#I just wanted to use the word potpourri okay

[nebulathunderwave]

Dreamy sigh as I rest on my A-Yao pillow and think about (warning: extremely specific headcanon ahead) ❄🏵 and dried flowers.

❄🏵 gifting each other flowers, and wanting to keep them forever, as a reminder of the other's presence when they have to go back to their clan and duties before having the chance to see each other again in months and months. J/G/Y keeping one of them dried between the pages and pages of his paperwork to allow himself to daydream about Zewu-jun for just a second. L/X/C making potpourri with the peonies to carry A-Yao's scent with him in his room.

[eardefenders]

Sherlock & Co - Mailbag Episode 2 Transcript

00:00-00:30 Intro Music

00:27-00:34 *Sounds of a violin playing fade in*

00:34 Sherlock: You see? You see what I mean?

00:37 John: I…don’t.

00:39 Sherlock: Listen! *scoffs* Listen, closely this time. Shh. *resumes playing the bit from the fade in*

00:43 John: Argh. *pause* For God’s sake.

*Sherlock keeps playing*

00:46 John: Sherlock, please mate. We’ve got questions to get through here.

*Sherlock keeps playing*

00:52 John: Maaaate. Matey, mate mate mate mate.

00:55 Sherlock: Did you hear it this time?

00:57 John: Yeah. Sure. Uhh, right. So let’s dive into the discord chat. The brand spanking new discord for Sherlock and Co members. Brimming with Stamfords, Irregulars, and Diogene-sohmy God. There’s thousands of messages. Um, right. Should probably been keeping tabs on those questions. All right I’m going to scroll up and pick one f-from um the sssixteenth of January. Here we go! Come on down…IdleVice! Uh, your question is, “If you could make a Spotify playlist for each other of your own favorite songs, what would some of the highlights be and would you be willing to share the playlists with us. Ooh hoohoho. Uuuhhm. I don’t know if I’d ever get around to actually, y’know, putting the playlist together, as, as such, but what I-I would get Sherlock to listen to. Ummm mmmm probably Elbow? Elbow are a band from the north of England. Uh, Salford I think. But they have, uh, a few strings sort of. I-I don’t know what it’s called-but, elements that involve violins. Um, and all that jazz. Heh. Uh well not jazz! Uh, literally, not jazz. Uh, yeah, Sherlock, what about me?

02:07 Sherlock: Hm?

02:08 John: If you could make a playlist of songs for me what would it be?

02:12 Sherlock: I probably would never do that, Watson.

02:16 John: Okay. Uh, could you expand on that?

02:19 Sherlock: It’s a task that I wouldn’t find that fulfil-Vivaldi.

02:23 John: Uhh, right. Vivaldi. Yep. Anything else pop into mind?

02:29 Sherlock: Pop.

02:31 John: Pop? Is that-what’s that?

02:33 Sherlock: It’s a genre of music.

02:35 John: Uh, right, you’d make a pop playlist for me?

02:38 Sherlock: I’d probably enlist Mrs. Hudson to do that.

02:41 John: Fair enough. And why pop?

02:43 Sherlock: Because it’s an abbreviation for ‘popular music’.

02:45 John: No, I know that.

02:47 Sherlock: You like popular culture, therefore pop music could very well be your cup of green tea.

02:54 John: It’s, it’s just cup of tea. Bu-uh-uh, well, okay, uh, thank you for that. Uh, back to the discord dudes and dudettes. Um, not that I was implying any kind of masculine energy to the use of the word dudes. Dudes will remain, uh, um, an-an-an-androgynous here. My…dudes. Bit like the word mate! I do throw it around. Ummm. Some people just think it’s for blokes. Don’t know why. Uh, anyway. Here we go. Leaf-onk, layff, layfonk? I hope I’m saying that right. Uh, Leif-Leif*onk* asks, ‘Has Sherlock ever hit a vape?”

03:28 Sherlock: Yes.

03:29 John: Lovely. They’d also like to know the flavor.

03:31 Sherlock: Menthol.

03:32 John: D-do you want to expand?

03:35 Sherlock: Mm, not really.

03:37 John: Did you like it?

03:38 Sherlock: It was satisfactory, I suppose.

03:41 John: *sighs* Another thrilling q and a session with the master detective. Here we go! Number one archie fan-He-he-heeyyy! Archie! Found your number one fan mate. Heh. Think they also go by potpourri. Not sure. Don’t really know how discord works because I was born in 1989. Anyway! Number one Archie fan asks, do you have a favorite classical piece? Or a favorite composer, perhaps?

04:05 Sherlock: Mozart, generally. Can often be tied to my mood. What about Vivaldi? You said Vivaldi earlier?

04:12 Sherlock: That was a recommendation to you.

04:14 John: But not you?

04:14 Sherlock: Definitely not.

04:16 John: Great.

04:17 Sherlock: Uh, Mozart, Bach, Tchaikovsky. But I am often driven by whatever phase I feel I’m in.

04:23 John: And we’re in a Mozart phase now, are we?

04:26 Sherlock: We are indeed.

04:27 John: Fab. Right, uh, Reeonk asks-ohkay, ok, I see what you’re doing now. Cause of. Cause of Jonk. Okahaha. Let’s all laugh at Jonk-John, I mean.

04:40 Sherlock: *laughs*

04:41 John (affectionately): Oh, ge-Shut up, you big idiot.

04:44 Sherlock: *still laughing*

04:45 John (affectionately annoyed): Shut it. Ha. Uhhhh, we’ll cut that bit. I swear to God. Right! Reonk, who I think also goes by Perfo, if I click here. But yes, as I was saying, millennial at the wheel. Sorry. Reonk’s first question, “Hey John, if you were an animal, what animal would you be?” Uhhhum, *clicks tongue* look, I’ve got to be something airborne. Um, uh I’m sorry, but I have to. Y-y-you can’t have the chance to fly and turn it down, so, uh, I’m a bird.

05:09 Sherlock: Or a bug.

05:10 John: S-s-sorry?

05:11 Sherlock: Bugs. Insects. They’re airborne. Hm, as is some bacteria.

05:16 John: Great, yeah. Let me just decide between a gnat and a germ.

05:19 Sherlock: By all means. Take your time.

05:21 John: I’m being sarcastic. I’m not a bug and I’m not bloody…germs. I’m. *sighs* I mean it’s too much pressure being an eagle, isn’t it. Um, *clicks tongue three times* I don’t want to be something that’s crap at flying, like a swan or a goose or something. Shoutout to Heather, by the way. Ehhh, aw come on John, come on John. Um. Ooo! Tell you what. Now this is going to sound stupid, but if it was my brain in the animal-

05:47 Sherlock: Yes, this is going to sound stupid.

05:49 John: Shh-sh-shh. Yes, if it was me. In the animal. I’m going pigeon.

05:54 Sherlock: Pigeon?

05:55 John: Pigeon. Ehh? Right, listen, ok. I can still live in the city. I cou-I could even live in my room, really.

06:01 Sherlock: You absolutely cannot.

06:03 John: What? Why not?

06:04 Sherlock: I’m not flatsharing with a bloody pigeon, Watson.

06:06 John: It’s me.

06:07 Sherlock: Yes, in the body of a pigeon.

06:09 John: Listen, let me finish my point. I’m a pigeon. I’ve got my room. I can fly about London, y’know? See all the sites, dive bomb some tourists, do a little poo on the House of Commons. I could nick a bit of decent grub. Yeah, go on walks with Archie and Mariana in the park. And no one is the wiser. If I was an eagle or a, y’know, like an albatross, I couldn’t do that, could I? No? It’d be great flying across town, even take the tube. Saw a pigeon on the tube the other day.

06:39 Sherlock: Yes, you said. Twice.

06:41 John: I could look through people’s windows, you know go in their gardens, on their patios….That makes me sound creepy, doesn’t it? Ah, pigeon! *clears his throat* The answer is pigeon. Second question, “What kitchen appliance would you be?” *clicks tongue twice and sucks air in thorough his teeth* Hm. Not being a microwave. No way, don’t get cleaned enough and, uh, having curries and bloody pizzas blowing up inside me, geezus. Uh, fridge. Maybe. Mmm, but I’d see a lot of rotting food, wouldn’t I? Especially if people are away for a while. Probably go with something fun, y’know something where I come out of the pantry or the, y’know, the cupboard or whatever, and all the family go ‘yaayyy, heyhey here he is!’-Wafflemaker, I’d be a wafflemaker. Everyone loves waffles. No one’s getting board of me. I’m getting cleaned. Perfect. Pigeon and a wafflemaker. Ha! That’s not a bad name for our band, eh Sherlock?

07:32 Sherlock: We’re not making a band.

07:33 John: Yeahhh, it was a joke. Right! It’s biscuit time! Saren says ‘Question for Sherlock: What kind of biscuits are, in your opinion, the best?

07:42: *sound of someone walking away*

07:43 John: Uhh, what’re you doing?

07:44 Sherlock: Answering the question.

07:44 John: Well, that would involve sitting down and talking into the mic.

07:48 Sherlock *sound of papers*: Here.

07:49 John: This…is an essay….on biscuits.

07:52 Sherlock: Yes.

07:54 John: By you.

07:55 Sherlock: Yes.

07:56 John: Okay.

07:58 Sherlock: Well, read it. My findings are in there.

08:01 John: Whaaa…it’s thirty-nine pages long.

08:03 Sherlock: Indeed.

08:04 John: Thi-this is supposed to be a snappy question and answer segment. Y’know it’s supposed to be a patreon reward, not a bloody punishment. *sarcastically* ‘Aww thanks for giving six quid everybody, here’s an eleven hour lecture on biscuits.’

08:15 Sherlock: They asked the question.

08:16 John: Right, ok. So, uh, he was eating a lot of custard creams the other day. Um, for those of you who aren’t British, uh, a custard cream is, uh, a sort of sandwich structured biscuit, wouldn’t’cha say?

08:26 Sherlock: Correct. Yes. A sandwich in structure. Two light shortbread pieces acting as the bread. Often stamped with a Victorian inspired Baroque design. And the filling was once a buttercream, but now is a custard flavored cream based on vanilla custard. Not egg custard.

08:43 John: Right, yeah. It’s, it’s that. Um, they’re nice. They are nice. Very moreish. Um, Ellionk, or Ellie, I think, when they’re not ‘Onk’ified, want’s to know ‘Favorite Supermarket: Tesco or Sainsbury’s?’ Um, well, both have gone downhill in recent years, I have to say. So, I’m going to go for neither and say co-op. Yeah, cause every now and again you find a really really good one. But if I’m in fantasy land, it’s M&S Foods or Waitrose. *clicks tongue* Yeah. Uh, there’s a chemistry question here from Ranger Pip which I don’t even begin to understand, so I’m going to move on. Sorry, Ranger Pip.

09:18 John (cont.): Right, last one! ‘Question for possibly John or Sherlock, not sure, lol. What is the story behind the theme tune. Just have to say whoever composed it, the musicians need an award and a shoutout on the podcast.’ Uh, yeah, well it’s a great theme tune, isn’t it? It really is. It’s called ‘Mad Prodigy’. *clears his throat pointedly*

09:39 Sherlock: Why are you making that noise?

09:41 John: Ah well, just saying mate.

09:43 Sherlock: I’m not mad. Or a prodigy.

09:46 John: Hey, uh, I-I’m not saying anything. Um, yeah, it’s it’s by a guy called Jody Jenkins. Uhhh, the reason why I don’t release it like some people asked me to is because it’s owned by a royalty free site. Um, *clicks tongue* the reason why Jody Jenkins doesn’t release it, is the same reason. I-it’s owned by a royalty free site. Uh, that’s generally how they work. I-I pay a fee. Well. Goalhanger pay a fee, use the track, and it belongs too…yeah. Audio Network. Um, I think he’s fab, yeah. But as far as crediting him out loud on the podcast, um, some artists don’t want royalty free work assigned to them. Um, they just do it for a paycheck. Some do. I don’t know him obviously and of course, I-I could piss off the company that actually owns the audio if I just mention him and uh, not-

10:34: *phone vibrates*

10:36 John: Message from Mariana. ‘You’re waffling. These people are paying us their hard earned money.’ Right! Soundproofing in these old houses aren’t what they used to be, are they? Um, *clicks tongue* yeah that’s the reason songwise. Nothing for or against Jody Jenkins. I’m just playing it safe cause these things s-scare me. *chuckles* Corporations and blech, yeah. Uh, horrible stuff.

10:54: *phone vibrates*

10:55 John: Um, message from Mariana. Right, yeah, I’m gonna wrap this up. Uh, thanks for your questions my lovely friends, we’ll be back soon. And, now to play us out, the one and only, Sherlock Holmes.

11:08 Sherlock: What?

11:08 John: Play! Play a song!

11:10 Sherlock *pleased*: Oh. Excellent! Uh, okay. Here we go!

11:14: *violin playing starts up*

11:17 John: Bye bye guys!

11:32: *sherlock’s violin playing cuts into Mad Prodigy

11:32-12:02 *Mad Prodigy carries us out to the end*

[theawkwardterrier]

(might not be our time yet) that doesn’t mean I ever love you any less

A Steggy Secret Santa gift for @bearholdingashark! I tried to get in a potpourri of your requested tropes - hope you enjoy, and have a very happy holiday and/or end of 2022, and a great year ahead. 😁✨🎁

Summary: Five times Steve and Peggy almost asked each other out, and one time they actually did.

AO3 link here.

i.

They have precisely thirty-six hours leave in London, and Steve knows that he could be spending it somewhere other than this.

The rest of the Commandos are either out on the town — he'd heard bids being tossed around the departing group for a variety of pubs and dance halls, not to mention the USO — or enjoying a hot shower, clean clothes, as good a meal as can be managed on rations, and a long sleep, all well-deserved after several unrelenting weeks in the field. Steve had managed to get out of the first option by reminding them that he needs to give Phillips the latest, but that's finished now, and more than a little part of him would actually like to be getting on to the second (just because his body can put up with the strain of it all, and better than most, doesn't mean that he actually enjoys it) but still he doesn't leave HQ.

His excuses — checking for any mail, finding someone to talk about requisitioning new socks and underthings to take with them when they leave because the fellas deserve it — are wearing thin even to his mind when he hears her voice.

"—so type that one first, then have it delivered to Stark for him to take a look at as soon as possible. And don't simply let his eyes wander over it, Private. Actually make him read it."

Steve grins and turns around.

She is bent over, marking something in a file, her back to him as he comes over.

"I don't know how you expect that poor kid to make Howard do anything. The guy might listen to you, but he isn't scared of anyone else that way, not even the commanders."

Peggy makes one last note before setting down her pencil, but he can see her awareness of his presence in the set of her shoulders. When she turns around, she has one eyebrow raised, her lipstick-perfect mouth neutral, but there is a smile touching her eyes.

"Howard's afraid of me, then? In that case, I suppose I shall have to hope that the private uses that to his advantage."

Steve shrugs slightly, but can't help the grin flashing around his own mouth. "Well, he's at least intimidated, though that might have something of a different connotation for Howard."

"Doesn't everything for that man?" she says dryly, and he wonders if most people would be able to hear the reluctant affection beneath the words; he wonders if the him of a few months ago would have, before he spent time with her, before he had a chance to understand so many of her different tones and have all sorts of stories, stored up moments of observing the way she was with Howard and with Phillips and with Steve himself.

He realizes that he's been silent for a beat too long, so he clears his throat and says gamely, "At least I've started picking up on that — less of a risk for...misunderstandings."

"Well, we wouldn't want any of those," she says, and actually laughs. The sound flows through Steve's backbone and has him laughing in return.

Their eyes catch and, while the moment doesn't fade, he feels the humor between them soften.

"I heard that your mission was a success," Peggy says, leaning a hip against the desk beside her, eyes still looking up at his. "I'm quite glad to hear it, Captain."

Steve nods, trying to keep his voice level so she doesn't guess that he's had the sudden, snatching urge to take her hand. "Everyone made it back okay. Maybe would have been a couple fewer close calls if you'd been out there with us this time, but you've got things to do, and we didn't do too badly considering."

With gentle contradiction, she says, "I dropped in on Phillips after my meeting to find out whether you—to see if your after-action report had been filed. I think you did a bit better than not too badly." Before he can protest, she adds, "I wouldn't have minded a chance to be out in the field again myself — one might think that considering my skills, I'd be assigned there more often, but I suppose being relied upon for my mind and my strategic abilities is no insult. Still, either way, you not only located and eliminated the Hydra base, you made several new contacts, and if I'm correctly reading between your carefully worded lines, managed to save Dugan from himself yet again," and he feels the compliment settle across his shoulders.

"Well, everyone made it back okay," he repeats softly. The warm weight of her words is still upon him, and perhaps that is what has him opening his suddenly dry mouth to say, "We’re here until early Thursday, you know. I am. I don't know if you're done for the night, but—”

"Carter!"

It's late enough that the stricter secretaries have gone home, or else one of them would surely snap at even the famous Howard Stark for his complete lack of decorum as he shouts and shoves his way into the main room of the bunker.

"I could kiss you for this, Carter — and I will if you're up for it — but I guess that can wait. First I need you to come over to the lab with me to talk through the findings. Your private's already putting a pot of coffee on so we can have a night of it." He brandishes the sheaf of paper in his hand triumphantly. "Thank God the kid dropped your name when he did, or I might not have even read this damn thing."

Peggy snorts lightly. "How very flattering, Howard. To be truthful, I had nearly thought I was free for the night, but if you go back to the lab, I suppose I'll join you shortly."

"Well, don't take too long waiting around. I don't know how long history can wait." But Howard sounds more gleeful than annoyed as he turns again, examining whatever documents Peggy had sent over for him as he returns toward the door once again, taking one last opportunity to give a half-distracted, "Nice to have you back, Rogers!" before he disappears down the hall.

Peggy turns back to Steve, shaking her head slightly. "The man certainly does know how to interrupt things in his favor. What was it that you were going to say?"

But Steve only shakes his head. "That's okay. Sounds like there's history to be made, and you're the one to do it. I'll talk to you about it another time."

Studying him for a long moment, she says slowly, "I suppose I am. If you're certain...." At his nod, she closes the file on the desk with one hand, still watching him, and holds it at her side. Finally, she turns toward the door too. Just before she goes through it, she adds, "I do hope we have a chance to see each other again before your leave is up."

She's gone before he has a chance to let the words whisper out of him: "So do I, Peg."

But they don't.

ii.

It was not common knowledge how long Peggy Carter had spent with Dr. Erskine.

She got the credit for extracting him, of course, at least from those interested in offering her even the most basic, begrudging acknowledgment of it. But few knew that she had spent time in his laboratory afterward, that they appreciated each other’s senses of humor and would take turns bringing food that reminded them of home. Later, she and Steve would speak of him with the fond remembrance of too-brief acquaintance that they had both wished had been longer.

It had been just long enough, however, for him to ask — quietly, illicitly, with the guidance of his own moral compass — if she would be willing to test the first batch of the serum he had been brought over to work on.

It truly had been the first batch, and he hadn’t yet realized the importance of the vita-rays. But although she might have had a sense, the vaguest inkling about her reflexes or strength or healing, not even Peggy knew for certain what her time in that lab had gained her: not during the war or her missions in the field, not during the storming of the Hydra headquarters, not as she followed Steve onto the Valkyrie, the energy of the Tesseract still swimming in the air.

They are both still awake after the radio cuts out, after they have said the goodbyes that they can to Howard and Phillips and the Commandos. Peggy looks over at Steve’s tight jaw, at the way that his hair has fallen over his forehead; she remembers how young he is, how young they both are, even if they’ve never gotten a chance to feel it. She wants to forget that they’ll never have the chance now.

They’re already close to each other, positioned together by the controls at the front of the diving plane. After all this time of reminding herself why she can’t, it turns out to be a simple thing to reach over and take his hand.

“What would you say,” she starts, making an effort to keep her voice level, to sound calm and nonchalant even as she has to speak over the wind. “What would you say if I asked you to meet me at the Stork Club, a week next Saturday?”

He laughs a little, although she can feel the clench of his fingers around hers, can see the way he is gripping something small and round in his other fist. “I’d say they’ll need to play something slow. I still haven’t gotten a chance to practice my dancing, and I’d hate to step on your toes.”

“I wouldn’t care.” She swallows, trying to pretend that her voice had not wavered. “I’d take every dance even so.”

“Even if I was late? I’d want to buy you flowers, but I’d be so nervous I’d forget until the last minute and have to go back.”

She smiles at that, the details he is adding to the fantasy beginning to spin it out into something real. “Well, you might be due a tongue-lashing when you finally arrived, but you remembered my favorite flowers were irises, so I suppose I can forgive you.”

