#(( “strangely easy alliance” I said. *looks at notes now* uh ))

[thesilverlock]

the “canon" Pierce timeline being off-screen sandwiched between three episodes is my homemade roman empire

[indigowallbreaker]

Baltholst anon here! Though I'm requesting a different ship this time. XD Marianne and Claude for the hand-holding prompts, "grabbing the other's hand to show them something." Thank you if you decide to pick it up!

Baltholst anon beloved!! Happy to see yah again :D

(Currently accepting rare ships! Click here for an UPDATED info post!)

--

Marianne looked upon the flower with unease. It wasn't the flower's fault-- its purple and pink petals stirred in the breeze with well-deserved innocence. Marianne tried to come up with something insightful to say about it, but to no avail.

The Riegan Estate gardens boasted many beautiful flowers. Objectively, it was quite a lovely place. Right by the sea but protected from the worst of the wind by clean white walls, well maintained by a dozen or so gardeners, popular with painters and the children of visiting nobility. With the war heating up, however, there were few taking the time to visit such places. The recent fight on the Great Bridge of Myrddin had apparently reminded the people of the Alliance that they weren't as safe as they might have first thought. Today the gardens were empty but for Marianne and her partner.

Claude gave Marianne's hand a squeeze before tugging her towards a row of rose bushes. "You might like these better. They're bred to bloom faster and stay open longer. My grandfather explained it to me but I'll admit I don't understand it much."

"I've liked all the flowers so far," Marianne said even as she let Claude pull her along.

"Are you sure?" Claude pressed, a worried tilt to his voice. "You don't really seem to be enjoying yourself."

Marianne reached out to caress one of the rose petals. Apart from the roses perhaps being a bit larger, she couldn't see anything unique about these compared to normal rose bushes. "I'm not sure what this has to do with the war." Marianne's hand dropped and she turned to look at Claude, wondering what she had missed. What part could the Riegan gardens have to play in this conflict that he was hoping she would see?

Her confusion only deepened when Claude gave a nervous laugh. "They don't have anything to do with the war?"

"They don't?"

"No?" Claude scratched his chin, his normally easy smile turning strange. "But they do have something to do with a date."

"A date?" Marianne repeated. "So this-- We're on a date?"

"Not a very good one if you didn't realize it," Claude said with that same laugh.

"O-Oh..." Marianne lowered her head. The leaves on the rose bush looked smaller to her than they should be.

Claude squeezed her hand again. "Hey, don't be like that. I should have been clearer." His tone took on a teasing note as he added, "I just figured you kissing me when we went riding that once time meant you might like a date at some point."

Marianne's cheeks burned at the memory. The two of them had been paired up for a scouting mission soon after the Empire had attacked Garreg Mach, and something about the near-death experience had caused Marianne to act... improper.

Now she felt silly for trying to find war clues in a rose bush. A date, a date with Claude, sounded wonderful.

Squeezing Claude's hand in return, Marianne lifted her head and tried for a smile. "Do you want to try again? Dating, I mean."

Claude brightened. "Absolutely. And we have plenty of time-- it'll be a few more weeks until the Alliance lords figure out how many troops to send us."

"I meant right now."

"Now? Uh, sure! Where did you want to go?"

Marianne giggled and began pulling Claude towards the wrought iron gates. "To the beginning. Show me everything again so I can appreciate all the flowers properly."

The grin that took over Claude's face caused Marianne's own smile to widen. The lords could take their time as far as she was concerned-- Marianne wanted to fit in as many dates as possible while she still could.

[teklarn]

I NEED A PART TWO FOR BAUKGOU’S AWKWARD CONFESSION!!

𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓪𝓵 - 𝓴. 𝓫𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓰𝓸𝓾 𝓹𝓽. 2

character(s): katsuki bakugou x fem!reader

a/n: k the first one kinda blew up and i've been on tumblr for like a week and it made me rly happy receiving the requests ty <33 thank u for all the reblogs too !! this is a bit later than i hoped it would come out b/c half of the original fic was deleted by accident, but i’m on summer break until sept 5 so hopefully i’ll still update frequently. 

𝕣𝕖𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕!

summary: bakugou finds he’s rejecting his feelings for you in fear of becoming weak, however he just can’t seem to ignore you. 

genre: lil angsty, fluffy at the end

warnings: cursing, one-sided pining, gave reader a quirk, the fighting scene is bs i cannot write action scenes at all im so sorry lol,  second hand embarrassment for our dearest dynamight :(

word count: 2507

pls don't mind any typos! i try to edit to the best of my ability but i tend to type fast and i might miss a few or a lot of things. 

- - -

read part one here my loves !!

you found yourself bored, cheeks puffing out as you swirled around the drink in your glass cup, sitting across from midoriya. he was muttering again, which you’d always found cute, however you weren’t listening this time at all. 

part of the reason you’d rejected bakugou was due to the fact midoriya had requested your attention first, and not as friends. if you’d told bakugou that, it would just wound his delicate ego on top of the fact that you truly had no interest in him whatsoever. 

at the moment, though, he was the only thing on your mind. there was no sudden spark of attraction you’d felt when he’d confessed. of course, anyone would find it flattering that the katsuki bakugou found you attractive. his standards were higher than the clouds. 

at the moment, it felt like something was blocking your chest from feeling something for him, however you couldn’t pinpoint what it was. 

“—it was amazing, right, y/n? y/n?” 

your eyes flickered up to meet the emerald, wide-eyed eyes of your friend. you contemplated lying, but it was no use. shaking your head softly and pursing your lips, you set your drink down. “i’m sorry, midoriya. i’m just kind of...out of it, i guess you could say?” 

he cocked his head to the side. “’out of it’?” he repeated. 

“yeah,” you sighed, head pounding. 

“is everything alright? maybe today isn’t the best time for this.” 

“yeah,” you agreed. “maybe.” 

“do you want to go back to the dorms?” 

you nodded, massaging your temples. “yeah, yeah let’s go home.” 

midoriya let out a soft chuckle through his nose, smiling. “alright.” he offered his hand, and you gladly let him heave you up. 

“i’m sorry about this. honestly, midoriya, i enjoy your company, i really do. but i never assumed you’d catch feelings for me too—” 

“too?” he blinked. the two of you continued on your way back to Heights Alliance. 

you gulped. “yeah, there’s—” 

“are you saying you caught feelings for me, as well?”

your eyes fell blank, lips parting in question. “no, uh. you know what? never mind.” you giggled gently in hopes the two of you would laugh it off without another thought. perhaps you should keep you and bakugou’s quiet interaction to yourself. midoriya and bakugou were already rivals enough. 

- 

the following week was agonizing in many ways. sitting beside bakugou guaranteed that you would get strange, judgmental looks. it never guaranteed his stolen glances. when you’d catch him staring, his cheeks would flare up, and you swore he had smoke puffing out his ears. 

each time, he looked as if he would explode. what can you expect from a guy like him? 

it was easy to assume you’d just pissed him off, though. you weren’t the type of person to tell everyone you’d been asked out, but you needed to speak to someone about it. the thought had been nagging you, stuck at the back of your mind but just on the tip of your tongue. 

you even found that you were distancing yourself from midoriya, who, after asking you out, had insisted you begin calling him izuku. over everyone else, you’d choose him to speak to about the matter, but ever since you’d discovered he had feelings all along, it was strange being around him. 

you viewed him differently. he shot you glimmering smiles and blushed softly when you said his first name. 

“y/n?” 

you twisted around to see mina rocking on her heels behind you. “yes?” 

“are you okay? you seem...how do i put this.” she tapped a pink finger against her lips. “off. you seem off. is everything alright?” 

your brows raised. “oh, yeah. i’m good. thanks for checking in.” 

“is there anything you want to talk about?” she adjusted her hero costume. you and the rest of the girls were currently changing for another training exercise. 

yaoyorozu fixed her hero costume. “i don’t mean to impose on anything, but i have to agree with mina, y/n. of course, there’s no pressure to tell us anything. you’re under no obligation to unless you need and want to talk to someone, but we’re here if you need us, okay?” 

you nodded, smiling softly. “thanks you guys.” 

- 

it was the same training as before, however you were able to select a partner of your own. being that there were 21 students in the class, there was always ought to be a group of three, or one person left out. you’d come into yuuei out of pure luck, as some like to put it. 

you’d found it offensive they’d assumed it was that and not your own pure skill. it’d taken a while to re-convince yourself that you were worthy of being in the class, even if you were usually the odd one out. 

most students had already bonded by the time you arrived here, so finding a partner wasn’t always easy. once you and midoriya had gotten close, you two did most things together, however at the moment, you weren’t quite feeling it. 

surprisingly, your eyes caught bakugou standing alone, eyes scanning the room for a partner. kirishima must have partnered up with another friend, then. it was always them together. 

unfortunately, you weren’t quick enough to avoid either of them. bakugou was already trotting up to you, eyes locked on your figure just as midoriya began jogging to your side. 

in perfect unison, they asked, “be my partner?” (in two very different tones, of course.) 

you blinked between them, about to answer when aizawa came up behind you three. 

“are you guys in the group of three?” your teacher deadpanned. 

your shoulders slumped. “yeah, i guess so.” 

“get to work. you’ve already wasted five minutes standing around.” 

you nodded politely. “yes, sensei.” 

you swallowed. bakugou’s crimson gaze was pinning you in your spot, and midoriya’s lips thinned with a lack of enthusiasm when bakugou looked back at him. 

“get to work, you three,” aizawa repeated, walking away. 

“i can take on both of you.” bakugou cracked his knuckles. 

you clenched your fists. “we already know you’re at the top of the class, bakugou. there’s no need to rub it in our faces.” 

he averted his eyes, cheeks flushing red. it was like a sad, silly way of letting you know you won this fight. 

“i’ll go against you two,” you said, adjusting your hero costume. 

midoriya’s eyes widened. “what? y/n, but—” 

“but i’m not strong enough?” you finished for him. you knew where they ranked in strength, and while yours was just as powerful, if you let one thing slip, your arrows would disappear and you’d be dust. “that’s exactly my point, you two are practically at the top of the class with your quirks.” 

“tch, don’t hold back,” bakugou said, readying himself. 

“don’t go easy on me,” you mocked. 

“y/n, do you really think this is a good idea—” before izuku could finish, you and bakugou launched yourselves at one another. 

you charged forwards. an arrow flew from your hand, twisting its way right through the smoke of an explosion. when it cleared, bakugou was nowhere to be seen. 

a gasp fell from your lips as you turned around just a little too late. your ears rang terribly as your back collided with the ground. 

izuku cried out. green lightning flashed, and he was at your side in a moment. “kacchan!”

you groaned, sitting up. bakugou cut through the smoke with an arm. “fight me, damned nerd. there aren’t any pauses in a real fight.” 

you wriggled yourself away from midoriya. “midoriya, you’re my enemy in this.” 

“bu—” 

“no buts. fight me. and don’t hold back.” 

midoriya noted the determination in your eyes and stood, giving you a sure nod. you were back on your feet in a second. bakugou flew in the air and came crashing down just as fast as he conjured a blast in his right hand. 

attacking wasn’t your best option right now. you were smart enough to know that. an arrow appeared flat at your back and pulled you from where bakugou was targeting. 

cement flew into the air. 

that blast could have wounded you badly. possibly killed you, if he’d hit the right spots. 

in the air, you examined their zealous features. midoriya’s brows were furrowed in that determined smolder. 

bakugou, as always, looked angry. as expected, he charged first, shooting himself into the air. his foot nearly collided with your face, missing my barely an inch. you took your shot, revealing the arrow you’d hidden behind your back. the tip collided with his chest. 

you left the arrow to complete its command and stick your blonde opponent to the wall and trap him there while you went after midoriya. 

while he bested you in strength, you did the same to him when it came to speed. you dodged his punches like they were weak attempts at hitting a ball in a park. 

you grinned. in a battle of strength and speed, whoever landed the first hit would win. there was no question. 

twisting in the air, you allowed the ball of your foot to shove midoriya to the ground. he cried out as his face was crushed into the cement. 

it was perfect timing, as bakugou ripped free of your hold, the arrow keeping him in one spot dissolving into air as soon as its purpose was lost. 

your head whipped around to see him charging for you. 

your fingers curled. the headache pounding at your temples was beginning to get hard to ignore. 

bakugou launched himself at you, spinning in the air like a missile. he really wasn’t going to howitzer you...right? 

when he didn’t slow down, you threw your body to the right, the attack just barely missing your leg. it scorched a bit of your thigh. a groan fell from your lips as you cupped the area around the burn, shuddering with pain. 

bakugou’s chest was puffed proudly as he marched up to you, hands cracking with excited explosions. 

he pulled back his right arm, ready to spark up another fight as midoriya recollected himself. you bit your lip to hide the fact you were quivering. 

it was sudden, but bakugou paused when he saw your hand fly up. 

“give me a minute...” you gasped out, skin still sizzling. 

“y/n! are you alright?” 

you didn’t respond. midoriya smacked his friend’s arm. “kacchan! what’re you thinking?”

“midoriya, i’m fine. don’t stress over it.” you limped to your feet, rejecting the extended hand from your green-haired friend. “i’ll just go see recovery girl.” 

“do you need—” 

you smacked midoriya’s hand away, a little bit more rude than you intended it to be. “i’ll be...fine.” you offered a weak smile to hopefully make up for your tiny outburst. 

although you could see in his eyes he wanted to help, midoriya nodded and stood by, hand falling back to his side. you clutched around the patch of burned skin. the sting had faded a bit, however there was a soreness to the wound that felt like a constant stabbing to your leg. 

you swallowed the pain down, marching towards the exit with determination and a bit of a limp.

you looked back to see midoriya had gone off to tell mr. aizawa what was going on. your teacher nodded, understandingly. 

there were a few worried glances and offers for help in the hall, but you’d neglected them all and found yourself relieved to see recovery girl in her office, typing away. 

she turned as the door opened. “please knock beforehand next time—oh, dear. y/n? are you alright?” 

you gave a tense nod. “mhm. just got a bit banged up in training today.” 

the old woman pursed her lips, smile lines becoming evident. “i see.” she led you to the small cot reserved for patients such as yourself and directed you to sit down. 

she examined the bruise. “it’s fairly bad. what happened?” 

you made a gesture to the door. “i was brawling with bakugou and things got...intense.” 

“that boy has quite an extreme side to him, as i’ve come to notice.” 

“mhm,” you agreed. 

“unfortunately, y/n, i have no ointments to be able to treat this properly.” 

you nodded sheepishly before the old woman smooched your cheek. a soft green glow radiated around you. 

when she pulled back, she said, “now, your body will be trying to catch up on the healing process. that’s what my quirk does. speed up recoveries. since it’s sped up, you’ll require some rest, preferably sleep. i’ll make sure your teachers know you’re excused for the rest of the day, sound good?” 

“yes, thank you recovery girl.” 

she pushed herself out of her rolling chair and left the room, smiling at you.

your eyes fluttered shut not long after that. 

- 

the sun was gone when you woke up, the hallway light flickering off. 

“good, you’re awake.” 

you looked to the left. you cried out, gathering the white sheets around yourself despite being completely clothed. “bakugou! what the hell? you stalker! you creep!” 

bakugou took the slap you gave him on his arm. it was light, and didn’t do much damage. 

“what...what do you want?” 

even in the dark, you could tell bakugou’s cheeks were burning red. “about...about the other day. i wanted to talk to you about it.” 

your chest fluttered in unwanted hope. “there’s nothing to talk about.” 

“dammit, y/n, i wish there wasn’t anything to talk about. you’re insufferable and annoying and i can’t stand being around you because no matter what’s going on, you make my chest feel all funny. it’s stupid, and i can’t take my eyes off of you.” 

heat rushed to your cheeks. “i’m flattered, really. but i-” 

“i’m not asking you to reciprocate my shitty feelings. if anything, it’s better if you don’t.” 

“bakugou, i wasn’t...” you paused. 

“you what?” he snapped, voice soft despite his tone. 

“i was going to say that ever since you...ever since you asked me out, i’ve been conflicted about my own feelings.” 

“the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“i’m not sure if i like you back or not, bakugou. but hearing you say all this...makes me want to give it a shot. sort of. also, why the hell are you watching me sleep?” 

bakugou swept hair from his eyes. “don’t go and try to change the subject on me, dumbass.” 

you gulped. 

“so what’re you saying?” 

“i’m saying,” you started, “i’m saying that maybe i want to go out on that date with you.” 

“say it again.” 

“what?” you looked up, his eyes boring into yours. 

“i said i want you to say it again. tell me you want to go out on a date with me.” 

it startled you how sure he was when he knew what you wanted, too. this was unlike the last attempt to ask you out. 

“katsuki bakugou, i want to go on a date with you.” 

he grinned. “where to?”

[officialleehadan]

Cookie Cutter Friends

“I see you’ve made a friend,” Atteila noted with a bemused smile when she came down to the kitchens after lunch. Tilly brightened at the sight of her. There were meetings to be had, but she hated them, and Tilly was always glad to see her. The kitchen staff had mostly gotten used to their princess walking in randomly, and dipped bows to her before returning to their work without much interruption. “Hanver. Are you bothering my staff?”

“Turns out he’s a decent hand with a rolling pin,” Tilly said, and beamed brightly up at Atteila when her lover bent for a shameless kiss that made Hanver, who was rather covered in flour, stare at them in astonishment. He beamed at the compliment, which told Tilly how often he got told he was doing a good job. “I have him cutting out cookies.”

She might be strange for putting the royals to work, but Hanver had done well enough with the puff pastry, and still wanted more to do when they were done, so Tilly set him to creaming butter and sugar together. He was young, strong, and had decent arms, and liked having a job that was very difficult to mess up at. Her praise, given honestly but generously when he did something well, had him glowing like one of the garden lads.

Nobles really didn’t treat their spare children well at all.

“Cookies are a good place to start,” Atteila said, still bemused, but apparently willing to accept Tilly’s judgment in the matter. She tied on the apron, clean and washed with all the others, that she had claimed as her own. Her dress was simple, undyed linen, finer than any of the kitchen staff, but still reasonably easy to wash. A must, Tilly had told her when Atteila first came down to the kitchens. “What sort of cookies? And what do you want me doing today?”

“He’s doing the shortbreads for that cream dessert you like so much,” Tilly explained, and deftly slung another sheet of cookies into the ovens. Four more trays were already cooling, and there were six more to go in. “It’s pretty and looks fancier than it is. You want raspberry or strawberries on it?”

“Strawberries.”

Surprise surprise. Atteila loved strawberries. It was just as well, since there were half a dozen dukes and their various people coming for the court dinner, and Tilly wanted to make sure the food was up to snuff. That meant sugar, beaten cream, and fancy pastry. The rest of the kitchen already had their own projects.

“Right,” Tilly said, and whistled for one of her maids, who were nervous around Hanver, but used to Atteila by now. “I need four baskets of strawberries. Make sure they’re as even as possible.”

“Yes ma’am,” Daisy called, and ducked out towards the gardens. She was a farmer’s daughter, and had a good eye for produce. Tilly planned to start teaching her pastry soon.

“So, you’ve found the kitchens,” Atteila was saying to Hanver when Tilly turned back to them. Atteila had joined Hanver at the cookie dough, and was setting the cut-out cookies on a tray for baking as he cut them out. “Is there a reason for the sudden interest?”

“Miss Tilly was kind enough to put me to work,” Hanver said with a guileless smile that was, Tilly had realized, completely genuine. He was no good at lying, with his words, or his smile. It was almost a shame he wasn’t marrying Atteila. Her princess could do worse. Not that Tilly wanted to share her, but if she did, Hanver would have been alright. His smile faded under Atteila’s wary gaze. “Princess, I hope you forgive my bluntness, but well, I heard the stable boys mention the lady-cook being your friend and… and well, I could use a friend or two myself. I didn’t realize you were… uh…”

“Lovers?” Atteila said, quiet enough to keep the word private, but intentionally blunt to make sure Hanver understood completely. “I imagine you didn’t.”

“He’s been perfectly polite,” Tilly said since Atteila was starting to get that edge to her that meant she was considering whether to fling Hanver over the walls with the catapult. She hadn’t actually done it yet, but Tilly knew that look, and wanted to head her off. “And it’s about time you two got to actually talk. It’s easier to get things done when there’s not all that sideways-talk happening at the same time.”

Who would have thought, a pastry cook, chasing two young royals into being reasonable.

They were less trouble than her scullery maids, anyway, and much less trouble than some of the footmen.

“I’m not… so good at politics, but this alliance is important, and I don’t want it to fail,” Hanver said, apparently willing to take the opening Tilly left for him. He finished with the cookies, and passed the tray to Tilly, who set it with the rest of the ones yet to be baked. “My father doesn’t think I’m smart enough to be any use anywhere else. I think he just sent me to get me out of the way, and because I’m not married yet.”

“I’m not going to marry you,” Atteila said bluntly, but she allowed a smile when Tilly squeezed her hand in passing. It was good that the two royals were talking things out. Maybe they could actually get something done while they were both covered in flour. “But I also support the alliance. My father does too, if you’re wondering. A marriage would probably help, but I wouldn’t worry about the security of your people, or mine.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Hanver told her. Tilly had talked with him while they worked on the pastry, and then the cookies. He genuinely cared about his people, and wanted to serve them however he could. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a lot that a useless second prince could do besides keep the worse of his nobles from causing problems. Tilly had assured him that that alone was more than most did, and his people certainly loved him for it. “Maybe, well, if we’re not going to be wed, could we be friends at least? You’re going to be queen sooner or later, and friendship is easier than marriage anyway.”

His honesty seemed to bewilder Atteila, but Tilly nodded when her princess looked over at her for some hint about what to expect. Politics, Atteila could do. Actual friendship was almost entirely outside her experience.

“Alright,” she said cautiously as Daisy returned with her arms full of strawberry baskets. “Friends. Tilly, would you teach us how to do strawberry roses like the ones you gave me the night we met? It seems my new friend and I still have a good deal to learn.”

+++

Pride of Place:

Tilly is a cook. Attiela is a princess. As it happens, Tilly knows every one of her princess’s favorite foods.

Strawberry Roses

Orange Bubbles (Subscriber Only!)

Wine Shower

In Hot Water

Under Orange Blossoms

A Little Bitter

Folding Puff

+++

More Stories!

+++

[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.1]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.2k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn't help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 There’s also a playlist for this story that you can find here and here.

Chapter 01: A High Destiny

A high destiny seemed to bear me on until I fell, never, never again to rise.

[Mary W. Shelley, Frankenstein]

    It starts as it will end: in darkness.

    Black dots dance in front of your eyes, merging into dark shadows clawing at your consciousness. A dull throb pounds in your temple, a steady rhythm that speaks of life but isn’t enough to allow awareness of your surroundings. Memory is a foreign word you can’t explain, and trying to think of the past 24 hours is an unachievable task. Every glimpse slips through your fingers like sand, and the only steady reference point is the solid ground pressing into your hands and back.

    Slowly, you open your eyes. Treetops dance in the wind, towering above you like silent guardians of ancient times. The sun winks at you through thick branchesa and dancing green crowns, indicating it’s long past daybreak—but how do you know? Your memory is still a vast pool with no bottom and no means to dive into, and yet you think there’s a voice calling out to you, a heart-wrenching young, boyish voice—no, those are real voices ringing through the woods, appearing close to you. Alarmingly close.

    “You’re awake,” a woman’s voice starts, moments later followed by a corresponding face. Round, lavender eyes surrounded by thick, white lashes peak from above at you, blinking curiously. It’s an expression far from friendly, but not exactly hostile either, and of all the things you can think of at this moment, it is how strikingly beautiful she is. But before you can say anything, another person joins, leaning too close in for comfort.

    “You got us worried there, stranger,” a young man chimes in, squatting down beside you. His uniform isn’t exactly what you’d call fit for travelling through the woods. A heavy yellow cape falls over his shoulder, more fanciful display than practical use. But something in his posture seems very attentive, his broad shoulders taut like a drawn bowstring that won’t miss its target. “Weird place to take a nap, but hey, I’m not judging.”

    “I wasn’t—” you start, immediately struck by a throbbing pain behind your right eye that reverberates through your skull and wretches a groan from you.

    “Take it easy,” another voice joins, and panic spreads through you because of the amount of people surrounding you. Where the first man is a picture of warm colours—gold and sun kissed skin nourished on warm summer days, the other man observing you with a worried expression is clad in blue and black, blond hair falling into a pale face that carries the most striking blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Or so you think, because surely a colour like this, a blue stolen right out of the sky, wouldn’t be easily forgotten.

    More movement and rustling of fabric, and a chill settles in your bones as you begin to fear that you’ve run into a bunch of ruffians who’ve only kept you alive for so long because they’re hoping for valuable information. More people emerge from the underbrush, carrying large sacks and backpacks with billycans dangling at their sides. Among them, a tall man with a beard, clad in robust mercenary’s gear, steps forward, concealing another young woman with sharp features and unusual greenish blue hair.

    The sight of her strikes you like a bolt. It tastes like familiarity and the relief of being reunited with a long lost friend. But that is impossible. This is the first time you meet her.

    Is it?

    “You brats, I told you not to head off too far,” the older man bellows, crossing logs for arms in front of his broad chest. The first three take one big, polite step away from you, but don’t look apologetic at all.

    “I’m sorry for our hastiness, Captain Jeralt,” the girl says, her eyes darting from you still sitting on the ground to him towering in his full height above them. “But it seems we would have otherwise not found this person.”

    “This person who wasn’t really much conscious a couple of minutes ago,” the boy in yellow adds with a crooked grin. “How bad would it have been if someone else would have beaten us to it?”

    “No need to make me look like the bad guy,” Captain Jeralt interrupts with a raised hand before the boy in blue can join his friends' justifications. Instead, he turns to you and regards you with a scrutinising look.

    “What are you doing out here?” he demands. “Where’s your family? Friends?”

    “Uhm, they’re—” you start, but nothing comes to your mind. Not only that. You don’t know why you’re out here, where you are exactly … and basically anything that should come to you about your own person remains shrouded in darkness. “I don’t know.”

