Chapter Text
[Imogen Temult, 15 years old]
A clump of snow abandons the nest of thin branches and joins the blanket right below in a small pile, pristine and powdery.
It hasn't been two hours since sunrise; it's freezing out here, and no one ventures into the snowy plains of Geelvan on a Sunday morning except the truly bored and the truly bold. Imogen likes to consider herself both, and the former can be solved.
Winter hasn't been kind to the bushes, many of them thorny and none full of the berries Imogen and her friends were collecting and eating just a few months ago. Most wildlife has taken refuge or left for warmer fields, with only a handful of small critters daring to brave the subzero nights.
The world looks entirely different when the cold season arrives. It's a bit barren, a bit nostalgic; but Imogen feels a special kind of love for the snowy prairies, the white-tipped pine trees and rocks, the snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes, and even the mud caked to her boots by the time she makes it back home. There's always a thermos of hot chocolate and a blanket ready for her to sit by the fire and warm up.
Imogen adores Geelvan winters, and Geelvan winter seems to like Imogen right back.
This might be why she spots the fallen sycamore tree, a blackened patch among the snow, and why it proves to be the perfect hiding spot by the time the first barrage of snowballs starts flying. Her gloved fingers brush against the rough bark as she crouches, free hand digging in the snow to retrieve an imperfect sphere she starts to work on. Expertly, a true master of the craft. Perfect weight and balance, perfect roundness, perfect solidity. It will fly in the intended arc, catch the adequate speed and hit heavy, but not too heavy.
Armed with the perfect projectile, Imogen peeks around the serpentine roots, half holding strong, half sticking up in the air, and aims carefully. Her arm tenses, and something solid collapses against her side with an 'oof', making the snowball fall with a sad, dull thud to the ground. Imogen, winter's beloved, falls along with it.
There's a brief moment of confusion, cushioned between the gelid powdery snow and a soft, warm body.
Imogen glares up, breath misting in the cold air as she props herself up on an elbow. She finds herself face-to-face with Laudna, who looks equally startled.
Laudna is staring down at her, wide-eyed and caught off guard, hands clawing at the snow at both sides of Imogen's body.
The first thing Imogen notices is that Laudna isn't wearing gloves or a scarf—just a coat. It’s as if she hadn't planned on staying out for long. Imogen has the absurd urge to blow warmth back into her fingers and loop her own scarf around Laudna's neck. It happens in all of two seconds—Laudna falls back on her ass and starts crawling away from her like she'll catch her stupidity or unexpected gay feelings before her next thought.
Her second thought is that Laudna is going to get them pelted. That won't do for Imogen, snowfighter extraordinaire and queen of winter battles since she outgrew baby mittens. She hisses, "Stay down, you'll get us caught!" and pulls Laudna back under cover by the back of her coat.
It means Laudna's back is pressed against her front and Imogen's arm is around her body, safely tucked in the shadow of the fallen sycamore. It must take Laudna by surprise because she doesn't get shoved off or elbowed in the stomach. Laudna just stands there, shivering against Imogen—a full-body shiver that somehow ends up crawling up Imogen's spine in turn. Well, of course Laudna would be cold.
With exasperation she can pretend to feel only for others, Imogen undoes the loop around her neck and holds the scarf for Laudna to take.
"What am I supposed to do with that?"
"It's cold," Almost expecting to hear Laudna's teeth chatter, Imogen rolls her eyes and drapes the scarf over her shoulders. The cold breeze hits her throat but, she tells herself, she's one of the bold ones. Geelvan winter and Imogen Temult are old friends catching up.
"And you are immune to the cold, huh?"
Imogen lets go when she feels Laudna pulling at the arm around her, turning to face Imogen with the lilac scarf hanging limply over her shoulders. Ah, what she wouldn't give to truly understand where all this animosity stems from.
"Why are you being so difficult? Do you enjoy givin' me headaches?" Imogen goes back to crafting her next perfect snowball.
"Maybe I do," Laudna responds, like it's as simple as that, and pulls one end of the scarf over her opposite shoulder. Her nose is buried now in warm yarn, and Imogen takes the win the second Laudna settles down in her own skin.
"What on earth are you doing, anyway?"
Imogen checks her snowball with a critical eye before offering it to Laudna.
"War," she replies. Laudna takes it with a quirked eyebrow.
"War," she repeats, and Imogen nods solemnly reaching for more snow to pack in her hands. "You are such a moron."
Laudna snorts, setting the snowball next to Imogen and working on another one herself. Imogen ignores the fact her hands must be freezing, it's not her problem after all.
"I hear you," comes Fearne sing-song voice, close. Too close. Imogen tenses up, taking stock of the meager defenses she's managed to prepare, not nearly as armed as she's used to being. Her fingers dig in the soggy soil under a piece of bark and swipe a muddy line across one of her cheeks.
They'll never take her alive.
"Gotcha!"
Out of nowhere, in a flurry of movement, Fearne pops out from behind the line of pine trees and a snowball hits Imogen square on her war-painted cheek. Little bits and pieces stick to her skin and slide down to her naked throat. Imogen's pride hurts, but she's a trained warrior. Both of her perfect snowballs land on Fearne's shoulder and stomach in quick succession before ducking under cover as Fearne disappears into the tree line.