And you were there. We were there together, she thinks, squeezing his hand.

“Irises. Of course.” For a moment she has the urge to laugh: it sounds as if he is taking notes, as if this is information he will need to access and act on in the future rather than the two of them pretending in these last moments. “And I’ll have made a dinner reservation at Le Pavillon for after because I heard you and Dernier talking about your favorite French dishes often enough, but we’ll have been dancing so long that we missed it.”

“I hope that my toes can hold up for such a thing, but I guessed that we’d be late — it’s quite the pattern of yours. And I’d remind you then that I’m perfectly happy without anything formal, so we’d find our way back to Brooklyn, to some little place that you knew.”

“We’d talk and eat, and stay so long that they’d be mopping up the tables around us.” It is getting harder to hear him, the pressure immense in her ears. It must be getting harder for him to speak, but he continues anyway. “But we wouldn’t be ready for the night to end.”

Her heart is beating too fast despite her attempts at lightness and calm as she picks up the story again. “So we’d just walk together until sunrise.”

“And we’d know that we were going to have other nights just like that one, and plenty of hard times and boring ones too, but that we’d make it through it all together.”

She smiles then, and so does he, and she wonders how much they are smiling to comfort each other and how much is the true happiness brought on by the comfort they have brought each other in imagining that other life.

“Yes,” she says. “Together.”

And the plane hits the water, and they go under together, too.

iii.

Even after months, there are some days where Steve doesn’t let himself think about all that he left behind: the Commandos and the rest of their lives, the chance to mourn Bucky after the war beside those who loved him, his own sense of stability and understanding of the world around him. He thinks that he’s adapted relatively well, and yet there are still times when the memories will wrap themselves around him, or he’ll realize all over again how very different everything is, how out of place he’s found himself among it all.

He doesn’t even want to think about how much worse it would have been without Peggy there beside him, understanding both the strangeness and his frame of reference, understanding him. He hopes that he’s done the same for her, the only other shipwrecked survivor on this island where they will, it seems, have to live out their lives.

And that’s exactly why, in the time they’ve been in the future, he hasn’t acted on the instincts that he’s already been suppressing for years now. He thought that she might have felt the way that he did — they’d gone down together dreaming a future between them, after all — but he can’t be certain if it was just comfort she was giving him, or being embroiled in the moment, or needing distraction, if whatever spark she might have felt has been extinguished beneath the pressure of these last months. Bucky’s voice might be in the back of his mind (Just talk to her, you punk. You’ve got a brain and a voice, so use ‘em!) but his best friend wouldn’t understand how it is between them, how impossible it seems to try to test everything when it is so very possible that simply asking the question might ruin things, might leave them each alone when they need each other more than anything, more than ever.

But for each saucy, side-mouthed remark that she directs at him before turning back to make easy, considered improvements to whatever mission plan they’ve been assigned, each time she interrupts whatever Tony is saying with merely a raised eyebrow and a small “hmm,” or neatly flays some television personality so that all that remains is the most strained smirk, each sparring session that they engage in or diner meal that they have together…each minute that they simply spend together, the harder it is for him to recall the significance of his old reasoning. And as the two of them settle in further, finding a level of confidence both in this time and among the Avengers, even that reasoning seems thinner. They are no longer so fragile here. They have other things and people they can rely on if needed. If he asked and she said no, would it truly break either of them?

There is nothing special about the day he decides to try. He returns from assignment and asks JARVIS whether Peggy is in the Tower and realizes that it is always the first thing he asks when they’ve been apart.

As he approaches the lounge area that she likes best, he doesn’t even know exactly what words he is going to use — not the most advisable plan, considering, but he recognizes that if he thinks too much, he’ll backtrack on the decision, and now that he’s made it, he doesn’t want to do that. She’s forgiven him for plenty of verbal missteps, and he thinks she’ll forgive him this one too (not to mention that if she turns him down, a little fumbling over his words won’t be what either of them remembers).

Her back is to him as he enters the room where she’s sitting curled on one of the cushy couches, so he clears his throat, but can’t bring himself to start in with anything further. Trying not to wince at the impoliteness of not starting with at least a little small talk, a better transition, he takes a breath and says, “I—I had a question for you, Peg.”

She turns then, looking up at him just as he’s coming around the couch toward her, and he can tell immediately that she’s been crying.

The signs are so small — a touch of smeared makeup, a bit of dampness at the edges of her eyelashes, a very slight disturbance to her breathing — that he isn’t sure that anyone but he or maybe Natasha would notice them. He sits down beside her and takes her hand without thinking about it.

“Monty’s daughter passed,” she says quietly. “His granddaughter called to tell me, which was terribly kind. It just happened, and it’s late there.”

Steve has the strange, vertiginous feeling that he’s becoming at least slightly accustomed to. He knows in his mind that Jacqueline Falsworth was in her late seventies. He and Peggy have seen her face, have spoken to her via video call, the way they did with all their friends’ family members they could find. And yet his mind also resists the idea that she is anything but the bushy-haired, brightly smiling schoolgirl from the picture Monty used to keep on him. Steve had once sent her an old Star Spangled Show program that he’d signed because she’d made some comment in her letters about missing the Captain America film shorts. Dum-Dum used to refer to her as the littlest J, teasing Monty that he’d practically named his child after himself but at least it would help her fit in with the group when they all met after the war.

There isn’t need for any further explanation for why it has struck Peggy, armored and indomitable, the way that it has. He can feel the idea of it sinking into him too: that even these tenuous connections to their old life, the life that they might have had, are breaking around them, and that he does not know whether they can build the new ones fast and strong enough to hold them.

He holds her instead, putting his arm around her in silence, and they sit there for a long while. When they finally get up, the room grown dark and the two of them slightly stiff, she inquires, voice a bit hoarse, what he had wanted to ask her. He shakes his head and tells her that it isn’t the time just now, that it can wait.

He’s already waited this long, after all, and despite all the ways he feels ready, he doesn’t know that they are, yet.

iv.

Staying in the Tower made sense at the beginning, but after a while, when they both decide around six months in that they’re ready for a change, it only makes sense to search at the same time and even to combine their efforts a bit. And, when they actually take in the price of real estate and both find their sensibilities offended by the idea of paying so much, it only makes sense to begin searching for someplace together.

(They also add housing inequality as an issue to bring up next time they speak to the press. Neither of them asked for a platform, but they certainly use it now that it's there.)

Luckily, those same sensibilities mean that they're each perfectly fine with the small bedrooms boasted by their eventual apartment. After tenements and dormitories and temporary shelters, bedsits and barracks and battlefield tents, their place actually feels like something of a luxury. Besides, they have a decently sized living area, which is where they spend most of their time when they're home, talking through the day, bickering over what to watch on television, and sharing takeout food (which Peggy considers one of the great benefits of this century.) They aren't, however, exactly home often.

Not every mission requires both of them, or even one, but they're called away on SHIELD business with a fair amount of frequency. Still, Peggy finds even that is improved by their living together; there is something nice about having Steve call from his room to hers that he's packing the upgraded earbuds Tony made for both of them, or in coming home to find that the coffee maker is already on with her favorite mug beside it and there's a note from Steve saying he's gone to pick up fresh bagels because he'd heard she was on her way back and thought that she might want to talk.

She considers, more and more often these days, asking him if he might want to be something more than friends and roommates and fellow-travelers, if he might consider becoming the sort of partners she had once thought they would. The reasons that they have held off until now are clear to her, and yet she thinks perhaps they are finally ready for it, the idea settling into her mind, hopeful during the times that they are together and yearning during those that they are apart.

Their mission tonight involves the STRIKE team, never Peggy's favorite. There's something about them, even beyond the fact that they always seem more willing to listen to Steve than to her, that has her radar tingling, but she's never quite been able to pinpoint what or catch them at anything. Regardless, they accept the plan of action that she and Steve lay out readily enough, and she steps away to inspect her weapon once more, the rushing sound of wind and speed filling the cabin as Steve and Natasha chat through their final checks behind her.

"You know, if you ask Kristen out, from Statistics, she'd probably say yes," Nat says casually, and Peggy very carefully continues focusing on her ammunition.

"That's why I don't ask," Steve replies, and there is that slightly insolent tone she's familiar with: not cocky in the sense of arrogance, but just that little bit of couldn't call my ride and thank you, sir and the hell I can't — I'm a captain! cheekiness that she knows so well. It has her smiling.

Natasha is familiar enough with it at this point as well, bantering back, "Too shy, or too scared?"

Peggy can't quite identify what it is — the extra beat he takes to respond, perhaps, or a shift in his footing — but there is a very subtle change to him, even before he speaks, his tone more serious. (She would say more honest, but Steve always is.)

"I'm not looking to be fixed up right now. A relationship...Well, I'm not exactly hoping for a Kristen." She knows that Natasha is looking at him, likely giving that sharp-eyed, assessing stare of hers, but Peggy can't bring herself to turn, not even as Steve pulls that smart-mouthed spirit back over himself and adds, "Besides, what I really am is too busy," not even as he hurls himself out of the jet, likely without a parachute. She needs the extra moment to keep herself blank before allowing Nat to turn that gaze on her in turn.

She is lucky that she has the mission to distract herself for the next several hours. As they return home, however, she leans against a bulkhead with her eyes closed, and although she can pretend to sleep, she cannot pretend away the disappointment which layers within her. He isn't ready or seeking to be with someone, and she respects that, but she has waited so long and she had hoped...

Still, she will have him on the sofa beside her discussing modern animation techniques, or whichever Agatha Christie she's been catching up on most recently and which he'd stolen from the end table, or whether they're meant to get an anniversary gift for Tony and Pepper. She will have him calling to her as he comes in from after a run, and trading unprompted raised-eyebrow glances during Avengers meetings, and at the midnight quiet kitchen table while they sip quietly from their cups of tea and don't have to pretend away to each other the nightmares of cold and war and lost things.

She does not have him the way that she wishes that she could, but she does have him, she has their home and all that they share together, and that will be enough.

And yet she still hopes it only needs to be enough for now rather than forever.

v.

The trouble with being in love with Peggy Carter, Steve continues to find, is that she can be frustratingly opaque. He's known her in two centuries at this point, thinks he is more familiar with her than practically anyone else here and now. And yet there are those moments, the ones that loop behind his eyelids at night, the ones he is certain must be obvious to anyone looking, but which she never mentions or pursues, and he cannot figure out why.

Sometimes it is a small thing: the two of them on their couch, laughing over something or quiet and simply together. She will touch his arm or tuck her cold feet against his warmth, and their eyes will catch, something settling over them, a peaceful intensity, the fact that they are alone ever more obvious. Sometimes it is increasingly evident: planning and strategizing more on instinct than anything said, or unerringly seeking each other out after the latest battle or catastrophe as the others watch, relief masked beneath traded banter.

As the moments stack up, more days with them than without, he knows that he cannot be imagining them. But she seems to break their gaze first, letting that sharing slide away, and so he takes the cue from her, much as he'd like to move forward to something new for them, something more, something he's thought was promised or inevitable for so long.

He begins to wonder if he was mistaken all this time, if he misread or exaggerated things that he thought were understood between them. He begins to wonder whether he could have been wrong about all of it.

Or maybe she's changed her mind.

This idea isn't impossible — she has always felt almost laughably out of his league, after all, and they've been through so much since they first met. Whatever she had once felt suited her about him might be gone, or she might need something different, might have found something — someone — that appeals more to her. But he understands too why a person as forthright and in control as Peggy might avoid saying anything: she doesn't want to hurt him, doesn't want to take the chance of disturbing the dynamics of friendship and cohabitation and team.

He wants her to be happy, even if it isn't with him. But he still can't help but be grateful that he'll have even this bit of her for at least a while longer.

The urge he has to talk to Bucky about all of this is different these days, no longer quite so scabbed over or distant now that they know he's alive and out there and coming back to himself, but also nothing that Steve can act on. Still, he has the inkling that if they could talk about it, his best friend would just end up telling Steve that he's always made simple things complicated, and the way he feels for Peggy Carter is pretty simple when it comes down to it so maybe he should just give in and ask her to see a movie, regardless of whether it means disrupting the balance of what they have now.

(He imagines reminding Buck that you can watch pretty much anything from home these days, pictures that eye roll in response. Bucky would probably be the type to still go to the theater.)

But it is more complicated than that, at least for Steve. Because he values his and Peggy’s time together, however it comes. Because she is the only one who understands, and he doesn’t know how he would have managed if he had woken up here alone.

Because he loves her, and wants the them of it for as long as he can.

So he focuses on enjoying each morning of running side by side (Sam setting his own pace as he remarks dryly that he’s glad that they have each other because no one else could keep up) and getting breakfast at their new favorite bagel place, each day of working together to keep the world safer, each night of taking Mr. Cavendish to the grocery store because his son who usually does it broke his leg or helping to host superhero-themed pajama storytime at the local library (and even returning later by popular demand and just because they’d enjoyed the children’s bright excitement). He takes it all in, and reminds himself that if he ever thinks of more, it does not mean that he is unhappy with what he has, what they have together.

Despite all that is involved in helping to trying to root out and crush Hydra for good (not to mention the business of organizing the Avengers so that the ordinary crises they’re meant to handle are still covered even without the structure and support of SHIELD) they do get a good bit of time when it is just the two of them, ordering takeout and spending the evening together in their apartment.

Tonight it is burgers and fries and Meet Me in St. Louis — it had come out before they went into the ice, but they hadn’t had a chance to see it.

“She really is—was terribly charming,” Peggy comments, reaching over absently to take one of his fries, although he can see that she still has a few of her own left. Steve doesn’t comment on it, only finds his mouth turning up at the corner as he nudges the biggest one toward where she’s reaching before he turns back to the screen.

“It’s a shame what happened to her,” he agrees, watching Judy Garland’s Esther shift from moving ever so carefully about the room in her corset to rushing out to meet John Truett at the door. Another thing they missed, another thing they wouldn’t have been able to prevent even had they been there. “I remember going to the American Theater to see The Wizard of Oz, how her voice filled up the place and you just wanted her to get home.”

She makes a small sound of agreement. “I saw it shortly after it was released in London — January 1940. Everything outside was so tense then. I didn’t transfer to Bletchley until the next month, so I was bored daily by office work while at the same time being completely overwhelmed by knowing everything that was going on that I couldn’t do a thing about. But for a few hours, I just suspended my disbelief and allowed myself to be there instead of where I was.”

He starts to respond, but she adjusts herself in her seat and ends up three inches further in his direction, near enough that he can feel the skin-close warmth of her, and even though it isn’t a new sensation anymore, he still has to catch his breath and try to remember what they were talking about. Glancing at the television, he snatches up a cue from the conversation playing out there.

“Speaking of suspending disbelief, it’s hard to imagine that this guy would spend the whole picture trying for a chance with her and then let things fall apart over a tux and a basketball game run too long.” He’s been in the twenty-first century for long enough to know that everyone calls them movies now, and he usually does too, but it isn’t awkward if some of his more natural vocabulary slips into conversation when it’s just him and Peggy.

“I suppose you’d never disappoint a woman like that?” she asks, and even though he knows that she’s only teasing him, that it must be a gently amused reference to that first conversation of theirs (I think this is the longest conversation I've had with one) he answers seriously, unable to stop himself.

He keeps his gaze focused on the screen where Esther is crying theatrically into her pillow, although he barely registers the scene. “If I was lucky enough to get that sort of chance,” he says slowly, “I’d be looking forward to it too much to get distracted by games, and I wouldn’t let anything else stop me either.”

He turns to look at her then, and finds that she is already watching him. Their eyes meet first, holding, and he feels between them not just the lightly traded flirtation of those past shared glances, but the weight of his love for her, all that they have been through beside each other then and now, the perfect understanding and utter confusion and the waiting and the hope…

They’re going to have to look up how to remove grease stains without damaging the couch, because the fries scatter as the two of them move toward each other, but he doesn’t pay that more than the vaguest attention. He knows that this isn’t exactly the way to treat a lady, especially one who’s his teammate and roommate and friend, and he promises to actually take her out sometime soon, but in this moment, there is Peggy’s mouth moving perfectly against his, her hands warm and sure on his shoulders, and his thoughts are half Finally and half More.

He is in the midst of trying to figure out how exactly to get to the more — Peggy seems to have some idea, and he’ll happily follow her lead — when he begins to register a noise in the room beyond the movie still playing on the television or the low, contented sound that Peggy is making in her throat. It persists for long enough that he forces his mind to whatever level of attention he can muster, trying to identify what it is.

Peggy has noticed it as well, pulling away just far enough to catch her breath and say, “I think it’s your phone.”

For a moment, he can’t quite identify or remember what she is talking about. Then he reaches into his pocket and finds his cell phone, still cheerfully piping out something about “a little bit of Monica.” (Tony has a habit of swapping his ringtone around, and although Steve has definitely gotten better with technology, the process of switching it back somehow still always eludes him.)

Then Peggy’s phone is ringing too, a standard little chime, and they both look at each other and know that they don’t have time for more now.

As they ready themselves to meet Natasha in the car already idling on the street, as they strategize in the Quinjet and deal another blow to Hydra alongside their friends, there is barely a moment to think about what has happened. But as they head back, everything calm and victorious, Peggy begins to keep her careful distance from him, only giving him the occasional assessing glance.

It was a mistake to her, he suddenly understands, and the horror of that, the exact thing he’d feared, drains everything from him.

All those years of feeling but ignoring his own pain, of clenching his jaw and moving forward anyway…they must have been preparing him for just this.

He keeps his distance right back.

+1

The trouble with being in love with Steve Rogers is that he is good at concealing his emotions most of the time, but it works far less well around people who know him and he is a terrible liar in any case.

More specifically, the trouble is being in love with Steve Rogers, having kissed him and wanted to continue doing so while also realizing that he likely needed time and space and, considering the speed and amount of space he’d put between them afterward, it seems that she was right.

And she can swallow down her own disappointment and try to regain at least some of what they’d once had, but Steve is being so terribly awkward about it.

By unspoken mutual agreement, they spend less time alone together in their flat, instead busying themselves with work or taking turns volunteering for missions where they aren’t strictly necessary. Even when they do manage to sit together for breakfast or to relax in the evenings, there is something so very stilted about it all, the ease they’d had with each other, the comfort that gave, lost to them now.

This was exactly what she had worried would happen. Her imagination hadn’t told her, however, how very much it would hurt.

She accepts that she is going to need some time to move, if not beyond this, then at least somewhere further through. And so, when she stays at her desk much longer than she needs to instead of going downstairs to attend the Christmas party that Tony had insisted on throwing for the team, she does not make excuses even in her own mind, only issues mental congratulations once she’s finally forced herself out the door.

The lift lets her out near the lounge; already she can smell a variety of foods, all likely tremendously expensive recreations of holiday classics. Her light, nearly silent footsteps are covered by the chatter and the low background of cheerful music coming from the lit space, even as she gets closer.

Just as she is about to step through the doorway and greet everyone, she hears Thor’s voice, boisterous with what she assumes is an early indulgence in something aged ten generations in Asgardian barrels, saying, “Captain, you don’t seem to be joining in the celebration. Are you not fond of this festival, or are you still feeling the effects of your marital falling out?”

Peggy presses herself hastily against the wall, although she can still hear what sounds like an actual spit-take from Tony.

“How exactly can Cap have a marital anything? I think I’d remember that invitation, or else I’d’ve listened to my dad telling me bedtime stories about whether you wore a tux and how you parted your hair and how he pressed the flower from your buttonhole—”

“Are you not married to Agent 13, then?” says Thor around his words, sounding confused, then adding, as if to ensure that Steve is thinking of the correct person, “Your Peggy? Peggy Carter?”

Steve says, “No, Peggy and I…We…” Pressing closer and extending every bit of serum-offered extra senses, she thinks she can detect just the slightest hitch in his breath. “Peggy and I aren’t together. I don’t know why you thought that we were.”

For a second, there is silence, even the song in the middle of changing over. Then Maria Hill says, bold and dry and matter of fact, “Probably because you’re in love with each other, if I had to guess.”

Into the still-evident quiet, Steve manages to stutter, “We—What—”

Gently, Pepper says, “I think she means…the way that you are with each other.”

“The way we…?”

“Come on, Steve.” That’s Sam now. “We’ve all seen those looks between you two. Hell, sometimes you get so deep into focusing on each other that it’s like the rest of us don’t even exist.”

“That’s not—”

“And you are always by each other’s sides, whether in battle or in celebration or simply as a part of life,” Thor adds. “And each time you speak of returning to your shared home, you do so with great joy.”

“Of course we—”

“Could be the way that you finish each other’s sentences, and understand references that the rest of us don’t,” Bruce contributes.

