how much closer they are. she spins assumptions, does she? a flicker of inspiration gleams in bernadetta's eyes, set on putting her alleged creativity where their mouth is. "well, fine! how about—"

maybe it's because she isn't wearing high heels, maybe it's because she's finally feeling the spirit of the ball, or maybe this is all just borrowed confidence from the devil that she's bound to regret later. but bernadetta takes both of yuri's hands and tugs them along with her again, nothing formal about it, except this time there's no wobbling—just a swift step and a spin bubbling with life, stars and flowers alone bearing witness when she dips yuri on an arm. this time she's playing to win. yuri's day off wouldn't be interesting enough otherwise, she thinks with a smile, her face hovering a little too smugly above theirs. "...th-this!"

[aubins]

“I didn’t try so hard to not kill you just to do it now,” they say, mock-affronted, though their laughter swiftly betrays them. Yuri’s not stupid— they’ve dealt with their fair share of blushing maidens and bachelors, the charm and seduction ever-intentional. They are their shields as much as steel and iron are.

There’s hardly a need to hold them up against Bernadetta, though; they’ve little to guard when faced with her. She has already seen both knives and flowers. But they cannot deny the amusement they find in her fluster either. If they are particular about anything, it is their appearance. It’s always nice to see the proof it pays off.

Still, they tease, “You know, I’m starting to think you don’t find me all that gorgeous after all, Bernadetta, the way you can’t even bring yourself to look at me. You’ll hardly hurt my feelings by being honest.”

Yuri falls into the easy rhythm of the movement, even if they are only swaying. “Oh? So I’ve stolen your first dance too, hm? Seems my list of crimes is growing even longer tonight.” Her first probably should have been with some other noble heir, a prospective suitor or even a fiancé. Selfishly, though, the mockingbird is smugly glad to know it is theirs instead.

They lurch forward at her wobble to balance them, hand shifting briefly from her waist to her back to brace her. A brow raises, amused. “You know, outside of nobility, most people would hardly consider that some grand failing.”

A wry smile pulls at their lips here as they readjust their positions to steady them again, though they make no effort to adjust the distance between back to how it had been prior. “All right, now, put that brain of yours to work. Today is supposed to be my day off, so you’ll have to do the thinking for both of us. If you’re creative enough to spin all of your wild assumptions, then I’m sure you can manage to make up a little dance.”

yuri tucks her hair behind her ear, and bernadetta's breath catches. yuri calls her beautiful with a knowing finger to her lips—her, who's never felt beautiful a day in her life—and bernadetta's breath catches. bernadetta has to catch herself. as their free hand flutters to her waist, hers braces itself on their shoulder. semi-bare shoulder, at that.

"at this point you're going to kill me after all," she whines, eyes squeezing closed again, the tiniest whimper under her breath without any actual bite. and just like that other knife they had held to her throat once upon a time, she thinks she might not mind if they brought this one down anyway. maybe they already have.

she's a degenerate for sure. she's a degenerate, and bernadetta has got to stop skipping mass because she probably needs a week of all the holy hymns after this. yuri is gorgeous enough on a daily basis; this, though? it's overkill. where is she supposed to look without tripping over her feet? speaking of which...

"me? i-i can't! what makes you think i wouldn't only know boring ballroom ones from adrestia?" she cracks her eyes open, but lets the adrenaline of her nerves begin swaying them under the moon. she hopes its glow throws off the tint in her cheeks, already dusted enough as they were from dorothea's rouge. "besides, outside of the stuffy lessons i used to take, you're the first person i've actually danced with. e-ever."

they just keep being so many firsts for her, don't they? she squeaks at herself and wobbles, the motion tugging yuri closer. "oh no, that only makes bernie sound even more pathetic. don't listen to her!"

[aubins]

it is. it's their fault, and those rotten adults' faults, and this messed up world's fault, but yuri lets the platitude wash over them anyway, for all that they actually believe in it. bernadetta means well, they know, but they made those choices all one their own, even if it had been the only one afforded to them.

your mother dies or you do—it hadn't been a question to yuri then and it wouldn't be one now, either. they would choose her life again and again, over everything that was their own, for mother and son have had nothing else in this world but one another. what would they do with themself, if one day she was gone?

bernadetta stumbles over herself with accommodations, always far too kind to them despite everything. “saints, no,” they breathe, hand coming up to clutch at her wrist. yuri can't help it, though. they do ponder the offer of her turned away, wonder if it would help at all, but decide her back turned to them would be far worse in the end. they tug her gently. “just—just sit. don't freeze.”

just convince me i'm wrong. just convince me i'm allowed kind things without the expectation of more.

they nearly bite their tongue just to banish the thought. to be allowed kindness without the knife they always expect will follow is not a privilege they have ever had. it is a dangerous privilege too—they must always expect the knife, brace for the retaliation, shield their heart so it is never pierced. it is how yuri has survived until now.