"C'mere, you coward!" Imogen yells at the forest edge, no reply comes her way, but a clump of snow does. It doesn't hit her; the sloppy craftsmanship causes it to disintegrate before reaching its target.
"Show your face, asshole!" Fearne giggles from somewhere farther away. Imogen grabs some snow and prowls. "It's over, Calloway. I have the high ground," two heads peek out and Imogen doesn't wait to identify the targets. One snowball flies and hits Dorian in the middle of his face, Fearne scurries away.
All hell breaks loose.
---
Imogen is 27 hits in. There's only one contender left with as many points. Orym is still going strong, and Imogen needs to take him out if she wants to be crowned this year.
The sun creeps higher in the sky, the glare of the snow in her eyes is almost blinding as she looks out from the trees and into the barren plains. They have been sneaking and circling each other for the last 60 minutes.
Their friends have already gathered in the front porch of Orym's home, where his parents had left the thermos with tea and hot chocolate. There's an entire pie waiting for Orym, but he's not being swayed by it. Ashton is shoving cupcakes into their face, Fearne clapping excitedly at something Dorian is saying.
Imogen's eyes zero in on Laudna, who seems to be listening to Dorian's story, hand covering her mouth but laughter reaching her eyes. The scarf isn't there. It's nowhere to be seen. Imogen grumbles, ready to turn around and continue her hunt.
Laudna catches her eye just then. They stare at each other for a few seconds, something like mischief dancing around Laudna's features. Imogen is just a tiny bit entranced and almost misses her subtle side glance.
There.
That's where he is. Adrenaline floods her system, and Imogen ducks lower, creeping through snow-capped branches, as close to the ground as she dares. Orym is looking for her, his eyes way sharper than Imogen's own, but Imogen and winter team up. A solid hit to the back of his green beanie and Orym turns, dumbfounded.
"No way," he says. Imogen raises her arms in victory. "But you were there!"
Imogen follows his line of sight and sees it, peeking from behind a tree trunk.
Her scarf.
---
"That was sneaky," Imogen observes, back against the side of the building. Everyone is spreading out, ready to go back to their homes, bellies full of food and hot beverages and spirits high.
"Excuse me?"
"The scarf trick," Imogen clarifies, a small half-smile plays on Laudna's lips for a moment. "I was gonna get him, y'know."
"Yes, Temult. I'm aware. You're just so very capable," Laudna puts so much solemnity in her words, it ends up dripping pure sarcasm.
"Here," Imogen holds the scarf in her index, like an offer. "Keep it. As a token, a memory. Whatever."
Laudna actually takes it, Imogen is not expecting that. She's pulled along with the scarf. Her traitorous feet take a step closer. They're nose to nose. Laudna doesn't pull away.
"Can I kiss you?" asks her traitorous tongue.
"I don't know, can you?" Laudna retorts, eyes darting to Imogen's mouth.
Turns out, she can. Laudna's hand clings to the side of Imogen's coat, her lips chapped with cold, her chest full of warmth.
Imogen Temult loves Geelvan winter. Geelvan winter gives her favorite child the best gift she's ever had.
---
[Ashton Greymoore, 18 years old]
The fluorescent lights buzz loudly and stab right through Ashton’s eyes. Somewhere in the vicinity, someone slams a locker door with the kind of animosity more fitting for a one-on-one with the coddled assholes from the Starpoint Conservatory.
“Rough night, Greymoore?”
Ashton glances over one shoulder, ready to snap back. The expression on his face melts into amused annoyance when Orym’s face pops into view.
“Mondays suck,” it’s more of a mumble than anything else, but Orym catches it and laughs all the same. “We need a three-day weekend. One for catching up with chores and homework, one for drinking ourselves stupid and actually going out, maybe even enjoying life.”
“And the third for recovery,” Orym adds solemnly, even though Ashton has yet to see him drink anything other than a soda.
“The third for recovery,” Ashton echoes, almost reverent.
“I’m impressed. If I hadn’t seen you glaring at the ceiling and ready to bite Andy’s head off for slamming his locker,” he points upwards with his index finger and then at the door out of the changing room with his thumb. So, it was Andy. Ashton doesn’t really like him for completely unrelated reasons. Maybe it’s time they had a word. “… I wouldn’t have known you were nursing a headache. You did really well out there.”
“Thanks, man. You weren’t too bad yourself.”
Orym gives them a nod, clapping their shoulder, leaning in and lowering his volume.
“I’d have kicked your ass. You’re lucky we don’t spar on Mondays.”
Ashton’s grin comes in full force, headache and heaviness temporarily put aside.
“There’s always Tuesday,” they whisper back, grabbing their jacket and duffle bag and looping an arm around Orym’s impressive shoulders. For a guy with shorter bones, he certainly has some muscle.
Orym laughs again; there’s no venom in their jabs. They respect each other too much for that. The lull in conversation, welcome as it is since silence is absolute bliss right now, only lasts until they get to the double doors.
Yu is always among the last people to emerge from the changing room. Ashton knows perfectly well because so are they. But Yu doesn’t make a habit of loitering around, still sweaty and barely out of gear, when everyone else has already showered and changed.
It takes all of three seconds to figure out why.
Standing there, her face clearly warming up at whatever Yu’s told her, stands Laudna, who promised to meet Ashton after Monday practice. They stand there, Orym still trapped by Ashton’s heavy arm, stopping next to him, and looking from Laudna to Yu, from Yu to Laudna, with the most skeptical look on his face.