“Sure, because—”

Around what sounds like a mouthful of food, Clint says, “You respect each other. You cooperate. You can argue and compromise. That’s all important.”

“Well, we’re friends, and—”

Natasha interrupts Steve with such simple authority that it barely even seems to register that it’s happened. “Even knowing that you aren’t together, there’s just a way you watch each other when you think no one else is paying attention — it’s obvious that you both want something more, and I don’t know what happened between you two, but you should do what you can to fix it.”

“Maybe I can’t!”

Steve must have been sitting, because Peggy can hear him on his feet now, the sound obvious as the rest of the group hushes at his uncharacteristic outburst.

“Maybe it’s one of those things that can’t be fixed,” says Steve, softly now. “Not when she doesn’t want what I do.”

Whatever bright, casual energy had been filling the room has faded with those words, with the true vulnerability there.

Alone in the hall, Peggy closes her eyes and thinks about best intentions, time, and chances. When she opens them again, she finds Steve just past the doorway, already looking right at her.

“Come on, Cap,” Tony calls. “Don’t leave before the party’s really gotten started. We’ll brainstorm ways to get her back—”

“I don’t know that you’d be my preferred source for those,” Pepper mutters.

“—and you’ll get to open your Secret Santa gift.”

“I’ll open it another time,” Steve says, not taking his eyes off of Peggy. “I don’t think I’m in the mood for that right now.”

They are lucky that none of the others follow. She hears someone, maybe Rhodey, mumble that they either have to get better at throwing parties without awkward incidents or stop throwing parties altogether, and then Thor distracts everyone by discovering the karaoke machine. She wouldn’t necessarily put it past Natasha, or possibly Sam, to intuit her presence somehow, but she and Steve remain by themselves as they walk quietly back to the lift.

The atmosphere here is different: brightly lit, and JARVIS’s voice has that surrounding quality. The two of them stand against the back wall as the numbers trip downward.

Finally, into the silence, Peggy says, “They do still dance, you know. Here and now. If that was something that you wanted.”

He is a very solid man, Steve Rogers, tall and broad and sturdy in ways both obvious and unseen. His hand trembles, just slightly, as he takes his phone from his pocket and unlocks it.

“This is where I hoped to get to take you,” he says, and she sees that the browser is open to a page for an establishment called Swing 46.

“I’m free on Saturday,” she tells him, their whole past, even its pain and troubles, fitting into its place as the foundation of their future. “And every day after that.”

Steve smiles, and takes her hand, and they forget all the rest.

Coda

  Breaking several laws of physics, he is home by 3:48.

[thegeneralguy]

A good role model

Hello! Thanks to @amalianetwork for helping me out with this story. Its a bit shorter than what I usually post on here, but it struck some heart strings inside of me. I hope you enjoy it.

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“Come on Matt! We’re going to be late for the festival!”

The excited shrieks came from a young child not older than ten years of age. His wavy blonde hair was encased in a blue baseball cap, and he was wearing an old button shirt. He was grabbing the hand from an older young man, pulling him forward with haste. Both boys looked very alike, age being the most differentiating factor between them.

“Ease up Cole, your number starts at seven. There’s plenty of time.”

“Yes, but I want to rehearse one time before the show. Mrs. Davis said all kids in our class had to meet an hour before to practice our song”

Matt advanced reluctantly, feeling uneasy in his attempt at formal attire. He adjusted his badly-knotted tie and tried his best in accommodating his oversized shirt. But he knew it was a necessary sacrifice, because this was supposed to be Cole’s “big night”. He would do anything for his little brother, even if it meant dressing as a buffon. The boys were rushing through the parking lot of the local theatre, amongst a sea of other families heading to the entrance. They entered the building and immediately headed backstage to deliver Cole to his class. Matt made sure his small bowtie was in place, but when he tried to take the cap from him, Cole swatted his hand away.

“Cole, you know you’ll get in trouble if you throw a fit over that cap again. All the kids in your class have to be dressed the same.”

Cole pouted and grabbed his head with both hands, securing it on his head.

“Please let me keep it. I’m scared to perform without it.”

“Okay you win. Just this one time though. You’re a big boy now, there are some rules you have to follow.”

“You’re the best Matt!”, said the little boy hugging his brother.

“Just remember to have lots of fun! I’ll be watching you from the front rows. And remember, once your act is over we gotta go.”

“That's not fair! Mrs. Davis is gonna take us all for pizza once the show is over.”

“I’m sorry C. You know Aunt Gertrude doesn’t like it when we go out late.”

“I don’t like Aunt Gertrude. She’s mean.”

Matt kept a straight face not to give a bad example, but he knew what his brother was talking about. Their aunt was a real menace sometimes. Especially when her rules were disobeyed.

“Don’t be like that buddy. Aunt Gertrude has been nice to us, so we have to obey the rules of her house. Besides, I’ll take you for pizza on the weekend. What do you say?”

“Yay! Thanks Matt. I’ll hurry up after the show, I promise. See you later!”

Cole then turned around and sprinted towards his group. Matt looked at his brother tenderly, remembering all they have gone through together. The blue cap was originally his, a gift from their father. They never had a lot to begin with, and after his parents were gone, the cap was one of the only mementos he had from them. He remembered hugging it terrified, as the police explained to him with gruesome detail for a twelve year old how his parents had been killed in a mugging. Cole had been only five at the time. Their aunt was their only living relative, so they were placed in her house. Cole couldn’t stop crying during the first night, so Matt gave him the blue cap and told him as long as he had it, his father would be there with him. Five years had passed, and the little boy still took the cap everywhere. Convincing Cole to take it off to wash it was a real hassle sometimes, but Matt managed. He was a good big brother after all.

Matt went to his seat and watched the recital in silence. Group after group they performed, excited families bursting in applause every time their kid went onstage. The young man was growing increasingly nervous, watching the minutes turn into an hour. The show was taking too long, which meant arriving at his aunt’s too late and having to deal with her wrath. He was lost in thought when suddenly Cole’s group was onstage. He cheered and applauded his little brother, who along with his classmates presented a potpourri of popular songs. He immediately recognized him due to the blue garment sticking out of the sea of white shirts. Once the number was done, he stood up from his seat and went to meet his brother backstage to take him to their aunt’s.

Their Aunt Gertrude was a solitary woman, preferring to live alone and far away from any other neighbor. The little house stood right at the edge of the woods, standing lonely amongst the dark trees. The car was parked on the driveway, so Matt knew immediately their aunt was home. He prepared mentally for the fit she was about to throw when she saw them coming in through the door. Once they made it inside, he sent Cole straight to his room and went into the living room, where his aunt was sitting on her usual chair watching TV.

“So, look who finally decided to show up. This isn’t a hotel you know.”, said the fat woman looking hatefully at the scrawny teenager.

“I know Aunt Gertrude. Cole had a school event he couldn’t miss, so we stayed out until late.”

The woman sneered at Matt, and then continued watching her show.

“You know misbehavior has consequences right? You were out past dinner time, so there won't be any dinner for you.”

Matt felt the rage coming up from his stomach. He disliked the woman a lot, but he knew she was the only reason the brothers were allowed to stay together. She knew that too, so she made sure to exploit that fact every time she could. He didn’t mind missing dinner, he was used to it. But Cole had to eat, or his stomach would hurt again and he wouldn't be able to sleep.

“I can miss out on dinner today and tomorrow if you want, but let Cole eat something. It was a tough day for him.”

“You should’ve thought that before breaking the rules. Rules are necessary, or else you will end up like your good for nothing dad. He got my sister killed, you know. Only a bad person does that.”

Matt tightened his fists so hard his nails dug into his skin causing some bleeding. His father was his aunt’s favorite subject, always belittling and berating him. But he was a good man, very hardworking. A real example for Matt. His only mistake was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Don’t you dare talk about him…”, he grumbled quietly. His aunt let out a cruel cackle, and glared at him angrily.

“Or what? You are just like him, you know. A useless dead weight under my roof. But not for long. You got one more night. After that, you’re turning into an adult, which means you gotta earn yourself a life.”

Matt had been so busy with his brother that he had completely forgotten about his birthday the day after. His aunt had been telling him she was going to kick him out that same day, but he always thought she said that only to intimidate him. Thinking about leaving Cole with that monster alone sent a chill down his spine.

“Are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking you little asshole? As soon as you’re eighteen, you’re legally not my problem anymore. Besides, it’s good you learn how the world works. Not that your father ever taught you that. In fact, I think Cole was lucky to grow up without his bad example!”, said the woman laughing loudly. “Now, better get your shit ready. I’m calling farmer Joe tomorrow to see if he has some job for you. If you’re lucky he might even let you stay in the barn with the rest of his boys. Now, get out of my sight. My next show’s about to start.”

Matt just turned around and left completely speechless, hearing the loud music from the TV and his aunt laughing as he went upstairs to his room. Cole was already showered and wearing his pajamas, the blue cap still on his head. Matt sat down next to him on his bed, trying to keep his composure and not burst into tears.

“Listen Cole, I have to tell you something,'' he said, his voice faltering as he struggled to find the right words. “You know tomorrow is my birthday, right?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t forget. I even wrote it in my calendar to get you some chocolate.”, he said excitedly before realizing he just ruined the surprise. “Oh no, I just ruined your present.”

“No buddy, it's okay. You know I love chocolate.”, said Matt grabbing the little boy’s head. “But listen, tomorrow I’ll be eighteen. And that's a very special number. So special, that people invite you to participate in certain activities!”

“What do you mean?”, asked Cole with a puzzled look on his face.

“Well, farmer Joe has invited me to his special club on his land, so I’m very excited I can go now. There’s only one small problem, I have to go sleep there too so I can do everything the guys there do.”

Cole just stared at his brother, tears welling up behind his eyes.

“You’re gonna leave?”

“Don’t be sad buddy. This is a great opportunity for me! Besides, I’ll come to visit you every day, I promise.”

Cole threw himself at Matt, his little arms embracing him as strong as they could. Tears ran down his rosy cheeks, and he could barely articulate the words due to the knot in his throat.

“But I don’t want you to go! I don’t want to be alone in this house. I’m scared.”

“I know buddy, I know.”, said Matt hugging his little brother. “But listen, remember what I told you about that cap? As long as you have it, dad’s going to be here with you. And so will I.”

Both brothers embraced for hours, refusing to let each other go. Cole cried until he fell asleep, so Matt tucked him into bed and waited until it was late enough to go down and steal some food for the boy. His aunt went to bed just before midnight, so he had to wait until she was gone to go to the pantry. He was almost falling asleep when he heard the TV going off, and the heavy steps of his aunt going into her room. He hesitantly stepped out of their bedroom, and swiftly went down to get some food for Cole. His body was very light, so that helped him move silently on the wooden floor. He brought up some snacks, leaving them on Cole’s night table, completely missing the clock just striking midnight.

He went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Taking off the horrible oversized shirt he stared at himself in the mirror. He was practically just skin and bones, lacking the proper nutrition and exercise for a good development during puberty. His dirty blonde hair was pulled back on a bun, looking just a shade darker than his brother’s. His aunt was right, he was pathetic, scrawny and weak. Barely a fitting example for Cole. But he didn’t want his brother to grow up without him. It was already bad enough he had to grow up without a dad, only to have his big brother be taken away too. He wished that both of them could stay together. That he was enough for his little brother, so he could provide him with the life he deserved.

The lights in the bathroom flickered, and the window was suddenly opened by a strong gust of wind, startling Matt. He started to get lightheaded, grabbing the small sink to prevent himself from falling. “It’s probably hunger”, he said to himself. But the more seconds passed, the worse he felt. He started sweating cold, drops falling down his face and his pale body. He watched a shadow creep over his skin, thinking he was starting to faint from starvation. When he raised his hand to touch the darkness, rough bristles greeted his fingertips. He was growing hair, all over his body. He watched it get longer and thicker, a thick mat covering his chest, and crawling down his flat stomach painting a thick treasure trail on his skin. Tufts of hair poked out from under his arms, his sparse armpit hair getting far denser. The shadow then climbed up his neck, fully flourishing on his face to form a short beard. Matt felt its roughness with the palm of his hand, fully enthralled by the sensation.

He then felt his bones elongate, shooting him a few inches towards the roof and lengthening his limbs. He looked like that creature slender-something kids were so obsessed about. Once his skeleton finished its growth, the muscles followed suit. He felt incredible heat emanating from his body, as each muscle twitched and grew to enormous size. Size packed on his chest, fully forming two massive pillow-like pecs sticking out from his torso. His cleavage was so deep he could probably put his entire thumb in it, and probably crush it too if he squeezed hard. Muscle packed on his shoulders as well, growing like two bowling balls. It made him look monstrously wide, fully condemning him to a life of having to go through doors sideways. His arms surged with power and grew as well, fully surpassing the width his legs had before. Thick hairy pythons hung to each side of him, resting at an angle due to the thickness of his triceps. His back then rounded out like a shield and expanded into a hairy muscular landscape. The lats were so big they looked like the could fall off of him at any moment.

He heard his stomach grumble, as it blew forward sticking out just a few inches behind his chest. Thick abs could be seen on the curve of his belly. His ass blew his dress pants into oblivion, each cheek swelling like a Christmas turkey. The legs followed suit, thickening into titanic proportions, powerful enough to sustain such a heavy top. Even his feet grew a few sizes, fully completing his transformation. Matt just stared at his new body speechless, feeling control over each fiber. He flexed his big arms, and bounced his heavy chest. A deep chuckle left his throat, and he realized his voice grew much deeper as well. He was so entertained by his new figure, he missed the clumps of hair falling from his head. His hair thinned out a little bit, and shortened itself into a clean cut, contrasting with its previous unkempt image.

Matt looked like a new man. His kid used to tell him he looked the size of a barn, just like that Disney song he liked from the film with the talking furniture. He was very bad with names, but he knew what movies his son liked. Matt scratched his head, confused by the thought of having a child. He was only eighteen, barely old enough to have a kid. But a body like this couldn’t belong to a young kid. A body like this took years of dedication, of pain and sweat, of discipline. He looked like the perfect dad, strong enough to protect, and big enough to climb over like a jungle gym. Matt smiled looking at himself in the mirror. His features changed and rearranged themselves into those of a masculine man. His nose was bigger and his brow stuck further out. Even a cleft formed on his now square jaw. He looked tough, but also lovable.

The maelstrom of memories fully blew Matt’s mind away, turning him into a perfect dad. He felt his dick snake up under his belly, and his balls drop lower and heavier like a mature plume, virile enough to spread his seed wherever he wanted. The rush of testosterone triggered more changes in him. His muscles got denser, more lived in. Crow feet printed themselves next to his eyes, and his skin got rougher fully aging two full decades.

“I’m one sexy motherfucker.”, grunted Matt, flexing before the mirror. He dedicated years of hard work and discipline to his body, and it showed. He loved the tight feeling of a shirt about to burst due to his titanic arms, or how the buttons popped open on their own due to his heavy chest. But even his glorious physique wasn’t his most valuable treasure. That was his son.

Reality rearranged itself around Matt, as memories of Cole growing up with him changed into those of a father raising his son. He remembered how tiny he looked when he held him in his arms, or how scared he looked when Matt dropped him in kindergarten for the first time. He remembered the recitals, the little league games, the birthday parties, the nights with Cole on his bed due to a nightmare, the camping trips. Everything he did, and had, was for his son. He was happy to grow up next to him, so he could teach him about the same hard work and discipline he put into his own life. Hopefully, Cole would grow up to be a good man like his father. And with those genes, hopefully big and strong too.

When Matt came back to his senses, he was standing in a nicely furnished bathroom. He adjusted the glasses on his face, and checked himself one last time before going out. The short sleeved shirt looked perfectly fitted to his big body, his arms almost ripping the tight sleeves apart. He came out of the bathroom to find the luxurious interior of a suburban home. He wanted his kid to have all his necessities covered. The memory of the tiny house in the woods and the monster within fully erased from existence.

“Come on Cole, you don’t wanna miss out on a good pizza, do you?”, he shouted, his deep bass shaking the foundations of the house.

“I’m coming dad!”

Young Cole came rushing down the stairs. His blonde hair shined brighter, and his blue eyes sparkled with excitement. He took his coat and headed towards the front door, where his dad was waiting for him. Matt noticed the small blue cap on the little table next to the door.

“Aren’t you gonna wear your cap?”, he said, handing it to his son. Cole just smiled at his dad, and turned the cap away.

“I’m not scared anymore dad. I don’t need it.”

Matt just smiled and opened the door for Cole. The happy family then headed out into the sunshine to live the rest of their lives together. Nothing would be able to separate them.

[sukiglycerin]

yours, senpai || katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: pro-hero!katsuki bakugou x manager!reader (gender neutral!)

* genre: kind of,,, angsty not really, fluff

* words: 1,884

* warnings: all i can say is sorry shouto, usage of sEnpAi (used for upperclassmen) and kOuhAi (used for underclassmen), i keep doing manager!reader nd bakugou, reader has a bad day, cussing, bakugou being soft

* original request:  okay so i’ve seen so many bakugou fics about him getting jealous but I remember having an idea to write about the reader getting jealous over bakugo for something so little because of them having a rough day i don’t really have the time to write it but if you get around to it and actually wanna write it i’d definitely give it a read

* a/n: this is finally here! i’m really happy with how it turned out. ngl, this was almost named “y/n and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day” but be glad i didn’t LKDSLFSL there will be a second part to this that’s just,,, pwp for fem!reader. so, look forward to that next week! @toishi is the best for proofreading this~~

bakugou always had girls over him. it was just a thing, a norm, that had come to be as a pro-hero. that didn't make you like it more, or anything, but you had to accept it. you knew it would never really change; even in your high school days, the kouhai named bakugou would be the talk of the girls in your year, fawning over his smooth skin and rugged look. (it was as though they'd completely forgotten the sports festival in your second year.) you never understood the appeal; to you, a third-year in the business course, bakugou was just an immature hero-wannabe, one of the boys that came a dime a dozen in japan. heck, this was a hero school; you were surrounded by them.

your first interaction with bakugou was in your third year. you'd been partnered up with a hero course student as a project, learning the ins and outs of marketing to a hero's strengths and managing said hero. girls absolutely ogled you for being partnered up with the bakugou, but you found it slightly revolting. to idolize a second year, a kouhai, who had anger issues and a terrible fashion sense? you did not see the appeal. if anything, you were concerned about how to contain the explosiveness of his personality and package it into a pretty looking present. his face constantly made the crudest of expressions, and the words that fell from his lips were completely vulgar. 

after the project, your perspective of bakugou slightly changed; his face wasn't always unpleasant to look at (typically when he was off-guard) and his personality had softened a bit. he, at least, had the decency to call you senpai; according to a rumour from your friend, class 2a's infamous pretty boy, shouto todoroki, spoke quite plainly. too plainly. it was like he had a bone to pick with every upperclassman he talked to, not bothering to use the proper honorifics and talking shit when upset (the latter, though, wasn't confirmed by your friend, you'd just heard it around).

you kept in touch with bakugou, and the honorifics never really dropped, even though you'd told him it was fine to speak casually. you'd both graduated from high school, thus bakugou became a pro-hero and you started an office job at a hero agency. you worked your way up through the company, though it was an incredibly slow process due to the sheer size of it. it was then bakugou offered you a position at his agency; as his manager.

manager was a heavy word in your mouth. the only times you'd even echoed the job were your school project with bakugou and the one time you'd handed a schedule to a sidekick during one of your internships. besides, you didn't want to earn the job simply because you had the right connection; you wanted to earn it, and as of then, you didn't quite feel you had. when you'd voiced this concerned to bakugou, he bluntly told you that he believed you were fit. (your first reaction was: what kind of reasoning is that?) he then followed up that he was in desperate need of a competent manager, and that if you could do one day he'd be grateful and pay however much you asked. it was a surprising request from such a popular, in-demand hero, but you supposed it wouldn't hurt.

it has not hurt at all in the five years you've been his manager. the closest thing that has come to hurting would be the fangirls, and even then, most mean no harm. somewhere in the middle you'd started dating bakugou, and it was almost as if you were dating his fangirls as well, with the way they always tried to contact you or hammered you if they recognized you in public. thankfully, the latter was extremely rare.

however, today was not a particularly good day for the appearance of fangirls. whatever power in the universe had decided to awaken you on the wrong side of bed (literally, you found yourself face-to-face with a spider and two alarms too late), and now you were blessed with a meet-and-greet for bakugou. 

fanmeets were held once in a blue moon for bakugou (thankfully), because he was more concerned about his hero duties than how his fanservice would make some girl's heart burst out of her chest. lucky for you, the universe blessed you to have one today.