    Jeralt nods like that explains the very reason you’re still sitting on the ground like a misplaced cargo of cabbage. He kneads the nape of his neck, his face softening the tiniest bit. “And what’s your name?”

    Unable to hold his piercing eyes, you drop your gaze to the ground, curling your trembling fingers into the fabric of your wool jacket. “I, uh… don’t know.”

    If you thought you didn’t have their attention before, now their eyes are glued on your face in different levels of shock and disbelief.

    “A case of amnesia?” the blond male says, not quite managing to achieve the right balance between blatant curiosity and polite worry. “Does this mean you have nowhere to go? Don’tknow where to go?”

    “Goddess help you, Dimitri,” the other boy groans, running a hand through his short, brown hair. “Be any more tactless, will ya?”

    “He isn’t wrong,” the girl says, observing you like you’re a fascinating new specimen in her collection of strange things. “You need a place to stay. And help until your memories return.”

    If they return, you don’t dare to say because despite all things, hope still clings to you in the deepest corner of your heart, not allowing you to follow that train of thought and what it will mean for your future.

    “Then by all means, if you want to join,” Jeralt says, waving a dismissive hand in your direction. “I don’t think you kids accept a No, so I’m going to save my breath.” He turns around with a grunt. “Get them your horse, Byleth. We’re late as it is, and another night of Alois talking my ears off will make me do something I’ll regret.”

    The woman called Byleth keeps staring at you even as Jeralt walks past her and gives her shoulder a solid clap. You can’t say if she’s mute or just speechless because she’s filled with the same strange overflowing sensation like you: like a basin filling with water but unable to drain off. It appears you’re the same age, a couple of years older than the other three but still much younger than Jeralt, and yet the moment your eyes lock, it feels like there is something far older than any of you together passing between you. Something ancient.

    “Well, first off, on your feet, little one.” Strong hands curl around your elbows, hoisting you up in one swift movement. A wave of dizziness hits you like an unavoidable spell, and the pounding from before settles back behind your right eye.

    “Amazing, Claude,” the girl hisses, and quickly steps forward to steady you, pressing one hand against the small of your back where her strong fingers curl against the curve of your spine. Her other hand gently holds yours as she helps you regain your balance. “Excuse his manners. I promise not everyone from the Officers Academy behaves like a brute.”

    “The what now?” you ask, hit by another wave of dizziness that might originate more from the girl’s soft lavender fragrance rather than the world spinning around you.

    “The Officers Academy at Garreg Mach Monastery,” Dimitri provides this time. His posture is straight like an arrow, the stance of a soldier speaking to his officer. “That is where we attend as students and hence are going right now.”

    “And you want me to come with you?” you ask like you have the option to refuse and go somewhere else. Strangely, the thought of joining a group of armed knights and mercenaries doesn’t fill you with fear or anxiety. You’re about to tread into foreign waters, and yet your heart is calm like a still compass guiding you in the right direction.

    Claude clasps his hands behind his head like he’s got nothing to do with you feeling unwell at the moment. “Unless you have another place to be?”

    Luckily, your head does come clear and breathing becomes a little easier. You nod to the girl and she holds you a second longer before she nods back and lets go. “I guess not,” you mumble, looking at each one of them. Byleth still hasn’t moved. By now you can’t really tell if she’s looking at you or through you. Surely, she would have said something by now if she thought you were familiar, right?

    “Then it’s settled.” The girl nods solemnly, throwing her silky, white hair over her shoulder. “We welcome you in our company. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir to the Adrestian Empire.” Edelgard gives you a tight-lipped smile that quickly thins into a white line when the other two introduce themselves as Claude von Riegan, grandson of the Sovereign Duke of the Leicester Alliance and Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, future king to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. None of these names ring a bell to you, but you nod, pretending to know exactly what they're talking about.

    “Okay, we need a name for you as well,” Claude proposes, tapping a slender finger against his chin. He has a strikingly sharp jaw that looks fit to cut stone. “Can’t have everyone call you stranger or little one now, can we?”

    “No,” you say. “Especially since we’re about the same height.”

    Claude laughs like you just told him the best joke he’s heard in years. “Soo, since we found you here … how about Glade? Or Woody?”

    “How about no,” you say with furrowed eyebrows.

    “Apologies.” Edeglard sighs and shakes her head, her expression a mix between disappointment and annoyance. “Claude isn’t much accustomed to the notion of consideration.”

    Claude rolls his eyes. “Then you come up with something, princess. Or is it impossible because you can’t take out the stick up your—”

    “Claude,” Dimitri half shrieks, his pale cheeks splotched with red dots. As he stumbles over his own words trying to apologise for Claude’s behaviour, Edelgard simply deadpans, “Bold words for someone in stabbing range.”

    The fourth in this round of strange people considers you with a blank expression, her steady gaze like a solid touch on your skin. Before a greater argument can break free between the students, Byleth says a name with a surety like she’s never said anything else in her life, and hearing it, this barely whispered word immediately lost to the wind, you just know it’s your name.

    “Yes, much better than what Claude proposed.” Dimitri nods, regaining his composure even though he’s still staring daggers at Claude. “It sounds more civilised as well.”

    “You didn’t even suggest anything,” Claude remarks, but the huff of annoyance quickly dissipates from his voice when he jerks a thumb towards Byleth. “That’s Byleth, by the way. Funny story is, we met her just a couple of hours ago as well.”

    “Fate must have brought us together here today,” Dimitri agrees with a solemn nod. “I swear on my honour as a noble knight from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus that I will see you safe to the Monastery. Lady Rhea will surely be able to help you there.”

    “Okay. Thank you,” you manage, unable to connect a face to this name in your head that feels like it’s about to burst any second anyway. The only course of action lies within those strangers who are so willingly offering help that you can’t stop worrying it’s a ruse. But without anything to offer them except your life, there’s little coming to your mind that they can anticipate in taking you with them. Tthe fact that Byleth knew your name doesn’t sit right with you as well. There’s something waiting to be grasped at the tips of your fingers, and yet you lack the strength to embrace it.

    Following the little group of soldiers and students through the woods, you remain silent on the journey, only answering questions with approving or denying hums. How did you end up in this particular forest? According to Jeralt, you’re currently moving away from a village called Remire and towards the mountains to the northeast where the monastery lies tucked away between two mountains. Judging from the clothes you’re wearing, you’re a commoner, and when Edelgard pushed a slim dagger in your hand, nothing rung in intuitive knowledge about how to handle a weapon. Your mind remained silent, like an untouched chord.

    There’s little you can say about the first impression those people left on you. There seems to be a unanimous dispute between the three students, hanging palpable in the air whenever an argument starts that’s pregnant with implied insults or passive-aggressive comments. From that you gather there’s tension between the governing fractions in Fódlan, something else you’ve learnt from listening to them squabbling.

    Byleth and Jeralt acknowledge their bickering as if it was flies buzzing around their heads. They keep more to themselves and their mercenary comrades, indicating they’re really as much of strangers to the students as you. Their conversations are a lot quieter as well, their heads leaning close together for the illusion of privacy. More than once you notice Byleth sneaking glances in your direction, and every time you lock eyes, there’s something close to comprehension when she looks at you. The further you march through the woods, the less you try to meet her gaze. Reaching the monastery is the first step to regain who you are, or so you hope, because the opposite would mean you’ll continue stumbling through the darkness with no lead to your past or why you’re in this particular part of Fódlan, and you can only hope that this Rhea person really will be able to help you.

    A sound from the underbrush cuts through your thoughts.

    Thinking it might be an animal, you don’t let it bother you too much. No one else seems to have heard it, so maybe it was just your imagination. But your brain refuses to let it rest, and fails to push it away from your mind because something about the sound doesn’t seem to be right. The more you try to focus on it though, the blurrier it gets; the less you understand its origin.

    Then, you hear a voice from within the woods. It sounds like a slurred whisper.

    “What was that?” You stop in the middle of the road, looking around the thick trees. Claude barely manages to avoid walking into you. “What was what?”

    “There’s something here.” Unable to explain further, you wave your hand around for emphasis. He looks at your hand, incomprehension written all over his face. “And that something is what exactly?” he asks.

    “I don’t know.” You wave your hand wilder. “But I don’t have a good feeling venturing further.”

    “You may be still tired,” Edelgard offers, not hiding her irritation that the journey stopped. “It won’t be long until we reach Garreg Mach. You can rest however long you need inside the monastery’s infirmary.”

    “I’m not tired,” you hiss, hand falling back to your side where it clenches into a fist. “I just really don’t think we should go further for now.”

    “And why is that?” Dimitri inquirers. He raises a hand and the soldiers following them come to a halt, a murmur of unrest breathing through their lines, and it’s just enough that you question if it would be better to play if off and admit your mind is playing tricks on you due to exhaustion.

    But whenever you blink, a red veil falls over your right eye, blurring your surroundings. Little red dots move slowly in the distance through the forest. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it’s some sort of life form far away, slowly advancing on your position. “Because someone is coming,” you finally manage, scratching the thin skin below your irritated eye that’s started twitching slightly. “Someone is coming towards us from southwest. And I can’t say if they’re friendly or not.”

    Three pairs of eyes consider you like you’ve grown a second head. Only Byleth stares into the woods like she might find the strangers you’re talking about waiting behind the trees if she just looks hard enough.

    “Little one, are you sure this isn’t just an aftereffect from you hitting your head?” Claude offers, squinting into the woods. You’re pretty sure he’s staring directly at the moving dots but for whatever reason can’t see them.

    “Unless amnesia is suddenly another term for going crazy, I don’t think so,” you snap, unable to hold back the irritation raising to the surface.

    A whistle echoes through the tree crowns. Byleth snaps her head in the direction of the sound, growing all tense. She raises her hand into a tight fist, and all movement stills behind you. When you turn around, you see the mercenaries waiting in the underbrush like a flock of crows ready to swipe down on their prey. Jeralt breaks away from them and approaches Byleth, a frown cutting a deep wrinkle into his forehead.

    “Bandits,” he says, and quickly signs a hand gesture to the nearest bowman. He nods and disappears between trees. “Another mile away. If we stay on this road, we’ll walk right into them.”

    “Seven hundred feet, actually,” you blurt. Jeralt looks at you like you’re a cockroach under his boot. Another whistle cuts through the woods, one long followed quickly by two short. Byleth exhales audibly, and only now you notice she’s moved to stand beside you. “Seven hundred feet,” she mutters, her eyes fixed on you.

    Jeralt tenses. “How do you know, kid?”

    “I don’t know,” you mumble towards your boots. “I just see.”

    There’s an uncomfortable silence falling around you, and you’re too afraid to look up and read distrust in their eyes.

    “Does it matter?” Claude finally breaks the silence, sliding his bow from his shoulder. “They won’t be a problem with the knights and mercenaries on our side.” He jerks his chin towards Byleth, already plugging an arrow from his quiver. “You should really see her fight.”

    “Wait,” you say, reflexively reaching for the hem of his cape. “Don’t engage them yet.”

    Claude stops, one eyebrow arched up in a curve. “Beg your pardon?”

    “They come from the woods. Which means this is their hunting ground and they have the advantage. They have dozens of archers. I think they’re waiting until you reach a glade. And then open fire.”

    “Which means we’ll end up as skewers.” Claude scratches his chin and twirls the arrow between his slender fingers. “I can think of better ways to shuffle off this mortal coil.”

    Dimitri perks up. “You’ve read the Tale of Hamelot I gave you?”

    “I’ll give it a six out of ten. His soliloquies were awful.”

    “Boys.” Edelgard snaps her fingers impatiently as Dimitri opens his mouth to protest. “Not the time.” She takes your wrist and pulls it away from Claude’s cape, her hard gaze like a sharp knife. “Are we simply ignoring the fact that we have someone in our midst knowing the enemies’ movement and deployment?” she cuts in harshly. “Is this a plan to lure us into an ambush?”

    “You think someone would give away their comrades’ position just like that?” Claude eyes her wearily. “Don’t be so suspicious of everyone.”

    She glares at him. “I rather be suspicious than dead.”

    Which is a valid point and a trait you willingly admit to share with her, but that doesn’t really solve the problem at hand. Luckily, Dimitri seems to think the same. He doesn’t unfasten the spear on his back yet, but his fingers dance swiftly over the handle, immediately resting on where he can easily pull it from the straps if needed to strike down an enemy. “Fact is enemies are approaching,” he concludes, looking at his fellow students in search for a consensual ceasefire. “We must put an end to them before they target defenceless travellers on their way out of the forest.”

    “Spoken like a true crowd-pleaser,” Claude says, either unable or not caring to hide the mock in his voice. “We can resolve our new friend’s condition after we take down the enemy.”

    “I don’t agree with this,” Edelgard declares, but nonetheless unclasps the double-bit axe from her back and swings it on her shoulder like it weighs nothing. “But I accept that this is a more pressing issue.” The easiness in the movement robs your lungs of air, and even though there are more important matters to focus on, you wonder how her muscles play under her black uniform swinging around a thing like that. Your admiration comes to a quick end when Jeralt and Byleth close the circle. Her hand rests on the hilt of a short blade as she scans the underbrush, her body rigid with battle anticipation.

    “Let them come to us,” Jeralt announces. “Let them think they have the advantage.”

    “Your knigths over there move slow through the woods,” you say, gesturing at the waiting man clad in heavy armour and armed with shields. “But their amour can resist some stray arrows coming down on us. It’s the rearguard that will take them by surprise from another direction and—”

    “And charge their flank or rear to finish them off,” Jeralt ends with a crude nod. “Indirect approach. I thought of that as well.”

    Your mouth goes dry. The idea plopped seemingly out of nowhere in your mind, but yes, now that you think about it, that is the indirect approach tactic, first recorded after the Battle of Nicaea in … Faerghus? Or was it Adrestia? The picture in your mind is still blurry, but now you can make out definite lines of objects: Books with drawn pictures of pointing arrows and coloured lines, each lettered with a name or an approach in a neat handwriting that isn’t yours. The picture triggers another wave of dizziness, disappearing as fast as it appeared.

    “They’re going to faint in three, two, one…” Claude’s voice rips you back to the present. You glare at him and raise a fist to show how close to fainting you really are. He only laughs at the tiny fist in front of his face.

    “Enough brats, get into position,” Jeralt bellows, and the students scatter with a bouncing step in all their strides as they take the lead of a small unit.

    You’re about to retreat to the furthest point away from battle when Jeralt blocks the way. “Not you. You’re going with Byleth.”

    “I’m what?”

    “Byleth,” Jeralt nods to the young woman ahead of you, “will be the commanding unit and you’ll help her.”

    The world tilts a little as panic takes hold of you. “I can’t. I don’t know how to fight.”

    “You seem to know enough to plan a counterattack.”

    “That doesn’t mean anything.” Your voice sounds horribly piercing even to your own ears. “It was just a lucky guess.”

    “I don’t know what’s the deal with you,” Jeralt says with a finality to his voice that doesn’t allow objection, and this time you clearly see the head of a mercenary guild, one that gives commands with every breath. “But that wasn’t a lucky guess. You see what it needs to win a battle. So you guide them.”

    He turns around sharply and leaves, not bothering to check if you plan to abandon them. It’s madness. You should abandon these people, should flee from the fight that will demand blood and death. One, two, three … six steps and you’re standing beside Byleth, taking deep breaths. It doesn’t help. She eyes you sideways with a raised brow, and you flinch at the metallic rasping sound as she draws her sword.

    “I shouldn’t be here,” you mumble, staring into the woods. The red dots are approaching faster, forming into more recognisable features of humans. “I’m going to die. Without knowing who I am or why I’m here. This is the worst day of my life. I think. I don’t know. It has to be.”

    Byleth hums beside you. You can’t tell if it’s a thoughtful or an affirmative hum. “This might sound crazy, but I do trust you.”

    “Maybe you shouldn’t,” you say, struck by a sudden fear that this all is a fever dream and you're about to lead them into ruin. It’s enough that you don’t even notice this is the first time you two are talking to each other since your meeting.

    Byleth studies you out of the corner of her eyes, then says, “A very persistent voice inside me tells me I shouldn’t.”

    “That’s your survival instinct. Listen to it.”

    “Yeah,” Byleth says, and there’s something like a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. You blink and it's gone. “I might do that.”

    You don’t really understand what’s there to smile about, but the moment quickly disappears as silence settles, only occasionally disturbed by a bird sitting in the trees above you.

    “So what exactly do you see?” Byleth whispers after a moment, barely shifting in her crouching position. You on the other hand really want to move your legs before they go numb.

    “I don’t know why you guys even believe me,” you mumble, and pinch the bridge of your nose with your fingers, trying to stave off another rush of dizziness. “And I don’t understand it myself. It’s the opponent, in a way. I see their strengths and weaknesses, their amour and weapons. It’s like … it’s like the flow of battle is displayed in front of me.”

    Byleth hesitates a moment, then nods like everything is pretty much self-explanatory. You wonder if to her it really does sound plausible, as she is someone who is practically born in battle, a daughter to a mercenary who breathes battle and fighting. Before you can explain anything further, she ducks more into the bushes and silences you with a sharp hush, her body tensed. The first bandits approach the glade, their bows and arrows ready to strike as the Academy’s knights engage them. Swords and axes clash against each other, battle cries ring through the woods. Byleth gestures you to follow her, and out of the corner of your eyes you see the students do the same, moving around the bandits. From the distance, you notice Claude gesturing wildly. It’s a mix between pointing at himself and then at the space a couple of feet away from his unit, and though you’re unable to fully comprehend it, you shake your head. He gives a thumbs up and slows down until he halts inside the thick cover of ferns.

    Just when you reach the right angle, Byleth looks back at you, waiting for your approval, and after briefly hesitating, you signal with a short nod to attack. Edelgard is the first to emerge from the underbrush. She has a dancer’s grace and a seemingly unerring instinct for what her opponent will do next. Her axe cuts through the first bandits who are too surprised to regroup in time. Dimitri and Claude are quickly to follow her. The crown prince of Faerghus wields his weapon of choice like he’s never done anything else in his entire life. The spear is the instrument to a deadly song they know by heart, and whoever stands in the way of their melody is cut down swiftly. Claude doesn’t disappoint with his steady aim either, his eyes sharper than an eagle’s. He nocks his bow, draws and impales a bandit that’s been running toward a mercenary with a crooked nose and eye patch. The mercenary gives him an offhand salute and goes back to fighting a thug twice his size.

    And then there’s Byleth. At first you don’t see her as the battle’s chaos swallows her and she disappears between moving bodies. But once your eyes catch up to her again, it’s hard to look away. Byleth moves through the enemies’ lines like an avenging angel on a mission. Her sword arm causes havoc as it conducts the tact of death’s complicated choreography and one by one the bandits fall to her deadly dance. Strangely, what describes it the best, you think, is divine.

    The battle is almost over. The last bandits fall or flee back into the woods as they abandon their comrades who lay down their weapons and yield. A miserable sound of relief escapes you when you see the end nearing with little casualties on your side, thanking whoever watches over you and guides your weapons in victory.

    That is until you see something, and at first you aren’t really sure you see it. Veiled by a red haze, a gruesome scene unfolds before you: As Byleth is focused on helping a soldier back up on his feet, a bandit strikes her from behind, wedging a dagger through her spine and into her heart. When you blink, the scene is gone and with it the red veil covering your surroundings.

    You don’t think twice. Jumping out of your hiding spot, you quickly recognise what will be Byleth’s murderer. Only he never gets the chance to approach her. With everything you’ve got, you charge into him and send him flying on the ground, you on top of him. The bandit groans, groggily turning on his back to see what struck him, and before you can start to fear for your own dear life, Byleth is beside you and rams her sword into his throat, silencing him forever.

    She looks down at you and you feel like she knows what just happened. Why you jumped in. It’s in those keen, piercing eyes that speak of a unimaginable wisdom. She reaches a hand out to help you up, and when you stand, the last bandits have been secured and the chaos finally settles. That is when the throbbing pain in your right eye doubles you ever, the pain akin to a pinprick of ice hammering into your skull. The pain makes you sick as stars explode behind your closed eyes, and the more they dance in feverish circles, the harder you press your hands against your eyelids, trying to smother the pain by pressure. It doesn’t work.

    Unable to breathe properly, your stumble, and when you move your hands, your fingers smear something warm and wet across your cheeks.

    Someone takes in a sharp breath. “Your eye,” Byleth breathes, a hand raised but remaining hanging in the air like she’s unsure if it’s okay to touch you. In the background you hear someone calling out you’re bleeding, and it takes a few seconds to understand where you’re bleeding from. Your right eye cries blood when the pain finally knocks you out, darkness falling onto everything.

[goldencuffs]

fake dating au

“— I promise to love and respect you always.”

“Hmm?” Laurent turned from the view of the lake and saw that Torveld was down on one knee, with a velvet box in his hand. There was a ring in it — a ghastly one, with only one diamond. Honestly. Laurent frowned. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. What the fuck are you doing?”

“Er —” Torveld seemed to have trouble balancing himself. He was also getting very red. “I’m proposing?”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I’m proposing,” Torveld repeated firmly. To his credit, he did sound much more confident. Unfortunately, it was undermined by the sweat on his forehead and his shifting eyes.

“Oh,” Laurent said. He paused. “Why?”

“Why?” Torveld repeated, incredulous. “Because — For all the reasons I just said! Love and respect and — and status!”

Laurent stared down at him. “This is the third time we’ve spoken. And I don’t think the first time counts since you threw up in the middle of our conversation.”

“I told you I had a stomach bug,” Torveld hissed. He looked mortified, and in the distance, Laurent could see Jord and Lazar muffling their laughter.

Laurent grimaced in an attempt to mask his own unbidden smile. The memory of that first encounter haunted him, but it was undeniably hilarious — objectively, of course.

Torveld watched his face and wilted. “You’re not going to say yes, are you?”

Laurent tried to look a little compassionate. It only made Torveld frown, so Laurent suspected he had failed horribly. “I’m afraid not,” he said.

Torveld stood up and pocketed the box. He looked very put out.

“I’m sorry,” Laurent said, because it seemed like the right thing to say. Then he ruined it by asking: “How much did my father pay you?”

Torveld went very still. “Um.”

“Come on,” Laurent chided. “You’re the sixth person to propose to me this month. I know what Al is like.”

Torveld cleared his throat, then muttered a figure under his breath.

Laurent’s eyebrows rose and his stomach dropped; it seemed the King really was serious about marrying Laurent off as soon as he turned twenty one.

And really, Laurent wasn’t opposed to the idea of marriage, not at all. In fact, getting married to a man with a large cock and an even larger fortune was one of his top ten dreams. But that didn’t mean he wanted to do it now. He liked having freedom; most of his days were spent reading, gathering gossip on various Lords. and getting fucked by foreign, dashing men. And if Vere was short on foreign, dashing men, then Laurent had his guardsmen to keep him company in bed. There was a reason Lazar had extended his contract for another five years, after all.

It just infuriated Laurent that Al was doing this behind his back: setting him up on frivolous excursions with men who were low enough in rank to be appeased with marrying a second son.

It also made Laurent feel more unwanted than usual — but that thought was going to stay firmly lodged into his brain until his death.

Looking at Torveld now, Laurent realised that Al would not stop here. No doubt he had more men lined up for Laurent to meet. Perhaps he was waiting until Laurent got so tired of it, he would say yes to the next man who walked into the Palace.

Like hell that was going to happen.

Laurent knew he had to do something to stop it right now. He assessed Torveld, trying to think. He knew the man was a notorious gossiper — to the point where his own brother, the Crown Prince, had barred him from Council meetings because he ended up spilling everything to anyone who would listen.

So, Laurent said the one, plausible thing he could think of. “I’m sure you know why I had to say no, of course.” He kept his tone coy.

Torveld immediately piqued, curious. “No, why?”

Laurent bit his lip, pretending to survey the area around them for any potential eavesdroppers. He leaned in close. “I’m seeing someone. It’s very serious, but we’ve had to keep it lowkey in case Al tries to break us up.”

Torveld’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Is he —” He lowered his voice. “A commoner?”

Laurent’s nose scrunched. Ha! As if he’d succumb himself to that. No, obviously, Laurent’s imaginary lover would be amazing, respected by all, tall, hot as fuck, powerful, in touch with all the latest trends, and fantastic in bed. Someone so admirable and high in rank, that even Al would be impressed.

Laurent said the first name that sprung to his mind. “It’s Damianos.”

Granted, the only reason Laurent had even thought of him was because Al had mentioned him during breakfast. Something about how high Akielon taxes were and blah blah blah — as if Laurent cared. But, a man like Damianos did fit a majority of the aforementioned traits. Although, Laurent had no way of knowing whether being fantastic in bed was one of them.

Torveld looked suitably shocked. “The King of Akielos?”

Laurent smiled, smug. “The very same.”

Torveld was awed by the news. Then, he frowned. “But why would your father want to break you up? I thought he wanted a formal, political relationship with Akielos. A marriage seems like a good alliance.”

“Uh,” Laurent paused. He didn’t even know Al wanted that. Was that why he was always going to Akielos? He tried to search for an answer, and when he couldn’t find one, said, “Oh no, excuse me, I forgot I had an appointment with —” He hurried away before he had to think of something.

*

Al came into his room later that evening, after a substantial amount of knocking. He always knocked now — sometimes more times than what was strictly necessary; the last time he had barged into Laurent's room, unannounced, Laurent had been on all fours, in between two very well endowed brothers, noblemen from Vask.

Al hadn’t spoken to Laurent for four months after that. It was only when Auguste came back from college and made Laurent apologise to their father did he finally ease up.

As soon as he was inside, Al said, “Torveld tells me you rejected his proposal because you’re in a relationship with the King of Akielos.”

Laurent put his book down, face up, and swung his legs over the bed. “Good god, he really can’t keep a secret, can he?”

Al ignored him, as he tended to do most of the time. “Well?”

Laurent said, “Yes, it’s true.”

“When did this start?”

“When did what start?”

Al glared. “This very serious relationship, as Torveld put it.”