“What’s going on here?” Ashton asks, not even bothering in feigning nonchalance. This is weird.
“Just talking,” Yu replies easily, shrugging her shoulders.
Ashton’s eyes land on Laudna, heavy, as their lips stretch into a smirk.
“Talking, huh?”
Orym, who has been silently trying to read the interaction up until this point, pulls from the headlock and slowly angles his body between Ashton and Yu.
“Laudna mentioned she might like to watch us spar sometime, maybe even come to a tournament,” Yu says, clearly excited at the idea, and Laudna’s face goes one shade darker.
Ashton’s grin is feral; they can feel it in their voice as their eyes go wide on their childhood friend’s.
“Really?”
“Yeah!” Yu turns back to Laudna, completely unaware of the tone. “I could pick you up,” and then she turns back to Ashton, owlish eyes on them. “Or we could all go there together; it would be fun.”
Ashton snorts a laugh, Orym gives them a side glance, and Yu’s smile becomes a hopeful grin once again.
“Of course! Since Laudna would love to watch us throw punches at each other like… what was the expression, Spooky?”
Laudna cuts them off before the words “primates in heat” can leave their lips, clinging to the arm that wasn’t imprisoning Orym with a very loud peal of laughter.
“Don’t mind Ashton, they can be a bit snippy,” Ashton jumps a little at the pinch at their side, rubbing the spot with the same infuriating grin on their face. Laudna doesn’t seem to appreciate it. “And rather difficult to love when hungover.”
“Ah, shucks. Yeah, hangovers are the worst. Sorry to hear that. Anyway, I better go take that shower. It was really nice to see you, Laud!”
Laudna’s smile grows a bit too sweet for it to be authentic, she’s uncomfortable; but Ashton has been around this woman since they were kids. He hopes Yu doesn’t catch it, she doesn’t seem to notice it. He makes note of it, to ask when they’re alone.
“Good practice, Suffiad. See you on Wednesday!”
Orym bumps a fist to hers and she goes with a quick wave over her shoulder for the rest, almost walking into a row of lockers. Ashton tries not to openly laugh when Laudna starts pulling him out of the room and shoulders the doorframe. He wonders if the lack of spatial awareness comes with the gay territory.
“That was… tense. All good between you guys?”
Orym nods his head towards the room they just left, and Laudna huffs a breath.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s just interesting how Laudna suddenly likes boxing after all these years,” realization washes over Orym’s face, and he tentatively eyes Laudna.
“It’s called being polite,” she defends with an exasperated eyeroll.
“Sure, sure!”
“Shut it. Still up for grabbing some coffees?”
Orym pats Ashton’s back and skips two steps ahead.
“I’ll leave you guys to your plans,” he gives Laudna’s shoulder a soft squeeze.
“Why don’t you join us, Orym?” Laudna says, and Ashton looks at her. Her back is a bit tense, and she’s holding Orym’s gaze with some sort of emotion Ashton can’t read.
“You sure? I really don’t wanna intrude.”
Laudna waves a hand, apparently nonplussed.
“You’re not intruding. They have great oolong tea, if you prefer that. My treat, it is Monday after all. It’s our little tradition.”
Ashton looks at Orym, who is looking at Laudna, uncertainty or something other animal of the kind palpable from both of them.
“I do like tea, oolong sounds great,” he gives a tentative smile and Laudna returns it with one of her own.
“C’mon, time to rehydrate,” Ashton decides to put them both out of their misery and starts walking, Laudna’s hand still attached to his bicep. And before anyone can object what counts and what doesn’t as hydration, they add: “Can’t wait to see the look on the staff’s faces when you ask for orders for three.”
---
[Laudna Briarwood, 18 years old]
The staff, as Laudna predicted, is way too busy to pay attention to the number of orders she puts in. Ashton sips his nitro cold brew, extra black, and Laudna nurses her lavender latte while she waits to see Orym’s reaction to the oolong tea.
“This is delicious,” Orym looks very pleased, and Laudna allows herself to feel a hint of pride at that. “Thank you, Laudna. For the tea and the recommendation. This place is great.”
“Laudna has a knack for finding the best drinks,” Ashton cheers with his own cup, and Laudna silently raises hers, a small smile playing on her lips.
“You know, this is a nice change of pace. Usually, Fearne is the one dragging me to these places,” Laudna sees Ashton physically lean in closer to Orym at the mere mention of Fearne, and tries to control the way her eyes try to roll into the back of her skull.
Ashton has been her friend for as long as she cares to remember. Laudna knows them like the back of her own hand. Sometimes, she swears they share a mind. The thing is, Ashton is absolutely and atrociously smitten when it comes to Fearne.
“Except, most of the drinks are terrible in a diabetes-inducing kind of way,” Orym takes another sip, his eyes positively lighting up.
“We should invite her, next time. They have some atrocity called Unicorn Frappuccino that sounds right up her alley,” Laudna says, voice betraying nothing.
Ashton shifts a bit in their seat, curiously catching Laudna’s eye.
Laudna wanted Orym to join them because he’s proven to be a great guy, and Ashton has always spoken very highly of him. He’s fun to be around, minds his own business and understands loyalty, three paramount traits in Laudna’s book. But Laudna would be lying if she said there wasn’t an underlying reason for this sudden change of plans.