really, the only thing you can think of as you drive to work is the sight of bakugou's face. he's always quite cute in the mornings; the rasp of sleep on his tongue and a slight pout he has when talking. it would be enough to reenergize you for the day, you know for sure.

conveniently, he is nowhere near his office when you arrive to work. you pull out the calendar on your phone and realize: he's currently being styled for his fanmeet, and you definitely won't be seeing him for another hour. you sigh, heading to the lounge to make yourself coffee. this was gonna be a long day.

conveniently, you burn your hand in the slightest making your coffee, and it seems to have started a time bomb of your patience. careful not to burn your tongue on the godforsaken coffee, it gets cold. you're stuck in an elevator with a bunch of stockholders who do not smell pleasant (a potpourri of conflicting fragrances is not ideal), and somehow, you almost trip up walking while fuming about the horribleness of your day.

conveniently, you forget where you put the paper copy of today's schedule and must begrudgingly adhere to the plain, unannotated one on your phone. the hold time for the fanmeet venue takes far too long for a priority customer (such as yourself and ground zero), and listening to eine kleine nachtmusik for the billionth time as the same monotone voice apologizes for the wait does nothing to brighten your day. damnit, mozart, it's morning, and you have 8 more hours of this shit. thankfully, the venue has not completely forgotten about your existence and you're able to confirm everything, and then you find yourself driving to said venue to meet up with staff. traffic is one hell of a nightmare to someone having a bad day.

you sit in your car, which seems extremely cramped and humid because you've been sitting in it for too long, clicking on and off radio channels to the point you make a rhythm based off the clicks and somehow your radio hasn't broken and traffic hasn't moved an inch.

you arrive at the venue on time with no bakugou in sight; ah, right, he's retouching his makeup and hair. he doesn't even need makeup, in your humble opinion; his natural skin is literally glowing. you're just about to approach bakugou (who, maybe on second thought, needs the makeup, considering how angelic he looks) when one of the staff asks that you check that the projector is on the right channel, and then the fans pour in. you try to convince yourself that each fan has spent an abhorral amount of money to get into this event and that you should treat them with respect, but it's so damn hard when they're all nosebleeding and making grabby hands at bakugou. you're grateful you're not a bodyguard, or you're sure you would've decked the teen with the green shirt who attempted to full-on makeout with bakugou before being politely escorted out.

you could barf at the fanservice so gracefully sown into the fanmeet; the way bakugou so effortlessly intertwines with a fan's, or how he ends a smooth line with a heart-killing smirk. it's absolutely disgusting recalling that you taught him all of that.

needless to say, you have a lot of pent-up frustration by end of the day. the fanmeet ended smoothly, though halfway in, you considered ditching your position as manager to become a nosebleeding, crying, grabby-handed fan just to make contact with bakugou. perhaps the last straw for you was after the fanmeet; as the two of you exited the venue, tired, a fan (probably around bakugou's age) approached bakugou for a picture. bakugou accepted, and she apologized profusely for bothering the two of you. you were stuck behind the camera, grumpily watching as she put her hands on bakugou. a rational part of your brain knew her touches were as polite as possible, but the rest of your brain selectively ignored this fact. you fumed taking the photo, gritting out a smile as you handed back the fan's phone (stopping yourself from smashing it on the pavement). who were these fans, taking away you from bakugou? 

"senpai," bakugou deadpans as the two of you drive home. the word brings a sense of comfort to you; strange to an outside viewer, you know, but it somewhat acts as a pet name bakugou used on you. the word brings you back to simpler times, when you and bakugou were clear-cut senpai and kouhai, nothing else. even when you became his manager, the word "senpai" rolled so smoothly off his tongue, despite the roles being switched. you started having a penchant for the word, it becoming a word of comfort to you. for you, entangled in a strange manager/lover position to bakugou. senpai. it reminds you of who bakugou was, and how much he means to you now.

"eh? what's wrong? you've been lookin' upset all day," bakugou grunts.

"it's... trivial," you say. you rarely get jealous; you trust bakugou, and know he'd only ever have eyes for you. "let's talk about it when we get home." you make up your mind to discuss it rationally with bakugou when you get home. very rationally, with cuddles and all.

one thing that fans will never ever get are bakugou's cuddles, and you smile to yourself at that. they'll never know what it feels like to feel safe in bakugou's arms, to be enveloped in his scent, to feel home with bakugou, and be able to call him only yours. in that way, he's your little secret.

when bakugou asks what's wrong at home, you simply reply, "missed you." the two words are enough; he's stepping towards you, a little hesitant, and then his arms are around you, and the familiar scent of caramel greets you.

"had a bad day," you confess, "and watching all the fans and the fanservice..."

"fuck the fanservice," bakugou says, and his grip gets slightly tighter. "i'd leave it all for you, in a heartbeat. i'm... i'm only yours." you look at him, and he's looking away, face scrunched in a frustrated expression and cheeks dusted pink.

"you should know that, idiot," he grumbles. 

you smile. "love you," you say, pecking his cheek softly. he flushes deeper at this, glancing at you then away again.

"don't make me say it back," he mumbles. "you know i love you too."

it's at night when the feelings of jealousy bubble again. you can't help but feel insecure, replaying the day's events in your mind. those girls had so much that you didn't - surely, they were much more attractive, much more sweet and kind. 

"mine," you mumble, pressing yourself against bakugou.

"stop thinking, moron, and sleep," bakugou grunts. "of course i'm all yours."

[hargrove-mayfields]

Lover, Lover, Number 9

Second day of HWOL!! Today’s prompt was Love Potion!! Read here or on my ao3 @ej_writer

Word Count: 4,593

Rating: T

Warnings: Non-Consensual Touching (Pretty much blink and you miss it and very non-explicit. It happens while a person(s) is under the influence of a love potion.)

It’s all Max’s fault, honest.

For the week leading up to Valentine’s Day, Billy’s been trying to pick the best person to be his date. Not that Valentine’s was really that important to him, per se, but he’d made a bet.

His step sister, the little brat, had made a wager that if he didn’t have himself a date by the fourteenth of February, he’d be forced to drive her everywhere she wanted to go for a whole year.

There was no way he was about to fork over that much of his time to some snotty middle schoolers, but finding someone he’s willing to go out with, a condition of Max’s bet was that it couldn’t just be a hookup, ended up being a lot harder than he anticipated.

Before he knew it, there were only two days left before he either got a date, or subjected himself to the dweeb-orama gang.

He tried to ask Carol, since Tommy dumped her right before the big day and she seemed to be into him, or at least how his ass looked in his jeans, but she tells him she doesn’t want to deal with the drama. So he tries Tommy, but he wants commitment and feels like Billy’s just in it to best Max, which, yeah, he sort of is. Everyone else follows the same pattern, can’t keep up with his reputation, can’t trust him in a relationship, on and on and on.

It’s over breakfast one morning, as he groggily makes him and his sister both a bowl of cereal, that Max asks him, “Why don’t you just ask Steve?”

Billy acts unphased, doesn’t even bother to look at her. “Steve who?”

“C’mon stupid.” His sister rolls her eyes and drags a bowl over towards herself. “Everyone knows you like Steve Harrington.”

“Do not.” He shovels a mouthful of cereal in his mouth.

“Right. Lemme guess, you don’t eat like a pig either?”

“Very funny.” He fixes her with a glare. “I’m serious shitbird, just because I like him doesn’t mean I like him.”

She nods and agrees. “Sure.”

“And just because he's nice to me doesn’t mean I have to have the hots for him.”

“If you insist.” Her bottom lip juts out as she agrees with overemphasis.

“What is your problem?” He snaps.

“I’m just agreeing with you. You don’t like Steve Harrington.” There’s a mischievous smile darkening her sweet face as she tells him matter-of-factly, “But, if you’re really desperate, I know a way to get him to like you.”

And Billy already knows what she means, of course the little shit would suggest something like that. “Nuh-uh. No way, I am not using magic.”

“Why not? Clearly you need it.”

“Because I can do it on my own, brat. Just don’t want to.” He's too defensive for it to not be true and they both know it, so before he lets a thirteen year old do anymore damage to his ego, he adds, “Can't deal with your bull this early.”

Max looks at him all smug like, her eyebrows raised as she hides a knowing smile behind her cereal bowl, but she does let it go, if not just to watch her step brother stew in silent annoyance. She’d gotten under his skin so easy, and she thought it was funny.

Her step brother, on the other hand, does not, and narrows his eyes at her, practically snarling at the look on her face. “Shut up.”

“I wasn’t even saying anything!” She bites back.

Billy grumbles and dumps his bowl in the sink, and leaves to his room to avoid babysitting his sister.

He’s starting to realize that Max had set him up. The real reason she made the stupid bet wasn’t to torture him with driving her and her nerds around, but because she thought she could hook him up with Steve.

But that doesn’t matter, because he's not pining after Steve Harrington, no matter what his little sister says.

Sure, Steve had invited him over to his place a few times, but that was just a courtesy since they were friends from basketball. And it didn’t matter that he happened to be the prettiest boy Billy ever laid eyes on, with his soft hair the color of chestnut and his doe eyes just as dark, and his long nose and his pretty red lips and-

Okay, maybe he was a little into Harrington, but again, he wasn’t going out with his best friend just because his step sister dared him to.

He can’t just call the bet off, but he’s not willing to lose either. The clock was ticking, Valentine’s Day getting closer and closer, so he’d just have to settle on somebody soon.

Admittedly, it would make things a lot easier just to cheap out and use magic, after all, he’d been trying and failing to get a date for weeks, but that could be dangerous, and Billy’s been barred from using his powers for a few years now anyways.

His father was ashamed to have a freak for a son, so ever since Max and her mother came around, he wasn’t actually supposed to use any magic at all anymore, not even for the most insignificant of things. Hell, with how tight of a leash Neil kept on him, his step sister wasn’t even technically supposed to know he’d inherited the knack from his mother.

He doesn’t really listen to that rule, but there’s no way for Neil to keep tabs on that kind of thing, so he still puts a charm on his and his sisters bedroom doors every night to keep unwanted guests out, and he still uses spells for his convenience whenever he can get away with it.

In all honesty, he could do without that stuff. Incantations were boring, spells were too basic. His favorite, the one thing he misses having the liberty to do, that’s got to be potions.

Before his mother’d left him behind, ran off to live the uninhibited life of a free spirit every witch dreamed of having, she had been very proud that Billy had taken after her in his powers, and in his skill for potion making especially.

They would make them together a lot of the time, huddled up down in the basement when his dad wasn’t home so she could show him the ropes and teach him all the recipes she knew.

He’d caught on real quick, well enough that she didn’t need to hover after the first few attempts at one type. Sometimes he wishes he’d been less proficient for just a little longer, so she’d have had a reason to stay and keep helping him.

Among their most common to make though were potions of luck and protection, elixirs, anything positive really. His mother may have also, on occasion, made a more powerful potion, one to keep under the pillows, in a flask on her hip, to spike her husband's coffee with every morning, just so Neil couldn’t hurt her or her son, but Billy was sworn to secrecy on that one.

Under his bed he still had a trunk full to bursting with everything of his mothers’ he had been able to keep, including their already prepared potions. Rows and rows of intricate crystal bottles, some still full to the top while others had only a few drops left, depending on how useful they were, all neatly displayed along with the rest of the memories of his mother.

She absolutely never allowed him to make anything dangerous, the first thing she ever taught him was to always keep hate out of his magic, so she’d let him practice more complicated and powerful potions with something a little less destructive.

Something like love potions.

It becomes his sort of trademark, the earthy smell of rose hips and cinnamon clinging to his skin from hours bent over their big cauldron they kept stored away. Even now, without having brewed anything for almost a year since they’d moved houses, it still lingered, like an aura.

They made up for some of his best work, the hardest of the love potions coming easier to him than the easiest of the medicinal ones. The best he’d ever made was a platonic love potion that his mom let him use the teensiest drop of to stop a fight between his friends at school, and to this day he was still proud of that one.

His mom had always said it made sense that that would be where he excelled, loving with his whole heart was just in his nature, and his craft was the reflection of that. In the same sense, it comes as no surprise when he’d stopped being able to brew anything stronger than potpourri after she’d walked out on him and broke that big heart right in two.

He didn’t know if keeping every of the potions that he made was genuinely because of their potential usefulness, like he tried to convince himself, or if it was a way to hold onto a time when he was still good at what he did. A time when he was happy.

Were he going to use one of those potions he kept stashed away, as Max had not so subtly suggested, he knows exactly which one he would choose. Not number six, not number twenty-seven, he would need number nine.

Not that he would, because he refuses to use his magic for petty relationships. Yet another thing his mom had drilled into him from the start was to never use his gift to take advantage of other people.

But then another day passes, and Billy's got to at least consider it, if not only for the sake of him not having to provide chauffeuring services to his least favorite bratpack.

In all reality, it wouldn’t be so bad to date Steve, he was nice enough and cute enough, but he feels they were sort of of the same polarity. They could get along just fine now, but there was some force, some energy between the two that kept them apart.

For every step they take forward, say, Steve agreeing to keep his magical secret from the moment they met, they have to take one back.

That fact had been well established in his mind since the moment he noticed himself making heart eyes; he and Steve just weren’t going to work out. Not after months of oblivious pigtail pulling, not after pushing Steve out of his own social circle, and definitely not after their fist fight in November.

Billy thinks he takes rejection from Tommy and Carol and everyone else in stride, but Steve wasn’t like them. The relationship they already had teetered on the line between rivals and friends, always one argument away from going back to that place, and Billy’s unwilling to lose that constant.

Of course, he wouldn’t have to worry about rejection and ruining friendships if he used magic.

But that was wrong. Number 9 was the strongest of the strong. It was said that it was powerful enough to make oil and water mix, but even then its effects only lasted for exactly twenty minutes. The jig’d be up quick, and his pretty boy would be right back to hating him.

There was always the slightest chance too that it were brewed just right, and Steve would love him forever, the bond that would form between them the moment he drank from Billy’s magic maybe enough to last, despite their differences. It wasn’t guaranteed to turn out bad, so maybe, just maybe, he’d give it a shot.