They were still talking about that? Laurent made up a number. “Three years.” Oh no; that was too high of a number. “No! I mean, we’ve been talking for three years but uh — one year. We’ve been together for one year.”

“How did this even happen?” Al said. “Damianos has not visited Vere since you were thirteen.”

Laurent remembered that trip; his first kiss had happened during one of the many balls they had hosted, with a girl from Akielos. Afterwards, Laurent had said, “Oh, I’m definitely gay.”, and she had spilled juice all over his lap.

It had been a fun night.

Laurent said, “We started talking online.” That was plausible; and mentioning anything to do with technology would no doubt bore Al.

He was right; Al already looked like he was trying to wrap this up as fast as possible. “And he’s committed to you completely?”

“Sure, I guess.”

Al looked thoughtful. “I assume he’s the one that’s been spending all that money on those ridiculous gifts that have been delivered to you over the last few months.”

“Of course!” Laurent said quickly. “As if I’d be irresponsible enough to buy myself a 1954 Ferrari! That was definitely Damianos.”

Laurent was seeing more and more perks to this plan. Maybe he could finally buy himself a retro Mercedes and blame it on Damianos, too.

Al’s face did something strange. Laurent sprung to his feet, concerned. “What is it? Are you having a heart attack?”

Al’s face morphed into a scowl, which was much more familiar. “I was smiling,” he said, sharply.

“Oh.” Laurent said. How the heck was he supposed to know that? Al never smiled at him.

There was a small pause. Al said, “Is he open to the idea of marriage?”

Laurent almost rolled his eyes. He said, “I think so. But, he’s so busy running a country and what not, it’s never really come up.” He took a deep breath. “I suspect in a few years, we will be married.”

He waited. And waited.

Finally, Al nodded. “See to it if you can convince him to get married sooner.”

“I will,” Laurent said. “In the meantime… you’ll stop setting me up all those Lords and noblemen?”

Al watched him for a few beats. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Laurent grinned; this was better than anything he could have hoped for.

“Don’t make that face,” Al snapped.

Laurent frowned.

Al stood in his room for a moment. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then he just nodded once and left.

Laurent immediately called Jord and Lazar into his room to celebrate.

*

Pretending to be in a relationship with the King of Akielos made Laurent’s life so much richer, it was a wonder why he hadn’t thought to do it sooner.

It was easy, too; all he had to do was occasionally smile dreamily into his phone, as though he had received the most thoughtful, wonderful love letter, and stare out the window. He also began leaving notes with the gifts he bought himself; Al didn’t say anything when a blue Mercedes showed up, because Damianos had given it, of course.

Laurent could stay up all night playing video games and when he’d fall asleep during Council meetings the next morning, all he had to do was moan about the time difference between Akielos and Vere to be forgiven.

People listened to him more, especially when Laurent began sentences with, “Well, Damianos said…” It was how Laurent convinced Al that he needed a new crown, one with more rubies this time.

Laurent’s sex life also became much wilder; it seemed men became very turned on when they thought they were fucking the boyfriend of a King. One of them had even asked Laurent to call him ‘Your Majesty’ in bed, which Laurent liked well enough.

The best part of it was the fact that Al finally left him alone. He stopped pestering Laurent about his princely duties and stopped saying things like, What would your mother think of you? each time another man crept out of his room. In fact, sometimes Al even asked him about his day. It was truly bizarre stuff.

It should have been Laurent’s first clue that things would come crashing down, sooner rather than later.

After three months of living indulgently, Al said over breakfast one day, “I thought you would be jumping for joy today.”

“Why’s that?” Laurent muttered into his toast. He had a horrid hangover, and his ass was sore.

Al frowned at him. “Sit straight,” he snapped.

Laurent said, “I can only sit gay.” When that joke fell flat, he sat up, with great effort. Al was still staring at him, so he said, “What?” a little sharper than he intended to.

Al’s mouth thinned. “I sincerely hope you don’t misbehave like this around your beau. I shudder to think what the delegates would say.”

“My beau?” Laurent said, face twisted. “Ugh, what century are you from?”

Al was silent; a very bad sign. Laurent continued to butter his toast, hoping to be forgotten about for the rest of the day.

That was not the case. Al decided to punish Laurent in the cruellest way; he was forced to attend four separate meetings with his father, and then attend a small, private dinner at Heston’s estate.

Halfway through the meal, Herode, one of the only people on the Council who could stand him said, “You must be very excited today, Your Highness.”

Laurent paused. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” After his father, three other Lords had approached him with the same words; Laurent had only smiled and nodded.

Now, he had a feeling that his father must have said it for a reason.

Herode smiled kindly; Laurent imagined it was a fatherly kind of smile, except he didn’t quite know, did he? “The Akielon King is going to be visiting Vere for the first time in eight years.” Herode’s expression grew sly. “I’m sure we can all guess as to why he’s suddenly interested in visiting.”

Laurent dropped his knife. It made several heads turn; Laurent flushed and ducked his head. To Herode he said, “The Akielon — Damianos is coming? When?”

Herode’s eyebrows met together in the middle. “You weren’t aware, Your Highness? It was confirmed last night; he should be here within a week.”

A week! Laurent’s eyes widened. Had someone told Damianos about what Laurent was doing? Was that why he was suddenly coming to Vere — to beat him up? Oh god, his father was going to kill him.

Thankfully, the panic on Laurent’s face was mistaken for something else. Herode said, “Oh! Did the King want to surprise you?”

“Yes, he probably did,” Laurent said weakly. “He’s always doing that… surprising me.” He let out a weak chuckle.

“I think that’s wonderful,” said Herode, and god, he really was the sweetest man ever. Why hadn’t he given birth to Laurent?

“Yes, wonderful,” Laurent agreed, stomaching sinking. He was so utterly fucked — and not in the good way.

[pennamesmith]

Romeo and Skeletor

Double Trouble needs dating advice. The Super Pal Trio is here to help. More Skeletor stories! 

*

“Remember,” Wrong Hordak recited, “recovery comes from connection!”

Several hands went up. Most belonged to clones. This was a common and welcome sight in Wrong Hordak’s Ex-Horde Therapy Group.

“And no,” Wrong Hordak continued, anticipating everyone’s question, “that does not necessarily mean romantic connection, or even connection with another sentient being. It means that in order to heal our traumas, we must be a part of the world around us, and acknowledge the world as a part of us.”

Most of the hands went down. Thoughtful murmurs rippled through the crowd. It was the end of another day of helping and healing. With a few more words of wisdom Wrong Hordak closed the meeting, and the assembled members began to stand and make their way out of the room. Most seemed sanguine and cheerful, but one stayed seated and watched the others wearily.

Double Trouble was the group’s newest and most skeptical member. They were trying, they really were, but it wasn’t easy. A lifetime of artful deception did not exactly lend itself to sharing or emotional honesty.

They had their reasons for being there, though.

Wrong Hordak, effervescent as ever, looked over and winked. “Another successful session, my most exalted paramour!” he told Double Trouble proudly. “Now then, I must consult with Perfuma about the itinerary for next week’s field trip to Mystacor. But tonight, I hope you are prepared to be dazzled by my famous quiche!” He beamed brightly.

Double Trouble worked very hard to maintain a calm expression while their stomach did acrobatic flip-flops. “My breath is bated, darling,” they finally managed, before scurrying off to the other side of the room.

The thespian cursed, internally. It should not be this difficult for a shapeshifter to hide a blush.

Closer to the door, Hordak was showing Adora something on a data pad. Double Trouble wended a wide circle around them, even as Adora gasped in surprise and began babbling what certainly seemed like juicy gossip. They simply weren’t in the mood.

Outside, Catra, Scorpia, and Entrapta were strolling away together, while the scorpion princess spoke excitedly about something called ‘Super Pal Trio Game Night.’ Double Trouble pricked their ears — this, perhaps, was a more promising prospect for their problem.

They took a step forward, and were immediately interrupted.

“Where do you think you’re going, hmm?”

Besides Perfuma, Wrong Hordak’s other assistant for his therapy group was ‘Skeletor,’ one of Entrapta’s eccentric bots. Once, he had been a part of Horde Prime’s drone army. Now, he had a nasally voice, a talent for self improvement, and a puppy.

The puppy’s name was Relay.

“How’s this for a surprise?” Skeletor said, holding Relay and patting the robotic canine gently on the head. “I’m considering putting him on a leash!”

“That’s very nice dear, but you’ll have to excuse me,” Double Trouble deflected. “I’ve got issues right now.” They began to move past the skinny robot, before a thought occurred to them.

“Actually, you might be able to help me out with something. Tell me, how do you feel about aiding and abetting identity fraud? I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Mehehehehe! Just like the old days!” Skeletor cackled. “All right, you’ve got yourself a deal! What’s your plan?”

*

Shadows Over Salineas was going swimmingly.

It wasn’t really a game night, more of a game afternoon, but that hadn’t stopped Scorpia from bringing a tower of boxes into Entrapta’s Bright Moon lab. An entire world of cardboard and plastic was spread out before the three women.

“I am going to finish this Sword of Protection quest!” Catra angrily declared as she moved her game piece back and forth. “No matter how long it takes!”

“Okay, but the Evil Horde already has a lot of points at the Princess Alliance table,” Entrapta cautioned, gesturing to another part of the board. “Plus they’ve got a lot of tanks in front of the castle.”

“Anyone want to help me battle the Laughing Dragon?” Scorpia spoke up from behind a clawful of cards. “I’m gonna —”

She was cut short as the laboratory door suddenly opened and Skeletor slouched inside, wearing a miserable expression.

“This is the worst day of my life!” Skeletor moaned, flopping bodily across the table. Game pieces flew in every direction and clattered on the floor. The other three exchanged nervous glances.

Catra tossed her cards aside. “Well, I guess this is what we’re doing now. What’s the matter, boneface?”

“You’ve got to help me!” Skeletor blubbered. “When are you goody-goody fools going to understand? I care for no-one and no-one cares for me!” He shook his fists and produced a rose tied to a card covered in cartoony hearts.

Scorpia tilted her head. “Is that a flower?”

“It is a flower!” Skeletor howled. “The bitter rose! From a secret admirer.” He clutched it to his chest lovingly.

“Seriously?” Catra floundered. “Does somebody actually have a crush on that goof?”

“I know it sounds strange,” Skeletor retorted. “Never mind that!”

Entrapta rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “So, to be clear. You’re happy about getting the rose?”

“Yes, I am!” Skeletor shouted.

“But it’s a problem because…?”

“I live to be bad!” Skeletor whined. “How else can I act when I’m surrounded by such fools?” The robot swooned again. “Nice? Doesn’t sound like much fun to me! Yuck! What a disgusting idea!”

“Oh, I get it!” Entrapta grinned. “Skeletor needs us to teach him about love!”

Scorpia’s eyes sparkled. “A Super Pal Trio rescue mission? For love? I accept without any further questions!”

“Wait, wait,” Catra protested. “Stop. No. None of this makes any sense. Entrapta, is this another one of your secret friendship experiments?”

“Nuh-uh,” the scientist shook her head. “But... it is unexpected. Skeletor, are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

Skeletor looked uncomfortable. “Certainly! Um… Tell me about the loneliness of good! Is it equal to the loneliness of evil?”

Entrapta seemed suspicious. “Hang on,” she said, peering more closely at Skeletor. “Something isn’t quite right here.”

At that moment, Skeletor walked into the room, again. This time he was holding Relay and a fresh armload of barbarian romance novels.

“I can’t do it,” he admitted with an apologetic shrug, sheepishly handing back the books. “And, I do not look like you.”

“Oh phoo. I went too far, didn’t I?” the other Skeletor sighed, in a completely different voice. “I knew this wasn’t going to work.”

In a flash of dark light, Skeletor morphed into a decidedly more reptilian shape. Double Trouble huffed and tossed their hair back. “Well, that was different, at least. I’ve never done a robot before!” They paused. “Not in that sense, anyway.”

Catra started out of her chair. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Just what I said.” Double Trouble sat back down on the table and nonchalantly studied their nails. “I need advice. Romantic advice. And since you three are all half of some of the oddest couples on the planet, I thought I might start here.”

“Okay,” Entrapta said, already beginning to take notes. “But you’ve come to me for that before. Why the disguise?”

Double Trouble looked away and muttered something.

“What was that?”

“I said it’s because I was embarrassed, all right?” Double Trouble crossed their arms and pouted. “This is not something I usually need help with. I’m supposed to be the one who’s cool and in control. I’m Double Trouble! But now I keep feeling things! In my mind, and my body! Making my guts act all weird, and my brain stop working, and… gah!”

“Those are called emotions, Dee Tee,” Catra deadpanned.

“Plus, you and Wrong Hordak have been going steady for a while now,” Scorpia added. “What’s the matter? Oh no! Have you lost… the spark?” She gasped, claws to her face.

“Just the opposite. Wrongie is perfect! He’s always in a good mood, he always wants to spend time with me, he always knows the right thing to say, and he’s just so darn cute! All the time!” Double Trouble’s face sank. “And sooner or later he’s going to realize that I’m not perfect, and it’s all just an act.”

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Entrapta pointed out, looking up from her notes.

“This is just like what happens in Romeo and Julian!” Double Trouble wailed, ignoring her.

“What?” asked Skeletor.

Double Trouble sniffled. “It’s a play. Someone in the Bright Moon army wrote it and it’s been getting rave reviews in all the theatre magazines — oh, but that’s not important! We’re talking about me!” The lizard flailed their hands helplessly. “What I mean is, it’s like we’re from two different worlds!”

“What, Horde World and Etheria?” Scorpia guessed.

“I’m thinking more Innocent Baby World and Cynical Opportunist World,” Catra cut in.

“Hey!” Double Trouble snapped. “I am not a cynic! Anymore!”

They turned to Scorpia. “But I can still make it work! I just need more research. Your girlfriend is all about this self-care nonsense. How do you deal with that?”

Scorpia got a dreamy look in her eyes. “Yeah, Perfuma’s pretty great. She’s kind, and patient with me, and she knows all kinds of meditation stuff, which is good because hey, funny story, it turns out I’ve actually got a lot of pent-up anxiety from —”

“Ugh! Useless! Next!” Double Trouble pointed to Entrapta. “You! Space bats. How do they even work?”

“Good question! I could share some of my research on Hordak with you,” Entrapta suggested. “It’s more of a hobby though, so I’ve only got a few terabytes of data. Did you know their species has an entire sub-language of ear movements? It’s fascinating!”

Double Trouble paled. “Um. Do you have an abridged version, or…?”

“Look,” Catra interrupted. “I think you’re coming at this the wrong way. First off, you can’t control what other people do or feel.”

Double Trouble narrowed their eyes. “That’s a bit rich coming from you, kitten.”

“I have been doing a lot of self-reflection the last few years, okay?” Catra growled back. “And trust me, trying to be the coolest, the strongest, the best? It doesn’t work.”

She looked across at Entrapta and Scorpia, and fiddled with the wedding ring on her finger. “Sooner or later you have to show your real self. Even if that’s uncomfortable. You can’t connect with someone that way until you’re willing to be weak in front of them.”

Double Trouble regarded Catra for a long time while their face registered a range of unreadable emotions.

“Fine,” they finally groaned, defeated. “But can you at least help me think of something nice to do for our dinner tonight?”

Catra smiled. Entrapta and Scorpia squeaked in excitement.

“For that, you’ll need my help!” said Skeletor. “I’ve longed for this moment!”

*

Wrong Hordak looked up brightly from his cooking. “You are here! Come in, come in!” He swept Double Trouble up in an enormous hug.

The lizard blushed and did not try to hide it. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world, darling.” With a flourish they revealed a rose and a box of distinctively tiny chocolates, which Wrong Hordak accepted gleefully.

“Now then, why don’t I stand back and let you impress me for a while?”

Wrong Hordak glowed with excitement.

“Impressive?” Skeletor said, somewhere far away. “You boob, it was spectacular!”

[horde-princess]

Someone, probably bow or adora, but it's up to you, somehow didn't realise that Spinnerella and Netossa are dating. How do they find out and how does everyone react?

this…… might be my favorite thing i’ve ever written 😭💖🌈 come off anon let me buy you a coffee or something lkjsdfs

(note: this is set in the future. the only real canon deviation is that adora doesn’t know wlw relationships exist 😋)

Marriage didn’t exist inside the Horde.

Sure, there were family units, utilized for social efficiency and reproduction purposes. But once children got to a certain age, they were assigned roles in the army, and the unit was forced to disband. That’s how things worked.

Adora realized now of course that had been just another one of Hordak’s oppressive tactics–because in the rest of Etheria, there were happy couples everywhere. She’d heard all the stories of grand romances between kings and queens, princesses and peasant boys. It all sounded beautiful… but She-Ra had more important things to worry about. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure that romance was something that interested her. 

Until the moment she saw Netossa kneel down on one knee in front of Spinnerella and the entire post-war celebration ball… and Adora felt so dizzy she almost blacked out. 

“Spin, you’re the wind beneath my wings,” Netossa said as their audience looked on, enraptured. “After all we’ve been through, I can’t imagine life without you. What do you say, princess? Will you marry me?” 

The crowd waited with bated breath until, at last, Spinnerella nodded, wiping tears away and pulling Netossa to her feet. They kissed each other sweetly as everyone in the ice castle erupted in cheers.

“Glimmer?” Adora squeaked. “What’s happening?”

Glimmer clutched Adora’s hand, a huge smile taking up half her face. “Netossa finally propoooosed! I can’t believe it!”

“They were always meant to be,” Bow sighed dreamily. 

She couldn’t tear her gaze away, suddenly seeing their affection for each other in a whole new light…

“But—They were—How did—?”

They were… together? This whole time? Two girls getting married…  How was that even possible?!

“Let’s go say congratulations!” Glimmer cried, pulling Adora after her.

“Uh, okay!…”

They approached the newly engaged couple, waiting their turn to say hello. A million questions swirled in Adora’s head about them, and maybe a few about herself.

 “Oh, it’s Glimmer!” Spinnerella laughed. “Bow, Adora! it’s so nice to see you all again.”

Glimmer pulled her down into a hug. “Congrats, you two!! We’re so happy for you!” 

Adora smiled awkwardly, nodding along with the conversation.

“It’s about time you locked it down!” Bow exclaimed, giving Netossa a high five. “Spinnerella’s quite the catch, huh?”

Netossa rolled her eyes.

“You know! Because, nets catch things?” 

“We get it, Bow,” Glimmer groaned. “Ooh! Let’s see the ring!”

————–

After a little while, the party began to wind down. Adora decided to wait for an opening and speak to them alone, and it took all the courage she had. Fighting off giant robots? Ha. That was nothing. But this?

The three of them were seated at a table, Netossa and Spinnerella patiently enduring Adora’s interrogation.

“So you, um…” Adora swallowed, blushing. “Hold each other, and stuff? Like other couples?” 

Netossa raised an amused eyebrow. She turned to look at Spinnerella with such love and intimacy in her eyes that Adora had to look away.

“Yeah… And stuff.”

“Oh, hush,” Spinnerella chided, turning back to Adora. “I’m still surprised you didn’t know!”

“Yeah, I had no idea… I guess I just thought you were close friends, like me and–”

Time suddenly stopped.

Like me and Catra…

There was a quiet moment where Spinnerella shared a smile with her fiancé, then eyed Adora curiously.

“You know, for such a charming hero, you don’t seem to have many suitors hanging around…” She glanced up briefly. “Well. Maybe one or two.”

“Suitors?” she questioned, following her line of sight.

And that’s when Adora saw her. She was leaning against a pillar in the back of the ballroom, deep in conversation with Scorpia. Unlike the Princess Ball, she was dressed in a tasteful black suit and tie; but she wore it in such a way that made it clear she wasn’t here to impress anyone. Her friend had changed so much the past couple of years, from a vengeful kid to a liberator… and the new ruler of the Horde. She stood a little taller, carried herself with the attractive grace of a Lord. It left a fuzzy feeling in Adora’s stomach. They really thought that Catra wanted to… court her?

Catra looked up, then, and their eyes met across the room. Adora whipped her head back around. Geez, was it hot in here or something? What was this, an ice castle or a furnace?!

“You okay there?” Netossa smirked. “You’re red as a tomato.”

“Wh–Am I?”

Adora touched her cheek, attempting to hide it. Then out of nowhere a group of people approached the table to offer congratulations, interrupting their conversation.

“Oh, Adora, please stay!” Spinnerella begged as Adora stumbled up out of her chair. 

“No, no, sorry, I don’t mean to take all of your time–uh, enjoy the party!”

She headed quickly towards the balcony, hoping to catch some fresh air and get her head straight, when a voice behind her made her freeze.

“Hey, Adora.”

…Oh no.

She was so screwed. 

Adora took a deep breath and turned around to face her. “Catra! Hey! What’s up?”

“This party sucks,” she lamented, oblivious to her friend’s crisis. 

Adora held back a laugh. “Maybe that’s because you’re hiding in a corner.”

“Easy for you to say! Everybody here likes you.”

Adora sensed that there was more agitation behind her smile than she let on, and she wondered if it was really the people here making her feel unwelcome, or just the guilt she still carried with her. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t seen much of her tonight. 

“I’m pretty sure this whole party is for you,” Adora argued back. ”You’re the one who overthrew Hordak’s regime–everyone here owes you their life! Including me.” She shook her head fondly. “The past doesn’t matter. You’re a different person, now… Lord Catra.”

Catra’s whole demeanor changed at the use of her new title. She cleared her throat and stuck her hands in her pockets, and… whoa… 

Was Catra blushing?

That was a first.

“Yeah, well. You’ve changed a lot, too,” she deflected. Her voice was rougher than before.  

“…In a good way, or a bad way?”

Catra’s gaze drifted over Adora, eyes smoldering. It sent off a panic alarm in her head. 

“In a really good way.” 

Suddenly, the lights dimmed around them while the band on stage transitioned into a slow ballad. Catra’s bravado evaporated and she smiled shyly, offering a hand out to her.

“For old time’s sake?” 

Adora’s heart skipped a beat.

“S-sure, why not…”

She placed a trembling hand in Catra’s sure one. Catra drew their bodies close and her pulse started to race like she was in the middle of a raging battle, yet the only threat was the beautiful girl in front of her. She found her other hand moving naturally to Catra’s shoulder as her partner rested hers on her waist.

“This okay?”

“Yeah, um. Totally.”

Adora let Catra take the lead. They swayed together for a while in silence, far from the activity of the ball. A part of her wanted to ask if Catra had known about Spinnerella and Netossa, but she knew where that conversation would take them, and she just couldn’t gather the nerve.

“So… What’s next for the great She-Ra?” Catra joked after a moment. She laced her fingers with Adora’s, colorful eyes shining in the darkness.

“Oh, uh–”

Words, Adora. 

“Well, the Alliance is preparing reparations for some of the kingdoms most affected by the war. So I’ll be traveling a lot, I guess.”

Catra hummed, a distant look on her face.

“Remember how we used to sneak up to the roof at night, just to see the skyline? Wondering what was out there?” 

The thought made Adora smile sadly. “Honestly… I try not to.”

Catra slid a hand around her back and rubbed soothingly, and Adora leaned into her warmth, heart rate slowing by the second.

“What about you? Any big plans now that you’ve got a whole city to rule?”

“Actually…” Catra chuckled. “I think I might be coming with you.”

Adora pulled back to look at her.

“You… are?”

“I mean, there are some loose ends to tie up. But I hope so. I have a lot to make up for,” she murmured, voice tinged with regret.

A hundred emotions flashed through Adora, but the overwhelming one was happiness.

“So we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then,” she beamed.

Catra gave her a strange smile, like she was confused and amazed at the same time. Then her eyes fell to her lips, and she tilted her face closer, and Adora’s brain kind of short-circuited.

“That was part of the plan…”

Abruptly, the music changed into an upbeat dance song, causing them both to jerk back a little. 

…Why, God? Adora begged internally. 

Catra just laughed once, as if resigned. She stepped backwards and took an elegant bow like a gentleman would.

“Thank you for the dance, princess.”

Holding Adora’s gaze, she lifted her hand to brush a tender kiss across her knuckles, leaving her a speechless, flustered mess. And without another word, Catra turned to go. 

Adora felt paralyzed as she realized what the epithet reminded her of–Netossa’s proposal. Something stirred deep inside her, coming to the surface after years and years of being trapped in darkness. It made her terrified and brazen all at once. Was she really just going to stand there and watch dumbly as the girl she loved–had always loved–walked away from her?

“Catra?”

“Huh?–“

She’d barely turned back around when Adora grabbed her by the jacket and pulled Catra’s lips to hers in a desperate, earth-shattering kiss. 

She had absolutely no idea what she was doing, but Catra responded passionately, pulling her flush against her and surrendering to Adora’s fire while also somehow laying claim to every part of her. Heat scorched through her veins and she thought she might actually be dying but her pounding heart insisted otherwise. Catra melted into her, sighing Adora’s name reverently against her lips, and Adora parted them for her, longing to take in as much of her as she could–longing to make up for all the years that the world had forced them apart. Her tongue grazed Catra’s and she nearly fell apart. 

She felt Catra smile, then, and pull back gently, out of breath. Catra touched their foreheads together and caressed Adora’s face as she finally opened her eyes.

“Hey,” Catra breathed.

Adora bit her lip. “Hey.”

“We’re gonna get kicked out.”

Oh. She had kind of forgotten where they were.

“They can’t kick us out… we’re the heroes,” Adora pouted.

Catra broke out in a grin—a beautiful, euphoric, carefree smile that Adora had never seen on her before. It filled her heart with wonder.

“Don’t be mad, but I might know somewhere quiet we could go… I still have this place mapped from when I, uh. Attacked it.”

Adora rolled her eyes. “Oh, great. That doesn’t ruin the mood or anything.”

Catra smirked, not looking quite as ashamed as Adora would’ve liked. She leaned in and brushed her lips up along her jaw while trailing a hand from the back of her neck to her chest. Adora thought she might combust when she felt Catra’s hot breath on her ear.

“Let me get you back into it…”

(Okay. So. Maybe she could give this whole “romance” thing a try.)