Ashton needs a chance to learn a bit more about the girl, and Laudna can only take so much of the lovesick puppy eyes without at least trying to help. She’s not an experienced “wingman” by any means, but it can’t be that complicated. Ashton is the best person she knows, and if Fearne doesn’t jump at the opportunity, then she doesn’t deserve him. Laudna hopes the bad taste in beverages doesn’t translate to her romantic interests.
“That sounds heinous,” Orym agrees. “She will love it.”
Ashton takes mental notes, even though he has known about Fearne’s sugar addiction since they were 10 and she got sick from eating too much chocolate cake.
Laudna also knows this because Fearne was one of the first to try and befriend her when she was still the new kid in town. After Fearne had gotten sick, Laudna had diligently taken extra detailed notes and delivered homework for Fearne to Nana Morri.
“We’ll invite the girls next time,” Orym says, and Laudna’s brain is snapped away from the memories and pulled into the here and now.
The girls. That’s Fearne and Imogen. Not that Laudna was expecting any different, but the idea of sharing her favorite coffee shop with Imogen Temult both thrills and irks her. Orym looks so very hopeful, it’s actually endearing.
Oh, well. Sacrifices in the name of friendship.
---
[Imogen Temult, 18 years old]
“I couldn’t care less which of the two of you started that,” Professor Allura says in a tone that reminds Imogen of her dad when ‘he’s not mad, just disappointed’. She fights a grimace. Laudna looks appalled.
“I want that report on my desk next Monday. You are dismissed, girls.”
---
“I can do it. I’ll take care of it,” Laudna states, fully convinced.
“I won’t just have you do my homework. We can work together on a 5-page project. You won’t even have to look my way.”
Imogen wonders what possessed her to be so optimistic about it.
They’ve been trying to work on this for two of the longest hours she’s ever had to endure. Laudna is in a really foul mood, they keep butting heads, the project looks like it’s further from completion than it’s ever been.
Every time they seem to be making some progress, Laudna huffs and deletes the entire paragraph.
“We can’t justify that, it’s violence for the sake of violence, why would we even try?”
“Lemme see if I can remember why,” Imogen stands up from her bed, pacing in a semi-circle around the chair Laudna is occupying in front of her laptop. “You sent a note, I replied being perfectly cordial, you called me a moron—again, mind you—and I drew a dick.”
Laudna bares her teeth, the memory stoking the fire.
“We got caught, and now we’re stuck together justifyin’ civil war.”
“You’re such an asshole,” Laudna mumbles. Imogen leans back against the desk, arms crossed over her stomach.
“You’re no ray of sunshine either, darlin’.”
“Call me that one more time,” Laudna is on her feet and in Imogen’s bubble, but she doesn’t even flinch. Her stomach does twist into knots and her heart might have leaped once or twice, but she doesn’t flinch.
Imogen stares dead into Laudna’s eyes, smiles a crooked smile and leans in just barely.
“… darling.”
The thinner hand on the wall clock ticks, Imogen is dying to take in the details of Laudna’s face. The line between her eyebrows, the spasm of muscle on her jaw, the curl of her lip, the blush spreading through her face. She doesn’t. Her eyes stay hooked to Laudna’s, waiting to see which one will crumble.
Laudna takes a step back, breathes deep, sits back on the chair.
“Let’s divide this up. I’ll handle the economic impacts; you can work on social implications.”
“Nope,” Imogen replies; she sees Laudna close her eyes and maybe send a prayer for patience.
“We are going nowhere like this,” Laudna looks up to meet her eyes, the sweetest smile on her face. Totally fake, of course. “We can’t fail this project because you are too goddamn stubborn. This way, we both get to add our contributions, don’t need to argue over every single standpoint for hours on end and maybe, if we are very, very lucky, we will have something to give Professor Vysoren next week.”
Imogen smiles back, hums. Like she’s considering it. She’s not considering it.
“Why did you call me a moron?”
“Oh, for f*ck’s sake.” Laudna throws her hands up, lets her head fall against the headrest of the chair. “Why did you send me a dick?”
Imogen, a certified dumbass, giggles. Laudna fights off a smile, she clears her throat.
“It was a good one,” Laudna snorts this time, giving her a look.
“Like you would know.”
They fall into silence, eyes searching for a moment, Imogen feels herself smile genuinely and kinda hates it. Maybe because she’s too busy being absolutely stupid and letting her guard down, the slam of a door downstairs startles her so bad, her elbow hits the bookshelf.
Relvin’s worried voice reaches them too muffled to make up any words. Imogen frowns, hand over her elbow, and opens the door just a smidge.
“I won’t let those people threaten me or my family, Rel.”
“You can’t just drive up there and get in Briarwood’s face, Lil, please be reasonable!”
“What the f*ck am I supposed to do then? Huh? Let that woman hurt my daughter? Be happy when she only sabotages her future?"
Imogen’s house is small by most standards, and she doesn’t mind that at all normally. Right now, watching Laudna’s eyes grow and round up in her face, she wishes the place was nine stories high.
“Are they talking about Delilah?”
The door clicks closed and the voices are once again unintelligible background noise.
“No idea,” Imogen lies, and learns what Laudna’s mouth looks like when she’s truly disgusted.
“Why is she threatening your family?”
Laudna waits, Imogen avoids her eyes. She has heard a lot about Laudna’s adoptive mother in the last few years, even more in the last few months. At some point, what had started as a pain in the ass for Liliana at the firm had morphed into a bigger and bigger day-to-day problem when she refused to work with Delilah Briarwood.