Godammit, had Max gotten in his head.

~~~~~

Billy knows he’s an idiot, a complete and total dumbass for showing up to the party with a crystal vial in his pocket, but he can’t help it.

There’s no guarantee he’s even going to use it, it’s just in his pocket as a sort of security blanket. He doesn’t even catch a glimpse of Steve anywhere among the crowd, so he sees no harm in it.

Well, at least not until someone, he’d have to guess it was Tommy, slips a hand into the pocket of Billy’s jacket, apparently able to sense a bottle from a mile away, and steals it. Like it’s just his own secret stash of alcohol instead of the most powerful piece of magic he’d sure as hell ever owned, let alone to have ever been used in Hawkins, a traditionalist town known for its distinct lack of witchcraft.

Only he doesn’t notice that it’s been swiped, not until he catches a glimpse of the gentle pink glow that only he could see in someone else’s hand from across the room, hovering just inches above the punch bowl.

He’d like to think he’s pretty powerful in his craft, he'd been raised by a witch who’d in her time been strong enough to get kicked out of her coven for threatening the High Priest, but in that moment he just sort of freezes.

There’s an infinite number of spells he could’ve used; he knows how to stop time, how to recall objects, and about a thousand and one other handy little ways to stop the vial from being overturned into that bowl.

And yet, his brain freezes up, and before he can do anything about it, there’s a thick fog rolling off of the bowl, and the air smells sweet and sticky like ladies perfume, and the liquid is shining all bright pink.

Billy is officially screwed.

It’s one thing for a single person to drink a love potion, but mixing it with any other liquid? That shit turned into a weapon.

He knows he’s not gonna make it in time, but he’s at least gotta try to stop it, get people as far away from it as possible. He muscles his way across the room, pushing past the crowd of teenagers to try to get to it first. “Nobody fucking touch the punch.”

But his voice calling over the crowd draws their attention to him, and there’s at least fifty hollow gazes fixed right on him. Judging by the looks on their faces, the pinpoint pupils and the awe stricken smiles, he’s too late.

There’s one breathless moment where Billy realizes what's about to happen and tries to back away before all hell breaks loose, but all at once they all surge forward trying to get their hands on him.

Momma didn’t stick around long enough to teach him how to discharge a potion, and he wasn’t going to make it the whole twenty minutes in this herd. The front door is his only escape.

It’s so dark in the room, other than the light from the potion’s ambience, that he can’t make out who’s who, whose lips those are on his neck, whose hands are on his hips and tangled up in his hair, so he just trudges forward as best he can, trying to shake each person off, only to get another wrapped around him.

But, in the magic induced state, they’re strong, and they don’t want to let him go. Fingernails dig into his skin, arms wrap tight around his waist, any way they can hold onto him to try keep him from moving any closer to that door, they do.

It’s like walking in gelatin, so many people trying to stop him, and it takes him way longer than it should, but he makes it to the door.

Before he can open it, someone’s pushing his back up against it and reaching a hand up under his shirt. Another someone presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He feels blindly for the door knob and gets it in his hand after a few attempts, the ordeal being all the harder when there were so many people who wanted those hands on them, and twists it.

The rush of cold air from outside and the lights from the streetlight on the sidewalk helps a little to dilute the strength of the potion, weakening just enough the grip of those under his influence that he can wriggle out and slam the door shut behind him.

He keeps his back pressed against it, his arms holding on to either side of the door frame as tight as he could so nobody else can get out. Checking his watch, there were still about seven more minutes until the potion would wear off.

He could see the faintest glow of pink light shining from under the door and behind the curtains on the front window, and he thought about what they were doing without him. Probably talking about how he was the coolest, the ones who’d gotten their hands on him bragging.

No one but him would remember what happened anyways.

To make his escape, wait out the rest of the potion's effects, and hightail it before anybody remembered he was even here, well, that would have just been too easy. Because this is Billy Hargrove, so of course, at that very moment, who would approach the house but Steve fucking Harrington.

“Hargrove?” He looks confusedly up at Billy, and climbs a few of the porch steps to ask him, “What’re you doin’ out here man?”

“Party’s a bummer. Thinking ‘bout ditching.” The nonchalance he’s able to portray in his voice is in direct contrast with the way his hair is frizzed out and his clothes are all messy from what happened inside.

Steve doesn’t seem to pay it any mind though, because he offers him a smile, and responds to Billy like this situation didn’t look weird at all, with him sprawled out over the door and in such bad shape. “Mind if I join you? Wasn’t really looking forward to all the people tonight anyways.”

“Uh, if you give me,” Billy turns his wrist, still not letting go of the door, and reads the time on his watch again, “three and a half minutes, then we can blow.”

Steve leans a little to try to see in the window. “Is somethin’ going on?”

“Nothin’, nothin’ just uh, told Tom I’d stay ‘til quarter after.” It’s a bullshit excuse, Steve already knows he and Tommy aren’t even that close, but Billy just focuses on counting down the seconds and doesn’t think too much about it. “And…. we’re good.”

“You are so weird, dude.” Steve remarks while he waits for Billy on the steps. He looks back over his shoulder when they’re walking away but visibly shrugs it off. “Did you drive?”

“You know I don’t park my baby on the street.” His prized Camaro had yet to make an appearance at one of these parties, for a platitude of reasons, but the main one being that he might have to break his mother’s golden rule and put a curse on someone if his beauty got so much as a scratch.

“Figures.” Steve remarked. He didn’t think the Camaro was all that, thought it was too loud and too fast.

His BMW isn’t too far off, showing up late meant he had to take a street spot instead of cramming into the driveway, but that only made it easier to get out.

While he starts it up, he asks Billy, “Where are we going? I picked last time.”

“Far away from here as possible.” He mutters in response.

Before he pulls away from the curb, Steve asks, “Did something happen, Bills? You’re acting all, weird.” There was genuine concern laced into his voice, none of that playfulness that they usually had.

But for Billy, anything would be better than having to own up to what had happened. He’d have to admit to the whole, desperate for love, he used a potion he made when he was seven to try to make Steve Harrington fall for him, and that was not ideal, to put it simply.

Only, he felt obligated to explain, because he knew what Steve was thinking had happened. He knew too much about the sorts of things Billy told not a single other soul.

His magic was one thing. Where nobody was really supposed to know Hawkins got a new spell caster for the first time in ages, Steve had some grandma or someone who was a witch and had recognized that shit in a heartbeat.

Observational skills like that, it was no surprise he’d figured out the truth about his father too. About where the bruises and the scars came from.

So he knows that’s what Steve’s thinking right now, that Billy’s acting off because of something his dad did, and it would feel wrong not to tell him the truth, to be pitied when nothing even happened this time. Still, he’s not exactly thrilled about having to confess about the potion.

“Someone brought a fucking Number 9 to the party.” Billy flips the sun visor down to see himself in the little mirror there. There’s kiss marks all over him that he tries to rub off with his sleeve, but the leather doesn’t do much but make the skin flush.

“Shit, not a number nine.” Steve says it like he’s confident in it, but his gaze keeps flickering over to Billy to gauge his reaction. It’s clear that he has no idea what he’s talking about. “What's- what’s number nine?”

Billy snorts and explains, “Only the strongest love potion out there. Went straight into the punch.”

He doesn’t have much of a grip on the magical world, but he knew enough to guess that was a problem. “What kind of a dipstick would bring that?”

Billy stopped wiping at his face and looked over at Steve with that ‘come on, stupid’ look on his face. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the only dipstick who walked away from the place covered in fucking lipstick.”

“Really?” There’s a teasing tone in his voice, like a parent who found out there kid had a crush, and it makes Billy want to sock him. “And who does Billy Hargrove need a love potion for?”

“For you.” It takes all the courage he has, but he admits it. His eyes flicker nervously between Steve and everywhere else, waiting for his response.

And what he gets is, “Pfft. You know I don’t need magic to get the ladies.” Let it be known that no one ever accused Steve of being the brightest.

As if he hadn’t noticed that Steve was a skeezer. As if his heart hadn’t already been broken a thousand times over because of it. “Yeah, no shit.”

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion, but maybe a little bit in denial too. “Then why’d you bring me a love potion?”

“Steve.” It sounds like a plea, an exhausted attempt to get him to understand, but Steve isn’t in on it.

“What?” Billy just sort of raises his eyebrows in response, and something about it makes it click in Steve’s head.

His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape, and when he speaks again, his voice is all breathless, “You were going to use it on me?”

“Doesn’t take a genius.” And that’s the end of it.

They don’t talk about it. Steve drives them out to the quarry in silence, occasionally looking over at Billy like he wants to say something, but doesn’t.

As soon as they get there, before Steve’s even got the chance to put the bimmer in park, Billy’s out of the car and sitting on the edge of the rocky lookout.

He needs a smoke, needs the burning in his lungs to distract him from the weight of what he had just admitted to Steve. His hands are shaking as he fumbles with a match, trying and failing to light the cigarette on three different matches before he decides to give up.

Steve taps his shoulder and hands Billy his zippo before sitting down next to him. “You didn’t have to.”

Billy lights it up and takes a long drag, giving Steve back his light with a cigarette as thanks, filling his lungs with as much smoke as he can before he can respond. “Have to what?”

“Try to use magic on me.” Steve’s staring down at his hands, calculating every last word he says. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Yeah, I know Harrington. It was creepy. Just drop it.” There’s a sharpness in that tone that hasn’t been there for months, and it makes the both of them wince.

Steve explains himself, hurt by the coldness, “No, I think it’s sweet! I mean, that you would do that for me.”

“Get over yourself. Was just messin’ around, wanted to see if I could do it.” That’s what gives him away. Billy was too sure of his own prowess for that to be all of it, and so Steve decides to press him for the truth.

“Don’t you want to know what I would’ve said though, if you asked me?”

“Honestly? No.” He really, really does.

Steve pretends like he doesn’t hear that and tells him anyways. “I like you Billy.”

It hitches his breath to hear that, but Billy’s got to be rational. “Yeah? You like me or the cinnamon?”

Steve’s face scrunches up in confusion. “What?”

“It’s an ingredient in the potion, Steve. Do you mean it or did you get a whiff of that shit somehow?” He still doesn’t look at him, just stares down at the churning water, and it registers with Steve that he doesn’t want to see absent admiration, pinpoint pupils, any sign that this isn’t real.

So he assures him, his voice as soft as it can be, “I mean it. I really really like you, and if you’re not gonna believe me, then- then I guess I’ll just have to prove it.“

Who would’ve expected Steve to make the first move? Stumbling, bumbling Steve Harrington, the one to lean in first. But he is, it’s him who uses those long fingers to turn Billy’s face towards his and presses their lips together.

If, you know, there wasn’t a more pressing matter at hand, like the fact that the boy he’d just tried to use love magic on was kissing him without the assistance of said magic, Billy might’ve been a little disappointed in himself to not be the one to initiate it.

But they’d have time for that argument later, about who did what when, right now his mind was more focused on not just sitting there, on moving his lips against the other boys and

It feels like forever before Steve pulls away to put a hand on the back of Billy’s head so he can bring their foreheads together.

Steve’s breathless as he says, “Wanted to do that since the first time I saw you in the parking lot.”

“Good. Didn’t want to have to brew any more.” Billy says without a hint of seriousness.

Steve nudges him with his elbow. “I’m trying to be romantic, you ass.”

“No seriously, hibiscus is super hard to come by around here, couldn’t afford to waste any on you.”

Crossing his arms, Steve fixes Billy with a stern look that makes him laugh.

“M’only teasin’ ya pretty boy.” He crumples his cigarette into the asphalt and puts his hand on Steve’s knee. “Kiss me like that again, would ya?”

And he does. Every time Billy asks, Steve’ll kiss him just like that first time, soft and gentle and sweet in a way he’s never had, no magic required.

Needless to say, Billy definitely won that bet.

[language-of-love]

Intimacy prompts: how about 18 (playing with hair) and/or 47 (cuddling under blankets) for David and Patrick

I hope you don’t mind that this got a little steamy. :)

PG-13 - (AO3). Rated E | 1800 words

❅ ❆ ❅ ❆ ❅

“Are you serious? I thought you were handy.”

“Are you forgetting that I had to watch a YouTube tutorial to put up the lights at the store? And I only did that because I wanted to impress you.”

A full body shiver rolls down Patrick’s spine as he quickly steps out of his slippers to make a quick dash under David’s well-constructed pile of blankets on their bed.

“Oh really?”

“Yes, David. You know that. Oh god, my pillowcase is freezing!”

Blissfully warm hands find Patrick’s wrist and slide up over his forearm and just like that, he’s shivering for an entirely different reason than the sub-zero temperature of their bedroom.

“Mine’s warm now, come over.”

It’s a little bit of a struggle moving under the weight of quilts and comforters and sleeping bags, but with David’s hand sliding over his rib cage to anchor on his back and pull him forward, Patrick makes relatively quick work of getting as close to his husband as humanly possible. Everything about him is warm, except the tip of his nose, which David is currently trying to tuck up against Patrick’s forehead.

“That’s cold!”

“What is?”

“Your nose!”

“Well, all of you is cold, so get over it!”

He has a fair point. Patrick’s about to concede to that when David’s arm pulls him in closer and he lifts his knee, giving Patrick room to slide his leg forward and lock them together like Legos. Instead of talking, Patrick buries his face a little deeper under David’s chin and presses what he’s sure is a cold kiss into the warm skin there.

David flinches a little but he doesn’t complain, making Patrick’s lips curve up into a smile after kissing him again.

“We can call Ronnie tomorrow. She’s got a friend who can fix the heater.”

“I think you mean you can call Ronnie tomorrow. She’s still not a fan.”

David doesn’t reply, but Patrick can feel his chuckle against his lips as it rumbles in his throat.

The somewhat oppressive pile of blankets and the warmth radiating from David are doing a good job of loosening Patrick’s muscles from the cramped positions they’d found themselves in as he’d fumbled unsuccessfully with the ancient heater in their basement. It’s a relief when he stretches his fingers out and he takes a risk that they're warm enough as he seeks out the hem of David’s sleep shirt so he can slip them up inside. David grumbles a little, but he leans into the touch as Patrick slides his hand up and down over the warm planes of his husband’s back.

“You feel good,” he whispers, lifting his head from his warm nook so he can pepper soft kisses at the corner of David’s jaw.

“You’re still cold,” David whines, but as he does, he’s dropping his chin in search of Patrick’s mouth as he grabs the edge of the top blanket and drags it over their heads. The kiss is a bit uncoordinated at first with David’s scrambling with the blanket, but soon Patrick’s being locked in tight with David’s thigh and the widening of his fingers at the back of his head as David’s lips warm him to the tips of his toes.

Groaning into David’s mouth, he welcomes the chaotic swirling in his gut at the sweetness of David’s kiss, the way he’s warming his lips with his breath and the deep, achingly slow swipes of his tongue. It’s almost as if he’s trying to take Patrick apart, but unintentionally, as if he doesn’t want them to get too worked up, but can’t seem to help himself.

And it’s working.

“I’m definitely warming up,” Patrick breathes as he spreads the hand trapped between them over David’s chest, sliding along the fabric until he finds David’s pebbled nipple with his thumb.

“Fuck,” David pants against his mouth, “gotta keep it PG-13. Neither of us are going to want to get out of this bed to clean up.”

Turning his thumb, he drags his nail over the sensitive nub as he mumbles “okay” and David drags him back into a kiss that belies his best intentions.

It’s not long before Patrick’s rolled David onto his back and he’s dragged his shirt up to his armpits, David’s hands in Patrick’s hair pulling just the right amount as Patrick’s teeth graze the skin just to the side of where David wants him to be.

“Patrick.”

Lifting his head, he tries to make out David’s face, but it’s dark under the blanket, so he just assumes the expression there is one of impatience.

“Yes.”

“I hate you.”

Leaning down, he does a slow drag of his tongue across David’s neglected nipple and he smiles at David’s poor attempt at hiding his moan.

“You love me.”

“It comes and goes.”

“Oh, it’ll be coming…”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me to finish?”

“I hate you again.”

He doesn’t though. And the way his hands are now softly sifting through Patrick’s hair and one of his thumbs is slowly caressing the top of his ear, Patrick knows how much this lighthearted pillow talk means to his husband. How much it means to them both.

Lowering his head again, he rubs the tip of his nose through the hair surrounding David’s nipple, pressing in deeper until he can’t hold back any longer either. As he sucks and nibbles, David’s hips starting to rock upward against his stomach and the noises escaping David’s lips provide a maddeningly erotic cacophony under the now entirely too warm cocoon of blankets.

Dragging his mouth and body down, he drops kisses along the hair trailing down David’s belly, loving the tickles of it against his lips and the faint lavender scent left behind by the potpourri satchel that lives in David’s pajama drawer. There’s this complicated mix of masculine and feminine that make up David Rose that Patrick loves to the deepest part of himself. And it overwhelms him sometimes, like now, where if he wasn’t nearing suffocation, he’d kiss each of the freckles on David’s skin as he told him every single thing he loves about him. But it’s hot and by the feel of his husband’s erection threatening to escape the top of his sleep pants, it's best to maybe just move things along.

“Sweetheart, can you push some of the blankets off, I can’t breathe down here.”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a second.”

David’s hands are gone from his hair and he misses them immediately, but then about three layers of weight are gone from his head and it’s such a relief. Dropping his mouth back down to David’s skin, he kisses his thanks along the waistband of his pants and further down, letting his lips pass teasingly over the cotton where David’s straining to be touched.

“Oh fuck, Patrick, please…”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. Well, sometimes he does, because David begging is a huge turn on, but right now, he just wants to make his husband feel good. He only has to tug the waistband down a fraction to give himself access and as he’s spreading his lips over David’s tip, he feels David’s fingers sink back into his hair and he’s pretty sure they both moan at the same time. There’s something primal about how he can tell how close David is just by the weight of him in his mouth and he has to dig his own hips down into the mattress for some friction as he swells with that familiar rush of power.

Urging David to lift his thigh over his shoulder, he does all the things he knows will drive David crazy, using his hand and mouth everywhere until David’s hips rise up high off the mattress and his hand falls from Patrick’s hair to grip the blanket as he spills down Patrick’s throat.

“Okay,” David mumbles after catching his breath, “I love you again.”

Patrick lifts his head from where he’d collapsed on David’s thigh and smiles, licking at his swollen lips before nudging his nose against David’s now spent cock. David’s hands find his hair again and he gives a little tug, prompting Patrick to stretch his back and make his way back up David’s body, stopping to press kisses and lick at random spots. It’s torture on his own now rock hard erection, rubbing along David’s body as he goes, so he doesn’t resist even an ounce when David loses his patience and demands he move over onto his back.

The covers are all askew now and the cold air in the room is a surprisingly welcome contrast to the heat of David’s hands as they work to open the buttons on his shirt and spread out wide across his abdomen. God, he loves how big David’s hands are. And fuck, as one of those hands reach inside his pants to take a firm hold of his cock, he somehow finds a way to love them even more.

“I’m really close, be…”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” David snips.

“I hate how you know how much you being a little shit turns me on.”

“I know.”

He can’t hold back the yelp when David lowers his mouth down over his cock, because with the loss of their blanket cocoon, his nose ghosting over his belly is surprisingly frigid.

“What?”

“Cold nose!”

In retaliation, David proceeds to run the tip of his nose along his length, and it’s so ridiculous they both dissolve into laughter.

“Can I please finish now,” David eventually protests with a smile, his long fingers already stroking and squeezing so Patrick knows there’s only one correct answer.

“Uh huh,” he somehow manages to get out when David doesn’t even wait for one.

David shows no mercy in his determination to make Patrick come, probably because he’s getting cold. He loves that David can be ninety nine percent focused on giving Patrick pleasure and there will still be that one percent thinking about himself. As he already admitted moments earlier, he gets off on David being a brat, and it takes just a handful of seconds before he’s giving in and David’s swallowing him down.

It’s only after David’s pulled their blankets up over them again and is dragging Patrick back in close that Patrick’s brain cells have recalibrated to allow himself to form coherent speech.

“So much for PG-13.”

“You really need to watch more movies. PG-13 does not mean no sex. They just can’t really show it and you can only say fuck once.”

“I’m pretty sure you said fuck twice.”

“You were counting?”

“Don’t you?”

“Yes, but that’s only because you only curse when we have sex. Or when you watch sports, but those don’t count.”

“They don’t?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you aren’t paying attention to me.”

“David.”

“Yes.”

“You need to be quiet or things are going to get rated R around here real quick.”

“It’s too cold.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

Patrick’s grin is so wide he actually knocks his teeth against David’s as he pulls him in for a kiss, making David grumble, which just helps get Patrick focused for the challenge ahead.

[mldrgrl]

prompt: Mulder and Scully being competitive with each other over silly things - Jeopardy? solving the case before the end of an episode of some sort of forensic crime show? how many slices of pizza they can eat? a board game? etc.

Loved this one, Anon, thank you so much.  And I was in the mood to whip up something humorous.  Went to sleep last night thinking about it.

Half and Half

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG

“I’m dying to get out of this suit,” Scully says.  “Give me ten minutes and then we can go through the report?”

“I’ll leave the connecting door unlocked,” Mulder says as they exit their rental car and head to the doors to their rooms.  “Come over when you’re done and we’ll order in.”

She sighs in relief as she kicks off her heels at the door.  She tosses her blazer to the side, unbuttons her shirt, and loosens her skirt.  She clips her hair back, washes her face, and changes into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

File folders under her arm, she taps lightly on the connecting door before she pushes it open.  Mulder is sitting at the edge of the bed, tie off and buttons undone at the neck.  His shirtsleeves are rolled up and he’s yelling at the TV.

“What is Mork & Mindy!” he yells.  “Mork and Mindy, you idiots.  Everyone knows ‘nanu nanu.’”

“We were looking for, ‘What is Mork & Mindy?’” Alex Trebeck says.

“Obviously,” Mulder says.  “How did you people even get on the show?”