————–

Spinnerella smiled, watching the two girls run off together hand in hand.

“Ahh, young love…”

“You meddler,” Netossa accused.

“I only helped them along!”

She laughed and drew Spinnerella close. “Wish I had a gay guide when I was younger. I probably would’ve proposed sooner.”

“See? That’s why we have to start giving back, now.”

Netossa kissed her lovingly, and with the threat of war finally behind them after all these years, they had never been more excited for what the future held.

[elcorhamletlive]

fandom: MCU (Alternate Universe - Medieval) ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark tags: Outsider POV,  Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Howard Stark POV summary: “What I’m about to ask you has no relation to our alliance,” Rogers continues, his voice a lot steadier now. “I come here only in behalf of myself, and what I’m about to ask, I ask as a man, not as a soldier.”

Howard feels as if he can see the anticipation growing in the room, almost as a cloud forming over them. The guards don’t bother hiding the shock in their expressions, and even Jarvis can’t fully disguise the curiosity, his eyebrows quirked.

Rogers takes one short breath before locking his eyes with Howard’s. His blue gaze is almost peaceful in its resoluteness, as if there’s an element of inevitability in what he’s about to say.

“I’m here to ask for your son’s hand.”

“…with profuse thanks for the accommodations,” Obie’s voice echoes on the room, his low, monotone reading turned into a more solemn sound that it has any right to be, considering the dullness of the subject. “Lady Maryam hopes you’ll join her for dinner tonight.”

“And she will remain hoping.” Howard’s throat scratches as he speaks. He eyes the wine next to the throne, his mouth feeling dry as he sees the little drops of water dripping from the bottle. He can’t drink yet, though – there have been whispers, of course there have been, and he will not feed them so easily. He motions for Obadiah to go on, forcing himself to look away from the bottle.

His eyes dart around the large room. There’s a scribe boy next to Obadiah, taking note of his every word with unfailing precision. Jarvis is next to him, his posture very still and eyes focused, expressionless, exerting his wonderful ability of hiding in plain sight.

As Obadiah starts listing the latest shipments coming from the port, Howard feels the beginning of a headache prickling up his neck. It’s an unbearably hot evening, and even the servant girl fanning him does little to combat the heat. The velvet cushion of the throne sticks to his skin uncomfortably.

“Is that all, then?” He asks, barely bothering to hide his eagerness, as soon as Obadiah pauses to breathe.

There’s hears a noise on his side, something akin to a cough or laughter. Howard’s neck snaps as he turns.

Truth be told, he had forgotten Tony was there. One could hardly fault him for that – Tony was never present in meetings about their economic affairs, even though, according to his duty as the lord’s son, he should be.

Then again, Tony wouldn’t recognize his duty if it slapped him in the face with a horse’s carcass.

“Apologies,” Howard says, his voice cutting as his eyes land on the chair to his right. To his frank surprise, Tony is dressed properly, in a blue waistcoat with golden embroidery and blue breeches. His posture is slightly slouched, but, as he schools his features in a serious expression and looks back at Howard with curiosity, he almost looks just as a young man on his position should. Almost. “Should I put on a jester’s hat for my next joke? Would that make it more amusing to you?”

Tony’s mouth quirks as if it had a life of its own - a notion Howard certainly wouldn’t dispute - but he ducks his head, eyes staring down at his lap.

“Forgive me,” he says, voice meek. “My… my immaturity gets the best of me at times, father.”

“Indeed it does,” Howard agrees. He’s astonished by the lack of an irreverent reply; Tony has never lost one opportunity to be snippy with him.

Perhaps he’s feeling ill, Howard thinks. The thought is not strong enough to be a concern, but it still makes him strangely uncomfortable. He grasps the goblet’s stem before raising it to his lips for another sip.

To hell with the whispers, he thinks. He can do as he wants.

When he lowers his glass, he realizes all the eyes are on him, waiting for permission to continue the conversation. He barely fights back the urge to sigh.

“Are we done?” He directs the question to Obadiah, turning away from Tony entirely.

“I’m afraid not yet, my lord,” Obadiah’s voice sounds compassionate, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes that leave no doubt this is the moment he’s been waiting for all night. “The rebels sent a raven to the city walls last night. Captain Rogers has requested an audience with you.”

The last words seem to suck all air out of the room. Howard straightens his posture, forgetting for a moment his discomfort with the throne’s cushion. “They have gotten all the weapons we sent them, have they not?”

“Yes, my Lord. The Captain said it was… a different matter.”

“And he specifically asked to speak to me,” Howard says, not a question.

Obadiah nods.

Howard clenches his jaw. “We cannot afford to spare any more soldiers.”

This isn’t entirely true – Howard could, he imagines, send a few more man to meet the Captain’s forces. But that would weaken their own defenses more than he’s comfortable with. He’s already playing a large risk, allying himself to the Captain’s cause.

Some would say it was a safe bet. Through the entire kingdom, there are villagers convinced of a certain victory, already singing songs of the one who came to free them from Zola’s tyranny. But for the longest time, Howard had dismissed this possibility: rebellions come and go, and it’s foolish for a nobleman to be concerned with the legends of the common folk. Even as tales of the Captain’s prowess in battle started reaching royal feasts, for the longest time the rebels were still perceived as a momentary threat; a thorn on the king’s side and nothing more. When word got around that the king had sent Pierce’s command to handle them, most of the lords - Howard included - had assumed that would be the end of the rebellion.

Everything changed when Pierce’s men were defeated. Suddenly, the tables had turned, and any lord worth his land was scraping for leverage to negotiate with the rebels.

Of course, the Starks were a crucial piece of support for the Captain to get, if he intended to govern the North. The whole continent knew of the quality of Stark iron and the weapons they could craft. It was, then, only a matter of time until they received a messenger to negotiate an alliance. The Captain had not been present, yet according to the messenger - a stunning and terrifying red-haired woman - he had wanted to be there, except it wasn’t safe for him to veer inside the city to reach the palace.

The negotiations went smoothly, and in no time, the Starks were officially allied with the rebels, just – as the rumors said - in time for the Captain to start planning his final assault against the king’s castle.

Howard didn’t mind being late to the party. He’d leave the alliance for after the king was overthrown if he could, but Gods know that would lower his negotiation power considerably. He was left with no choice.

He is not very happy about that. Mind you, he has no love for the king – the crazy, old bastard could jump off a cliff for all Howard cares – but Zola ruled the lands for decades. With him, it was easy to know where you stood. With the Captain…

Well. That remains to be seen.

“Did he, uh,” a voice cuts through the silence, and it sounds so hesitant that it’s with quite a shock Howard realizes it’s Tony’s. “Did he say when?”

“No, my lord,” Obadiah says. Howard barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. He spoils Tony too much, not nearly as much as Maria had, true, but... “Though I assume he must be waiting for a swift reply. We don’t know how long he can stay in the outskirts—"

“I will see him tomorrow,” Howard declares, half-distracted by the wine goblet and the way its gold reflects the lights of the chandelier. “Send word for him to meet me after dinner.”

“Of course,” Obadiah replies, with a slight bow. Tony, sitting on his chair, shifts a little.

“This should be interesting,” Howard states. The wine is a bit on the sweet side for him, he decides. His eyes dart to the door, already wondering—the last bottle the Romanoffs sent, had he finished it? And if not, where had it gone? Perhaps on the last cabinet of the kitchen, the one Happy kept locked at his request…

“Meeting the Captain can’t hurt,” Obadiah agrees, running his hand over his beard. “Perhaps we can gather information on his next assault.”

“He won’t say anything,” Tony counters. “Besides, it’s not as if you will be meeting for the first time.”

Howard frowns at that, though his eyes remain at the door.

“Tony, Tony, Tony,” Obadiah says, as if he’s talking to a child. “It’s dangerous for the Captain to veer into the city. We have negotiated through a messenger. He has never been here before.”

Howard glances at Tony’s reaction. Part of him feels curious, the other part is already at the kitchen, thinking about the Romanoff’s bottle.

“I know this,” Tony says, huffing a breath. “I’m talking about…” He trails off when he catches sight of Howard looking at him. “You know what I’m talking about. You know him.”

Howard raises an eyebrow in response.

“Do I?”

“Yes,” Tony replies, and Howard feels a tinge of annoyance at the indignation that fills his expression, as if Howard has insulted him deeply. “He used to live here, years ago, as a child. Don’t you remember?” He frowns as if the possibility honestly confuses him. “He tended the stables. How could you not remember?”

A moment of stunned silence follows his question.

“Oh, yes.” Howard grins and snaps his fingers. “Of course. How could I not remember a kid who once worked on the stables ages ago? I obviously have nothing better to think about.”

The scribe lets out a muffled laugh. Howard, with a rush of self-satisfaction, waits to see Tony’s cheeks flush with shame, but instead he only seems more indignant, hands closing into fists on his lap.

“Are you jesting?” He snaps. His eyes are wide, seeming bigger than ever. He got that from Maria – big, unbearably inquiring eyes. “He set your horse for you every morning for years. And you’re saying you couldn’t even be bothered to learn his name?”

Hot anger boils in Howard’s stomach. “You might enjoy mixing up with all sorts of people, Tony,” he spits, his voice dripping with disdain, leaving no doubt as to what class of mixing he’s referring to. “But I’m a busy man, and I can’t bring myself to learn the names of every poor bastard who makes sure the horses don’t eat themselves to death.”

The flush finally appears in Tony’s cheeks, but it’s not of shame, but anger.“He’s not—” His mouth shuts with an audible click and he stands abruptly. “I should go.” He turns on his heels as quickly as possible, walking in large strides towards the door.

read the rest on ao3!

[cecilspeaks]

149 - The General

If you can dream it, you can wake up in a cold sweat screaming about it. Welcome to Night Vale.

Night Vale, today is the birthday of Leonard Burton. Many of you are too young to remember Leonard. He was my mentor, my friend, and my predecessor at this radio station. I watched him die nearly 40 years ago, right outside this very radio station on Mesa Boulevard, when a cargo truck ran him over. The sight was – grisly and upsetting. But it is that sound, that horrible “snap!” I will never forget. Dozens of witnesses gathered around to help, but it was too late. I crouched over Leonard’s body, lying to him that he would be OK, attempting to coax him from some hint of life. But there was no final word to hear, not even a final breath. I noted there were tears on his cheeks, as a host of angels behind me moaned softly while touching fingers above a flaming trashcan.

Leonard was a dutiful journalist, a true servant of his town. He loved Boston cream pies and paintings of snakes. If he had lived, he would have been 117 years young today.  

Listeners, thank you for all your kind emails. A few weeks ago I was a tad – too revealing about my personal life and I mentioned, in passing, that I’m a perennial bachelor. It’s true. I’ve never had a long term serious relationship, but honestly, it’s fine. [chuckling nervously] I get out, I-I s-, I see people. You do not need to try to set me up on blind dates with friends, relatives, ancestral ghosts. Thank you, I’m doing OK. In fact, I had a date recently. His name is Carlos. He says he’s a scientist, well – we have all been scientists at one point or another in our lives. He has perfect hair, a perfect lab coat and – and teeth like a military cemetery.

The date started well. We went to dinner at Big Rico’s Pizza. He had originally suggested Gino’s Italian Dining Experience and Bar and Grill, the fanciest restaurant in town, but since it was our first date, I suggested something more casual. And that was when things started to go wrong. Before we had even placed our orders, Carlos already seemed – disappointed. Which, in turn, disappointed me. Then there was dinner. I was trying to tell Carlos about my job here at the station, about my family and interests, and he was like “I know I know, Cecil, we’re in love. You and I are in love. You just don’t remember it.” And I told him, “You’re cute, but this is our first date, so let’s take this slow.” And then he looked sad, and I quickly finished my pizza, and we left.

An update on the Blood Space War. A few weeks ago, the Polonian forces who oppose us seemed all but defeated, their remaining ships cornered in a tiny moon on the far reaches of the Crab Nebula. Yet our attempts to finally destroy the enemy failed, and the Polonians escaped and regrouped. We’re getting word that the General has agreed to step down from her post, and new leadership will replace her. Some of you may remember the story of Eunomia, the teenager who left our Earth 200 years ago to join in the Blood Space War. She was a dreamer,  a scientist, who was recruited for her sharp mind and later groomed as a master strategist for the Wolf Gang, our allies in this unending war. The Wolf Gang were able to use worm holes to travel great distances in mere moments. And Eunomia eventually discovered they could use these same portals to travel in time. After a brutal loss in the battle of Gamma Trachonus, Eunomia, then a captain, ordered her decimated platoon back in time to the beginning of the battle. With a greater understanding of their initial failures, she was able to better fight the battle again. Still she lost, only to return back through time to re-engage the enemy over and over again, she refought the battle until she won. Dozens of battles like this won led to her promotion to General of the Earth-Wolf Gang alliance. But after our most recent failure in the Crab Nebula, there is concern that she has lost her effectiveness.

An emissary from the Blood Space War has returned to Night Vale. They are wading through town in their oversized space suit. No doubt here to deliver us more terrible news from the front. Perhaps there will be no peace in our lifetimes. More on this story as it develops.

Our town is returning to normal, or so I have been told. Community college student and Blood Space War protest organizer, Basimah Bishara, said her mother exists once again. Basimah claims that a few weeks ago, her mother suddenly did not exist, thus making Basimah not exist but as of this week, they do exist. Basimah blames the time traveling actions of our General for changing the landscape of everyone’s existence. I can’t wrap my head around this, listeners, I-I.. I don’t remember Basimah ever not existing or, or-or that she was gone and returned. So it’s hard for me to believe this story. I-I took inventory of my own life and everything is as it always has been for me. I work at a radio station, I own a (-) [0:08:20] bike, I have a one-bedroom apartment with a soaking tub, walk-in closet, carpet shredder, knife compiler and a full-length mirror in the hallway. It’s an antique my mother handed down to me. She knows I love mirrors. I don’t have any siblings, but my mother’s alive and I talk to her regularly. We get along great, I-I-I called her to make sure everything is as she always remembered it, and she said, “What, I don’t know. Yeah sure, what a dumb question.” She’s always been witty like that. All is stasis. Nothing has been taken from my life.

The Intergalactic Military Headquarters reported all time high profits this month. They have built a stealth bomber entirely out of rare 1913 Liberty Head nickels, each valued at around  - five million dollars. Senior strategic advisor Jameson Archibald admitted their financial success was not attributable to the new smart phone app he developed. “[cackling] No-ho-ho-ho-ho,” Archibald said, sitting astride a white tiger. “That app was super glitchy, but my Dad’s crazy rich and knows a bunch of people in the Pentagon, so we’re go-o-o-od!” Archibald then took a massive hit of a vape pen. “This is my new thing,” Archibald said. “Steam pens! No nicotine, no THC, only pure water vapor. Did you know water is good for you? Like, it gives you life, man. If we’re gonna vape anything, we should be vaping vapor. O-o, what if that’s what vape means? Vapor! If it doesn’t, it should!” This has been your financial report.

Sad news, Night Vale. John Peters – you know, the farmer – reported that his brother James is returning to service in the Blood Space War. James has been promoted to General to replace the retiring Eunomia. “Dang, James is such a good brother,” John said from the middle of his field of invisible corn. “I really like having him home, I’m gonna miss him. But I guess the universe needs him more than I do.” John then uprooted an invisible corn stalk and hugged it tightly, while humming the classic church hymn “Party in the USA”.

OK, this is getting annoying. So the guy I was telling you about earlier, Carlos, he’s been texting me this whole show, saying he wants to see me again, let’s see, something something, my timeline is still wrong? I should have a sister named Abby, here’s a photo of her with some kid. My mother died? Hmph. I’m supposedly afraid of mirrors, and he and I are actually married. This is ridiculous! OK, now he’s texting me a picture of a dog. “Our little puppy Aubergine,” it says. In the picture Carlos is holding the dog. I… Hm, that’s weird. I just had a strange feeling. What’s that term, uh, jamais vu I think, where you remember something that never happened.

Outside my window, I see the Emissary, their-their oblong mirrored face pressed against the glass, each hand raised to their head to block out glare from the sun. I’m waving to the Emissary now. Hello Emissary! I said just now. What is the French term for remembering something you’ve never experienced? I said even louder wondering if the Emissary can hear me through the window and that thick helmet. Also, is Aubergine a good name for a dog? I think it is! I called once more, just to start a decent conversation, because I was getting creeped out by the sight of a silent astronaut peering at me through my window. [chuckles] I can, I can see myself in the reflective face. I… [mumbles] I don’t like this. I do not like this at all. [panicked] Please go. Please leave, it cannot. Uh, I’m covering this window with a sheet, I do not like this mirror. I don’t like it one bit, no!

Let’s go to the weather.

[Weather: “Sad But Not Depressed” from the podcast It Makes a Sound https://nightvale.bandcamp.com]

I will tell you about the Emissary in a moment. But first, I must tell you that Carlos called me. Here’s his voicemail.

Carlos: Cecil, I_I’m calling for personal reasons. I-I’m, [sighs] I’m calling to tell you that I love you. That I have loved you almost since the first day I met you nearly 7 years ago. I didn’t know anyone in Night Vale [chuckles] and you were the first person to take any interest in my studies. Its not easy feeling alone, but within a year I wasn’t, cause I was with you. And now we are married. Well, at least in my lifetime we were married. We have been married, and we have a beautiful puppy named Aubergine, a house, a relationship. You have a sister, and you know, you have a brother-in-law too and, and a niece who is a talented athlete and (enormously), just a kind young woman. And we have – oh, you’re gonna play this on air, aren’t you? Oh, of course you are. Well never mind. Anyway uh, somehow you don’t know any of this. I’ve been working nights and days trying to repair this break in continuity, and I haven’t slept much, because I-I can’t sleep until we’re back in the same timeline. But I can’t find anything that will fix this, I-I don’t know what else to do other than to just say: Trust me. I will start over, we’ll go to Rico’s on another first date, I will pretend to hear about your life for the first time, I will tell you about mine for the thousandth time. It won’t be the same for me, but it will still be you. And, and that’s all that matters. You, you’re the one. Oh god, this must sound crazy, you barely know you and, and I’m coming off as desperate, but it’s because I am. Please call me. [beep]

Cecil: And I did, call him back. A-a-and I said: “I love you too. Babe, I love your beard. I love our dog. I love… I-I love our life together.” Minutes before that, I did not feel that way. I did not know about my life with Carlos, because it had never happened in my history.

 It was in those minutes, though, that the Emissary spoke to me. The Emissary entered my studio and removed her helmet. And underneath was the face of an old woman, it was the face of Eunomia, the young girl who disappeared from Night Vale on her 17th birthday 200 years ago. Eunomia told me she had resigned her post as General. She was the most successful leader in the Blood Space War, but tampering with timelines had caused life in the universe to nearly cease to exist. Eunomia knew she would have to undo what she had undone so many times over, even though it would put peace out of her reach. She’s doing that. She is taking responsibility by visiting every single person affected by her actions. She’s telling them what she has taken from them. And what she will now give back. It will take her a long, long time to do this. it will take her the rest of her life. 

In my case, she told me I have a sister, Abby, a brother-in-law, Steve, a niece, Janice. I-I did not know those times. She told me about my husband Carlos. I knew that name, but did not feel love for it. She took my hand and told me to look at the moon. There was a thick wedge missing from it. I never noticed that the moon was broken. Eunomia said: “I will leave now and I will undo what has been done, and your life will return to how it was.” I asked: “But I have a life now.” And she said: “But what of the lives of others? You are all connected. If I do not fix yours, how many others will never have back what the war has taken?” “And what about you?” I said. “Will you return to your teenage life on the farm?” “No,” she said, “I cannot go back to that age, but I will go back to that time and place. I only wish to see my family one more time.” “And what about the war?” I said. Hmph. “There will always be a war, because there will always be a lust for a war,” she said. “I am sorry, Cecil. I have to go.” She pointed to the moon once again. And it was whole, unbroken. I tried to squeeze her hand, but it was gone. It was only me in the studio.

On a late summer afternoon in 1816, an astronaut appeared in the center of Night Vale. 96 years later, a dog park would be established on that exact spot. The astronaut walked silently through the dusty streets. Bow-legged and slow, the Emissary walked through the outskirts of town. It took hours, and nearly the entire city followed her. Past a lot that would eventually to Old Woman Josie. Past the homestead of Eugene Leroy. Until she reached the Peters farm. And there, she stopped. There was a greenish aura about the astronaut, as she turned to face the gathered mob. The astronaut put her gloved hands to her neck and unlashed the helmet. There was a loud hissss and a pop, when she lifted the mask. The crowd approached tentatively. As the helmet came fully off, the townsfolk cried out. The face of the visitor was nearly skeletal, a rotted corpse, long white hair peeling down the back of the skull, an incomplete set of elongated teeth visible with no lips to hide them, startled eyes, ever staring with no lids to express anything else. And what was left of the skin had shriveled and yellowed. 

The crowd had begun to step backward, but one woman stepped forward. a tired and pale woman. The woman whose farm it was approached the decomposing astronaut and said: “Eunomia?” The General opened her mouth slowly and spoke in a hoarse cough. “Mother,” she said. Eunomia’s young mother touched her elderly daughter’s face. Eunomia broke into dust. And the empty space suit collapsed to the ground, leaving behind the faint shape of the woman’s dissipating daughter.

In a cornfield on the outskirts of town, the General’s ashes scattered across a golden lake of ripened corn. In the very place where her military successor, James Peters – you know, the General – would be born 150 years later.

The memories of what Eunomia said to me, the memories of my life without my family, are fading quickly. Night Vale returns to normal, whatever that means. [chuckles] I told Carlos I was so sorry for causing him such pain. I can not ever know how difficult that must have been. He only tilted his head and said: “Already forgotten.” I wasn’t sure if he was being literal. Hmm.

Stay tuned next for the unceremonious continuation of all that is real.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: I’m gonna take my horse to the old town road, and then we’re gonna go grab drinks and dinner, maybe watch a movie. Girls’ night.

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Chapter: 15/18 Word count: 2253 Summary: When Tobirama is exiled from the Senju clan without warning, without even the chance to plead his case, it feels like his life is over. What does he have to live for now without his older brother to believe in him? Captured by the Uchiha in his moment of weakness, Tobirama slowly learns to live again with the last people on earth he would have ever expected to care for - or to fall in love with.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Chapter 15

“You seem distracted, husband.”

Hashirama jumped, the sudden motion knocking his chopsticks out of his hands and sending them spinning across the table to land in front of an empty chair farther down. Ironically it was that empty chair he had been mindlessly contemplating for most of their meal.

Although, to his credit, he was able to say that for once he wasn’t thinking of the one person that should have been there to fill it. While Hashirama did still spend a large portion of every day wondering what had ultimately become of the brother he still refused to give up on, today his thoughts had been a little closer to home as he imagined another person he would have liked to join them for dinner. Clinging to one problem did not mean he couldn’t also think about another. Despite what some people believed he did know how to multitask.

When the first missive had arrived from Madara all those months ago he’d noted the strange tone to it, demanding peace even while making the whole idea sound somehow detestable. He recognized that something was off at the time but after looking in to the matter and coming up with nothing he’d mostly chalked it up to the other man’s unique style of communication. As things progressed and each meeting spawned more and more incredible ideas from all sides he had thought things would improve between them and this strange hostility would fade. He’d thought things might go back to the way they once were, that living in the same village would give them a chance to rekindle their lost friendship and grow together the way they had been denied when they were twelve, standing on opposite sides of a river bank while their fathers dictated their paths.

Yet here they were more than a full month after moving in to the newly coined Konohagakure and not once had he been able to tempt Madara over for dinner. The man refused all offers to come meet his wife or even do something as simple as meet for tea on their lunch breaks. Every day their interactions in the office left him more and more confused about where they stood with each other.

Some days the way they fell in to easy conversation left him hopeful that their friendship was finally rebuilding itself. Other days Madara was nothing but business and refused to let himself be distracted by personal conversation, finishing their meetings and then leaving the moment he was able to do so without giving Hashirama a chance to ask so much as a single question. It was never easy to predict which Madara would be coming to work on a given day, the happy friendly one who was willing to engage in distracted conversation or the standoffish closed one who seemed to want nothing to do with anyone outside of his own clan and especially not Hashirama. At times it felt like he was dealing with someone suffering from a split personality.

It was possible that he was just having trouble adjusting like many still were. Hashirama had seen countless near-incidents out on the streets and not all of them were the fabled Uchiha-Senju tension. Just last week he had witnessed a Yamanaka women stop in her tracks and immediately seek shelter when she saw a group of Senju shinobi returning from patrol in full gear, blood spattered on their clothes and weapons in full view. It was an automatic response built from years of living in a blood-soaked environment of shifting alliances. It was understandable.

But it was still saddening every time.

Retrieving his chopsticks, Hashirama hummed quietly to himself and made a snap decision. The day’s work was done and Mito would survive one evening without his company. It was time he did something to clear up this mystery on his own since sitting around and wondering clearly wasn’t getting him anywhere.

“You wouldn’t mind terribly if I popped over to the Uchiha compound for a while, would you?” he asked. His wife lifted her head to regard him quietly.

“Are you positive he will welcome you?” A frown touched her lovely brow. “The behavior you describe from him is worrisome at best.”

“Oh I’ll be fine. It’s only Madara! He would never hurt me, I’m positive of that.” Hashirama sat up a little straighter with his own confidence boosted. They had been dear friends once, surely Madara would honor that bond. Even if the other man didn’t quite see them as friends at the moment Hashirama was certain he could find a way to rekindle things between them.

Mito did insist that he stay behind long enough to help with the dishes as he usually did but that wasn’t exactly a hardship. He would never understand why other men didn’t enjoy spending those few quick minutes every day doing something together with their wives like he did. The cooperation, the closeness, the chance to flick bubbles at a beautiful lady. What wasn’t there to like? Doing the dishes after supper was one of his favorite parts of the day and he was as glad he ever was to partake in such a pleasant ritual.

After he had dried his hands off Hashirama bussed his wife on the cheek and stepped out of their home with an enthusiastic spring in his step. Today was the day he set everything back to how it should be!