The woman was smart and relentless, with a ridiculous amount of resources and contacts, and she was putting it all into making Liliana miserable.
“It’s somethin’ work related,” Imogen finally confesses. “I don’t know the details, but Mama refused to represent Delilah’s interests and she’s been unhappy about that for years.”
Laudna takes in the information in silence, Imogen chances a glance her way and sees anger melting away from her face and giving room to something much colder, something Imogen’s unfamiliar with.
“It’s not like she’s really gonna come after me. Mama is a bit hot-headed; she’s known for not puttin’ up with sh*t,” she tries to laugh it off, but Laudna’s attention shifts to her and it paralyzes her on the spot. There’s no laughter in her gaze.
“Delilah doesn’t just say things,” Laudna states, and Imogen feels her shoulders tense and the hairs in the back of her neck stand on end. “Be careful.”
Imogen nods slowly, not sure about how to feel about that, coming from the girl living in Delilah’s house.
“Did she ever…?”
“No,” Laudna cuts her off, and Imogen immediately knows she’s overstepped.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I am, I’m sorry your family is having to put up with this from her, I hope…”
Laudna falls silent, Imogen waits but she doesn’t pick the thread of thought back up. Instead, she shakes her head and rolls herself back to the desk.
“We can work on the different parts and then meet before Monday to put it all together, I can drop by whenever.”
Imogen nods, not quite sure what to do with the weird atmosphere growing stagnant in the bedroom. Laudna swirls around to look at her.
“Yes. Yeah, sure, that’s fine with me.”
“Great.”
Laudna gathers her things and carefully arranges them in her backpack, in no particular hurry but not particularly relaxed either. Outside, the pickup engine starts and one or both of her parents drive off who knows where to. Imogen focuses on not being in the way while Laudna gets her coat, and just walking a step behind when she makes for the front door.
They stand a bit awkwardly, neither really knowing what to say. What are you supposed to say in these circ*mstances? It was fun? Hope your mother isn’t as bad as you’re making her out to be? Do you want to stay here? Imogen lifts her eyes from her own feet, Laudna’s face is pure neutrality.
“If you ever need…”
Laudna sighs and looks so much older all of a sudden. Imogen feels the cold hand in her chest tighten into a fist and clog her airways a little bit.
“Look, I appreciate what you’re doing. I really do. But you have nothing to worry about on my behalf.”
“Okay,” Imogen says quietly, and Laudna gives her arm the smallest squeeze.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Laudna leaves the house and, for the first time, Imogen has to fight the protective need to walk her home. Like Laudna’s ‘home’ isn’t the place that causing her worries.
Imogen thinks she may be a little bit of moron after all, but she grabs her jacket and runs after Laudna. She walks her home that time, and every time they find themselves together after that.
Laudna never once tries to convince her not to do it.
---
[Laudna Briarwood, 21 years old]
Dorian Storm created the group "Chaos Crew"
Dorian S. changed Orym A. A.'s name to "🔥 Pocket Fighter 🔥"
Dorian S. changed their name to "Dashing D"
🔥 Pocket Fighter 🔥: What is this?
Dashing D: Party planning time! I'm so excited to see y'all again!
🔥 Pocket Fighter 🔥: I mean the nickname, sweetheart.
Dashing D: 🥰💙
Ashton G. changed their name to "rockstar 🤘"
rockstar 🤘 changed Laudna B.'s name to "fun scary spooks 👻"
rockstar 🤘: man im so ready
Fearne C. changed their name to "wildfire"
rockstar 🤘 changed wildfire's name to "hotstuff"
hotstuff: aww babe 😏🔥💚
rockstar 🤘: kitchen emergency theres water everywhere come fast its again
hotstuff: brb
Imogen T. changed their name to "winter queen"
fun scary spooks 👻: No.
fun scary spooks 👻 changed winter queen's name to "Temult"
Temult: what the f*ck laudna??
fun scary spooks 👻: Maybe when you truly earn the crown.
Temult: IT'S BEEN SIX YEARS!
fun scary spooks 👻: I'm perfectly aware.
---
Dashing D.: 20:00 tonight?
rockstar 🤘: well be at nana morris in 20 tops
rockstar 🤘: can be there by 2030
Dashing D.: It's only 13:30, what do you mean?
hotstuff: my old room ensuite has a huge bathtub 😊
fun scary spooks 👻: A long bath sounds wonderful right now. 💦
hotstuff: exactly 😏😏😏
rockstar 🤘: laud not what you think it means
Temult: lmfao
fun scary spooks 👻: Everything is with you guys.
fun scary spooks 👻: Spare me the gutter brain, and the mental images.
hotstuff: but they're so good Laud, so good
fun scary spooks 👻: No.
Temult: fearne, please???
fun scary spooks 👻: Why would you make anyone picture their naked sibling?
Temult: laudna, please.
rockstar 🤘: why are you thinking of me naked weirdo
fun scary spooks 👻: I'm not.
Temult: please. PLEASE.
fun scary spooks 👻: No need to beg, Temult.
🔥 Pocket Fighter 🔥: Guys, can we please focus?
Dashing D: Thank you 🫠
Temult: i'll be there. bringing some beer and snacks.
fun scary spooks 👻: I'll be there after bleaching my brain.