“and you shouldn't, you know,” they say, quieter. trust me, they mean. but yuri knows that she means every word. it's worse that they know she means every word, in fact. because if they could just convince themself she was lying, then they wouldn't ever have to think about what this is. give and take is the way they negotiate all their relationships—but what are they doing here but taking and taking and taking without giving her anything but a life's worth of trouble in return?

but bernadetta means it. and yuri can't convince themself she's lying.

it's trouble, yet they're only letting themself sink further and further into it.

“remember,” they start abruptly, because they'd rather fill the silence with other things than let those thoughts have time to settle, “when you would drag me to go nap in the garden?” yuri remembers. sometimes, it aches more than they expect it to, in a way it never had before they met bernadetta again. “i was supposed to be working, you know. you're lucky i heard anyone coming before we got caught.”

and because it is turning out to be a night for honesty, they confess one more thing than they normally would. “...sometimes i miss when life was that simple.” why is being her friend now infinitely more complicated than it had been when they were trying to kill her?

...well. maybe because they had never really been trying.

＊ woven back from violence .

anni '24 | heavy armor +1　 ▪ ▪ ▪ 　yuri & bernadetta

[aubins]

Yuri doesn’t stir until Bernadetta’s nudged most all of the blanket at them and said her piece. Almost as though she can read minds, she answers the doubt in their heart in a way that only makes it ache.

“‘detta…” comes the murmur a beat later, still thick with exhaustion even if they hadn’t actually been asleep. They raise their head, turning to look at her. She’s a good friend— one of the best. How could they ever think about her as a bad one, when she’d sooner offer up her own neck for the gallows than send them there? The sins of Yuri Leclerc far outweigh Bernadetta von Varley’s, and the sins of Yuri against Bernie far outweigh hers against them. How could they ever dare to simply sit there and let her shoulder them?

They straighten, clear their throat. The blanket slips from their shoulder as they do, and Yuri lets it fall as they lean toward her. “After I…” Failed to kill you. Nearly died. Ran away. They grimace. “After I left,” is what they settle on, “well…there’s only so much work a boy with half his bones broken can do.”

She has seen their childhood. She has seen both blood and flowers. What comes after is no great secret when she already knows their most guarded ones. It’s there, the truth, the rest of it, the whole of it. The long nights warming cold beds, hair just long enough, features just delicate enough, for those foul men to pretend. It’s right on the tip of their tongue, the edge of their memory. Always.

But Bernadetta doesn’t ask. And they don’t care to elaborate beyond what they must. So it stays there, and they recant its broken pieces instead.

“But I’ll never be content to just die in the dirt and be forgotten, so I did what I had to and clawed my way back to join the living. I made myself someone to be wanted, so no one could discard me. And now, lots of people want me.” My body, they mean. Yuri has never believed that anyone has wanted just them. A derisive laugh. “Aren’t I gorgeous? Just the prettiest, right? Really, I’d rather they just want me dead. Least I could try killing them first.”

Their gaze slides to her. “I know you’re not like that.” Ha— they know. Such a confident word. Yuri trusts that Bernadetta isn’t, but they don’t know anything. “But, for me, things like this…” A vague gesture at the blanket, at her. “…they don’t usually stop at innocent cuddling.”

Yuri exhales, reaches to tug the blanket back up and over them. “So, I don’t know. Maybe fine is a strong word, but that’s because of me, not you.” A pause. Vulnerability has never been their strong suit, but still, they say quietly, “…I trust you, Bernadetta.” And trust costs them, of course— Bernadetta has cost them before. But they lift the blanket again, a silent invitation. “You are a good friend,” they echo. “One of the best.”

＊ woven back from violence .

anni '24 | heavy armor +1　 ▪ ▪ ▪ 　yuri & bernadetta