“What are you doing?” Scully asks.

“Playing Jeopardy.”

“TV Catchphrases for $400, Alex.”

“Book ‘em, Danno.”

“What is Hawaii 5-0,” Mulder yells, just as Scully says, “Hawaii 5-0.”

Mulder makes the sound of a buzzer.  “You have to answer in the form of a question, Scully, or it doesn’t count.”

“I still knew the answer.”

“You mean, the question.”

“Do you want to debate the semantics of Jeopardy or go over the reports?”

“Sure, sure.”

“Let’s try Shakespeare Who Said it? for $200.”

“Double double, toil and trouble.”

“Who are the witches?” Mulder answers.

“Who are the three witches of Macbeth,” Scully says at the same time.

“Who is Macbeth?” answers the first contestant to ring in.

“Oh, come on,” Scully says.  “You can’t be that dumb.”

“Right?”

“Not quite what we’re looking for,” Alex answers.  Finally, the second contestant answers correctly.

“Shakespeare Who Said It for $300.”

“I prithee daughter do not make me mad.”

“Baptista, maybe,” Mulder answers.  “Who is Baptista?”

“No, who is King Lear?” Scully disagrees.

“Who is King Lear?”

“Who is, King Lear.  Act 2, scene 4, referring to Goneril.  And that will lead us to our first commercial break.  More to come after these words from our sponsors.”

“I should’ve known that one,” Mulder says, scooting over to make room for Scully on the bed.  “$600 to $500, I’m winning.”

“How do you figure that?”

“You lost Hawaii 5-0 to incorrect phrasing.”

“You didn’t establish the rules.  $600 to $900, I’m winning.”

“I didn’t have to establish anything, those are the inherent rules of Jeopardy.  Everybody knows that.”

“Mulder, I’m here to go over these reports,” Scully answers, holding up the file folders that have been tucked under her arm the whole time.  She is still standing.

“How about a little wager?”

“On what?”

“Winner orders the pizza of their choice, loser pays.”

“Come on, Mulder.”

“You don’t think you can beat me?”

“No, I know I can beat you.  I just want to get this review done so I can go to bed.”

“Scully, it’s 7 o’clock.  The review can wait.  Unless you’re just chicken.”

“Very mature.”

“Triple dog dare you?”

Scully held her hand out as though to shake Mulder’s.  “We start with a clean slate going in from the commercial and we make our own wagers on Double Jeopardy questions.”

“I’ll keep score!”  Mulder leaves Scully’s handshake hanging in the breeze and jumps up to grab the complimentary pad of paper and pen on the motel desk, which she snatches from him as soon as he comes back to sit down.

“I’ll keep score,” she says.

“You are the math geek.”

They sit through contestant bios and Alex Trebek’s vaguely sarcastic comments on the tidbits they’ve chosen to share with the audience.  When the game starts back up again, there are two answers left in Shakespeare Who Said It? and every answer available in Civil War Nicknames, The Old West, and American Folklore.

Unsurprisingly, Mulder dominates the folklore category, but they tie for two answers.  They both struggle with The Old West more than Civil War Nicknames, but the answers there are easier to decipher within the clues.  Mulder is up $700 when the first Daily Double comes up in The Old West.

“$200,” Scully says.  “I already don’t even want to know the answer.”

“$500,” Mulder answers.  

“Suffering from tuberculosis and alcoholism, this dentist turned gunslinger died in a sanitarium at the age of 36.”

“Who is Doc Holliday,” Scully answers.

“Who is Bat Master..dammit!” Mulder replies just a beat behind her.

“You should’ve known that one.”

“It was the first thing that popped into my head.  What’s the damage?”

“We’re tied.”

“All right, next round, it’s getting serious.”

“Prepare to pay for a large vegetarian with extra olives.”

“Ugh, vegetables on pizza is the antithesis to the point of pizza.”

“And what is the point of pizza?”

“All the pepperoni you can handle and then add in some sausage for good measure.”

“You’re a heart attack waiting to happen, Mulder.  When was the last time you had your cholesterol checked?”

“In May, actually.  Fit as a fiddle.  Here we go, round 2.”

“...categories are: Before & After, Science, Word Origins, Potpourri, The Body Human, and finally, Astronomy. ”

The contestants seem fixated on Potpourri and Before & After, to Mulder’s relief.  He isn’t ready for Scully to completely smoke him in the Science and The Body Human categories.  He figures if he can do well enough in the first two, he might be able to hold firm and maybe they might get to Astronomy where he can make a comeback.  Sure enough, she responds so quickly in the first two Science answers he can’t even get a word out.

“Born this year, a sheep named this introduced the world to cloning.”

“Dolly!” Mulder yells, too excited about knowing a Science question he forgets to phrase it properly.

“Who is Dolly,” Scully corrects.

“Dammit!”

“Your rules.”

“I know, I know.  Still, dammit.”

Blessedly, the contestants leave Science and migrate to Astronomy and since the first answer is the planet nicknamed The Red Planet, a Jeopardy equivalent of low-hanging fruit, they stick with it.  The first Daily Double of the 2nd round hits them at the $800 question in Astronomy.

“I’m up by $1,600,” Scully says.  “You have $3,900.”

“I’m going to make it a true Daily Double.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“$600,” Scully says, after a few moments hesitation.

Mulder worries his bottom lip with his teeth and waits for the answer to come.

“This spiral galaxy is named for an Ethiopian princess in Greek Mythology.”

“What is Andromeda!” They both yell.

Mulder realizes he’s sweating after the last question and even though it paid off, he vows not to make that kind of gamble again.  Scully berates herself for not being more confident in her astronomy knowledge as she now trails Mulder by $1,700, which may or may not be easy to recover from.

Time runs out before all the clues are revealed and the 2nd Daily Double is never found.  By final Jeopardy, they’re nearly neck and neck, with Mulder at $9,100 and Scully at $8,500.

“The final category is: Computers.”

“Good thing The Gunmen aren’t here,” Mulder says.  “Gimme one of those sheets of paper and we can write our wagers and guesses like the others.”

Scully rips off a piece of paper and they both take nearly all of the commercial break to come up with their wagers.  Scully folds her paper in half with the wager face down.  Mulder turns his over and places it on the bed.

“And here we go with the final answer.  Born in 1815, this daughter of a famous poet published an algorithm for a mechanical calculator and is believed by some to be the first ever computer programmer.”

Mulder writes his answer immediately and Scully taps her pen against her teeth as the final Jeopardy music winds down.  She finally picks up her paper and memorializes her guess before the final note.

“Whatcha got?” Mulder asks.

“I want to see their answers first,” Scully replies.

Mulder bounces his knee in anticipation.  The contestant in 3rd place answers incorrectly with Dora Wordsworth, but only wagered $1.

“I hate when they do that,” Scully says.  “It’s not The Price is Right.”

“Listen, if the category was Nuclear Physics, I might only be waging $1 as well.”

“Too bad it wasn’t.”

The contestant in 2nd place also answers incorrectly with “Who is ____?” and ends up with $4500.  Mulder shakes his head.

“At least put something,” he says.

“Seriously,” Scully agrees.

“And now Judith, our three day champion, currently in the lead with $13,800.  What did she guess?  Who is Ada Lovelace?  Daughter of Lord Byron, known for her work on Charles Babbage’s Analytical Engine, August Ada King, Countess of Lovelace, or Ada Lovelace.  And how much did Judith wager?  $7,000, bringing her three day total to $65,941.”

“Alright, Scully, moment of truth.”

“Count of three?” she asks.

“Is that one, two, reveal?  Or one, two, three, reveal?”

“One, two, reveal.”

“Okay.  One, two…”  

They both turn their papers around.  Both answered Who is Ada Lovelace?  They both grin.

“Frohike would be so tickled with your familiarity with the mother of computer programming,” Mulder says.  

“Yeah?  How does he feel about your familiarity with her?”

“Pretty jealous, actually.”

“What was your wager?”

Mulder turns over the paper again to show her.  “$3,000.  You?”

Scully bites her lip a little and then flips the fold of her paper for Mulder to see.  “$8,000.”

“$8,000!”

“Go big or go home, right?”

“Damn, Scully.  You’re a monster.  In a good way, obviously.  But, damn.  So, I guess that vegetarian is on me.”

“Extra olives.”

“With extra olives.”  He grimaces and gets up to grab the Yellow Pages in the nightstand.  

Scully opens up her file folders and begins sorting the reports for review across the end of Mulder’s bed as he searches for a pizza parlor.  He’s on the phone fairly quickly after browsing the phone book.

“Yes, I’d like to place an order for delivery,” Mulder says.  “A large.  Vegetarian.”

“Half vegetarian,” Scully interrupts without looking up.  “Half pepperoni and sausage.”

“Sorry, half vegetarian, half pepperoni and sausage.  Extra olives on the vegetarian side, please.  Yeah, I’ll hold.”  Mulder drops the phone to his shoulder while hold music plays and smiles slightly.  “Scully, you interested in a rematch tomorrow night?”

“Depends on how interested you are in buying another pizza.”

The End

[terry-perry]

A Life Worth Sharing (Ian x Vampire!Reader)

A special request for my good friend @ladyfluff​

Hope you enjoy!​

Set in the Adam’s Family AU

She groaned as she felt herself being shaken awake. Her annoyance soon melted away, however, once her vision became less fuzzy and she caught sight of her boyfriend crouched down beside her and wearing that shy grin she loved so much. 

“Sorry to wake you,” Ian mumbled. “But didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”

Peering over at the clock on her nightstand, she saw that it was almost five in the morning. She groaned again; she didn’t like it when he left super late (or super early, to some). His sleep schedule was already off-balanced enough with his job and her brother having him as his personal errand boy.

“Can’t you stay a little longer?” She pleaded.

“I wish I could, but my flight leaves very soon. And I have some music people I have to meet with tomorrow night.”

“Okay, but you’ll be back in two weeks right?”

“Definitely,” Ian grinned before leaning forward to give her a good, long kiss goodbye.

This had been their routine for almost two years now. It was a struggle at first with the constant back and forth and then the added revelation of what she and her family were, but they were able to adjust for the most part. They cared for one another too much to let what they had go so easily. 

Even when they had only been on a handful of dates, it was almost unreal how intense their feelings were. Y/N knew this was definitely something she had never felt before. Like many others of her kind, she had her share of casual lovers throughout the centuries she lived -- only giving her heart to one or two souls. 

She made peace long ago with the idea that there might not have been a special someone for her. She had convinced herself that the love she shared with her family was enough to sustain her. She did her best to be happy for her brothers as she’d watch them interact with their loves they had found; laughing at the way Peter would banter with Rowan, be fascinated at how Adam and Eve were able to communicate with one another without words.

She was happy for them, yes. But envious as well. 

None of the others she’d been with made her feel what she did with Ian. Since the night they met, she would think back to the stories she heard long ago about their kind and their version of soulmates. They weren’t known to play around with their feelings. They may give in to carnal urges from time to time, but there’s very few they were willing to place their trust in. 

 And with Y/N and Ian’s relationship being a special case, she was willing to make it work no matter what way they chose to go about it all.

''Listen darling, all you've got to do right? You just take these, put them in some water right? Unless you want to dry them, dried flowers are amazing. You can use them for potpourri and stuff.''

Ian nodded as he continued to listen to what Peter had to say. What luck for him to be in Detroit on business. He was just who he wanted to speak to about what he planned on doing the next time he saw Y/N. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. 

Peter wasn’t exactly his first choice. He could’ve tried talking to one of his human friends that were in serious relationships of their own, his mother or even Eve if he especially wanted an unfiltered, unbiased opinion on the matter. But she was still doing what she did in Tangier. Regardless, Ian knew that if had to choose between Y/N’s two brothers, Peter would be the one to do his best to not judge as he gave his two cents. 

At least then the risk of him being maimed would drop a good amount.

“She’ll really like these,” Peter continued, offering the small bundle of flowers. “They’re just like the ones we had outside our home, growing up. She used to love frolicking in the field and pick as many flowers as she could.”

Just then, Ian thought of his girlfriend. A mini version of her running around so carefree with her sweet smile intact. They had touched upon the subject of children in the past, and while it may have been a giant sacrifice to make when it came to dedicating his life to her, he knew it was worth it. He never even played with the idea of having children of his own until falling in love with Y/N.

“Can I ask you something?” 

As expected, Peter offered him a friendly smile to let him know he was all ears with what he had to say. A nice change from the scary expressions Adam had to offer when it came to stuff like this.

“Yes?”

“How did you know Rowan was the one you wanted to be with?”

He got a bit worried when Peter’s expression went on to be a little more puzzled, as though unsure where this was going. Thankfully, he decided to answer without another second to think about it.

“I guess it was the way we were able to stand together through hard times. As you know, we met each other during a time where a love like ours wasn’t exactly celebrated. Quite the opposite. We had to earn the bliss we have now. That’s how it is with love, I suppose.”

Ian nodded, letting his words sit with him. Love was definitely work. Twice the hard work when it came to unique situations like this one. But it was all about being with someone that makes you want to do it. Someone that doesn’t make it feel like work. 

And Ian did his best when it came to Y/N. The long distance, the different sleeping patterns and, of course, the morbid fact that he would eventually grow old and die. But he did all he could to make it work and be there for her. If he was meant to wither away, he would happily do so if it meant he gave his time to her. 

“I know what you’re up to,”

Ian wasn’t able to escape Adam like he intended to. As harsh as it sounded -- especially since he was someone he genuinely looked up to -- Ian didn’t want to get the third degree from him. Had he contemplated getting his blessing? Sure. But his fear took over, knowing his thoughts on the relationship already. 

So to now hear that Adam knew what he was planning on doing behind his back got him scared shitless. 

“What do you mean?” Ian sputtered, deciding to play dumb.

The vampire could only narrow his eyes in response. He wasn’t in the mood for games. Then again, when was he? Ian grew more fearful as Adam stared him down. He had no choice but to sigh and give in.

“How did you know?”

“Speaking as someone that’s been hiding their true nature for 500 years, I know a bad liar when I see one,”

Ian could get that. Especially, now that he thought about it some more, he wasn’t the best with hiding his intentions the last several weeks. Adam must have spotted the catalogs he saved that had a great selection he could choose. If that didn’t get him to question anything, the way Ian showed interest in Adam’s marriage was definitely a big hint. 

The two of them had a mostly business-like relationship with not a lot of personal information being transferred between themselves. That hardly changed when Ian started seeing Y/N; the two men not wanting this to change the arrangement they had, despite Adam being strongly against their coupling. So when he began to ask about the ways Adam made his marriage work, that was a definite red flag. Why would he be curious about his life and become suddenly bold enough to ask questions if he didn’t have some ulterior motive to his actions.

“Doesn’t help that you kept eyeballing my wedding photos,”

Ian cursed to himself. He was so stupid to think he could get away with how he kept checking out the old pictures Adam had of him and Eve. In his defense, they had been among the many photos Adam had of his heroes. Of those he knew once. He supposed it was because those particular ones were kept close and meant for his eyes only. 

Those moments where Ian would sneak a peek, wondering about the ways he could have something similar with Y/N, he could understand how anyone could’ve caught on to what he was up to.

“Adam, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But you need to know that I love her. She’s it for me. I’ve known that since I first saw her, and that feeling hasn’t changed. I hope you understand.”

“I do,” 

Well that was certainly something that caught him off guard. Adam wasn’t exactly someone that green lit what Ian had with Y/N. So to hear that he seemed to be okay with this next step...

“I may not be 100% okay with what you have with my sister, but I know how much you care about her. However, I can’t let you propose with just any ring.”

Ian wondered what he could mean by that until Adam pulled out something from the pocket of his robe. Revealing what he could describe as the shiniest and most beautiful diamond ring he has ever seen.

“This once belonged to one of the Bronte sisters, I can’t remember which. Either way, they were a couple of the few people Y/N admired and miss dearly. She’ll really appreciate it if you give this to her instead.”

Ian couldn’t help but smile. He may have not known who exactly were the people Adam was talking about, but he knew this was his way of getting his blessing in a way. It may not have been said out loud, but he knew Adam was aware of the feelings he had for Y/N. He wasn’t messing around when it came to her. 

“Thanks Adam,”

The day had finally arrived. Well, the night. Whatever. 

Ian didn’t have a complete plan, more of a hope that she’d say yes. It might have been why he decided to do it after witnessing her staring out the large window she possessed in her apartment when he welcomed himself in. This was it then, especially when Y/N turned to welcome him with a smile before going back to her other view.

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of this sight,” she reflected, her eyes never leaving the lights the city of New York had to offer for the late night.  She was sitting down on the chaise lounge that was near the window. He stared at her for a brief moment before closing the door and making his way over to her

“I was thinking the same thing,” he murmured, never taking his eyes off her as he stepped forward.

 He wasn’t much for big gestures but she deserved it, this was the right time. He was sure.

“Y/N...”

She had no choice but to put her attention back to him. She wasn’t all too sure what was going on, but she had a feeling he had plenty to say as he took her hands in his. Needing her to feel the anxiousness he was feeling as he did his best to word all he wanted to tell her that moment.

“You’ve made me feel things that I didn’t know existed outside of movies and the songs we listen to. And I’ve realized that I don’t want to live without you. It doesn’t matter to me if we spend forever or just the rest of my life together. All I care about is that we spend our time protecting each other, taking care of each other and making the most of what we have together. Because you’re it for me baby. You’re the love of my life.”

Y/N reached up to cup his cheek with a warm smile and glassy eyes.

“And you’re mine,” she sighed. 

Ian closed his eyes and succumbed to her touch, turning his head a bit so that he could kiss the palm of her hand. He laced it up with his and brought it down with him as he got down on one knee. He took a deep breath and looked up at her with his own vision starting to blur somewhat with tears. But he could still see the way she placed her free hand over her mouth in an attempt to repress all the emotions that wanted to come out at once.

“Y/N,” he began with an unsteady voice. “Will you marry me?”

With all the enthusiasm she had, she nodded her head. 

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you!”

Once he was back on his feet, she jumped into his arms and held on tight. He hugged her back with a similar amount of desperate strength and added in a fierce kiss that gained a bit of saltiness from their tears. With some reluctance, he broke apart from her when he remembered something.

“Fuck. I forgot the ring.” He said, fishing for the small, velvet box in his pocket. He took it out and opened it up to present the ring to her before placing it on her finger.

She marveled at the sparkling beauty of the diamond, tracing the delicate band and cut.

They shared another loving embrace after, as if holding onto one another would keep them safe and sheltered for as long as they lived. 

[jacksgreysays]

Word Prompts (P30): Possession

A/N: related to this and this

~

It started about four months ago, you think. (Although, given what the problem is, who’s to say for sure?)

Four months ago is definitely when you first realized something was strange, at least, enough to make a record of it that you would be able to find again:

Pencil on the back wall of your closet, hidden behind your winter jackets, revealed only because the weather has been getting a bit chilly. (Or, perhaps, you’ve just been feeling the cold more?)

Don’t go to sleep, the note says in your own handwriting. They’ve already found you. You’re not forgiven.

And below it, a horrifyingly familiar symbol, the eight pointed star.

In numb shock, you hang the jacket back up, as if to hide the truth with mere wool and leather. (That was a thing once, wasn’t it, protection from animal sacrifices?)

You don’t remember writing that. Or drawing it. But you know it to be truth nonetheless.

Shock, but not surprise. It was optimistic to think you could run forever. That you could even run at all.

(So what was the point, then?)

You can’t not sleep, that’s impossible, and you must have slept between then and now. Whatever it was your past self tried to warn you about must have already come to pass.

But you don’t feel particularly punished, you think. Surely if they were to enact their wrath you would be in far more pain than this. You can’t not sleep and you can’t run away and even if they were the kind for forgiveness, you wouldn’t be able to earn it.

So what is the point, then?

Nothing to do but continue on.

You pull a different winter jacket down, instead, and continue on with your day.

—

The first time you wake up in a place that is definitely not your bedroom, you are covered in blood. You don’t know where you are. These are not your clothes.

There is an eight pointed star on the ground painted wet with crimson and you are in the center.

You have no injuries.

There is no one around… that you can see.

Okay… so there is no just continuing on.

—

You’re tempted to contact your family, but you’re always tempted to contact them every few years when your nostalgia gets the better of your sense.

Part of you thinks that maybe it’ll be worth it—your family wouldn’t begrudge you help if you asked for it, surely? Certainly not if it’s to escape a path they never wanted you to walk in the first place—but another part of you knows that not even your family would be able to withstand the entirety of their power, their rage, their ownership of you. You haven’t spoken to them in decades, and that part of you will always love them.

And yet another part just really does not want to put up with your family’s lecturing.

Professional help it is.

—

It’s several months of careful inquiries and investigations before you hear of her. You think, at first, it’s a joke. You haven’t been in a laughing mood for ages, but something must cross your expression, because the contact who referred her assures you that, no, really, she’s legit.

Given the dozens of failures and flakes you’ve been through so far, you’re highly skeptical. Then again, given the task you’ve presented people, you can’t be too surprised nothing’s worked so far.

It just doesn’t help that, when you get to the address sent to you, you’re standing in a strip mall before a store front called New Age House of Healing.

(Really?)

You enter and the door sounds with an electronic recording of chimes. (Why not just use real chimes?) You’re hit with a flurry of scents, essential oils and incense and potpourri, and try not to sneeze. There are crystals and statuettes and pamphlets and dream catchers and nothing at all pings you as having an iota of actual magic potential.

(What?)

“Hello?” you call out, because in addition to not having any magic in this place, there also does not seem to be any people.

The door behind you gives another burst of electronic chimes. An avalanche of nonsense follows. “Oh shit, sorry—I mean, oh, geez, I mean—I didn’t think anyone would come in. Of course it happens when I’m next door, it hasn’t even been five minutes, I swear.”

A woman holding a bakery to go box scoots around you, taking a seat behind the desk. Her shirt has tigers on it. She also is completely absent of magic.

You’ve made a mistake.

“Hello, welcome to the New Age House of Healing, how may we refresh your body and soul?” she says, as if pulled from her tongue.

“I’ve made a mistake,” you say, because clearly that is the only answer.

“Okay,” she says, nonplussed, before turning to her bakery box.

Thus dismissed, you turn to leave... only to turn back when a chill crawls across the back of your hand.