Several of the people he passed along the way waved to him cheerfully and he waved back to each and every one of them. It just filled his heart with so much joy to see all these clans living here together in peace, working side by side harmoniously despite the little hiccups along the way. He still woke up some days hardly able to believe that this dream had come true. He couldn’t wait for the day he finally found his absent brother so Tobirama could share in this joy as well and then absolutely everything would be right in the world.

Oddly, something in the air seemed to change when he made his way past the entrance of the Uchiha district. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why but the air felt somehow chillier. Maybe it was the way the people he passed on the street had stopped smiling and nodding or waving in a friendly manner, although he supposed that was just the way they were. Not everyone had to be as open as he was. None of them tried to stop him or asked him to leave, though, so he figured he was welcome to continue on his way. If only he could remember where Madara and Izuna had said they were building their home. The two of them had been oddly secretive about the whole thing.

When he looked around to catch someone’s eye, hoping to ask for directions, he noticed suddenly that all of the nearby adults were giving him a wide berth. None of them looked directly at him, making it impossible to catch their attention without marching right up to their faces and interrupting the many whispered conversations he could see going on. Strange, he thought, to whisper when they were safe inside their own compound. Undeterred, Hashirama waved at a young child passing by who was peeking at him with an undeniably curious expression.

“Hello there,” he greeted the boy. “Would you be able to tell me where Madara’s house is?”

“Perhaps I could assist you?” a voice interrupted. Hashirama blinked at the woman who seemed to have materialized from nowhere. When he offered her a smile she stared back with absolutely no expression.

“Yes please! I’m looking for your clan head’s home.”

“Back that way,” she told him with one hand gesturing vaguely to her right. “Go east for three blocks then turn north and you’ll find what you need.”

The way she spoke had strange overtones of forbidding but before Hashirama could question it they were both interrupted by the child tugging on his sleeve to insist, “No! That’s not where Madara-sama’s house is. You got it wrong, obasan!”

“Oh? Can you tell me where it is then?” Hashirama asked him politely. The boy paused to eye him with increased curiosity while the woman, strangely enough, looked frustrated.

“Uh, I don’t know if I’m supposed to.”

“That is excellent vigilance! It’s alright though, I’m a friend of his. We built this village together!”

He was satisfied to see the boy light up and grin. “Oh! Cool! I’m not supposed to let any strangers find sensei’s house but if you’re a friend then that’s probably alright! Madara-sama said we would all be safe here in the village and he was right so I’m really glad we came – come on, it’s this way – ‘cause I really like it here and it’s nice to be able to play outside without running drills for if we get attacked and–”

The boy chattered like an unending fountain of words as he turned around and led Hashirama off down a random street that he had almost walked right passed. It was so cute watching those dark curls bounce with every step and that brilliant smile flash over the boy’s shoulder every few feet. His energy sort of reminded Hashirama of himself but it did make him wonder how such a happy child had come out of such a reserved clan. Every other Uchiha he’d met since the village was built tended to be cold and standoffish, refusing to make conversation and only speaking to him when they were absolutely required to. None of them had been rude, precisely, but they certainly hadn’t shown themselves to be friendly the way this little boy was.

“Right here!” came the announcement when they stopped in front of a sizeable yet otherwise unremarkable home. “I live right next door so sensei helps me learn my kata sometimes because he’s almost always home and I don’t know if the other two are home right now but you can knock! Mom says it’s polite to knock first and wait for someone to let you in!”

“Thank you very much for such excellent directions,” Hashirama praised him before he could go off on another tangent. The child beamed. “What’s your name, little one?”

“Kagami!”

“Ah. Well thank you very much Kagami, you have been an invaluable help.”

One more smile and then he was gone in an instant, flying down the street on the wings of youth before it occurred to Hashirama to wonder why it had sounded like there were three people living in Madara’s house, Madara, Izuna, and whoever Kagami meant by ‘sensei’. As far as he knew neither of the brothers were married. Did they have a relative staying with them? That wouldn’t make much sense; the village had only just been built and it was Madara himself who had brought up the idea that they should build more housing than they currently needed to make room for expansion and growth. Unless it was someone who had been injured or an older relative who couldn’t live alone. Really the possibilities were endless when he thought about it. Perhaps one of them had even decided to take on a protégé.

Setting the question aside for later, Hashirama shrugged and headed up the short path to the front door. He would find out soon enough so there was no sense worrying. No answer came when he knocked the first time. Or the second time. He could hear voices inside, distorted by the protective wards around the home, yet it seemed they were laughing too loudly to hear the sound of a guest arriving.

But it was only Madara, Hashirama reasoned to himself. Surely his best friend wouldn’t mind if he let himself in to say hello. The wards had yet to respond negatively to his presence and that was about as close to a warm welcome as any shinobi could expect from another.

Izuna’s voice was the first thing to wash over him when he opened the door, halfway through what appeared to be some sort of impersonation of another person. By the way he kept sprinkling his words with a very distinctive clearing of the throat it seemed he was imitating the current Nara clan head’s husband. He was a good man but he did tend to get lost in his own thoughts halfway through a sentence and trail off without finishing whatever he’d been trying to say. Having a conversation with him was often an exercise in frustration even for someone as patient as Hashirama.

Someone else down the hall murmured a question, voice too low to be properly identified, and Izuna broke off his impression to have a snickering fit.

“He does!” the man cried. “Oh kami he does sound like Elder Fu! Fuck me, I never even noticed until you said something!”

Not wanting to startle them too badly, Hashirama announced himself even as he popped his head around the corner, cheerfully calling out, “Hellooo! Is Madara home?”

Then he froze, just the same as the two men in the kitchen did. Izuna recovered after a handful of seconds but he moved only to shift his own body in front of the other man standing behind him who wore an expression that should have been as familiar as the one wearing it – although if they were as shocked as he was then they had never experienced anything quite this surprising.

“To-…Tobirama?”

[lokis-scepter-101]

Loki’s darling chapter 13

Nova

"Is she's also mess like Tony?" The man asked Steve.

"Okay Patchy the pirate, You have an attitude I don't like." I crossed my arms. He looked at me raging. Steve kept himself from laughing Tony however asked Friday if she has that on tape.

"Capt, Are you sure about it?" He stood up and faced Steve.

"Yes, She's strong and can communicate well with people. Oh and dangerously smart." Steve winked at me.

"I'm Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D" He held his hand to me. "Jazahra Stark." I said shaking his hand.

"I've heard about your abilities. Someone with you have could either be our alliance or enemy, You get to choose what you'll be." Nick said seriously.

"Uh can someone translate that." I said shifting weight.

"Don't mind him, He likes making things difficult. He's basically asking if you want to join the avengers." Tony leaned against his desk.

"Only if I get health insurance." I said confidently. I have been waiting for this to happen for awhile now, I mean they wake me up early to train with them.

"I'll send the papers." Nick said while looking at Steve.

"Nova is her 'hero' name." Steve said walking out the door with Nick

"Wait, What papers did I sign when I got here for the first time?" I asked Tony who just looked at angry.

"A fake one to get the others off your back." Tony said coldly.

"I got you a burger." I offered Tony the bag.

"This doesn't mean that you're off the hook, Missy." Tony snatched the bag out of my hand.

"It's normal for people to fall asleep during movies." I said defensively.

"No it is not." He took a bite of the burger.

"Loki and Thor's place is like freezing cold, Thor does like to keep his poptart chilly." I commented. Tony was still eating his burger and furiously looked at me.

"Tony-" I said lowly

"Let me finish this bite." He held up one finger and swallowed his bite.

"We've recently gone public about you being my sister. You're a Stark now, Don't you know how dangerously it is for you now?" He put his burger to the side and continued to lecture me. We recently went public about me being his long lost sister. Things had been a little crazy, but not that much. Loki and a few other avengers didn't want him to go public about it; but he had to, He wanted to show the world our new product but he didn't want to take full credit for it so yeah. The public now knows me as Jazahra Stark, Tony Stark's long lost genius sister.

"I know, Tony. But I told you were I would be." I muttered softly. Being the over protective big brother he is, He didn't like when I left with out telling him were I was going or with who.

"No you didn't." He said still looking at me serious.

"Yes, I left a note for Peter to give you. You weren't in remember." I raised my eyebrow.

"Oh my god, I forgot to check it." He said awkwardly. I just smirked at him.

"You have training with Nat, Steve and Bucky now shoo." He waved at me. I just flipped him off and went outside.

"Hey Buckroo." I waved at Bucky.

"Hey, Broke Stark." He put down his bag.

"Okay old men, Let's get her ready for battle." Nat stated.

~~~

"We've been training for hours, Isn't it enough now?" I panted.

"One last round, Come on you managed to beat everyone except for Bucky." Nat panted wiped off the sweat on her forehead.

"No, Actually I'm tired and it's more then enough for today." Bucky commented taking the water bottle out of Steve's hand.

"Come on, She's field ready. Training session is over." Steve said snatching the bottle out of Bucky's mouth. Bucky hissed at him.

~~~

I opened the door and entered the room. I put down my bag and made my way to the shower. After I was done showering, I put on a pair of denim shorts with a graphic tee. I walked out of my room heading to the kitchen. I walked into the kitchen and saw Peter sitting there.

"Hey Pete, How's schoolwork going?" I messed up his hair.

"Too easy." He shrugged.

"Aunt J, Can you make me some lunch?" He asked pouting his lips and baiting his eyes.

"Fine." I pinched his cheek. How can anyone say no to Peter.

"Mac and cheese?" I turned walked to the stove.

"Perfect." He smiled.

I was too focused on making the mac I didn't hear Loki coming in.

"So, You're an official avenger now?" Loki leaned against the kitchen island.

"Yes, I have my first mission tomorrow." I said happily while turning of the stove.

I fixed a plate for Peter and handed it to him. Loki was still looking at me with a thinking face. I went to fix a plate for myself. "Do want some?" I offered Loki.

"No, Thank you. I'd like to talk to you in private." Loki said before walking away.

I followed Loki to the balcony.

"What's wrong?" I asked nervously.

"Why are you going on the mission?" He asked seriously.

"Because I want to help saving earth." I said slowly trying to understand Loki.

"But you don't have to do that while being on the field, You're smart you make suits, weapons and improve things." Loki stated confidently.

"Loki; I don't want to be trapped inside, I'm not Friday." I crossed my arms, My blood started boiling I started to get angry.

"Why the hell would Tony make you sign up for this, He's putting you in danger." Loki's voice started to raise.

"I can take care of myself." I commented while looking him in the eye.

"Can you though, This is different." Loki whispered shouted.

"I have been taking care of myself for years now." I said with a struck face.

"Yeah, You taking care of yourself almost got you killed at my apartment." Loki said anger filling his voice.

I brushed pass him and walked away. I grabbed my food from the kitchen and walked to the elevator. I met Sam on the way to the elevator.

"What's up ,Broke Stark?" He held his hand up for a high five.

"Fuck off, Sam." I entered the elevator.

Who does he think he is? I opened the door to Tony's penthouse and sat down on the couch and started eating my food aggressively.

****

Side note: J's room in in Tony's penthouse. When you exit the elevator you have J's room to the left and further up you have Peter's room to the right and to the back you have a living room, kitchen, guess bed room and Tony and Pepper's room

****

Loki's pov.

I messed up. I shouldn't have acted that way. I remained on the balcony leaning forward. I heard footsteps coming my way, I looked to my side and saw Pepper coming my way.

"Hey." She waved.

"Hello." I turned to her.

"So uh are you okay?" She asked trying to make eye contact.

"Yes, You?" I asked calm.

"I'm good, but I know you aren't." She said with a smirk on her lips.

"I just to-"

"I saw you and Jazahra arguing." She cut me off.

"Oh uh." I scratch the back of my head.

"What did you do to piss her off this time?" She crossed her arms.

"Excuse you, This is the first time I've pissed her off." I said crossing my arms.

"So?" She asked curiously.

"Nothing bad, Just had a little problem with her joining the actual avengers and doing field missions." I said turning away.

"That's normal, You care about her." She patted my back. "I was scared too, but then I realized that my husband is freaking Tony Stark."

"Hmpf."

"Don't act tough; You have a friendship like Steve and Bucky, You can't stay out of each other side." She said laughing.

"That's because Bucky's afraid that Steve will do something stupid and get himself in trouble or killed." I commented shrugging.

"Dear god, Loki! You get the damn point or are you just as thickheaded as Tony?" She said irritated.

"I'll see what I'll do with your information." I replied annoyed and she walked away.

~~~~

Nothing, I did nothing with the information. It's been a week since our disagreement took place. We haven't spoken since. Thank Odin her mission went perfect. She didn't get hurt, but Sam did but who cares about him. I miss her so much, but every time we're in the same room she looks at me angry. The others found it a bit strange that we didn't hang out that much, but I used Thor as an excuse. Mos of the people were out celebrating, They succeeded on their latest mission. I dropped off Thor at the party leaving Jazahra in the car. The compound was currently under construction. Tony only told me to give her a ride but he didn't say where to.

"I have to get something at my place. I'll drop you off after." I said looking forward.

"Hmm." She said softly looking out the window.

She followed me upstairs. I opened the door and went to my room to grab my wallet. I entered the living room. I saw Jazahra sitting on the couch just staring at the wall.

"Where do I have to drop you off?" I asked making my way over there.

Silence.

Jazahra's pov

"Okay, This has to stop." Loki raised his voice.

"What?" I asked still not looking his way.

"You have to stop ignoring me." He sat down next to me. His woody, forest intoxicating smell filled my nose. God I miss being so close to him.

"I'm not ignoring you."

"You didn't answer my question."

Silence.

"Look at me." Loki's index finger moved face. I clenched my teeth.

"Darling, I'm sorry for the way I reacted. I'm just scared of the thought of you fighting on field. I don't want to lose you. Yes I know you're a tremendously strong woman." Loki said while staring in my eyes which felt more like him staring straight in my soul.

"I'm sorry too, I overreacted." I smiled.

"Are-"

I cut him off by kissing him. He leaned back on the couch making more room for me. I straddled his legs and pushed him back. I laid down on him while kissing him, He didn't hesitate kissing me back.  

"I missed you so much." Loki managed to say between kisses.

"Yeah? Show me how much." Loki smirked at my comment and flipped us over.

~~~~

[draw-you-coward]

ao3

“Ikael,” Hien says, just before Ikael is about to head back to Ul’dah. “A moment of your time, if you would graciously grant me it?”

His voice is deep and grave even if his face is creased apologetically, as if he feels ill about delaying Ikael, but the matter he wishes to discuss is too important to put off for overlong. Ikael turns, one hand still held up to his linkpearl, and raises a finger.

Hien’s mouth opens in a silent “Ah.” He bows, stepping back a yalm.

“I am sure you can hold off for a day or two.” Ikael continues his conversation. “I—No, Cecily, don’t ‘but, Captain,’ me. It is dangerous out there still, and I don’t want any of you getting hurt.”

He glances idly at Hien, who crosses his arms and nods. Ikael hums at Cecily’s staticky response in his ear.

“Yes,” he says. He frowns. “No. You know what? Tell him I’ll be there in the morning, alright? I’ll make everyone a big breakfast. Make up for it.”

His face hardens somewhat. “If I haven’t already made it clear: No, and that’s an order.” He toes at the ground. “Alright… Yes. I-I… am sorry for yelling. Okay. Goodnight, Cecily.”

He switches his linkpearl off with a sigh. It is tempting to simply disconnect it and toss it somewhere for the night, but with all that is going on, he does not want to risk being off call.

“An order, eh?” Hien’s eyes, he feels, would have a humorous twinkle in them were they in any other circumstance. But the only indication Ikael has that he is being teased is the lilt his voice. “You are in a position to give those, then, Captain Jelaar?”

“Ugh.” Ikael rolls his eyes playfully, but smiles. He walks closer to Hien so they can speak. “Don’t ever call me that—Raubahn doing it to bully me is bad enough! Unless you want to be Shun’d in front of the entire Alliance.”

“Noted.” Hien winks, and Ikael bites the inside of his cheek.

“So what did you wish to discuss?” he asks. A part of him idly—and cheekily—wonders if Hien has a more… personal request. But he dismisses the thought, as entertaining as it would be. Hien seems serious. It makes a sapling of worry sprout in Ikael’s chest, to be frank; he hopes he is not going to be the receptor of any more ill news.

“It is a…” Hien glances down for a fraction of a second, then back to Ikael, holding his head high. “… personal matter, actually. Might we speak somewhere more private?”

“After that display earlier? Sure,” Ikael jokes, subconsciously moving his shoulder in an attempt to bump it with Hien’s. As they are not standing close enough to each other, he only manages to look perhaps a bit odd.

Something like surprise sparks in Hien’s eye, and then he laughs; a deep, hearty sound Ikael has heard strangely often. Ikael grins, sharp and a bit surprised at the easygoing reaction to his—rather impulsive, he will admit, but the battle had made his blood run hot and his mind move fast—flirtation.

“I am glad that my excessive and show-offish demonstration enthused you so,” Hien says, the ends of a chuckle still in his breath. He spreads his hands. “I fear I am but a humble samurai without the unwavering strength of my allies to ground me, however. You of all people would understand. But come now; we shall speak in your tent, since Yugiri is less likely to eavesdrop.”

Ikael glances around instinctively at the mention of Yugiri. He cannot see her, but… well, one never knows. Ikael has found a battle-pastry missing from his belt more than once.

The enter the tent Ikael has set up for the night. It is large enough for two people to fit comfortably, if a bit snugly. Ikael immediately goes to put the kettle on, glad that he thought to bring it. Wedge is a marvelous engineer, in his opinion.

Hien kneels down on a flat cushion after laying his katana aside. Ikael sits across from him. He hesitates, then slowly scoots closer.

“Well,” Hien says, folding his hands together. “There is no two ways about this, then. Forgive me if I am blunt.”

He takes a breath. Ikael squeezes his ankles, rocking a little. His tail flicks.

“After Master Thancred, ah, got his… soul sucked out of his body,” Hien begins, and Ikael winces automatically at what he suddenly knows is going to be brought up, “You were… rather agitated.”

Ikael remembers. He scratches at his ear, staring at Hien’s toes.

“It, um… happens sometimes,” he mumbles. “I-I-I panic. Like—like that. ’m sorry if I… disturbed you.”

“It was unexpected, but I was only worried.” Hien’s voice takes on an affect that Ikael is not quite sure what to make of. “And I still am, to be quite honest. I did not get the chance to check in on you then; as you are aware, we were dealing with matters of our own. But those are well on their way to being resolved now, and there is a moment for us all to breathe.”

Ikael nervously picks at his brais. The kettle goes off and he jumps, then hurriedly scrambles up to pour the tea.

“Two minutes,” he tells Hien as he holds out his teacup. Hien takes it with a gracious, princely nod, and Ikael has to giggle. Does he practice doing that?

“But yes,” Hien continues as he no doubt realizes Ikael isn’t going to say anything useful. “A moment to breathe is all I need to take the opportunity to ask how you fare. I am… concerned for your wellbeing, Ikael. Especially with Alisaie being taken so recently—and so suddenly.”

“A-a-ah,” Ikael says. Blunt, Hien had said, and, well, yes. It is… unexpectedly so. Ikael closes his mouth, staring at his cup. It is a Hingan blend, and Ikael has been told he is not supposed to add any sweetener. He does not like that.

“I apologize if I have brought up something you would rather not think about.” Hien’s voice has taken on that affect again, turning into something dulcet and quiet. “Truly; it is not my intent to pain you. We can change the subject, if you so wish!”

He pauses for a second to blow at his tea, dark lashes shifting down as he glances at it. His posture seems to… ease, a little, as if becoming more relaxed. Ikael anxiously hugs his knee.

Hien sips, makes a considering face, and continues: “But… I noticed that none of your companions seemed inclined to lend you their concern. Or even just an ear. It is not a little peculiar.”

His tone tilts at the last sentence, as if he is getting at something that Ikael cannot quite guess at. Ikael hides his face behind his teacup, ears folding down and tail flicking restlessly around his ankles. Hien is—right; it is an awkward fact, but it is true. Ikael is not… prone to developing strong bonds with the people he brings with him. He is no good at group chemistry and it is… difficult to stick to people. Or rather, it is difficult for them to stick back. Ikael is… Ikael is too sticky. He is like… chewed taffy.

“Um. They, um. Aren’t really my companions in anything more than battle,” he mumbles. “More out of necessity than anything, you know?”

Besides, more than one person is not supposed to chew taffy at a time. That is disgusting. Ikael will stick to his one person, and rotate them as necessary.

“I did notice they departed rather quickly once the matter had concluded,” Hien states. His eyes, when Ikael meets them, are as sharp as his sword. Ikael quickly looks back down.

“They have, um… things to do,” he says. He doesn’t know, really—he does not ask.

Hien does not reply to that. Ikael fidgets, feels increasingly awkward as the silence stretches. He sips at his tea. It is not sweet.

“Ikael,” Hien says after what could have been a short amount of time, even if it does not feel like it. “How do you fare?”

Ikael harshly rubs at the curve between his nose and cheek with his forefinger. He pulls his knees up. He does not know… Is he supposed to switch people now? Hien is his friend, right? He had said as much, when Ikael had visited him. And… and now Alisaie is not there. Shtola is not there. Ikael is lonely.

“Ika—”

“I miss Thancred,” Ikael blurts out. Just like that, as if on cue, tears blur his vision. “I-I-I—h-he is my best—my best friend and h-he—he,” He pauses to hiccup airily, “He is not back yet and he—” A dry sniffle, “He—he missed my name—my nameday and when he ca—came back he did not spend—he did not get—get to spend more than—than one time w-with me a-and—” A longer, slightly wet sniffle, “I-I-I miss him and I-I wish th-that nasty voice would stop—would stop taking my—my friends!”

Ikael starts to cry in full force. “And—a-and—and I only have four friends but—but I-I don’t know ab-about that really becau—because it’s a—a-a difficult label a-and…”

“Alright, alright, take it easy,” Hien says, holding out his hands. “I… uh… admit I wasn’t expecting all of that, but… ah… I’ll just let you…”

Ikael is busy messily wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He sniffs, loudly.

“There, there,” Hien says, a bit stiltedly.

“You’ll drop your tea,” Ikael mumbles, because he is about to.

Hien glances over, and straightens the teacup just as it threatens to tip and spill. Ikael sniffles approvingly, tugging on his tail.

Hien gives a little cough, and then leans forwards. “I apologize; I am not the best at this. But have heart, my friend! All is not yet lost. We will get them back, I promise.”

His words do not register; Ikael is tired of hearing platitudes. He starts to wipe at his eyes with the back of his hand, hoping that Hien will hug him soon.

Hien’s tone gentles somewhat. “Is there anything I can—”

That will do. Ikael shuffles forwards gladly, pressing his hands to Hien’s abdomen and face into his sternum. He gives a little sniff.

“Uh,” says Hien.

Ikael is just about getting comfortable when he feels a soft chuckle. Intrigued, he tilts his head, flattening his ear to Hien’s chest so he can feel it better.

“I should have known this would be the solution,” Hien says lowly, humour that Ikael does not understand still in his tone. “Ah—no! No, I am not complaining. Please, do what you will.”

Ikael, who has started to hesitantly draw away, slowly moves back. He feels himself begin relax at the warmth, the proximity. “Amsothefula,” he mumbles.

Hien sips at his tea. “Pardon?”

Ikael does not want his own tea; he presses it into Hien’s free hand until he obligingly takes it. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

Something warm and uncomfortably ceramic briefly touches his head—Ikael’s ear flicks at it in annoyance. “You are very welcome, my friend,” Hien says. “Now; we can stay like this if you wish, but I brought some… what is it? Triple Triad? Triple Triad cards, if you wish to take your mind off things.”

They can play strip Triple Triad. Ikael’s tail curls approvingly.

“Okay, but we use my rules,” he agrees. He is… not very good at card games. He spreads his hand over the criss-crossed scar on Hien’s shoulder, feeling the grooves with his thumb. “And you’re not allowed to cheat, or steal my cards.”

Hien sighs dramatically. “Such restrictions!” he groans. When Ikael glances up, he winks.

“Eorzean Triple Triad it is, then,” he says. “I hope you are prepared to lose.”

Ikael does not remember winning more than a single game of Triple Triad. “I-I hope—I hope you are prepared to lose!” he throws back, creatively.

“Your boastful blustering makes me tremble in my sandals,” Hien assures him. “Come now—enough wallowing! It is time to forget the troubles of the day. I’ll even let you go first.”

~*~

[kashdevi]

Operation Retrieval - 5

from x

Kash’s small body quivered, half fear and half adrenaline, under the touch of the pistol’s cold metal at her temple. But to her credit, her voice never wavered.

“Do it, you monster. Kill me now - but you will never take me back alive.”

“Nic! No!” Marie’s dead sprint from down the hall where Nico had left her behind sent her skidding to a stop on the lab’s too-smooth floors.

“She’s still one of them.” His words came out tight through clenched teeth and his trigger finger itched. It would be so easy to end it - right here, right now. All the Alliance intel, everything from schematics to leads had been off so far. It’d be safer for everyone to just finish it.

But, for better or worse, that wasn’t an option.

“Zeus.” Marie’s Commander voice was nothing to play with and even Nico shrank a little. “Lower your weapon. That’s an order.”

Reluctantly, and with a hateful glare, the brute did as he was told.

Though bloody, painful death was somewhat less imminent now, the lingering venom in his body language was not entirely reassuring to Kashmira, who finally looked past the hulking man to take in the Commander behind him.

“You… aren’t Cerberus,” Kash narrated her thoughts.

Both amused and annoyed, the women had a small stare-down, each sizing the other up in the tense seconds that passed.

“No,” Marie finally supplied. “Are you?”

“No.” Nobody missed the way the word left the small scientist deflated. “Not anymore. Who are you?”

“I’m Commander Miller.” Marie holstered her pistol in a  gesture of good will. She jerked her head in the stoic man’s direction. “This is Zeus. We’re not here to hurt you. What is your name?”