🔥 Pocket Fighter 🔥: We good with pizzas?
Temult: perfect.
fun scary spooks 👻: Yes.
🔥 Pocket Fighter 🔥: Ash? Fearnie?
🔥 Pocket Fighter 🔥: Guys?
🔥 Pocket Fighter 🔥: The hell are you guys doing?
Temult: nope. don't ask. never ask.
hotstuff: can we have icecream? 🥺
Temult: oh thank god...
fun scary spooks 👻: Ice-cream. Noted.
rockstar 🤘: see you in a few hours
---
[Fearne Calloway, 21 years old]
Fearne Calloway created the group "💸🤑"
Fearne C.: both gone, has anyone seen them?
Dorian S.: No, didn't see them leave either.
Dashing D: If they're sucking face in my childhood bedroom, I might throw up.
Orym A. A.: They left, but Imogen's car is still out there. Did Laudna drive here?
Fearne C.: no, we picked her up
Fearne C.: should we do a perimeter check? 🤔
Ashton G.: babe no
Fearne C.: babe yes
Fearne C.: guys I found them
Fearne C.: you're not gonna believe this
Fearne C.: someone's gonna need to tell ginny her shirt's on backwards 💀💀💀
Orym A. A.: Not me.
Dorian S.: Hard pass.
Ashton G.: cowards
---
[Imogen Temult, 21 years old]
“Well, you certainly become this overheated greedy octopus,” Laudna gives her a look that ignites her blood in the worst possible way, “and hog the blankets.” There’s a brief pause, Imogen’s molars clack together when she finally closes her mouth. Before she knows it, she has spoken.
“You sleep with your eyes open.”
“You drool.”
Imogen sneers.
“You snore.”
“I do not,” Laudna has crowded her personal space at some point. There’s distraction in the way her lips curl, showing teeth.
“But you do, princess.”
A lovely blush of undiluted homicidal rage crawls through Laudna’s cheeks, the thin vessels dilating under her skin along with Imogen’s own pupils. Laudna’s chest raises against her, stills for the longest second of her entire life, and then, mercifully, releases.
“Sometimes I can’t decide if I want to claw your eyes out or your clothes off,” are the words she uses her held breath for, and Imogen takes immense pleasure in the fact that Laudna has to look up through her lashes to hold her gaze.
This duality is as good as it gets for them, she supposes. A half smile touches her lips, Laudna’s eyes following the movement. Imogen takes one long, steady breath, mentally preparing as if to approach a wild animal. Calm but assured.
“And what are my odds right now?”
One of her hands pushes gently on Laudna’s stomach, and they both take a step in the same direction.
“I would say, 50-50.”
Imogen’s voice drops half an octave as she hums, giving a brief glance downwards at herself. She pushes, Laudna gives.
“I think clothes might be easier at the moment.”
Another step forward and Laudna takes one backwards, distracted the second Imogen makes a soft tsk sound. Laudna’s expression is still positively murderous, but her eyes have started to wander from Imogen’s. To her neck, her ears, her mouth.
“You only have two eyes,” Laudna observes, brilliantly, and Imogen gives a slight shrug of her shoulders before pulling on the back of her shirt. It’s off her and on the ground now, which means only one article of clothing on her person.
“What about those odds now?”
Laudna is openly staring, no sign of the internal struggle that’s probably happening inside her head under all that façade of anger. Imogen makes her own evaluation and thinks it’s maybe closer to a 70-30, if the way Laudna’s attention catches on the bite marks along her collarbone is anything to go by.
“I can multitask,” comes out of Laudna, a bit too breathy. Imogen slides careful fingers around her still covered hip, where she knows for a fact, she left bruises in the shape of her digits. The muscle there tenses and then relaxes, Imogen’s touch remains gentle for now.
“Oh, honey,” she drawls, pushing one more time and holding still when the back of Laudna’s knees hit the edge of the mattress. “I’m well aware.”
---
[Laudna Briarwood, 21 years old]
Imogen is late. Not particularly surprising, not that Laudna cares one bit. But everyone is here, and Imogen is late.
"I'll go for my usual," Fearne mutters, and Ashton nods. He's in charge of taking everyone's orders today.
Orym and Laudna go for some hibiscus iced tea and Dorian commits to the iced chai latte. Laudna feels the urge to laugh when he comes back with two Unicorn Frappuccinos; passes one of the colorful concoctions to Fearne and starts sipping from his.
"So, Laud." They all turn to look at her, she takes her tea from the tray, eyebrow arched at Dorian. He smiles. "Do I need to ask, or are you finally gonna tell us what's going on with you and Ginny?"
"Nothing is going on with me and 'Ginny', except her family is going through hell dealing with my dearest mother's mess," Ashton sighs, shaking his head.
"Never-ending nightmare, that one. But Dorian means the other thing. Not big corps and lawyers." Laudna gives her best friend a side glance, a hint of betrayal in it. "Don't you dare, Spooks, you shouldn't have kept me in the dark about this and I'd totally have your back right now."
"You bought Fearne an engagement ring on a Friday morning and gave it to her that same evening because you couldn't keep a secret from her," Fearne soothes the sting of Laudna's words by rubbing a hand on Ash's shoulder.
"So, there is a secret," Orym mentions casually.
Dorian's entire face brightens up like a child on Christmas morning. "Spill the beans already," he whines. "We've been dying to know for years."