The woman is mid bite and still as nonmagical as before. But now, behind her, is a ghost. You meet his line of sight then glance back down to the woman. Confused, she meets your eyes then swivels her chair to look behind her.

She heaves a sigh, finishes her bite, then turns back around to you.

“You’re not here for crystals and shit are you?”

~

A/N: the writer’s block struggle is real, but god i miss writing too much

[babyboyblasty]

Chapter 6

Class was over in the blink of an eye and Bakugou was coming out of the girls locker room dressed in uniform. He couldn't stop thinking about Deku though and it was frustrating. He kept replaying it in his head how warm and secure he was held against his chest. He even felt.. safe? When had that nerd gotten so big, anyway? He felt pathetic as he found himself wondering how many reps he did to get muscles like that. Bakugou scowled at the ground as he walked but soon he found himself getting mauled by a very excited Kaminari and Mineta.

"What was it like in the girls locker room, Kacchan!?!"

"Yeah! Did you see them change!?!?"

"Did you use the showers!?!"

"What did they talk about? Did they mention me!?!"

"Did you spy on them!?!"

It was question after question of dumbass shit Bakugou didn't even bother listening to. He just kept walking the halls towards his next class, English with Mic, while they whined for answers about his experience in the locker room. Eventually the girls ended up catching up to them and they must have overheard the two idiots because Jirou was sticking one of her ear jacks to the side of kaminari's neck and Ashido started banging on the side of Mineta's head with her fists for being gross and asking perverted questions. "That was so inappropriate, Mineta-kun, Kaminari-kun. Bakugou-san was a perfect gentleman and did no such thing" Momo frowned disapprovingly, hands on her hips.

"Leave blasty alone!" Ashido scolded and the boys frowned but left, mumbling under their breath how they're ones to talk when they've been hogging girl Kacchan all to themselves. Bakugou silently thanked them for getting those two off his back but of course didn't say it out loud. Even then, they all knew what he meant. He would have blown them up otherwise. Bakugou could only tolerate so much and he was already annoyed he got stuck playing the hostage and did nothing the entire class.

Mina and Uraraka looped their arms through his and walked with him towards the classroom. "DON'T TOUCH ME!" he yelled but the fuckers only giggled. "You look cute when you're angry" Ochako made a 'pfft' sound as she tried to keep herself from laughing when she saw him glaring at her.

"Like an upset kitten" frog girl added in, picturing a small, angry hissing cat in her head. The visual only made the girls laugh even more because of how damn /accurate/ it was. Bakugou would have shot a warning explosion at Asui if pinky and round face weren't holding his arms like he was going to fall down into the earth any second.

"We weren't able to have any girl talk in the locker room but how did it feel to have Midoriya-kun carry you like that!? It was like watching a romantic soap drama!" invisible girl squealed. Bakugou rolled his eyes at her excitement. Mina and Toru were the class gossips so of course they'd want to know absolutely everything.

"Terrible" he grimaced. He was lying straight through his teeth if him having not stopped thinking of what if felt being in Izuku's arms since the rescue training had anything to say about it, but they didn't need to know that.

...

Todoroki was in his dorm room after school was over. He had excused himself from studying with Momo and the rest of their study group to lay on his futon and think about what he had felt earlier that day. Ever since Midoriya had told him that his power was his own at the sports festival, Todoroki had opened up a bit more about his feelings and such. Usually he went to Izuku for advice and to talk when something was troubling him, but this time Shoto felt it best to resolve it by himself without the help from the green haired male. Shoto laid in complete, concentrated silence. He even lit an incense since he read somewhere that they were supposed to help you think better. You know, those wooden stick things that smell like potpourri or whatever when you burn them. It had been a very awkward conversion when he had gone to the store and asked the manager where he can find the 'incest' aisle. He had to explain what it was before the man in his thirties had let out a sigh of relief and told him where it was located. And if Shoto got two packs labeled 'Sweet Salted Caramel Incense', there was no ulterior motive other than it's because he likes the smell. Nope. None at all.

Shoto thought over his predicament for a few minutes before he started getting a bit dizzy and lightheaded as all the smoke from the incense started to gather in his japanese styled dorm room and he had to open his balcony sliding door to step out and breathe in some fresh air. Okay so that caramel artificial smell was a bit too strong. He was hoping it was going to be a little more subtle and a little more, like, burnt-y if that makes sense. He was aiming for a specific smell and was utterly disappointed at the overpoweringly sweet smell he received instead. He stayed out on the balcony for a bit before he looked down and saw that Bakugou was out on his own balcony too. It was fortunate that their rooms were right above each other.

"Hello, Bakugou."

He saw the blonde jump a bit and lean out against the safety railing to turn his head and look up at him. "Huh? How long have you been there? You spyin' me or something, half n half?!"

"No. I just came out a minute or two ago and noticed you were out here too. Sorry I scared you."

"You didn't scare me, bastard," Bakugou replied in indignation like the very mention of Bakugou being frightened was insulting. "You just fucking startled me. It's different than- what's that smell? Is that coming from your room?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I was trying out some incest I bought on my trip to the store" he replied and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion when Bakugou started laughing quite loudly. He saw how a small hand went up to cover his mouth as he let out a wheeze from laughing so hard and Todoroki felt weird again. "What's so funny?" he asked when Katsuki's laughter started dying down.

"It's called incense, you idiot. Not incest. Incest is when you have sex with someone related to you."

"Oh" was all he said, thinking about it, before his cheeks turned a faint pink when it all sunk in. "Oh" he repeated, this time a bit more embarrassed.

"Whatever it is, put it the fuck out. It smells like Satou's breath in there" Katsuki scrunched his nose and pinched it close, waving his other hand in front of his face.

"Okay" he replied before going back inside to freeze the stick in a thin layer of frost. That should do it. He went back out to look down over the railing. "I put it out" he smiled a little, feeling quite proud of himself, and Bakugou rolled his eyes then returned to what he was doing before Shoto came out to talk to him. "Hey Bakugou?" he said after a bit.

"What now, half n half?" the blonde sighed but he didn't sound annoyed. He turned to look back up at Shoto expectantly.

"Sorry I didn't rescue you in training today."

Bakugou looked confused. 'Cute' he thought to himself. "What are you talking about? You did rescue me in training. The hero team won" he frowned.

"No. I mean I'm sorry /I/ didn't rescue you. Not Midoriya" he repeated himself and watched the cute blush that slowly spread over the teen when he finally understood what he meant. Shoto was enjoying watching Bakugou express any emotion other than anger way too much.

"Oh" was his turn to say, looking a bit awkward and embarrassed before he was snapping himself out of it. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No" he replied, a bit confused at the sudden change in topic but going along with it anyway. "Have you?" he asked.

"It's late. Why the fuck haven't you ate dinner, dumbass?" he scolded and Todoroki noticed how the other had avoided his question. "Come down to the common room. My neck is starting to hurt" Bakugou groaned and rubbed the back of his aching neck. It was hurting from looking up at Shoto for too long.

"Is that your way of saying you'll make me food?" Todoroki called out with a smile, stretching his neck further out as he watched the other slide open his balcony door and start to go inside his room.

"/We'll/ make food. You're helping, fucker. Now hurry up before I change my mind and let you starve" Bakugou's voice got fainter as he walked further into his dorm room and just like that, Todoroki was rushing back inside and out his dorm.

[word count: 1512]

[vintagehedgehogdragon]

Summoned

Warning: Angst, ouija board mention, swearing, summoning. 

Willow was sitting doing homework in Lucifer’s study waiting for him to find a stopping point in his paperwork to enjoy a meal together. Suddenly all of Willow’s pact marks started to turn cold, sending a shiver down their spine. “You okay, Love?” Lucifer asked making his way over to where they had been sitting and placing a gloved hand delicately on their cheek. “I think so, my pact marks got really cold all of a sudden, it feels like someone poured ice water over my head” they said wrapping their arms around themselves. They watched as the color drained from Lucifer’s face, kneeling in front of them he gently gathered them into his arms “Let’s sit you in front of the fireplace.” As he moves them he notices marks appearing around the two of them “Of course.” Lucifer grumbled holding them tight to him as he places them back on their feet. “What’s going on Luc?” Willow asked trying to hide the fear in their voice. 

““You know how humans think it’s smart and try to summon demons?” Red eyes glowing almost matching the exasperated scowl that crossed his face. “…yeah, ouija boards were also really popular when I was growing up” He rolled his eyes at their response “Anyway. You are currently being summoned, and since I touched you when the summoning started it’s dragging me with you. We can contact Diavolo to let him know what happened.”  In a puff of smoke the room disappeared around them. As the smoke settled they took notice of the room around them, Willow’s eyes first landed on a cozy looking couch with a hand knitted blanket wrapped over the back, and a smell of potpourri . “Oh two of you, Welcome. Let me grab another mug” A small brittle voice spoke out behind them. Lucifer’s eyes softened as the pair turned around and locked eyes with a small, grey haired older lady, wearing a black robe and a pair of slippers.  She was holding a steaming kettle as she set it down on a small table next to a 3 tiered stand filled with assorted cookies and tea biscuits. Two tea cups sat on opposite sides of the table with varying types of tea bags neatly organized in a small saucer. Smiling sweetly, as if she had known them and were close friends.

As she turned and shuffled back to the kitchen, she turned back and quietly said “I’ll be right back, please have a seat” under her breath Lucifer and Willow heard her mumble “please don’t leave, I’m so lonely.” Willow’s heart sank as they silently put their hand in Lucifers giving it a small squeeze “What do we do now?” They asked looking up at him, his fingers were flying over the buttons on his phone as he typed. “I’m not fully sure, I’ve never actually been summoned before. I only heard from Mammon screaming about it” his facial expression was one they had never seen before. “I guess we should sit down like she said”  looking behind him as he sat on the couch making sure to keep his posture, gently pulling on Willow’s hand guiding them down to sit next to him. As Willow sat down the couch the older lady slower made her way back into the room, carrying a small tea cup between her hands. Setting in down in front of Lucifer giving him a small smile as she sat down across the table. 

“Had I known there would be two of you I’d have prepared another cup ahead of time” Her blue eyes shining  up at the two of them. Her eyes didn’t match the smile that was painted delicately on her lips, Willow could see the sadness and loneliness in them. “It’s no problem Ma’am” Willow said crossing her legs at her ankles trying to keep from losing their balance. “Oh you can call me Granny Nel, would you both like a cup of tea?”  Her eyes now matching her smile. “Yes please, Thank you” Lucifer responded folding his hands in his lap while she poured “May I ask why you called us, I must admit I’m slightly confused” His voice was soft and calm, but at the same time they could hear the wariness in his voice, picking up an Earl Grey bag and placing it in the water. Willow had been eying the bag of Lavender tea. “What are your names dear?” Nel asked “Lucifer and Willow” Lucifer responded indigently, taking the bag out of his cup and placing it on the saucer with the other bags. 

Picking up her cup Nel spoke softly, “I… Of  course.” Nursing the warmth of the cup in her hands Nel started to speak again, her voice was shaky. “I moved her a few years ago trying to get a new start. I unfortunately have no friends or family left and am completely alone. I was hoping that maybe demons would be better company than the rest of the world” Taking a small sip of tea, Willow heard a small ping in the background. “Oh that’ll be the banana bread, one moment”  Getting up without another word Nel scuffled back into her kitchen. Dabbing their face with a napkin Willow looked over at Lucifer “She reminds me of my grandma, a lot is there anyway we can stay for a bit just to chat. I think that’s all she wants.”  trying to keep from tearing up Willow took another sip of their tea. 

Nel came back with a small loaf of bread wrapped in aluminum foil draped softly with a small towel and handed it to Willow. “For you to take back with you”  taking the warm treat Willow smile “Thank you so much”   The three chatted for a few hours before Lucifer looked at his phone “Unfortunately we do need to get back, thank you so much for the tea and treats” Standing up as he spoke. Willow set their cup down and started to stand as well. “Is there anyway you can come back another time?” Nel said tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ll see what I can do” Lucifer replied a sly look in his eyes. “Thank you Granny Nel, this was lovely I hope to see you again” Willow said as Lucifer grabbed their hand. 

A puff of smoke appeared as it had in the study, returning the two back to the Devildom. “I would love to see her again Luc, please?” They knew their puppy dog eyes usually could make the oldest melt to their every whim. “Fine, but you have to take someone with you when you go”

[omgjasminesimone]

Masters of Sex Part 2

Bryce x MC

Follow up to this story as part of my 500 followers follow ups celebration.

Word Count: 2500

A week after Bryce and Casey’s hate sex session, Casey is approached by the last person she wants to talk to in the hospital hallway.

“Hi, Dr. Valentine, right? Can I talk to you for a second?” The pretty hospital pharmacist who slept with Bryce several months ago, who Casey thought was basically her boyfriend at the time, asks.

Casey gestures at the lab results she’s going over. “I’m actually really busy.” Casey claims.

“It will really just take a second.” The other woman insists, smiling gently.

Casey resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Fine.” She says shortly.

“Would you like to talk in the cafeteria?”

“Here is fine.” Casey insists, tapping her foot impatiently.

The pharmacist, Kelly, according to her name tag sighs. “Okay then. I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t know you and Bryce had anything going on, I definitely wasn’t trying to step into an existing relationship.” Kelly says softly, keeping her voice low so the doctors, nurses, and patients passing through the halls don’t hear them.

“You can have him if you want. Me and Bryce are done.” Casey replies, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

“Really? That’s not what he said when I ran into him at the gym yesterday. He said you guys were going to try to work it out.” Kelly reports. 

Casey rolls her eyes. Why would Bryce send this woman here to talk to her? Did he think this was going to help?

“Well, I guess he got his wires crossed, because we’re done. So, feel free to continue to sleep with him.” Casey insists. Casey turns on her heel and walks away before Kelly can respond. She’s fuming as she heads to the on-call room where she knows Bryce is likely napping between surgeries. 

She opens the door, and there he is, asleep on the small cot. She closes the door loudly enough to wake him up. 

Bryce starts as he wakes, reflexively checking his pager before he realizes that’s not what woke him up. His bleary eyes drift up to Casey. “What-” He starts, but Casey quickly interrupts. 

“Why did you tell the pharmacist that we were trying to work it out?” Casey asks, tone harsh. 

Bryce furrows his brow in confusion. “That’s not what I told her. I said I wanted to try to work it out.”

“Why would you even tell her anything in the first place? Did you want her to report back to me? Make me think that all of a sudden you’re going to act like you’re in a relationship?”

“Why would I have asked her to talk to you? It clearly just pissed you off.” Bryce retorts. 

“Then, again, why did you tell her anything?” Casey repeats impatiently. 

“Because, at the gym, she asked if I wanted to come by her place last night. And I told her no, and explained that you were mad at me for the last time I hooked up with her, even though we weren’t officially together, and then I said that I’m not sleeping with anybody else, because I want to work it out with you.” Bryce explains. 

Casey leans against the wall, arms crossed. “Well, don’t deprive yourself on my account. I’m done Bryce. Sleep with whoever you want.”

“I only want you. And I’m going to prove it to you.” Bryce responds with resolve. 

“What do you think you could possibly do to prove that?” Casey challenges. 

“Well, step one is the celibacy. And then…. I’m still working on the other steps to get you back.” Bryce replies, smiling tentatively. 

Casey rolls her eyes, turning towards the door. “Don’t hold your breath.” 

“Mark my words Casey, I’m going to make you fall in love with me, again.” Bryce calls after her.

...

..

“What the hell is this?” Casey asks when she steps into her room a week later. 

“Isn’t it romantic Casey? Bryce filled your room with roses!” Sienna exclaims, collapsing onto Casey’s bed, which has been covered in rose petals. 

“Who let him in here?” Casey complains. 

“Come on Case, the guy had $800 of roses in a wagon, I couldn’t turn him away.” Elijah claims. 

Casey picks up a rose from one of the many bouquets on her floor. “What a waste of money, he should have given me a Visa gift card.”

“Jesus, your heart is ice cold.” Elijah replies, shaking his head. 

“I told him this wasn’t going to work.” Jackie adds, moving a bouquet from Casey’s desk chair so she can sit. 

“I don’t even like flowers. Shows how much he doesn’t even know me. What am I going to do with all of these?” Casey questions. 

...

“Jackie told me you didn’t like the roses.” Bryce says, leaning against the desk as Casey uses the head nurse’s computer to look up her patient’s symptoms. 

“You shouldn’t have wasted all that money.” Casey chastises. 

Bryce shrugs. “I’m not worried about the money. I’m a surgeon after all.”

“A surgical intern.” Casey retorts. 

“Same thing.”

“Very different salary.” 

Bryce laughs at that, smiling at her. Casey quickly looks away. Damn him and that perfect smile. 

“Did you throw them away?” Bryce asks, rising from his leaning position when he sees Dr. Avery coming down the hall. He’ll have to head off to assist with her hernia repair surgery soon. 

“No, Sienna made them into potpourri balls. You know she’s crafty. Sold them at the farmer’s market. She made like $200.” Casey answers. 

Bryce laughs again. “Did she split it with you?”

“Yep, $100 richer. But that could have been $800 if you’d just given me the cash.”

“But I’m not trying to buy you Valentine, I know you’re priceless” Bryce replies with a wink before walking away.  

...

..

Casey wakes with a splitting headache in an unfamiliar bed two weeks later. She glances at her bed mate. Shit. It’s Henry Johnson. A psychology fellow from Edenbrook. She’d gone out to Donahue’s the night before, danced and flirted with Henry, and when she was drunk enough, went home with him. 

She vaguely remembers the sex. Unremarkable. Nothing like with Bryce. 

Double shit, Casey thinks as she sits up, looking out the window. Of course, Henry has to live in the same apartment complex as Bryce. 

It’s not that much of a surprise, a lot of the hospital staff live here because they heavily advertise at the hospital and offer a slight discount. But it’s bad luck none the less. 

Casey checks Henry’s clock. 8:10 AM. Bryce should probably still be at the gym from his morning workout. She’ll just sneak out really quick, and not even have to see him. 

Casey slips out from under Henry’s arm, sliding back into her dress from last night. She catches her reflection in Henry’s bathroom mirror. Make-up from last night still on and smudged, her curls looking a mess. She sighs, preparing herself for her walk of shame. 

She gets into the elevator, glad to see no one else in it. She impatiently presses the button for the lobby. But the elevator stops on the 10th floor, and of course Bryce Lahela is standing there. 

He seems surprised to see her, but quickly schools his expression as he steps into the elevator. 

Casey can’t believe her bad luck. 

“Long night?” Bryce asks. He tries to say it with levity, but there’s underlying jealousy and anger there. Casey rolls her eyes. 

“I don’t owe you anything. We’re not together. I can sleep with whoever I want.”

“I never said you couldn’t.” Bryce responds, somewhat testy. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. “What kind of pie do you like?”

Casey looks at him incredulously as the elevator reaches the lobby. “Pie?”

Bryce nods. “I’m baking you a pie today. That’s step 3. The way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.”

Casey walks out of the elevator, heading for the T stop. Bryce follows. “Why are you doing this? I told you we’re done. Maybe one day we can be friends again. But as far as a relationship goes, I’ve clearly moved on.” Casey gestures to her outfit from last night. 

“If it was any good, you wouldn’t be sneaking out of his apartment at 8 in the morning.” Bryce insists. Casey can’t really argue that point, so Bryce continues. “We’re good together Casey, and I’m going to prove it to you.”

Casey ignores that, splitting off from Bryce to head up the street. “I don’t like pie!” She calls over her shoulder.

“Liar, everyone likes pie!” Bryce shouts back.

...

The next day, Casey walks into the kitchen after her shift and finds her roommates all eating cherry pie around the kitchen table. 

“Bryce brought it over a little bit ago.” Sienna informs Casey as she pulls up a chair. 

Jackie cuts Casey a slice, handing it over. 

Casey chews thoughtfully. 

“So, what’s the verdict?” Elijah questions. 

“Hmmm...It’s not bad, but not amazing either.” Casey decides. 

“Come on Casey, you can tell he worked so hard on this. Don’t you see the indentations in the crust?!” Sienna presses. 

Casey shrugs, taking another bite. “He shouldn’t quit his day job.”

...

..

3 weeks later, Casey comes down with a nasty, highly contagious bug. She doesn’t want to infect her roommates, so she checks herself into a hotel south of Boston. She’s absolutely miserable, and pretty sure that she’s dying. She’s almost fallen into a fitful sleep when she feels a hand pressed against her feverish forehead. 

“Ahh!” She screams, rolling away and fighting to get from under the twisted covers. 

“Casey! It’s just me!” Bryce reveals, hands raised in a non-threatening manner. 

“What the hell Bryce? What are you doing here?” Casey asks when her heart rate has slowed down. 

“I heard you were sick.” He replies simply. 

“How’d you even get in here?” 

“Hotel concierges don’t ask a lot of questions when you just say, hey, I’d like an extra key to this room please, Casey Valentine’s.” Bryce answers. 

“That’s terrifying.” Casey mutters. 

“Well, in her defense, I look extremely non-threatening.” Bryce insists. 

Casey rolls her eyes. “Why are you here though? I’m in this hotel quarantining myself so I don’t get anyone else sick.”

Bryce waves off her concerns. “I have an extremely strong immune system. Haven’t been sick in like 15 years. So, I came to take care of you.” Bryce reaches to the nightstand. “Here, take these.” He hands her some medicine. “And drink this.” Some Gatorade. 

Bryce gets up from the bed, moving over to the couch and opening a textbook he pulls from his backpack. “Now get some rest. When you wake up, I’ll make you some soup.” Bryce instructs.

“You really don’t have to do this.” Casey insists, eyes drooping from the sheer exhaustion of being so sick. 

“I want to. Sweet dreams Casey.”

...

3 days later, Casey has recovered. And she hears from one of the surgical interns that Bryce is sick. She knocks on the door of his apartment. It takes him a while to answer the door, wrapped in a blanket and looking absolutely miserable. His expression immediately brightens when he sees her though. “Casey! What a pleasant surprise!” He greets, stepping aside so she can come in. 

Casey can’t help but give him an ‘I told you so look. “So, I guess your super immune system failed you?”

“This is some bug you caught Casey. Takes a lot to take me down.” Bryce insists, slowly lowering himself back onto his couch. 

“Have you eaten anything?” Casey questions. 

“I can’t keep anything down.”

“I know, but you have to eat something anyway.” Casey insists, pulling some warm vegetable broth soup from her shopping bag. “I also brought medicine, and fluids.” She reveals, sitting beside him and handing him the soup. 