“Doctor Deviyani. Biotech Specialist.” Her tone was curt and formal while big, brown eyes scanned the hulking muscle still looming between them. “Commander Miller, why are you working with a Phoenix? Do you even know what that thing is? What it is capable of?” There was no mistaking her sense of disgust.

Nico’s bristle was palpable, even though Marie was the only one who could hear the stream of foreign curses over comms.

“He’s not a monster,” Marie said, then caught herself wondering just how many times she’d said that, or something similar in defense of her strange collection of ex-Cerberus confidants. “He defected. Just like you.”

“We all did,” Nico finally spoke and both of the women pivoted, looking up to see the large man remove his helmet. “See?"

Serious brown eyes took a long moment to scan him, taking in the dark golden colored irises and making mental notes about the fifty different kinds of tech that made up the constructed creature-man’s well-proportioned face. He was clearly one of the prostitutes - a disgusting but unmistakably lucrative loophole in the Phoenix program - she noted silently. “Not indoctrinated,” she mumbled, not sounding entirely convinced. “And the other abominations you’ve brought to my lab?”

“You mean the ones that came to save your ass? Or would you prefer to rot away inside this crumbling mountain shit hole?” Marie had taken her helmet off while the Doctor was busy trying to make up her mind about Nico so when the attitude and angry undertones of her passionate retort filled the air, it was her turn to go under the metaphorical microscope.

To everyone’s surprise, the Doctor burst into a pleasant, tinkling kind of laughter. Marie and Nico shared a momentary look before Kash had caught her breath, finally letting the remaining tension leave her body as she rested against the metal of a loose control panel next to her. “Ahhh… I suppose you’re right.”

She tapped a couple buttons on the panel. “X2, give me the locations of all visitors and disarm defensive systems. We’re all clear here.”

A few seconds passed, just long enough for a look of concern to pass her face, before a mechanical voice buzzed to life over the panel’s intercom system. “Negative, Doctor. Component systems have been engaged.”

“Engaged?” Kash turned fully to face the panel, leaving her back to the Commander and the Phoenix, and trying to hide the frantic concern in her voice. “X2. Disarm all defensive systems immediately!”

The mechanical voice was monotonous and cold. “Doctor Deviyani. This command cannot be executed. The Zephyr Overload System has been engaged by two hostiles in Quadrant Four. All other defensive systems have been deactivated. How would you like to proceed?”

“Uh. What the fuck is a Zephyr Overload System?”

In a symphony of irony, a deep rumble and palpable biotic tinge radiated out from the lowest levels of the buried base beneath their feet. At the same moment, Kashmira turned to face the pair behind her.

“We have got to get everyone out of here. NOW!”

Marie flipped back to the communal channel, demanding a full team report.

[loisinherlane]

Title: The Shade (AO3)

Summary: Will is assigned to guide the new student from Pluto-I around school, which would be no trouble, if Nico di Angelo didn’t seem to be so reclusive.

Notes: I swear I had a normal idea for this Secret Santa . . . . And then NaNoWriMo happened, and my brain was completely absorbed. Instead, I chose three random things (aliens, school, and future)from a prompt list, and this is where we ended up. Anyway, this is my fic for @rosyredlipstick in the PJO Secret Santa Exchange @pjosecretsanta2k17. It’s vaguely holiday-themed . . . . It takes place during the holidays . . . 300 years from now. Also, this grew much longer than I intended, and I apologize if it seems to drag. It was just a lot of fun to write. Happy holidays! :)

The new student arrived in October.

It was a cold October. Will was from Texas, and he didn’t handle anything below 10 degrees. This October stayed right on the borderline, and so Will found himself riding the metro with a coat over his school uniform, which always drew looks in this city. To the native residents, 10 was chilly for October, but nowhere near chilly enough for a coat. Will didn’t care that much. So what if they stared? He was just going to school. Stars forbid he freeze standing by the doors when all he had to do was put on a coat. The other occupants of the metro could think what they liked.

In any case, a cold October seemed the perfect time for a student from Pluto-I to arrive.

Will had heard about this student for some time beforehand. Pluto-I, named so because the closest human pronunciation of their planet was that of a dwarf planet, was the newest planet in the Alliance, a strange planet with even stranger inhabitants. Noncorporeal, they were described, figures of wispy shadows that maintained no specific form--Shades. If they forced themselves into a body-like shape, their eyes were black as void--any other specific features seemed to vary. Most Shades preferred to maintain their natural form, but Will could only assume this Shade would look mostly human, if he intended to attend Montauk Youths’ Academy. That was the extent of thought Will gave to this student until the day he arrived.

Will was hanging his coat in the locker room when Lou Ellen approached him. One of her mothers was from an alien race of travelers, so her other mother said. Lou Ellen had never met her, but her skin was a dark violet, two antennae sprouting from the crown of her head, so at the very least, her other mother was some sort of alien. Unlike many part-alien students, Lou made no efforts to hide any aspects of her heritage. She kept her hair short so her antennae popped out easily. Will admired that. It was far too easy to hide from a parent’s legacy. Even in a school like Montauk, not everyone accepted alien students.

“Morning, Will,” Lou Ellen said as she placed her bag on the floor of her locker. She dug through and pulled out her tablet before shutting the locker door. She always seemed to have trouble finding her tablet in her bag, which struck Will as odd. It wasn’t like there was much to carry or even much that could fit in a school-issued bag.

“Morning,” Will replied, pulling his own tablet out and setting it on the floor. He folded his coat and placed it neatly in the bottom on the locker, his bag on top. He turned to head to his classroom only to be stopped by Lou Ellen’s body. She was much smaller, but Will thought it was her alien nature that made her so solid. With the slightest impact, he was sent stumbling back. “Um, morning,” he repeated.

Lou laughed and smoothed a strand of hair by her ear. “I was wondering what you thought,” she said.

“Vague statement,” Will replied. “I think a lot of things. What about?”

Lou Ellen rolled her eyes, smacking his arm. She rocked back on her heels, and Will stared down at her shoes. She chose to wear the skirt, even in the coldest months, and her plain black leggings had the beginnings of a few runs. “About showing the new student around.”

“The new student,” Will repeated.

“From Pluto-I,” she said. “He’s arriving today.”

“Oh,” Will said.

Lou’s lips pressed together in a circle, brows raising. “Did you not hear?”

“Hear what?” Will tried to push past her, the first hour reminder on his watch beeping.

She turned and headed in the direction of their classroom. Will followed alongside. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be his guide. An ambassador of sorts,” she teased.

Will made a squeak in his throat. “Oh? Me?” he asked, though he knew it was true. Of course it would be him. He should have figured. Why would anyone inform him of his responsibilities? He should just know.

“Yeah,” Lou Ellen said. “So I’m guessing you’ve paid absolutely no attention to anything anyone’s said about him in the past few weeks.”

Will made an indignant look. “Uh, I know he’s from Pluto-I,” he said.

Lou rolled her eyes. “Right. Okay. His name is Nico di Angelo,” she said. “He’s a year younger than us, but Shades start school a year earlier. He’s fluent in English, so lessons should be no issue. And apparently Shades are of age a year earlier as well, so he’s living on his own.”

“Nico di Angelo. Oddly human name,” Will said.

Lou Ellen shrugged, placing her hand on the glass door to their classroom. Will leaned over her and placed his hand above. The door beeped and slid apart, allowing them inside.

“Will! Perfect!” Their teacher, Ms. Hestia, beamed when he walked into the door. Will looked to Lou, who smiled and moved to take her seat next to Cecil. Ms. Hestia beckoned Will forward to her desk. On the other side stood a young man, raven black hair, skin pale and papery, with dark veins just visible even from Will’s distance. He was staring off into the air, though he didn’t focus on anything in particular. Maybe he was, actually. Will couldn’t tell, with his blank eyes--black as void.

“Will, this is Nico di Angelo, our new student from Pluto-I. Nico, this is Will Solace. He’s the son of Ambassador Apollo. If you need anything, you can ask Will,” she said. Looking back to Will, she added, “We’ll only be doing a study hour in homeroom. If you have nothing before the first lesson, you can take Nico on a tour of the school.”

“Oh. Yeah. I suppose I can give a tour,” Will said.

Nico lifted his head at that. Staring in his eyes directly, Will’s stomach twisted. His eyes really were black as void. It was as if no light reflected in them. As if he could tell what Will was thinking, Nico’s lips pressed together. “A . . . tour,” he repeated. His voice had an unfamiliar accent, light and chime-like.

“Shall we go?” Will asked, pinning on a smile.

“I suppose,” Nico said.

Will led him out of the classroom down the hallway.

“So you, um, Earth, huh?” Will asked, making a forced laugh, too steady.

Nico looked at him blankly.

“I mean, what made you decide to come to Earth?” he asked.

“My father chose Earth,” Nico replied.

Will stuck his hands in the pocket of his uniform jacket. “Oh,” he said. “Why?”

Nico didn’t answer. His eyes seemed less solid, then his whole figure--dark clouds swarmed around him like smoke, a mirage fading in the light. After a moment, he solidified.

Will cleared his throat. “Well, um. The other senior classrooms are in this hall. So if you make any friends in our grade, you’ll find them here. If you meet anyone a year younger--well, below, since you’re a year younger, aren’t you, um--”

Nico ignored Will and turned the corner. “Junior classrooms, then?” he said, gesturing down the next hall. The entire school was roughly a square. By the time they reached the freshman classrooms and returned to the corner where their classroom laid, Will felt as if Nico had been the one leading the tour. He cleared his throat again.

“So, um, out front is the lot, if you ride a bike or hover. There’s a separate lot for cars. You just scan your watch on the door, and it should route the car there. If you drive one, that is,” Will said.

“I have a driver,” Nico said.

Will waited to see if there was a punchline to that. There wasn’t. “Oh. Um, well, this door leads to the locker room. Most people don’t use it yet, but you can keep your bag or coat in there. I think it’s pretty chilly, so--”

“Chilly?” Nico repeated. His accent stretched the vowels up, like bubbles of sound. His lips almost curled up in a smile. “I think it’s nice. Like summer on my planet.”

“Pluto-I,” Will said. He mentally slapped himself. Why did he say that? Nico knew what planet he was from. He probably thought Will was an idiot. He definitely did. He made a face and turned away.

“Beyond the locker room?” Nico asked.

Will paused, then looked. “Right. Yes. Those are specialty classrooms. If you take classes like family and consumer sciences, or music, or physical education, they need specific rooms. So they’re, ah, down there.”

Nico nodded. “I’m ready to return to the classroom,” he said.

Will tried not to let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t know how much more of Nico the Shade he could take.

-

October passed quickly, as Octobers tend to do. Nico the Shade stayed in the background, literally. He sat in the corner and was silent that most of the time, Will could forget he’d ever transferred. With Cecil directly in front of him and Lou Ellen on his left, Will couldn’t really pay attention to anything else in class, and as soon as the bell rang, Nico left. Will didn’t even know where he ate lunch, if he did at all. As November rolled around and the first semester began to wind to a halt, Will almost forgot that he was supposed to be Nico’s guide to Earth in the first place.

Almost, until the day he returned home to see his father.

Apollo Papadopoulos, the ambassador of Earth, the face of the planet--warm, friendly, talented in all the traditional human ways of healing, music, the arts, etc. He looked quintessentially human, with his golden hair, eyes blue as the sky, warm brown skin. Will looked much like him, though his skin was just a bit darker, like his mother’s. In many ways, Apollo seemed to think Will ought to take after him. Will wasn’t the eldest child, but he was old enough to take some of the tasks of an ambassador’s son, even though he lived with his mother in Montauk instead of with his father in Delos, as a few of his siblings did, which left to bear the question why Apollo was in Montauk in the first place.

“Father,” Will said.

“William,” Apollo said. “Sit. Please, tell me about how you’ve been. How’s school?”

Apollo was seated at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of him. At the counter, Naomi Solace stood scrubbing the dishes. Will had noticed his mom made the excuse preferring to do dishes by hand whenever they had a guest she wished to avoid. She turned her head, dark curls bouncing over her shoulders. “Be nice,” she mouthed, though her jaw was tight. Sometimes Will wondered how his parents ever met, much less did anything to make a child.

The thought grossed him out, and he quickly took a seat opposite his father. “School? Um, I go. Every day. Except for weekends.”

Apollo laughed, like Will had made a really funny joke. Will didn’t think what he’d said was that funny. “I’m glad, William. So tell me, how is the Shade?”

Will froze. “The Shade?”

“Niko Serapis,” Apollo said. Under his tongue, it sounded oddly guttural. He paused. “Oh, I suppose he said he was going to go by Nico di Angelo.”

“Oh,” Will said. “Yeah, he goes to school too.”

Apollo stared. “I’m sure. He’s a very dedicated student. He’s already been guaranteed admission into New Rome University. They asked for a year of secondary studies on Earth, so he can adjust to the culture. He has big plans. We couldn’t refuse.”

Funny. Nico had said his father chose Earth for him. Will held his tongue on that.

“Are you friends?” Apollo asked.

Will shrugged. “Nico doesn’t seem to have friends.”

Apollo didn’t look entirely unpleased with that. “I see,” he said. “So I assume he has nowhere to spend Native American Honor Day. Naomi, would you mind hosting him?”

Naomi slammed a dish down into the sink. “Oh. I . . . suppose we could hold another guest,” she said.

“Perfect!” Apollo said. He grinned at Will. “You just need to invite him then. Make sure he feels welcome. Try to include some of his home traditions.” He pressed his hands on the table to push himself up, leaving the half-empty coffee cup and heading to the door.

“Home traditions? They don’t celebrate Native American Honor Day on Pluto-I, do they?” Will asked. He craned his head to look at his dad.

“I’ll see you soon, my son. Have a good day!” Apollo shut the door without answering. As soon as he was gone, Naomi let out a loud groan, clutching the edge of the counter and leaning forward.

“Stars, Will. I know he’s your father, but--”

“Hey, Mom, you’re the one who had sex with him,” Will countered. She rolled her eyes and threw a dish towel at him.

“So we’re having an alien over for dinner,” Naomi said as she stepped aside to let the robots clean the mess she’d left around the sink.

Will shrugged. “I think Father intends for us to host him all day.”

Naomi scrunched her nose and shook her head, pulling her hair into a bun at the base of her neck. As she snapped her hair band into place, she said, “He’s a Shade, is he? This, uh, Nico--”

“Nico di Angelo,” Will said. “I suppose. He’s from Pluto-I, but he never talks about it. He never, uh, talks.”

“Lovely,” Naomi said. She took a seat where Apollo had been and rested her head on her hands, leaning against the table. “I don’t know why he thinks he can just strut in here and order us about.”

“He’s the ambassador, Mom,” Will said.

Naomi shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. He’s always been this way,” she said. She sighed, then looked up at her son. “Well, I suppose you need to work on homework. I’ll be in the music room. Let me know if you need anything.” She rose from the seat and pressed a kiss to Will’s forehead before heading out the kitchen door.

Will sighed, watching as a bot picked up his dad’s coffee cup. “Thanks,” he said. The bot made a beep of acknowledgment. At least bots listened to him.

-

“So, Nico.”

Nico looked up from his honest-to-goodness hard copy book. In the month since he’d arrived, Will had forgotten how vacant his eyes were. He tried to look elsewhere, but the dark veins trailing through his face were too distracting. Will coughed, then cleared his throat. Nico raised a brow.

“You do that a lot,” he said.

Will glanced to the side, confused. “Do what?”

“Clear your throat,” Nico said.

Will paused and thought about it. “I . . . suppose I do.”

Nico nodded and looked back to his book. Will looked down. He only caught a glimpse of the cover--Harry Potter. So he liked the classics. Nico seemed to notice Will peering, and he drew his book closer to his body, wrapping his arms around as if to cover.

“I was wondering if you were celebrating anywhere for Native American Honor Day,” Will said.

Nico’s eyes lifted slowly. From a certain angle, they looked almost human, his long lashes, the fold of his eyelids. The deep nothingness of his eyes gave him away. “Native American Honor Day,” he said.

Will gave a toothy grin and shrugged. “Well, yes, um, it’s an American holiday, to honor the Native Americans who lost their lives and land after the invasion of the Europeans--”

“I’m aware,” Nico replied. His eyes narrowed, almost as if he were annoyed, and his jaw imperceptibly tightened. “I’m not American. I don’t celebrate.”

“Right. Well, you’re in America,” Will said. “Anyway, if you want, you can come over, it’s the 23rd. Here. This should take you to my house. It’s usually just me and my mom, so--” He shrugged as he knocked his watch against Nico’s. Nico stared at it blankly.

“We are off-school that week,” Nico said.

Will nodded. “Yeah. Fall break. Kind of late, but it’s easier to coincide with Native American Honor Day.”

“I’ll be there,” Nico said, turning back to his book.

Will forced a smile. “Great. So, um, it’s kind of traditional to hold a feast. Is there anything you’d like us to make?”

Will wondered if he should have asked if there were any dishes Nico would like from home. Then again, he didn’t know if they could even make Shade dishes. They probably didn’t have the ingredients, and who knew how substitutions would work. And Will still didn’t know if Shades even ate!

“Acquacotta,” Nico said.

Will paused. “Acquacotta?” he repeated.

Nico nodded. “Acquacotta. I also like arancini.”

“Acquacotta and arancini,” Will repeated once more.

“If you need recipes, I have my mother’s,” Nico said, flipping to the next page in his book.

Will pressed his lips together. “Or, um, if you want, you can come in the morning and help cook. I’d hate to screw it up, and Mom and I kind of think cooking together is part of the tradition.”

“Alright. I’ll bring the ingredients,” Nico said.

Will stood by Nico’s desk for a moment longer, waiting for a goodbye, a dismissal of some sort. Nico said nothing. Finally, Will turned away to sit at his own desk.

-

When Nico arrived on Native American Honor Day, Will didn’t know what to expect. There was a reason that Naomi Solace didn’t marry Apollo, beyond Naomi’s apparent distaste for the man she’d once been infatuated with. Naomi Solace did not have a clue on how to host an alien.

“Does he use a chair? Should I set a spot for him at the table?”

“Yes, Mom,” Will said as he chopped potatoes, the knife rocking back and forth on the cutting board. He watched as the blade lifted once more, sliding the next potato underneath. A bot hung nearby, watching in case Will grew too close to his fingers. Will smiled up at it. “You’re a good bot,” he said. The bot beeped.

“You said he wants to make acquacotta and arancini?” Naomi asked from her spot at the table, attempting to peel a squash. After a moment longer with the futile task, she handed it over to a bot, who easily peeled and sliced. “I don’t know how to make that.”

Will shrugged. “He said he’ll bring the ingredients. I can only assume he knows how.”

“Acquacotta. Arancini. Sounds Italian,” Naomi said, standing up and moved to the cabinet to get started on the next dish. “Why would he want to make Italian dishes?”

“I don’t know,” Will said, tone dragging. “Maybe he’s fascinated with Italy or something. He does go by Nico di Angelo. Pretty Italian name.”

Naomi shook her head. “I just don’t--”

At that moment, the bell rang. A bot zoomed to answer the door, and from his spot in the kitchen, Will watched Nico step inside. He was dressed in loose clothes, dark jeans and a sweater, but nothing else that suggested he was at all cold in the November air. Two large grocery bags balanced in his arms, and as the bot offered to take them, Nico gave a small nod of his head. “Thank you,” he said. He turned to look at the Solaces, looking distinctly awkward in hallway just before their kitchen. “Will. Um, you must be his mother. I am Nico di Angelo.”

Naomi merely smiled. “Pleasure to meet you. You can call me Naomi. Come on in. Will’s working on the mashed potatoes, and I’m making cranberry salad. As soon as Will’s done, I’m sure he can help you with your dishes.”

Half of Will wanted to complain that he couldn’t help Nico with dishes he didn’t know, but he reminded himself that he was the one who invited him over. Even if it was at his father’s wishes. Will had to play the part of a good host.

Nico nodded to acknowledge Naomi, then moved to Will’s side, looking into the bowl. “Mashed potatoes,” he said.

“Uh, yes,” Will said. He continued to beat the potatoes, watching until it grew together. “So you brought the things for your dishes?”

Nico nodded. “Yeah,” he said, staring vacantly. “How do you tell when it’s done?”

Will paused. “Huh?”

“The mashed potatoes. How do you tell when they’re done?” Nico asked. His hair flopped over his forehead, a few strands brushing over the bridge of his nose.

Will looked down into the bowl. “Well, I just… wait until it feels right,” he said.

Nico’s eyes flickered up. “Feels right?”

“Here.” Will shifted the beaters until Nico’s hand. “Do you feel how the potatoes are growing softer?”

Nico nodded. “Yeah. So this feels right?”

“I think so,” Will said. He took the beaters back from Nico and turned it off. “Alright. So what do we do with your stuff? I’m afraid I’ve never made anything like it before.”

Nico looked over to the table where his grocery bags laid. Sliding away from the counter, he reached into one of the bags, pulling out a half-eaten loaf of bread. “Hold this,” Nico said, passing the loaf into Will’s hand. His fingers curled around the loaf, and he furrowed his brow. There was no give.

“This is stale,” Will said.

“Yes,” said Nico. “Has to be for acquacotta.”

“You use stale bread?” Will asked.

“It’s the whole point of acquacotta,” Nico said. He looked around. “Where are your pots?”

Sliding past his mother on one end of the counter, Will knelt down and opened a cabinet door, pulling out a pot. He passed to Nico, who reached for the sink to fill it. Setting the pot on the stove, he turned back to Will. “A saucepan.”

Will grabbed a saucepan and handed it over. This time, Nico reached into his grocery bags, and tossing a variety of vegetables in the saucepan, he turned on the stove and turned around, leaning back against the counter and staring off. Great. If he intended to be silent this whole day, this would be the worst Native American Honor Day ever.

“You’ve made this before?” Will asked, rising to his feet again. He hoped Nico wouldn’t need any more pans.

Nico nodded. “My mother used to make it,” he said.

“I didn’t know Shades ate,” Will said before he could stop himself.

Nico snapped out of his daze, dark eyes staring over at Will. Without a warning, he let out a loud, sharp laugh. His lashes fluttered down, and he shook his head. “Shades don’t normally eat human food,” he said after a moment. “We process more, um . . . somewhat like your plants. Photosynthesis, though we use the shadows instead of light. Take our nutrients from the atmosphere.”

“Oh,” Will said. He suddenly wished he’d looked Shades up on Google. Maybe he could have found out more about them and not looked like a complete idiot. “So you could do that right now?”

Nico shook his head. “Earth’s atmosphere isn’t suited for Shades. It’s why most Shades don’t stay here for long.”

“Do you not like to eat human food then?” Will asked. He leaned on his side, the sink jutting into his hip. Peering over Nico’s shoulder, he looked into the pot of vegetables, simmering.

“My mother was human. I can eat human food just as well as I can synthesize like a Shade,” Nico said.

Will paused. “You’re half-human?”

Nico nodded, turning his head. The small waves in his hair flopped to the other side, one dark brow raising. “Yes?”

“So I suppose having a human name is . . . normal then. I thought it was just a weird quirk. Choosing a new name.” Will’s freckled cheeks flushed red.

“Nico di Angelo. That was my mother’s choice of name,” Nico said. “Well, Niccolò, actually, but my father wanted me to have a Shade name. So they compromised, two names that sound mostly similar.”

“Niko,” Will tried to pronounce, remembering what he said.

Nico’s lips quirked, and he shook his head. “Nico is the best approximation by human tongues,” he said. “What you’re saying--there’s an accent that you can’t recreate, and you make it sound bad.”

“Thanks,” Will said.

Nico stared at Will for a moment before he turned around and looked at the saucepan. He turned the vegetables into the now boiling water. “While this cooks, we can start on the arancini.”

“Sure,” Will said. “What do you need me to do?”

It was kind of fascinating how Nico knew these recipes by heart. Neither Will nor Naomi were great cooks; Native American Honor Day took about all of their knowledge. But Nico made cooking fun, with the way he moved through the kitchen easily. He absorbed all of Will’s attention. When he wasn’t being perfectly silent and still, he was funny, almost charming. He had a beautiful smile. Will acted as goofy as his father in attempts to make Nico smile. At the end of the counter, Naomi watched the two, a small smile on her lips.

“Well, at least I have you for company,” she told the bots. They beeped happily, and she patted their heads.

-

By the beginning of December, Will had become focused on drawing Nico out of his shell. He invited him to eat lunch with his friends. He tried to stop and talk to him after school. He even let Lou and Cecil be partners for an assignment and grabbed Nico instead. None of it seemed effective. That small bit of humanity--literally and figuratively--Nico had shown on Native American Honor Day seemed to be gone. He didn’t smile. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t seem to care one way or the other about anything.

“Have you ever gone bowling?” Will asked during their study hour. He’d convinced Nico to dedicate it working on their history project, though Will had intended to spend at least a little time socializing. Nico was focused entirely on their project. Will had the feeling that if he didn’t insist on doing parts, Nico would do the whole thing without complaint.

“What’s bowling?” Nico asked, not looking up from his tablet. His hair fell loosely over his forehead, and Will watched as the waves in his hair bobbed with each shift of his head. The more Will looked at him, the more human he appeared. The dark veins through his skin seemed less unearthly, more just a quirk of Nico’s. Actually, he was rather handsome, something like an old movie star with sharp angles and silky hair.

Will cleared his throat and mind. He glanced over to Cecil and Lou Ellen, who were occupied by their intense discussion on the Election of 2360. “It’s kind of a game. Sport-type thing,” he said. “My friend Cecil, his family owns a bowling alley.”

“Oh,” Nico said. He tapped a few more letters on his tablet, then looked up, interested.

“We’re going this weekend. If you want to join, you can. Cecil and Lou are usually partners, so you could be mine. You know, team up and take them down,” Will babbled.  He tugged his bottom lip underneath his teeth, his left hand moved to the back of his neck.

“I don’t know how to do bowling,” Nico said.

Will shook his head, leaning forward eagerly. “Alright, so it’s pretty easy. It’s just . . . spinning a ball down a lane. Into pins. Knocking them over.” He paused. “Okay, that’s the worst description of bowling ever.”