"There are no beans to spill," Laudna makes sure her voice doesn't get high pitched and panicked.
"But if there were, you'd tell us," Orym sips from his tea, Laudna senses something behind all this curiosity.
"If you have somehow made a game out of this," and her attention falls heavily on Dorian, whose eyes go wide like saucers. "If you have one of those nefarious bets going on..."
"Us?! No!"
"No, no, no. We would never."
"Spooky, you hurt me."
"It's nothing that big."
Orym shrugs his shoulders, Laudna is glaring holes in his skull. Her voice comes out a little flat.
"What?"
"It's not that big a deal," Orym defends. "You guys did it for us," he holds his open hand to Dorian, and then waves in Ashton and Fearne's direction. "You made some money with the engagement ring incident yourself. Imogen still has coffee vouchers from when they got together."
"It's not the same!" Laudna gestures wildly among them. "Just because you decided to hold hands and fall in love doesn't mean we are smooching in secret."
"So what you're saying," Dorian starts, apparently remembering he's allowed to hold hands with Orym and threading his fingers through his. "Is that it hasn't happened yet."
Laudna rolls her eyes, "it has, not in secret, you all saw us when it did."
"Dares don't count," Ashton helpfully comments, "but you're welcome, by the way," which earns him an unimpressed look.
"And never again?" Dorian prods, Laudna feels her face heat up just a bit, hopes it passes off as frustration. "Not even when you two disappeared for like an hour last week? Or the week before that? Or the day of the party?"
"Okay, you made your point. Why are you so obsessed with getting Imogen and me together?"
"Together for what?" Imogen asks, casually plopping down on the only empty seat. Right by Laudna.
Imogen is wearing a dress. Laudna has never once seen her in a dress before. It activates Laudna's manual breathing, she suddenly doesn't know what normal people do with their hands.
"For coffee," Orym jumps from his seat, Dorian gives him puppy eyes when he lets go of his hand.
Imogen looks at him, and then at the rest of her friends. "What's going on?"
"Nothing!" Ashton offers his phone displaying a list of options. Imogen stares at him for two seconds until he starts fidgeting. Laudna hopes he's sweating and suffering.
"Okaaay." She takes the phone and picks something from the menu. Ashton is all too happy to leave the table to grab Imogen's drink.
Fearne offers her multicolored monstrosity to Imogen, who accepts it with a smile. Laudna looks towards Imogen in her adorable yellow summer dress. Thinks less adorable thoughts. Fiddles a bit with one earring, lets the memories from just two days ago sit with her until her jeans start to feel tight and uncomfortable. Right then, she speaks.
"They think we f*ck in secret," and nods towards their friends. Imogen quite literally chokes on Unicorn Frappuccino, Orym offers her a napkin. Everyone is staring at Laudna like she grew a second head.
"They what?" Imogen finally rasps out. "What the f*ck?"
"There's a bet going on," Laudna supplies, turning back to her tea.
"A bet?!" Imogen's face is a bit wild; her ears are red.
Laudna sips loudly from her almost finished drink. Their friends have the decency to look embarrassed this time. Fearne recovers her Unicorn and hides behind it. Dorian looks at his hands and Orym rubs the back of his head.
"It's just an innocent thing," Orym defends.
"Well, just because you guys decided to be all lovey-dovey with each other doesn't mean everyone else has to."
"That's exactly what I said," Laudna nods. Imogen huffs a breath. She's a good liar, Laudna thinks to herself, absolutely nailing the offended look.
Time stretches into the couple minutes of silence, friends chastised and fidgety.
"I'm just curious," Imogen starts. "What were the bets, exactly?"
Ashton, who finally made it back and sat beside Fearne, snuggling into her shoulder, looks ready to bolt again.
"Well," Dorian takes the bait, gives his boyfriend a look. "Orym said you started seeing each other after last week at the pub. Fearne thinks since high school," Fearne lifts her empty cup at that. "I said the party, the last one after graduation," he's a bit sheepish about that, Imogen lets it slide. "Ashton said forever, I don't know if that counts, but we agreed he gets the earlier date possible. Do you want just ours or everyone else's too?"
"Wait, who is 'everyone else'?" Laudna finally asks, breaking her brief vow of silence.
Dorian starts calculating something in his mind, "I mean, you don't expect me to remember everyone and their numbers," he chuckles and misses Imogen's deadly glare.
Laudna doesn't. She openly stares at the way Imogen's jaw twitches. Can almost taste the venom pooling on her tongue.
It's a good look on her.
---
[Imogen Temult, 21 years old]
Imogen is not, and has never been, a religious person. By any means.
The whole idea of divinity, some holier than thou something judging all her acts, her intentions? It leaves a sour taste in her mouth. The divide between good and evil, the blacks and whites, has always felt too constricting.
Divinity as a concept still feels foreign to her, but during this summer, Imogen has become acquainted with worship.
It would be a disservice to go for anything below that, she considers, as Laudna’s fingers pull at her hair, Imogen’s own buried to the second knuckle in her c*nt. Her mouth, up until this point barely touching skin, is immediately on Laudna’s nipple. Her teeth catch and pull, and her tongue soothes, Laudna seems temporarily appeased.
Worship demands patience, or so she’s been told. Imogen tries to pace herself, keeping a slow and steady rhythm. She reluctantly removes herself from Laudna’s tit*, taking a moment to press open-mouthed kisses to the column of her neck.