Nico cracked a smile. “You’ll have to teach me,” he said.

Will stopped. “You’ll come?”

“I will,” Nico agreed. “When is it?”

“Saturday. 15:00. We usually bowl a round, then get food from the snack bar, then play another round. I’m sure we can use the first round as practice,” Will said. He knocked his watch against Nico’s. “There’s the directions. I’ll see you there!”

Nico nodded and slid his tablet over. “I found this article from 2380. I think we could use it.”

Of course. There was Nico, focused as ever on school. Will leaned his elbow on Nico’s desk, resting his head on his hand. He’d find a way to crack him. He wanted to know more about this Nico di Angelo, Niko Serapis. He wanted to know more about Pluto-I. He wanted Nico to talk to him.

He wanted to see Nico smile again.

-

Cecil and Lou Ellen were already at the bowling alley when Will arrived. He was surprised to find that Nico as well had arrived, taking a seat in the lane next to them. He was wearing just a sweatshirt and jeans, and Will had to press lips together at the sight. It was early December, but it was about 3 degrees, far too cold for any normal person to go outside without a coat. Even Cecil and Lou Ellen had theirs out by now.

Cecil looked up when Will approached, looking greatly relieved.

“Will! Hey. Your . . . friend’s here,” Cecil said, glancing to Nico curiously.

“Friend,” Nico repeated. “Are we friends?” He looked to Will.

Will shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Oh. Yeah, sure,” he said, moving to the seat opposite Nico. He pulled his scarf off of his neck, coughing softly from the cold air in his lungs. His cheeks pink, he slid his coat off and hung it around the chair.

Across from them, Cecil and Lou Ellen exchanged looks.

“Nico’s never bowled before,” Will said, looking at his friends in hopes to change the subject. “I thought we could use the first round to teach him to play.”

“Sure,” Lou said, her antennae bobbing up and down. “If he’s any good, I’m stealing him. The only one worse than Cecil is you, Will.”

Cecil snorted indignantly, and Lou Ellen ruffled his brown curls, sticking out her lavender tongue.

“Nope. I invited Nico, and he’s mine,” Will protested automatically, slinging an arm over Nico’s shoulders. It was the first time he’d ever actually touched Nico, and he was surprised to find that Nico’s skin wasn’t unnaturally cold. In fact, he was almost warm. Realizing he’d had his arm around Nico unnecessarily long, Will started to draw back, just as Nico leaned a little closer, his head knocking against Will’s shoulder.

“I’m Will’s partner,” Nico agreed, eventually pulling back on his own. Will’s face felt abnormally hot, and not from windburn. He looked to Cecil and Lou, who seemed to be trying not to laugh. Will turned away and looked at the screen.

“Cecil, did you have your brothers set us up?” he asked.

Cecil shook his head. “Nope! Hey, Travis, Connor!”

The twins raised their hands from the counter, and the screens popped to life.

“It’s a bit old school here,” Will told Nico, “but I think it’s fun.” He knocked his watch against the screen, then brought Nico’s wrist over as well. “Just two.”

The screen flashed, and the bowling pins set up.

“Oh, yeah. So we also need to choose the weight for the bowling balls,” Will said. “I usually go for a 16. You can try that, and if you need, we can get a different ball.”

Nico nodded. “You’re going first,” he said, voice flat.

Will smiled. “Yeah, sure.” To their left, Cecil and Lou Ellen had already started their game. Will rose from his seat and grabbed the ball as it appeared, stepping up to the line.

“So the first thing you do is put your fingers in the holes like this,” Will explained. “Then you just step like this, swing your arm, and--” He let go of the ball, watching as it rolled awkwardly, wobbling across the lane. It knocked down one of the end pins, and he turned to Nico with a sheepish smile.

“Will is, like, the worst person to learn to bowl from,” Lou called from the other side. She took her turn, moving gracefully across the floor. The ball flew from her fingertips, landing on the lane and swiftly knocking all the pins. ���Strike! Hell yeah, I’m the queen!”

“Show ‘em how it’s done, Lou!” Cecil cheered.

“You don’t get to say anything,” Lou Ellen said, spinning on her heels and pointing a finger at him. “Your family owns a bowling alley, and you only got 3 pins.”

Cecil shrugged and leaned back in his seat.

“Your turn,” Will said brightly, turning to Nico and offering the ball. Nico rose and took the ball from Will, turning it over curiously in his hands. He slid it on his fingers, then moved to the line.

“Like this?” he said, looking at Will. Will nodded. Nico took a breath, chest lifting. His arm swung back, and before Will could even process it, he tossed the ball, knocking 9 pins.

Will’s brows rose. “Wow. Not bad,” he said. “Maybe after this practice round, you can beat Lou.”

“Hey!” Lou Ellen called from her lane, crossing her arms over her chest.

“We can beat her this round,” Nico said, turning back to Will. He had a sharp glint in his eyes, something Will had never seen before. He reached for the ball as it reappeared and knocked down the last pin.

Will felt a grin tug at his lips. “Yeah. You’re on, Lou! I’ve got Nico!”

-

“Well, this sucks. You let me down, Lou.”

Lou swatted Cecil’s arm, and he hip-checked her in response. “I tried my best. Hey, Nico, are Shades super strong or something?”

After the games had finished, the competitive spark in Nico died down, and he looked as blank and empty as ever. Tossing their empty plates with the remnants of greasy bowling alley food in the trash, Will and Lou Ellen had started to put on their coats. Cecil, who was staying to take over the food counter, had packed his things onto his arms. Nico, who had arrived with nothing, stood to the side. “No,” he said.

“Oh,” Lou replied. “Any reason you’re so good at this game then?”

Nico paused. “I used to, ah--” He paused, then made an indistinct noise, breathy, like mist. “It’s a sport on Pluto-I. Somewhat like your fencing. So I suppose I have dexterous arms.”

“Jealous,” Cecil said, rolling his eyes. He checked his watch. “Well, I really have to head over before Priya decides I’m late and makes me pay.”

Will shivered. Cecil’s younger sister was disturbingly creative. “Good luck!” he called.

“I’ve got to run too. Mom wants to have a family dinner. See you,” Lou Ellen said, her antennae bobbing happily as she turned to the door.

“Have fun with your boyfriend!” Cecil called.

Will’s face grew bright red. “He’s not my boyfriend!” he called back. The desire to keep his eyes glued to ugly old fractal pattern on the table was strong, but he knew it would be rude to leave without a real goodbye. He lifted his head only to find Nico staring over at him. “Ha. Well, um, I should head home. Got to catch the metro, so--”

“I can give you a ride,” Nico offered.

“Oh. You don’t have to,” Will said, taking a step towards the door.

Nico shook his head and followed him. “My driver will be here soon. Just wait.”

“Oh. Well, uh, thanks,” Will said, pausing just in front of the glass. He turned to look outside, where the sleeping trees spread their limbs through the gray sky. He supposed it would have been rude to refuse again. “So bowling. You like? Bowling. You like bowling?”

“It was fun,” Nico said.

Will nodded, giving a terse smile. “Right. Great.” He shifted on his feet again. Cool air slid in behind incoming customers, and he shivered. “It’s, um, cold out.”

Weather talk. Fantastic, Will Solace.

Nico turned to look at him. “It’s not too bad. Pluto-I is colder,” he said.

“Oh. I guess you like the cold then,” Will said.

Nico was quiet. “Not so much.”

Will faltered. “You don’t?”

“Mamma was from Italy. The few times I’ve been on Earth before now, we were there,” Nico said, and for a moment, Will thought he heard a bit of an Italian accent to his speech, but, no, he was probably projecting. As Nico had said, he was raised on Pluto-I. “She always liked the heat. She rarely left our home if she could help it. Pluto-I was too cold for her.” His words carried some sort of weight that Will couldn’t seem to place. After a moment, Nico turned to look at him, his dark eyes somber. “That’s what I think it was. Humans can’t survive for extended periods on Pluto-I. Mamma and my sister, Bianca . . . they both died from unexplained circumstances. Bianca, I think, was more human than me.”

Will stared at Nico’s face, even as he turned his gaze back to the outdoors. “Nico,” he said.

“My father believes I will be safer on Earth,” Nico continued, “but since Shades aren’t suited to this environment--”

Will reached for Nico’s arm, his fingers wrapping around his bicep.

“Jules-Albert is here,” Nico said abruptly, pushing his way through the door. Will followed him out, fairly sure that they wouldn’t be speaking on the ride to Will’s.

Part of Will wondered why Nico had told him that. It was difficult to think of him as the strange Shade classmate for their senior year when Will knew that Nico di Angelo, Niko Serapis, was half-human, with a dead mother and sister, unsure if the environment of the native worlds of either of his parents’ would be suitable for his body.

When Will returned home that evening, he pulled out his tablet and began to scan through Google, Shades, Pluto-I, Niko Serapis.

Shades turned up dozens articles on the species, but most of the words were too scientific for Will to understand. He set those aside and briefly skimmed Wikipedia, which was about as helpful. Will already knew they were shadowy shapeshifters. The pictures looked significantly different than Nico, but Nico was presenting in a human form, so Will ignored those as well. Pluto-I provided little more information.

Niko Serapis was something else. The son of Hades Serapis, the ambassador of Pluto-I, and Maria di Angelo, daughter of a former ambassador of Earth. After Maria’s death, Hades had remarried to another Shade, a Mari L’Vesk, with whom he had a daughter, Hazel. It was all but publicly acknowledged that Hazel had been born out of wedlock, long before Maria di Angelo passed. Nico’s sister, Bianca, had died only a year and a half ago. Niko--Nico--was the only one left in his family with any human blood. He must have been lonely.

He must have still been lonely, even on Earth. Will tapped on another article, showing Nico beside his father, greeting a delegation from Earth. He zoomed in on Nico’s face, as cold and detached as ever. His fingertips resting on Nico’s pale cheek, Will stared at the screen until he fell asleep.

-

Will considered Cecil and Lou Ellen his good friends. He could, mostly, trust them not to spread gossip. Cecil’s siblings, on the other hand, were gossipmongers, so long as it benefited them, and by the next school day, word of Will’s association with Nico had spread.

“So you’re dating a Shade?” Drew Tanaka asked, plopping herself down on the edge of Will’s desk in one swift motion. Her hair was neatly braided into a crown, and she wore the pants version of the uniform with all the grace and style of her model mothers. Will simultaneously envied, adored, and despised her.

“I’m--”

“He’s kind of odd-looking,” Drew said, turning her head in Nico’s direction. She didn’t care if Nico saw her looking, which Will supposed was respectable in its own right. “Not because he’s an alien, I mean. Like . . . he just seems so not there. Not exactly the type I thought you’d go for.”

“I’m not dating Nico,” Will said.

Though Nico must have heard Drew as well, he didn’t look up until Will spoke. Something about the look Nico was giving made Will’s chest tighten, and his ears grew red. Nico’s brow furrowed, and he abruptly looked back down to his tablet. Will finally looked away only to find Drew’s face staring down at him.

“Are you going to get off my desk?” Will asked.

“Oh, sure, I’ve gotten plenty,” Drew said. She pressed a kiss to Will’s cheek, leaving a bright red mark, and Will groaned. “You’re a darling, Will, as always.”

“I’m not taking you to my father’s ball this year, Drew,” Will said. “I’m not going.”

“I know, you’ve told me,” groaned Drew, cocking her hip and staring down at him, her eyeliner as sharp as knives. “But, thankfully, you’ve made up for it in other ways. I’ll forgive you.”

Will couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as she walked away. Not because she was gorgeous (though she was), but because she terrified him when she spoke about things he didn’t know. Whatever he’d given her, it couldn’t have been good.

He was right. As soon as Ms. Hestia dismissed class, Will reached for his tablet, only for Nico to brush by so abruptly that he knocked it out of Will’s hand. His head snapped up to look at Nico, but Nico was already at the door, his tablet in his hand. His knuckles looked both pale and dark and smoky where they curled around the screen. Will glanced back down at his own, lying on the floor, thankfully not cracked. He scooped it up and headed out the door.

The hallway was full of students, wall to wall, but Nico wasn’t one of them. Will could only see a few feet in front of him as he slid between his classmates. If he was lucky he’d catch him at the locker room-- but Nico didn’t carry a bag, if Will remembered. The cold didn’t bother him. He wouldn’t have a coat. He wouldn’t stop by the locker room.

Will pressed his lips together and swallowed before he turned to head out the door. Rather than chasing Nico down the walkway, Will found Nico sitting on the bottom step. In his rush, he stumbled and tumbled down onto him. Nico made a noise with that wispy tone again, and he reeled back, hands planted on Will’s shoulders, fingers tightening as he pushed him away.

“Nico,” Will said.

“What’s your problem?” That was not the wispy tone. That was a tone Will had never heard from Nico, cold, dark, a viscous sort of sound as bitter as tar. Will’s eyes moved up Will’s body, from his perfectly tied tie, neatly buttoned jacket, to his face, brows drawn together, mouth turned down into a sneer.

He’s angry, Will realized belatedly.

“I’m-- You looked-- Um, class,” Will stammered.

Nico scoffed and pushed Will away a little more firmly, until Will landed on his butt the next step down. “What?”

“Are you mad at me?” Will asked, knowing that was the worst question to ask someone who was mad at you.

“No! Why would I be mad?” Nico asked. His voice traveled the tones naturally, less impassive than Will had ever heard him be.

“You know, honestly, I don’t know,” Will retorted, crossing his arms over his chest, partially out of a desire to seem more put together, mostly because it was freezing outside. “I don’t know why you’re mad at me, Nico. How could I? You’ve never been mad before, and I’ve been nothing but nice since you got here, so if you want to tell my dad--”

“What’s so bad about dating me?” Nico asked abruptly. As if he’d realized what he’d said a moment too late, the whites of his eyes grew large, and shades of smoky gray spread across his cheeks and ears.

Will stopped. “Uh, wha--?”

“You . . . .” Nico stammered, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “You keep telling people we’re not dating, and you act like-- Would it be so bad to date me?”

Will stared blankly. Nico seemed to wait for something for half a second before the dark blush on his cheeks spread, and he turned away.

“Hold on. Are you saying you like me?” Will asked.

“Shut up,” Nico said, letting out a breath.

“You like me,” Will repeated as it sunk in.

“Shut up!” Nico repeated as his face grew darker.

“Nico--”

“Shut your damn mouth, and don’t touch me!” Nico shook the hand reaching for his arm off and stood up, looking so jittery Will thought he was ready to dissolve into whatever Shades normally looked like. “Just-- don’t say anything. Leave me alone.”

“You like me.”

“Would you stop saying that?”

Will finally stopped, his own cheeks growing red, not just from the cold. He lifted a hand to the back of his neck, the only part of his body that was still warm. Nico liked him. A Shade liked him. What was he supposed to do with that?

“It’s . . . Don’t make that face,” Nico said, his voice softer, though not to that same, dreamy quality he’d had before. He seemed more present, more real, than ever before, solid and harsh. “It’s not weird. I’m half-human. I can . . . I’m allowed to like people. And you’re actually nice to me--”

“I didn’t say anything,” Will said.

Nico rolled his eyes, still looking irritated. “You were thinking it. I get it, you don’t-- Whatever.”

Will sighed and pushed himself to his feet. A step below Nico, they were about the same height. “How am I even supposed to know how I feel about you? You’re always so--”

“So what?” Nico asked, his hands suddenly flashing in front of Will’s face.

“So nothing! It’s like nothing matters to you! I know people always talk about how humans are so wild and emotional, and then you show up and you’re just-- nothing ,” Will said. “Why did you even come to Earth?”

“Because my father told me to!”

Will stopped, lips parting. He stared at Nico, who withdrew, half-looking like who he’d been before, cold, distant, a Shade locked in a human body. But Will could see now. He could see the tightness of Nico’s jaw, the twitch of his lips, his tense fingers. Regardless of what he tried to present, Nico was human too.

“Your father’s an ambassador,” Will said.

Nico paused, glancing over to Will. “Yeah,” he said, leaning against the column on the front steps.

“I know how you feel,” Will said after a moment. “I mean, my dad is the one who told me to--” He stopped, realizing how Nico might take that.

Nico seemed to know what he was going to say anyway. He scoffed. “Yeah. Of course.”

Will sighed. “It’s not that I dislike you or anything,” he said.

“I know, whatever, you just don’t like me, I’m just that weird human kid, yeah, I get it.” Nico’s hands flew around as he spoke before returning to his chest as he crossed his arms.

“Shade kid,” Will corrected. Nico looked up at him. “You said human kid. But here you’re the Shade kid.”

Nico didn’t answer. He turned his head, black eyes focused on column.

“I guess people on Pluto-I weren’t the kindest,” Will said.

“It’s not--” Nico exhaled slowly. “You can’t really understand it. It’s another culture, another species. I don’t know if Shades and humans are really the best for hybrid kids.”

“What do you mean?” Will asked.  He took a step up the steps, sliding closer to Nico, who spared him a quick glance.

“You don’t have your coat on. You’re going to freeze,” Nico said.

Will suddenly felt the chill of the wind rubbing his skin raw. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to take pity on me anymore. You can tell your dad you’ve done the job. I’m fine.” Nico’s arms tightened around his chest.

“You are such a pain in the ass,” Will said.

Nico looked up.

“If you acted like this, less people would think you’re creepy,” Will said. “We’re human . You don’t have to hide your feelings all the time. It’s normalto care about things.”

“I don’t know what you’ve been told about Shades, but we’re not heartless. We care about things. I was just . . . told to stay quiet. My father didn’t want me to offend anyone,” Nico said. “Apparently I’m abrasive.”

Will snorted. “Really?”

Nico cracked a smile in spite of himself.

Will took another step closer. “I don’t want to pretend I know everything you’re going through, okay? But I think things would be easier if you actually tried to hang out with people. People beside me,” he added.

Nico seemed to deflate slightly. “Right.”

“But we can, um . . . .” Will cleared his throat. “We can still hang out.”

“As friends,” Nico said.

“Not necessarily.” Will gave a lopsided grin. “I mean, it’s not every day someone tells me--”

“Shut up,” Nico said, that faint gray spreading through his face again.

“You should come over for the holidays. We do all sorts of thing on Earth,” Will said. “Mom won’t mind. The whole family comes up from Texas, ‘cause we have snow up here.”

Nico looked out ahead at the lawn, the grass they never let students even touch, like grass was some prized possession instead of a part of nature that was meant to be walked on. “We don’t have snow on Pluto-I,” he said.

“You ever seen it?” Will asked.

“No,” said Nico.

“It’s nice. I hope we have a white Christmas this year,” Will said. He smiled, leaning over the railing.

“You’re shivering,” Nico said. He lifted his hand to Will’s cheek. “You really should go inside.”

“Yeah,” Will said, the soft thump of his heart against his chest growing louder. Nico’s hand was unreasonably warm in this weather. He took a step back, shaking off the touch. “Yeah. Um, I’m going to go inside. See you, Nico.”

“See you.”

Will turned towards the door, not quite sparing a glance towards Nico as he made his way to the locker room. He grabbed his coat without much of a look at any of the remaining students, though Drew, leaning on her locker, gave him a look.

By the time Will made it outside, Nico was gone. Will kind of felt disappointed.

-

It was December 18th, two days before the last day of school before the holiday break, when homeroom was interrupted by a knock on the door. Ms. Hestia looked up, looking through the small window in the door, thean to Will, which gave Will a distinct feeling that this was not going to be something good.

When Apollo walked into the room, Will was sure. This was not good.

“Students of Montauk Youths’ Academy, we have been blessed with a special opportunity today,” Apollo began without any sort of introduction. Will’s cheeks began to burn, and he lowered his head. Ms. Hestia didn’t even seem to know what was going on. How could he show up at Will’s school and not even tell the teachers? “Your classmate, Niko S-- Nico di Angelo, as you all know, is from Pluto-I--”

Oh no. Will’s head snapped up, looking over his shoulder to Nico. Nico’s jaw was tight, his fingers about to break the stylus in his hand.

“His family has decided to make a visit, and you have the fantastic opportunity of meeting Ambassador Hades Serapis, his wife Mari L’Vesk, and their daughter Hazel,” Apollo said. Behind him, a tall, thin man stepped in, his features twisted into something almost annoyed.

The stylus snapped. A few snickers from somewhere in the classroom echoed, but none of the adults acknowledged them. Of course they wouldn’t.

“There’s no need for this,” he said, words diplomatic, but tone decidedly not. If Nico was abrasive, Will had an idea of where he got it from. “I can visit my son after class.”

Apollo beamed, his own diplomacy skills not quite polished enough to pick up on the signals Hades was sending. Will always thought his father had been appointed to this position because any errors he made would have been excused by his lack of awareness rather than an intentional slight. “Nonsense. There’s no need to wait. Ms. Hestia doesn’t mind,” he said.

Ms. Hestia pursed her lips. Hades Serapis looked at her apologetically. Behind him, a woman and a girl a few years younger than the students--obviously Mari and Hazel--followed. They were all dark, nearly pitch black, their skin not quite solid, hair loose and curly. They looked little like Nico, except for their eyes, and now Will wasn’t the only one who knew.

Will glanced over his shoulder again. Nico’s face was growing gray. At the front of the classroom, the girl--Hazel, gave a beaming smile and slid through the aisles.

“Niko!” she said brightly, tugging her brother out of his chair. “How do you like Earth? I’ve never seen a school like this before. Are you settling in well?”

Nico seemed to force a smile. “It’s fine, Hazel,” he said, his voice softer, as if to lessen the amount of attention on them, though with this situation, it didn’t do a thing.

“Oh, your tablet!” Hazel turned to look at Nico’s desk, reaching to scoop the tablet into her hands. “How fascinating.”

“Yes, um . . . .” Nico glanced helplessly at his parents at the front of the room. “Father, perhaps we should take this out of the school.”

Apollo looked perplexed at the suggestion, but Hades nodded, his wife looking relieved.

“Niko, Hazel,” Hades said, though those were the only words Will caught until his voice grew softer, wispier, the language of the Shades. At Nico’s desk, Hazel nodded, grabbing her brother’s hand and leading him up to the front. As they passed Will’s desk, Hazel turned to look at him, giving a wide smile, then looking to Nico. She said something that made Nico’s ears darken as well.

“Hazel,” Nico said, pushing her forward until they reached the front of the classroom. Hades and Mari quickly ushered their children out of the door, until Apollo was left flummoxed, Ms. Hestia feathers ruffled, and the class utterly stunned at the deviation from routine.

“Well . . . Let’s hope they have a good visit. Please be kind to your classmate!” said Apollo as brightly and stupidly as ever. Will tried not to cry when Apollo waved at him and walked out.

As Ms. Hestia tried to resume her lesson, Will felt the tip of a stylus dig into his neck. His shoulder lifted up to knock it off, and he looked behind him.

Lou Ellen smiled sympathetically. “I always forget your dad is . . . like that . . . .”

“I just feel bad for Nico,” whispered Will.

“He’ll be fine,” Lou said. “I mean, embarrassing as that was, he’s got a day with his family, and nothing seems to bother him anyway.”

Not true. Nico was surprisingly sensitive. Will didn’t know if that specifically would humiliate him, but he hated the thought of his dad making things difficult for Nico. If only Will could contact him. But he hadn’t synced their watches, and-- He bit the tip of his tongue, only snapping out of it when he realized Lou was smiling at him.

“What?”

Lou Ellen shook her head, antennae bobbing. “Pay attention, Will,” she said, poking his neck again until he turned around, leaving him with no answer once again.

-

At the end of the day, Will’s worries hadn’t quite subsided, and he hardly remembered getting his coat and walking outside. He was halfway to the metro station before he noticed the car beside him, and when the window rolled down and a voice called, “William Solace!” he nearly had a heart attack.

In the car, Hazel L’Vesk and her brother sat, Hazel’s head poking out of the window. Hazel’s hair was loose and bounced around her in the wind. She looked nothing like her brother, but she was very pretty as well; she was easier to call pretty, rather, as the darkness in her features looked much more natural.

“William Solace,” she repeated. “My brother Niko said something of a sport called ‘bowling’. You know this sport?”

“Um,” Will said, not sure how to respond.

“Will isn’t very good at it,” Nico said, sliding up beside her. For a moment, Will thought he would smile, but as soon as he caught Will’s eye, Nico bristled, turning his head away. “Let’s go, Hazel.”

“Oh, but--” Hazel looked at her brother, then back to Will. “Oh! Well, since you’ve shown Niko your sport, perhaps Niko could show you ours. He was the champion of our school at home--in his age level at least.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty good too,” Nico replied, sparing a smile for his sister.

“Of course!” Hazel grinned before turning back to Will. “Please, join us. We’ll be heading to the embassy hotel.”

Nico pressed his lips together, looking as if he didn’t want Will to come. Will was ready to make his excuses until he looked at Hazel’s face.

“I--” he said.

“Great!” she said, opening the door and sliding over her brother to the other seat. “Come in!”

Will hesitated before he climbed into the car, sitting next to Nico. Nico shifted, sliding a bit closer to Hazel, who shoved him back, his thigh brushing Will’s. Immediately, Nico stiffened. Then, almost defiantly, he crossed his arms and spread his legs a little wider, pressing Will into the side of the car.

Real mature, Will thought. They weren’t even really fighting.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, William,” Hazel said, leaning forward to look at him. “Niko’s told me about you.”

“He has?” Will asked.

Nico blushed again, the cool gray of his face stronger than ever.

“Of course! It’s nice that he has a friend here,” Hazel said. “I was . . . upset when Father decided to send him to Earth, but I can see it’s good for him. But now this is the only chance I have to beat Niko at--” She made that sound that Will vaguely remembered as the sport Nico played on Pluto-I.

“You’re not going to beat me,” Nico said, that competitive glint returning to his eyes.

Hazel grinned. “Oh, but I am, dear brother. I’ve been practicing. What have you been doing?”

“Bowling,” Nico replied, and Will had to cover his mouth so he didn’t laugh. In spite of himself, Nico let a small smile slip, and Will’s heart twisted in his chest. Oh. Right. Nico’s smile.