Laudna doesn’t seem to appreciate patience, worship or religion at all.
A sound like a wounded animal’s leaves her parted lips and Imogen would have rolled her eyes if not for the distraction of her own heart beating between her thighs. Instead, she bites and punishes, pulling out and drawing lazy circles over Laudna’s cl*t.
Laudna, far from submitting, whimpers again, hips chasing some non-existent friction. Imogen’s free hand flies to Laudna’s mouth, doing a really poor job at trying to keep her quiet. They’re barely accessory, applying no pressure at all. Just for show.
If there are gods out there, her parents won’t choose today of all days to call it in early. Laudna, being the absolute demon that she is, takes three of Imogen’s fingers into her mouth and moans around them.
Imogen’s brain is suddenly full of static. If Laudna is trying to make a point by sucking her fingers, then Imogen must be the luckiest idiot in the world. Reasons aside, that’s the kind of behavior she’s willing to encourage.
Laudna gasps when Imogen frees her hand from her duty and from Laudna’s lips, leaning on an elbow to stare down at her.
“Keep pushing, Briarwood,” Imogen whispers, pressing back in. She fights to keep a shudder at bay at the easy slide, the warmth and the clenching muscles taking her in easily. They have roles to play, a dynamic to work with, or they won’t work at all.
Laudna’s hair is an absolute mess, her eyes are slightly unfocused, breathing labored, sweat clinging to her skin. Imogen has never seen anything more beautiful.
“See where that gets you,” Imogen holds her gaze for all of two seconds before she curls her fingers and drags them out, and Laudna’s eyes flutter closed.
“It’s not going so terribly for me,” Laudna rasps through a dry throat, and Imogen can’t believe this woman. This time, she thrusts hard and pins Laudna’s hip down.
“Don’t test me,” Imogen says against her lips, it comes out softer than she intends it to, but Laudna gives a feeble nod, her lower body fighting the weight Imogen’s hand and trying to chase the sensations. Imogen repeats the motion and, again, Laudna moans. This time against her lips, which means Imogen has to take a breath to compose herself and sound remotely human. “You’re pushing your luck today.”
Laudna doesn’t have a smart reply this time, and she’s nothing if not fair. Besides, Imogen thinks she might actually die if she doesn’t eat her out.
Laudna clenches around her the second Imogen starts kissing and biting her way down her body until she’s right above the hand holding Laudna’s hip.
Imogen sighs, a bit unsteady, but keeps the pace even when her arm’s muscles starts to burn. She pulls almost all the way out, fingertips dragging hard, and slams back into Laudna. And Laudna is being oddly complacent, the back of her nails moving along the nape of Imogen’s neck almost tenderly.
It all changes the moment Imogen’s tongue swipes upwards, licking a broad stripe from her own knuckles to Laudna’s cl*t. The fingernails at her neck dig in, Imogen is struggling to separate the slight burn from everything else happening to her body.
“f*ck, yes.”
Laudna’s taste and voice do weird things to her brain chemistry, something up there rewiring itself for the hundredth time this summer. Imogen groans against her, wet and messy, one arm wrapping itself around Laudna’s thigh and pulling her closer, and closer even. Laudna makes the neediest little noise, and Imogen adjusts the angle of her wrist to avoid straining her arm further. Thoughts feel fuzzy and hard to grasp, but Laudna’s hand on the back of her head is a great guide.
“Don’t stop.”
Imogen’s mouth does stop, on reverse command, hovering right above her cl*t, breath coming out in short bursts. She looks up at Laudna, finds the woman absolutely wrecked, and her entire body warms up to the point of uncomfortable at the sight. Laudna almost collapses back down, chest heaving.
“Imogen, I swear to f*cking God.”
Laudna is wound up so tight, there’s a bit of worry in the back of Imogen’s mind she’ll snap if she doesn’t get to work and makes her come. Her tongue presses down, Laudna relaxes and cards fingers through Imogen’s hair. Imogen’s go back to slow and steady, building up in pressure if not in speed. After a particularly rough thrust, she wraps her lips and suckles. By the second, third, fourth time, her world is muffled from any and all sounds with Laudna’s thighs against her ears, locking her head in place. Her fingers are almost forced to stillness, her tongue takes on a languid and soft movement, just enough stimulation to pull Laudna through without being overwhelming.
Laudna’s leg falls to the side at an angle, bent at the knee. Imogen has moved on to press kisses to the inside of the thigh she holds up.
“Come up here, I don’t think I can move,” Laudna pulls, and this time Imogen follows.
They kiss like they have their entire lives for it, like the clock isn’t ticking. At some point, Imogen removes her fingers, her hand stilling where it stands at the sharp nip at her lower lip. Laudna’s hips jump a bit against the pressure the first time, caught off guard by the need clawing at her so soon, but the next time they move, it’s slow and deliberate. Imogen’s mouth slants against Laudna’s in not quite a kiss and they both gasp for air, back to square one.
“On my face,” Laudna mumbles. Imogen barely catches it. “Up, now.”
They have four more days before the illusion is shattered and they must go their separate ways, to different lives in different cities. Imogen has given this more thought than she’d like to admit.
Laudna pulls her down against her mouth, and thoughts are gone, replaced by the vibrations of a groan and warmth.
There will be time for that later.