“Bowling? Perhaps I shall bowl the next time we are on Earth,” said Hazel. She looked to Will. “My brother has told me of your sport. It sounds very odd. If we return soon, you must show me.”

Nico’s lips quirked a little more at his sister’s antics. “Please ignore her. She’s only 14.”

“And I’m still going to beat you at --.” She stuck out her tongue, as dark as the rest of her, and Nico stuck out his, a darker shade of pink than most humans, as if it were imbued with shadow.

The driver dropped them off at the front of the hotel, and Hazel grabbed Will’s hand to pull him out. Her fingers weren’t cold, though maybe a little cool, like grasping at the air in the fridge, and Will had a distinct feeling if he squeezed too hard, her hand would disappear. Nico’s body was more solid, from what Will remembered. Nico followed beside them, waiting for Hazel to open up the door to the hotel, where she led them to a recreational room, already supplied with the tools of the trade, or sport as case were.

“Ready?” Hazel asked before she seemed to disappear--then out of nothing but a shadow in the corner of the room, she was a wisp, not even vaguely humanoid, her voice no longer making any sort of sounds similar to English. She was a real Shade, Will realized. Not shapeshifting, just existing.

Nico remained in his human form, glancing over to Will hesitantly. “I--” he started before running a hand through his hair. He responded to Hazel in the same language, then looked back to Will. “This may be a little weird for you, okay? I mean . . . I’ll have to leave my human body. But I’m not dead, so don’t freak out.”

What?

Nico stepped to the side of the room and opened his mouth, a rush of shadow flowing from his lips. His dark veins seemed to empty, and his body seemed paler, lesser, his eyes falling shut as he fell to the ground, and then there was another Shade, looking just like Hazel, attacking before Will’s eyes could adjust. Will looked to the body beside him.

Nico was right. He did look dead, slumped over like that. Part of Will wanted to scream or cry or something, staring at a body devoid of any signs of life. Did Nico use that body like a shell? Was it even a part of him? Will reached to touch it. The skin was still warm, and on the wrist, he could feel a heartbeat.

Too creepy. He turned his attention to the match before him.

There was no handbook to explain what they were doing. They moved so quickly Will couldn’t catch it, and though he had the sabers or whatever when they’d entered the room, he hadn’t registered when they’d picked them up. It was like fencing, Nico had said, but Will couldn’t see any resemblance beyond the use of swords. He’d almost convinced himself he was catching on when they reformed into humanoid-figures. Like this, Nico had the same dark skin as his family.

“You’re getting so good, Hazel,” he said in English, probably for Will’s benefit. “You’re going to be far better than me by the time you’re my age.”

Hazel beamed. “I learned from the best,” she said, wrapping her arms around her brother’s waist. She was sweet. Far sweeter than any of Will’s half-siblings, he thought, almost jealous. But considering the family Nico had, he probably needed Hazel. Anyone who could make Nico smile like that must have been good.

“Shall my driver take you home, Will?” Nico asked, sliding over to his body and flowing back in, his eyes opening with just a second to adjust.

“Um,” Will said.

“I’ll take him home,” said Nico. “Are you leaving tonight, Hazel?”

Hazel nodded sadly. “You know Shades can’t stay on Earth long,” she said.

“I know,” Nico said, his voice taut. He sighed and reached to hug her, murmuring a few words in his language.

Hazel smiled and replied before looking to Will. “It was a pleasure to meet you, William Solace. Please make sure my brother is safe on Earth.”

Will smiled. “Oh, he’s, um--”

“Father will be looking for me. This was my time with my brother, and I’m afraid I’ve overspent,” she said. “Perhaps I shall see you again. Goodbye.”

Shades must have moved faster in wisp-form, as the girl was gone in a blink of an eye, and Will was left alone with just Nico.

“Can I ask you something before I go crazy?”

Nico turned his head at Will’s question.

“What the hell was that? With your body?” Will asked.

Nico shrugged.

“I just,” Will stammered, “the rest of your family looks like they just-- Well, Hazel just shapeshifted into a human, but you like-- it’s like you came out of your body, and--” He stared, blue eyes wide as he tried to figure out how to explain what he saw.

“Oh. That. It’s-- part of being half-human,” Nico said, voice growing progressively softer. His ears grew an inky gray. “Most Shades can freely shapeshift, but, um, my human body doesn’t . . . . It’s just always there. I can take a Shade form, but I can’t stay out for very long.”

Will furrowed his brow, and Nico lifted a hand to fuss with his hair.

“Look, I know it sounds weird, but there’s an explanation from the doctors on Pluto-I, and I can’t remember all the details. My existence is weird, so,” Nico said, blowing out of his lips as he shrugged.

“Hey, you don’t have to justify it. You should know. I just . . . .” Will tried to think of something to say that didn’t boil down to, “That was incredibly disturbing, and I never want to see it again.” Because that wasn’t what he meant. Not totally. It was cool to see Shades as they naturally were, and seeing that other side of Nico was neat, but Will couldn’t get the image of Nico’s body slumped on the floor out of his mind.

“I told you I wasn’t dead,” Nico said, voice softer, hand lifting to Will’s cheek again. Before his fingers brushed Will’s skin, he dropped his hand sharply. “My mother never liked to see it either. So don’t feel bad. To her, I was this body. Seeing me outside of it, it was like seeing her child dead.”

“Oh,” Will said. He wasn’t sure there was anything else he could say.

Nico pressed his lips together. “The doctors didn’t make it any better. They told her Bianca and I would die if we left these bodies too long. We can only be out for about half an hour before systems fail.”

“Systems fail? You’re not a bot.” Will snorted, covering his mouth.

Nico’s dark eyes grew soft. Standing so close, Will thought he could almost trace irises in the blackness, maybe even see some gold flecks. “Error: Systems down. Contact manufacturer,” he said, face flat before letting his head slump over. Will let out a loud laugh, and a proud smile grew on Nico’s face.

Will shoved Nico’s shoulder. “Part-Shade, part-human, part-robot. What aren’t you?”

“Patient. Come on. Jules-Albert is waiting.” Nico stepped towards the door, and Will followed behind him. As soon as the door shut, it was like their camaraderie had evaporated. Nico was as cool and distant as ever, and Will had no clue what to say.

“Your sister is nice,” was what he finally came up with, using his few inches on Nico to catch up.

Nico shrugged. “Yeah. She didn’t want me to go,” he said.

“But your father made you,” Will remembered.

Nico’s lips parted slightly. “It’s not so bad,” he said. “Humans tend to breed with other species more often than most. I plan to study hybrid species and their health, so this is probably the best place to do it.”

Will scrunched his nose. “Breed is the worst word to use for that.”

“Why? Does it bother you?” Nico’s eyes lit up with that knowledge. Will already regretted telling him. “It’s just a fact, you know. Humans breed --”

“Dickhead,” Will said, jutting his elbow into Nico’s side.

Nico laughed and lit up the room, hair flopping loosely to one side, smile wide, lashes framing his eyes. Will hardly noticed he was holding his breath until he was forced to turn away so he could force his lungs to work again.

“You know,” Will said, “I’ve always wanted to study health as well. Medicine, really.”

“Oh?” Nico asked. At least, Will thought it was a question.

“Yeah. My oldest brother is a doctor. He used to visit and help my mom out after I was born, because Dad was already onto his next romance,” he said, raising his brows in derision. “I used to idolize him. He’s kind of busy now, but I like when he gets to visit. And I’m dyslexic. Like, really dyslexic. So school was always hard for me. For a long time, I thought that if I studied three hours and my friends studied one and still did better than me, what was the point of it all? But he told me that if I wanted to be a doctor, I was already on the right track because doctors need to know how to work at studying.”

“He sounds cool,” Nico said. Will looked up, expecting to see that polite expression he normally got when he explained his motivations, but Nico looked interested. “It’s not the same thing, but on Pluto-I, our schools are kind of . . . weird. Shades don’t really . . . sleep. But I have to, since I’m part-human. And we progress based on what we show, so my father always thought I’d fall behind my classmates. And that pissed me off. When I wasn’t sleeping, I was studying, unless Mamma pulled me away.”

“Spite is the best motivator,” Will said.

Nico smiled. “Maybe. Doesn’t leave a lot of time for anything else though,” he said.

“Is it easier here?” Will wondered. “I mean, we all sleep, so you don’t have to worry about falling behind.”

“It is,” Nico said. “I have a lot of free time. It’s . . . weird. It’s like I can actually do things. Have friends. Go out. Maybe--” His cheeks grew gray, which told Will exactly what he was thinking of, and that made Will’s cheeks go pink. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten that Nico liked him, but that was a reminder that, yes, Nico actually wanted to date him, maybe even be his boyfriend.

“Are you going to spend more time with your family? I don’t want to pull you away from them. I can walk home,” said Will, eager to change the subject.

“Oh. No. Father will leave after his meetings, and they end shortly,” Nico said. “I’d rather return to my apartment.”

“Are you sure?” Will asked.

Nico nodded. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’m . . . still welcome at your house for the holidays, right?”

Will nodded quickly. “Of course. I invited you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but--” Nico swallowed, cheeks gray again.

“Yes,” Will replied firmly.

Nico looked as if he wanted to say something, but he turned away. “What should I bring this time?” he asked.

“Gifts are traditional,” Will said. “But you don’t have to worry about that for my extended family. They do most of the exchanging before they get up here, so it’ll just be Mom’s and my gifts to them. Not that you have to get anything for me or Mom either; you can come over after we do gifts. Mostly, it’ll be food again. So you can come and cook, if you want? But I’m not volunteering you. You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Nico said. “I want to do the holidays.”

Will paused. “Then you ought to wear an ugly Christmas sweater,” he said.

“A what?” Nico asked.

“Look it up!” Will said, just as Nico’s watch beeped, telling them Jules-Albert had arrived.

-

Montauk Youths’ Academy provided the particular benefit of casting students into hell with a Finals Day rather than a Finals Week, as m ost civilized schools did. Like all students belatedly realizing it was time to study, Will had no time to observe Nico again until December 25th, the first day of the holiday season. He told his mom Nico was coming again, and she gave a smile, nodding in a way that told him he did not want to ask what she was thinking about.

Most of the family had arrived on Christmas Eve, but they were late sleepers. Will and Naomi always got up early to do their Christmas exchange, which never took long. Like most years, Will got a new scarf and hat, and Naomi got a new supply of guitar strings and a coat.

“Why did we ever move up here, Will?” she asked, wrinkling her nose as she hung her coat in the closet.

“So you could be closer to your record label,” Will said.

“Ah, of course!” she said. “They wanted to torture me. Thanks, honey.” She reeled around and kissed his head, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight.

“ Mom ,” Will groaned, though he couldn’t help but laugh.

“What time is your friend getting here?” Naomi asked, rising to her feet and stretching her arms over her head.

Will paused. “Uh,” he said.

Naomi raised a brow and shook her head, curls bouncing around her neck. “Oh, honey, you didn’t tell him a time?”

“It was kind of, um,” Will stammered, remembering when he’d invited Nico. His ears burned, and he looked down at the floor. Wow, had their carpet always been so beige?

Naomi snorted and ruffled her son’s hair. “Is there anything you want to tell me?” she asked, fluttering her lashes.

Will grew redder and shook his head, glancing to where Nico’s gift laid under the tree. “Mom, it’s not--”

“Okay, Will,” she said. “I’m going to start cooking. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. You can have the living room to yourself when he gets here--at least, until your cousins wake up and start rampaging.”

Oh. Yeah. LeShaun and Daneka had come this year. That . . . would not be good. Did Nico like kids? What if they said something about his eyes? Shit, maybe he’d be offended, and--

The doorbell rang.

Will clenched his teeth and let out a breath. “Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Why did you let me invite him?”

“You’re eighteen-years-old, Will. I have no control over your actions. If you want to invite a boy, I’m more than happy to welcome him.”

“ Mom .”

Will hopped up and moved to the door. He puffed up his cheeks and exhaled before he turned the knob.

Nico stood on the doorstep, clutching two presents wrapped in white and mint green paper with bright red bows, in a gaudy green sweater strung with rainbow lights, his hair a little wavier than usual, as if he’d only just woken up. Oh, no. He was cute. Will wasn’t ready for this.

“Hi,” Nico said, his dark eyes staring at Will.

“Uh,” Will said.

Nico raised a brow. “You say that a lot.”

“It’s my favorite word,” said Will. Since when was he such an idiot? Favorite word. Nico must have thought he was stupid.

He cracked a smile and stepped inside. “Are these wrapped correctly?” he asked. “Jules-Albert helped me.”

“Oh, yeah,” Will said, giving a goofy smile. “They’re nice.”

“Cool,” Nico said. “Should I give this to you now?”

“Oh, um--”

Before Will could answer, a rumble echoed down the stairs, and LeShaun and Daneka came tumbling down.

“Will! Willy!” they called as they scrambled over to him. “Will, it’s Christmas!”

“Uh, yes. I know,” Will said. He looked to Nico. “Oh, these are my cousins. LeShaun, Daneka. This is Nico; he’s my friend.”

Daneka stared. Nico stared back.

“My sister used to do her hair like that,” Nico said, gesturing to the twin buns on her head.

“Your sister has good taste,” Daneka pronounced.

Nico nodded. “She’s great.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” Daneka asked, her little brother shyly stepping behind her.

Will shook his head. “Oh, no, Nico’s just--”

“An alien,” LeShaun whispered, eyes wide.

Nico smiled. “Yeah. I’m from Pluto-I.”

Will stared curiously. They were getting along. That was good.

“Willy, you don’t have to play with us this year,” Daneka said. She grabbed Nico’s hand, and LeShaun ran to his other side to take the other one. “We want to play with the alien.”

“Daneka, I don’t think--”

“Do you like VR?” she asked, looking up at Nico.

“Oh, yeah! Mamma used to play with us on Pluto-I,” Nico said eagerly. “Have you ever heard of Mythomagic?”

LeShaun scrunched his nose. “That’s so old .”

Nico’s face fell slightly. “Well . . . Mamma’s system was from when she was a kid.”

“Then we have a lot to catch you up on,” Daneka said seriously, her dark eyes wide. She moved back towards the stairs. “Will, can you turn on the VR system?”

Will stood frozen before he nodded slowly. Naomi peeked her head out of the kitchen.

“Stole your date?” she teased.

“ Mom .”

“Merry Christmas, Will.”

-

Will may not have called Nico his date, but his cousins definitely stole him. It was the first year they didn’t ambush Will at every corner. Instead, they dragged Nico into their collection of VR games. Nico joined eagerly, clearly fascinated by how far the system had come since his mother’s age. Will managed to wiggle his way into watching, though Daneka had declared he wouldn’t get a turn.

“You can have mine,” Nico offered once, but Will shook his head. It was clear Nico loved VR, and Will was content seeing the smile he had while playing.

Will was screwed.

By the time everyone started opening presents, Will had kind of forgotten he was the one who invited Nico. At least, until his uncles started in.

“This is the first time you’ve brought someone to the holidays,” Uncle Jun said as he tried to wrangle his kids into the living room for presents. “Naomi didn’t even tell us you were dating anyone.”

“I’m not-- Nico’s not--”

Jun smiled kindly. “I remember when I said that about Dante. Don’t waste your time, Will. He’s here, isn’t he?”

“I--”

Dante slid in from the kitchen, his curls pulled into a small ponytail. “Jun’s right. No need to wait. Sometimes boys can be stupid. If you don’t tell him, he may not realize.”

“You never would have realized,” Jun said.

“I knew you were something special,” protested Dante.

“I don’t need to hear your story again,” Will interrupted. “I get it, I do. But Nico’s--”

“A nice boy. Daneka might scoop him up if you don’t,” Jun noted, watching as his daughter tried to teach Nico to dance. Will turned to look at him, watching as he awkwardly mimicked her steps.

“See? That’s the smile. That’s a gay smile,” Dante said.

“Stop pestering my son.” Naomi stepped into the living room, drying her hands with a towel before tossing it back into the kitchen. “He’ll figure it out in his own time.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” Will protested.

“Sure,” Jun said. “Kids, shut up and sit down.”

“Yes, Dad,” Daneka and LeShaun echoed, scrambling over to the couch and sitting down. Nico was left standing alone, and he awkwardly stepped closer to Will.

Naomi took pity on him. “This is your first Christmas, Nico? Come here,” she beckoned, leading him to one of the chairs. “Take a seat. We’re just giving the kids gifts. They’ll leave you alone after this.”

“Oh. Okay,” Nico said, taking a seat. He looked at Will curiously. Will stepped closer to him and plopped down on the arm of the recliner.

“I’ll give you yours after this,” he said softly. “Uncle Jun and Uncle Dante will be trying to keep them in line, so we’ll be free.”

“You got me a gift?” Nico asked, eyes bright.

Will furrowed his brow and glanced at the gifts Nico had brought. “Um, yes. Didn’t you--?”

“What I read online said gifts are typically exchanged between family members and romantic partners, though in some cultures, friends exchange gifts as well,” Nico said. He fiddled with the red hem on the sleeve of his sweater. “I didn’t know about this one. So I bought you and your mom gifts, but . . . .”

“I totally invited you for Christmas and planned to make you suffer through it without any gifts,” Will said, rolling his eyes. He nudged Nico’s shoulder, then paused, waiting to see if he heard any giggles from his family. No, they were busy with Daneka and LeShaun. Perfect. No teasing.

Nico huffed, his ears graying. “You would.”

Will made an exaggerated scowl. “Hey! I’m the nicest guy on the planet.”

Nico mumbled something, and he glanced up to Will with wide eyes, something heavy between them.

Will swallowed thickly and peered over Nico’s shoulder to the window, the dark winter evening lying ahead where there were--

“Flurries,” he said. “Mom! Mom, can I take Nico outside? It’s snowing. He’s never seen snow.”

“You’re eighteen, Will. You don’t have to ask for permission,” Naomi said, shaking her head.

Nico snickered. Will blushed and grabbed his hand, scrambling to the coat closet before he tugged Nico onto the porch. The porchlight was small, just enough to light up the chipping paint on the wooden panels. The snow was fine and thin, just covering the grass, but it was snow.

“A white Christmas,” Will said. “I was hoping you’d get to see this. As much as I hate the cold, I’d miss this in Texas.”

Nico moved down the steps and kneeled down, hand stretched out to the powdery snow. “It’s cold,” he marveled.

“Yeah, frozen water,” said Will. “Kind of how it works. I know we didn’t have weather in science or anything, but--”

“I know what snow is,” snapped Nico. “I just . . . didn’t know how it would feel.”

Will laughed as Nico turned it over in his hands until the handful melted and ran down his fingers. “What do you think?”

“It’s pointless,” Nico said, rising quickly and moved back to Will’s side.

“I think it’s pretty.” he protested. “And just wait until tomorrow. I’ll take you sledding. You’ll love that.”

“Is it a sport?” Nico asked.

Will hesitated. “Well, kind of. It’s just for fun. But we can race.”

“I’ll beat you,” Nico said.

“You’re on, di Angelo.” Will grinned and waved his fists at Nico. “. . . So how’s your first Christmas?”

Nico shrugged. “Interesting,” he said. “I’m glad I got to see you.”

Will’s face flushed, not just from the winter air. “I . . . .”

“Stop making that face. I can’t help how I feel,” Nico said shortly, turning his head away.

“I’m not making fun of you.”

Nico crossed his arms. “No, but you’re--” He let out a breath, white fog at his lips. “You’re thinking it. It’s weird. Can’t like Shades, can’t like humans,” he grumbled.

Will furrowed his brow. “Nico, that’s not what I’m saying.”

Nico huffed, his lip almost a pout. Cute.

“I just didn’t expect it, you know? When you told me, I-- Well, you were always so quiet,” Will said.

Nico didn’t say anything.

“But you’re kind of . . . . Well, you’re not bad-looking, and you, um, make me laugh,” Will stammered, face red.

“Not bad-looking?” Nico repeated, looking as if that were actually a compliment.

“You’re cute,” Will said.

Nico’s face grew gray, and he pressed his lips together into a rather unattractive face. “No one’s ever said that before.”

“Not even your mom?”

“Mamma and Bianca don’t count,” he said. “I don’t exactly look normal by Shade or human standards.”

Will shrugged. “You’re still cute,” he insisted, reaching for Nico’s hand.

“So are you,” Nico muttered. “. . . Does this mean we’re dating?”

“Oh. Sure. Yes. Um, boyfriends and all that. We can make sledding our first date!” Will said eagerly. “Is that okay?”

Nico shrugged. “As long as I still get to beat you,” he said.

Will rolled his eyes. “Whatever you want, darlin’.”

Nico’s cheeks grew gray once more. “Are you going to call me that now?” he asked softly.

“Do you like it, darlin’?” Will asked, a grin spreading across his face.

Nico scrunched his nose. “No. It’s disgusting.”

“You sure?” Will asked, now convinced Nico liked it. “Darlin’.”

“Shut up!”

“What are you going to do?”

Nico leaned closer and pressed his lips to Will’s. Will froze. Nico’s lips were warm, and the blood rushing through Will’s face was as well, fighting the cold outside. Will let his eyes close, and he squeezed Nico’s hand.

A white Christmas with his new Shade boyfriend. A nice ending to the year. Will smiled into the kiss and held Nico’s hand a little tighter.

[luckycaricature]

Ahaha, it’s not the best story ever, I’m aware a few things probably don’t make sense and I feel like it resolves a little too easy, but I think it’s not too bad :’)

Just wanted to have Dammek have a freak out, because he seems to be a really paranoid guy. Also I don’t honestly think he treats Xefros bad, just that Xefros has the predisposition to be a little hopeless.

So idk, I wanted to write something for it :’)))

A little long, it’s under a cut lol

Jude ran across the yard and jumped up the steps in twos, he had to get up to the attic. He had to see if Joey was still there. That she was okay.

He swung by his room to retrieve his dart gun. The flare gun would have been better, but being thoroughly exploded, he’d have to make due for now.

As he darted up the stairs, he could hear quite a ruckus from inside. Banging, shouting, crying. Was there a strife happening?

He took a breath to steady himself, then swung the door open with a bang.

He was startled by the sight of a boy with strange antlers completely destroying the attic. He was throwing Jude’s Pa’s various collections all over the place. He picked up a lamp and smashed it against the portal. He smashed several things against the portal.

He kicked and he screamed and he destroyed everything he could get his hands on. Finally, he fell to his side and broke down into pitiful sobs.

Jude looked about from a distance, but didn’t see Joey anywhere. His attention came back to the sobbing form, and decided to approach cautiously.

“I need to get back… I need to go home… Xefros… Poor, pitiful Xefros, stranded with all those drones…” Most of the boy’s sobbing was incomparable, but it seemed to cycle around like that, fretting about his friend.

Jude knew exactly how he felt. He wanted to know where his sister had gotten off to. He was desperately worried.

Still some feet away, Jude cleared his throat. The boy jumped up and backed towards the portal. Jude raised his hands, trying not to appear threatening.

“Uh, greetings! My name is Jude, and I-”

“WHAT’S YOUR ALLIANCE? WHAT IS YOUR BLOOD COLOR?!”

Jude hesitated for a moment. He didn’t really know what he meant.

“I have red blood? I don’t know what you mean by alliance. Unless you’re with those monsters outside.”

The antler boy got in a fighting stance. “Are you with the highbloods?! Send me back home!”

Jude faltered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. And… for that matter, where is my sister?” He readjusted, and stood firm. Maybe this intruder wasn’t going to be friendly after all.

“What’s a sister? No- nevermind that, I’m the one demanding answers, here. How do I reactivate the portal!” He moved closer, reaching for the gun in his strife specibus.

Jude moved for his dart gun as well. “I can’t activate the portal. Now, my sister. Joey. About yay so tall, green sparkle on her shirt, carries a flashlight.”

Now the antler boy hesitated. He looked him up and down suspiciously. “Hornless freak like you? Wears a jacket and a skirt?”

Jude nearly jumped at him hearing that. “YES! Yes, exactly! Where is she?”

There wasn’t an immediate answer. He looked away for a moment, then glanced back to Jude.

“What’s she like?”

“What?”

“Is she a good person? Is she strong? Resourceful?” Not getting an immediate response from a somewhat perplexed Jude, he sighed before elaborating. “I saw her when I was transported here. I believe she’s swapped places with me. She should be at my house.”

He clinched his fists and looked to the ground. “Will she be able to help Xefros? Will she hurt my lucus?”

Jude approached him sympathetically. “I don’t… know what a ‘lucus’ is, but…” The boy looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “She’s a clever one. And compassionate, too. I’m sure she could help your friend.”

He cleared his throat. “Um… but what about. Xerox? Was that what you called him?”

“Xefros.”

“Ah, sorry. What’s he like?”

He looked back down. “He’s… kind of pathetic. He can’t decide anything for himself, he needs me to tell him what to do all the time.” He looked back up. “He’s kind of hopeless, but he’s a good man. Really friendly. Too friendly, honestly.”

He shook his head. “He’s probably blathering all our plans to her as we speak. Which… is ironically a good thing, I guess?”

Jude laughed. “Yeah, I guess so! I mean, we were about ready to clobber each other just now. I bet they hit it off pretty easy.”

The stranger sighed and relaxed a bit. He glanced up at the human. “And you absolutely can not turn this machine on?”

Jude shook his head. “I’m assuming Joey has the key to it.”

The boy scratched the back of his head. “So the situation is, we need to get Joey back here, and get me home.” He smiled. “Guess we can be allies for now. The name’s Dammek.” He held out his hand cautiously.

They shook on it. “Allies.” Jude said.

And so they set out on plans for what to do next.

End note: PSA, I actually suspect that Dammek and Jude already know each other >:3

I have no idea how they’d communicate across the portal, but it’d explain how Jude could be so informed on strange things~

This fic obviously doesn’t represent that tho LOL

I also figure Dammek isn’t actually this zany… He looks like a chill dude, idk. But maybe he gets like this sometimes, and Xefros is the only person who can cure his paranoia hahahaha