“.... Did you think this would be the circumstances that would get you back to my apartment?” Bryce asks, chuckling weakly, but that quickly turns into a rumbling cough. 

“I had thought the only thing that could get me back here is more hate sex, but I owe you one.” Casey quips. 

Bryce laughs, taking a few small spoonfuls of the soup. He sets the soup to the side, leaning down to rest his head in Casey’s lap. Even she doesn’t have the heart to shoo him away when he’s so sick, especially when he’s sick because he took care of her. 

“Sweet dreams Bryce.” She murmurs as he falls asleep. She turns the TV on mute, watching it with subtitles. 

…

..

A few weeks later, Casey collapses to the floor of the supply closet as soon as she closes the door, tears wracking her small frame. She can’t believe she lost her. She ran so many tests, desperate to find why the young girl’s cell counts were so low. But she ran out of time, the child dying while Casey held her hand.

She knows who it is when the door opens, her suspicions confirmed when he gets onto the floor beside her and gathers her into his strong arms. She cries into Bryce’s chest, clinging to him desperately.

“Shh…. what’s wrong?” Bryce tries to comfort when her sobs show no sign of subsiding.

Casey just shakes her head, hugging him tighter as she continues to cry. Eventually, she’s all cried out. And then she tells Bryce about losing her patient.

Bryce wipes her tears away with his calloused thumbs, smiling sadly at her. “Do you want to know what I do when I lose a patient?” He questions.

Casey nods weakly, and Bryce stands, pulling her to her feet as well. He takes her hand, and gently leads her out of the supply closet, into the stairwell, and then up to the 6th floor. He walks her though the hallway and stops in front of the window of the nursery.

Casey looks at the newborn babies, all different shades and sizes. She can’t help but smile when she gazes at them, all bundled up in blue and pink hospital gear.

Bryce steps up to her back, speaking quietly behind her. “When I come up here, it reminds me that life goes on. It’s horrible to lose a patient, especially a young one, but you have to remember that you did all you could. And you’ll learn from this. And hopefully be able to save the next one. There’s always a chance to start over new Casey.” Bryce concludes.

Casey leans back into Bryce’s embrace, observing the room full of new beginnings.

…

..

After thinking long and hard about it, 4 days later Casey sends a text.

Casey Valentine: Do you want to get dinner? So we can talk about starting over new?

Bryce replies seconds later.

Bryce Lahela: Name the time and place, I’m there.

Tags:  @octobereighth  @akrenich  @lovehugsandcandy @regina-and-happiness  @brightpinkpeppercorn  @choicesarehard  @lizeboredom   @desiree-0816  @hellooliviaolivia @dreaming-of-movies  @friedherringclodthing  @weaving-in-words  @fairydustandsarcasm  @goldenjellyfish12   @pessimystic-fangirl  @mimikoasahina  @srta-give-me-my-jax-rl   @god-save-the-keen  @caroldxnvxrs  @cora-nova @emceesynonymroll @choicesgremlin @anxious-arliah @cordoniasmost @lahelable @ohsnapitzlovehacker @pixeljazzy @blk-girl-emoji​

[kiwi-stan]

Southern Belle Part 2

Read part 1 here

“Okay,” Eve said, stalling for time as she thought. “Celebrity crush?” 

“Currently?” Harry asked. They were lying on the floor in his living room, both staring up at the ceiling fan and trying to stay as still as possible. It was the beginning of July and the summer days were just getting hotter. Eve had never known that the guest house didn’t have air conditioning, but since she’d been spending the last few weeks sneaking out after dinner to meet Harry, she’d decided that she would try to convince her father to renovate. She had no idea how he managed to sleep in the heat. 

After their night at the pool-or neg-gate as Harry had started calling it-Eve had been on a strict diet that cut out almost any sugar and carbs. She’s lasted about 36 hours before she was banging on Harry’s door and begging him for any sugary snack he had on hand. He’d invited her in and they’d been spending almost every night for the past two weeks hanging out. Eve knew her parents would flip if they knew she was sneaking into a boy’s room late at night, especially since that boy was their gardener, even though what they were doing was strictly platonic. They played twenty questions (with Twinkie as their safe word if a question was too edgy to answer), watched TV and movies (Harry had tried to introduce Eve to baseball but she hadn’t really liked it), listened to music (he considered it a tragedy that she only knew top 40 songs and had made it his mission to introduce her to pop-punk) and sometimes played card games. 

“Yeah. Right now.” Eve said. She waited impatiently for his response. She was waiting to see if he would name someone she somewhat resembled. After the tame cheek kiss that night at the pool, she’d been waiting for Harry to make another move. He hadn’t. Eve had been trying to drop hints that she was into him, but he seemed totally clueless. She’d developed a new tactic, using their games of twenty questions to try to determine if he were into her. 

“Mila Kunis.” Harry said quickly, like he hadn’t even needed to think about it. Eve considered that. They didn’t look much alike. But did that really mean anything, though? She was so distracted she almost missed him throwing the question back at her. “Yours?” 

“Jake Gyllenhaal.” 

“Wanna play again?” Harry asked. That had been her twentieth question. 

Eve sat up enough to glance at the digital clock on the end table. It was nearing two am. She had to be up at six for yoga with her mother and she wanted to be at least somewhat well rested for that. She had no idea how Harry was working all day doing manual labor with long nights like these, though she expected Red Bull had something to do with it. 

“I should probably go.” Even as she said this she pulled another Twizzler from the package lying between them. “I’m going shopping with my mother tomorrow and I’ll need my energy for that.” 

Harry sat up too so he could look her in the eyes. “Shopping for what?” 

“There’s this huge banquet at the end of the summer that we all have to go to. I don’t know if you’ve heard anyone else talk about it.” 

“I think Tim said something about it.” He said, naming the family’s driver. “The Summer Splash?” 

Eve nodded. “Yeah. It’s crazy fancy. We’re going to look for a dress. Or a gown really. It’ll probably have to be altered, which is why we’re going now,” 

“You can’t wear something you already have?”

“You know Queen Steph won’t let me be seen in something I’ve already worn.” Eve couldn’t believe she’d gone 19 years without hearing the nickname the staff used for her mother. Harry had mentioned it to her one night and she’d picked it up too. It was fitting. She sighed and shoved the last of the licorice in her mouth. “I’d much rather do that though. Shopping with her is going to be torture.” 

Harry’s expression softened. He’d overheard two more Montgomery family dinners since that first one, so he knew the put-downs Eve faced from her family were common. He still hadn’t gotten over what he’d heard that first night. “I’m sorry.”

Even got to her feet. “It’s okay. I can handle it. I should go now though.” 

“Come see me tomorrow? I have some cinnamon rolls I’ve been saving for a bad day.” 

Eve smiled. “Of course.” She wanted to say something flirty like “it’s a date” but didn’t. At times like these she cursed her lack of experience around guys. Instead she left the guesthouse and silently slipped back into her room. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eve was already cranky by the time Tim pulled up outside Blossom, her mother’s favorite boutique in the area. She’d woken up to find that her mother had laid out clothes for her like she was five years old and had been even more annoyed when she walked downstairs and found that her outfit was a replica of her mother’s, head-to-toe Lululemon. Her mother had tugged Eve’s hair into a tight ponytail, deeming the braid she’d done herself “too boho”. Eve had rolled her eyes at that, earning herself a lecture that lasted the entire drive to the yoga studio. After an hour of both her mother and the instructor correcting her form, her mother had tugged her into the dressing room (not locker room) and told Eve to put on makeup. 

“Why? Aren’t we just going home?” Eve had asked. 

“No, Evelyn, we’re going dress shopping for the Summer Splash.” 

“Mom, it’s only eight. All the stores in town don’t open for hours.” Eve had pointed out. 

“Audrey is opening early for us. Hurry up. I told her we’d be there at 8:30.” 

Eve wracked her brain as Tim found a parking spot and pulled open the passenger door for her mother. Audrey was one of her mother’s best friends even though both women had volatile personalities and they frequently fought. Eve was trying to remember if she’d heard her mother say anything indicating what kind of ground they were on lately, though she’d been spending so little time around her mother lately she felt like she didn’t really know anything about her mother’s life. As Tim pulled her door open and escorted her out of the car, Eve decided to take the fact that her mother was patronizing Audrey’s store as a good sign. 

“Don’t stare at Audrey’s lips.” Her mother murmured as they approached the store. 

“What?” Eve wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. 

“Don’t stare at Audrey’s lips,” Her mother said a bit louder. “She got them done again and they don’t look good.” 

Eve’s mother tugged the door open, making the bells attached to the handle rattle. Eve was immediately assaulted by the smell of potpourri and the color pink. The last time Eve had been in the store, it had been decorated with white and classy neutrals. Audrey had redecorated and now everything was pink. Eve watched her mother frown as she surveyed the store, already knowing that her mother thought the pink was too juvenile (she’d forced Eve to repaint her pink bedroom to a light blue once she turned twelve, claiming that pink was for little girls). Though Eve figured the decor didn’t really matter. Audrey’s husband was almost as rich as Eve’s father and the store was really a hobby for it. It could operate in the red for years-which now that Eve thought about it, it probably did given that it had limited hours and insanely high prices-and Audrey would be just fine. 

A squeal came from by the register. “Steph!” Audrey came rushing over as fast as she could in her impossibly high heels. “You look as gorgeous as ever.” She continued, embracing Eve’s mother. They did the European kiss on both cheeks that Eve thought was incredibly phony. 

Audrey turned her attention to Eve.  “Evelyn, you look lovely as well.” Eve didn’t feel lovely, but she accepted the compliment anyway and surveyed Audrey so she could return the compliment. Audrey and her mother could be sisters, they shared the same light blond hair, tiny frame, and bright blue eyes. However, Audrey had a tendency to overdo it with her hair, makeup, accessories, and cosmetic procedures (Eve realized that her mother was right and Audrey’s lips were way too big). “Thank you. I love your dress.” She said finally. Audrey’s white lace sundress was the only thing not completely overwhelming about her appearance. Eve’s mother nodded next to her, satisfied with the compliment. 

“Anyway, y’all can come on back. I’ve pulled some things already and I’ve got you set up in a room.” Audrey led them to the dressing rooms along the back wall. Eve bristled. Audrey’s taste was questionable at best. 

Her mother didn’t seem happy either. “I was hoping to look around myself.” Eve noticed there was no mention of her picking out her own dress. Between that and her mother laying out her outfit and styling her hair that morning, she was starting to feel like her mother’s dress up doll. 

“And you can do that too!” Audrey said quickly. “How about you do that while Evelyn starts trying things on?” 

“Alright, but I want to see everything.” Eve’s mother gave her a pointed look before walking off. 

“You’re still a two right?” Audrey asked, pushing Eve into one of the dressing rooms. 

“Yes ma’am.” Thanks to Harry continuing to provide snacks, Eve knew her diet wasn’t working quite as well as her mother had hoped. However, she still hadn’t gone up a dress size, which she knew would probably send her mother into shock. 

“Great. Let me know if you need help getting into anything. I’ll be just outside.” Audrey closed the curtain behind her, leaving Eve alone in the dressing room. Blossom’s dressing rooms were the size of the kitchen in the guesthouse.  A mirror took up the entirety of one wall, like in a dance studio. A rolling clothing rack with several dresses on it was pressed up against another wall. A couch just as nice as the one in the Montgomery family living room was the final piece of furniture in the room. Eve spent a few minutes looking through the dresses on the rack, finding only one that she liked. She decided to save that one for last and started with her least favorite, a white dress with a sweetheart neckline and a skirt full of flowers that looked more like a wedding dress than anything else. 

Eve managed to wiggle into the dress without any help and emerged from the dressing room to find Audrey waiting for her. Audrey gave another high pitched squeal. “Steph! Come see how cute she looks.” 

Eve waited for her mother to make her way back to the dressing room. Her mother frowned the second she saw her. “Evelyn, put your hair up. None of these gowns will look good with a ponytail.” She waited as Eve rushed to put her hair in the best bun she could manage. “That looks like a wedding dress.” Eve cringed at the fact that she and her mother shared an opinion on something. “Try something else.” Her mother went on. 

Eve obediently went into the dressing room and tugged on the next option, a lavender dress that she knew would clash with her hair. A glance in the mirror confirmed this. The look on her mother’s face further confirmed this. “Evelyn, that looks awful with your hair. Try something else.” Eve went back into the dressing room, closing the curtain behind her, but she could still hear her mother talking. “That wouldn’t look so bad if she’d bleach that awful red hair of hers.” Eve moved further away from the curtain. For all the luxury in the store Audrey couldn’t afford real doors? 

Eve tried on the last of the ugly dresses, a green dress with a corset style top that Eve definitely didn’t have the figure to fill out. She didn’t even want to show her mother, but she stepped out of the dressing room again. Her mother’s frown deepened. “Evelyn, you don’t have the body for that dress. I saw one I liked. Let me go get it.” As her mother walked away, Eve entered the dressing room again. She was pulled on the only dress she liked, a simple black dress with a halter neck and a low back. It fit like a glove. Eve spun around in the mirror a few times, loving how she looked and feeling confident. She liked how the low back made her look taller, how the tight fit of the top and the skirt emphasized her figure, and how the black color complimented her hair and eyes. She heard the bells on the door jingle, followed by a sequel from Audrey. 

Eve stepped out of the dressing room to find her mother standing there alone, a blue dress in her hands, her hands gripping the hanger so tight Eve was worried the plastic might snap in her hands. 

Audrey was standing at the entrance, greeting another blonde woman with a double cheek kiss. When Audrey stepped back, Eve realized why her mother was so mad. Karen Walcott, her mother’s main social rival had just entered the store, her daughter Andrea on her heels. Eve felt herself growing tense as well. She and Andrea had never gotten along in high school, and since her mother and Karen had been rivals for years, Eve knew time didn’t exactly heal all wounds. Eve didn’t know the exact origins of the rivalry, only that it had been long and seemed to have no end it sight. They’d probably still be feuding in the nursing home. 

“Stephanie,” Karen began, stepping toward Eve her mother. “Lovely to see you. You look lovely. Black is very slimming.” Eve felt her mother bristle, recognizing the subtle way bored, rich housewives fought. “And Evelyn, you’re looking lovely too. You stayed here for school, isn’t that right?” 

Eve recognized the implication, that she hadn’t been smart enough to get into an out of state school and that her parents couldn’t afford to send her to one. Her mother slid an arm around her, the gesture making Eve jump. It had been forever since her mother touched her with any sort of affection. “You look lovely as well. Though I’m surprised to see you. Audrey assured me I would have the store to myself,” Eve caught the death glare her mother shot Audrey and had a feeling they would soon be on the outs again. “Evelyn is at Barnard actually. How about Andy?” She continued, using the nickname she was well aware that no one had used for Andrea since she was about six. 

Andrea smiled sweetly. “I go by Andrea now ma’am. And I’m at Bryn Mawr.” 

“4.0.” Karen jumped in. “You aren’t worried about Evelyn all alone in that big city?” 

Eve felt her mother’s manicured fingernails dig into her shoulder and knew she was mad she couldn’t throw Eve’s academic achievements back. Eve wanted to squirm to get away but knew her mother would be livid. “Not at all. She’s very responsible.” 

“I felt very safe, Mrs. Walcott.” Eve added. 

“Is that your dress for the Summer Splash?” Andrea asked. “It’s great you have the confidence for something like that with your body.” 

A comment like that from her mother stung, but Eve could handle it, like a bee sting. A comment like that from someone else, someone her own age, felt worse, like being attacked by a swarm of killer bees. Her mother looked over at her for the first time. “You’re right, Andy. This dress won’t work for Evelyn. She gained some weight at school and hasn’t lost it yet.” 

“Really? Andrea is the exact same size as when she left.” Karen mused. 

It was on the tip of Evelyn’s tongue to tell her that Andrea had almost gained a lot of weight this year thanks to a pregnancy scare with her high school boyfriend toward the end of senior year, but she was too shocked to do so. As bad as she could be in private, her mother was usually nicer to her in public. Being around other people was like wearing a suit of armor. She had no idea why this interaction was bringing out this side of her mother. 

Eve’s mother said something about how that had best keep shopping, took her wrist, and tugged her away. Hard. “Try this on and let’s go. I’m going to kill Audrey.” She said, shoving the blue dress into Eve’s hands. 

“But mom, I think-” 

“Don’t argue.” Her mother pushed her none too gently into the fitting room. 

With a last longing look at herself in the black dress, Eve took it off and pulled the blue dress instead. She hated it instantly. There was no real shape to it at all, the top resembling a mumu and the bottom resembling the poofy prom dress that she’d hated but had also been forced on her by her mother. Her mother really thought she needed to be hidden away like this? 

Knowing her mother expected to see her in the dress, she emerged from the dressing room. Her mother smiled for the first time all day. “Wonderful! We’ll take it.” She directed the last part of the sentence toward Audrey, though she didn’t make eye contact. 

“But mom-” 

“Don’t try to argue with me.” It was quiet, a warning. 

“You do look darling.” Another voice said. Eve turned to see Karen waiting outside the next fitting room. Though there were six, Audrey had set the two girls up in adjoining rooms. Her mother was going to be furious with Audrey. “Just like you did for prom.” Eve noticed the backhanded compliment, but her mother didn’t seem to. 

The curtain to the other dressing room flew open and Andrea emerged, looking stunning in a fitted white dress not unlike Eve’s favorite black look. Karen immediately started fussing over her, heaping more compliments on her in two minutes than Eve had heard from her mother in her entire life. 

“Go change. I’ll go pay. Then we can get out of here. We’ll go somewhere else to look for your dress for the Christmas banquet.” Her mother raised her voice on those last words so Audrey would be sure to here. “And we’re going somewhere else for alterations. Or Joyce could to them.” 

Eve obediently headed for the dressing room with her self-esteem at an all time low. Her mother had insulted her in front of her old high school enemy. She was buying her a hideous dress after rudely rejecting all other options. Outside, she could still hear Karen complimenting Andrea. Eve finally realized why she’d never really liked Andrea in high school. Though she’d been on top of the social ladder, Eve had felt horribly insecure the whole time. Andrea had walked with a practiced confidence that Eve now knew came from having supportive parents. It also was why Harry seemed so sure of himself. Thinking about Harry reminded Eve that he hadn’t tried to kiss her yet and made her feel even worse. It seemed like she would never be good enough for everyone. Eve quickly tugged the dress off and put her workout clothes on, wanting to get home as quickly as possible so she could cry these feelings out in private. 

She carried the dress in her left hand, using it to block her view of Karen and Andrea as she made her way to the register where her mother was finishing paying, still not making eye contact with Audrey. Her mother signed the receipt, grabbed the bowl of complementary expensive mints by the register, and dumped the entire thing into her purse. Eve knew that Audrey could easily afford more mints so that wasn’t really a huge loss, but now wasn’t the time to point that out. She took Eve’s wrist in a viselike grip and guided her toward the Range Rover where Tim was waiting. Once there were inside with the doors locked and Tim was pulling out of the parking lot, she exploded. 

“I am going to kill Audrey. Really. I know I say this every time but I’m not speaking to her again and she’s not getting anymore of my business…” Eve zoned out as her mother ranted on about Audrey, only tuning back in when she heard her name. “And, Evelyn, I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. She glides in looking so perfect with Andrea looking like a doll and you look like something the cat dragged it.” Eve wanted to point out that it was her mother’s idea to go straight from yoga to shopping, but didn’t. She didn’t have the energy to fight back. “And Andrea’s doing so well at Bryn Mawr and I can’t even say anything about your academic accomplishments back. I just wish you were more like her sometimes.” 

With that final blow to her self-esteem, Eve felt tears welling up. Fortunately, she’d gotten very good at hiding them over the last few years and stared out the window as Tim sped through the last few blocks to the house as her mother ranted on about Andrea’s perfect hair and perfect body. As soon as Tim pulled into the driveway, Eve ran into the house, up the stairs, and into her room, slamming the door behind her. She knew running away like that would earn her a lecture later, but she didn’t care. The tears started and she threw herself down on the bed, hoping her mother was either still downstairs or better yet out of the house so she couldn’t hear. Under no circumstances could her mother hear or see her crying. 

Eve’s sobs were so loud she almost didn’t hear the rock hit the window. She ignored it. She knew it was Harry and the guy who wasn’t into her and who had been indirectly responsible for her breakdown was the last person she wanted to see right now. Another rock hit the window. Then another. Then another, all in quick succession. Eve wiped her nose on her pillow case and got up, intending to tell him to beat it. 

The second she pushed the window open, Harry was looking up at her with concern. “Are you okay?” He asked before she could even open her mouth. “Tim told me what happened and said you seemed really upset. He took your mother to the spa for an emergency massage. We’re alone if you want to talk.” 

“Harry, I-” She stopped herself before she could say she wanted to be alone. It was sweet of him to come check in on her, and he was the only person all day who’d shown that he cared about her feelings. Talking to someone did sound kind of nice. “I’m coming down. Meet me in the guesthouse.” 

Eve shoved flip flops on her feet and made her way downstairs. Joyce, who was preparing lunch, gave her a sympathetic look. Apparently family gossip traveled fast among the staff. Eve made her way into the backyard and sulked toward the guesthouse. She knocked on the door five times, the signal she and Harry had come up with so he’d know it was her. He pulled the door open immediately. 

Once Eve was inside, he led her toward the couch. “What happened?” He asked. His concern set Eve off crying again, she hid her face in her hands, not wanting anyone to see her cry. Her parents had taught her from a young age not to show weakness and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d openly cried in front of anyone other than her parents. Harry gently pried her hands away from her face and pulled her in so she her face was resting on his shoulder instead. He was sweaty and smelled like fertilizer, but she didn’t care, Eve was just grateful to have a warm body to cry against. He silently rubbed her back as she continued to cry. 

Once she’d cried herself out, Harry asked again what had happened and Eve could finally detail the events of the morning. Harry had let go of her but was still holding one of her hands as she talked. She watched as his eyes widened at certain points in the story. She finally got to the end of the story and he was quiet for a few moments, seemingly speechless. “Eve, I’m so so sorry.” He said finally. 

Eve sighed. “I don’t know why I’m crying. Usually I can handle it.” 

“I hate when you say that. You shouldn’t have to.” He fixed his gaze on her. “Really. You shouldn’t.” 

Eve ignored him. It seemed hard to convince herself of that when almost all she heard was the opposite. “I think it feels worse this time because she told me she wished I was more like Andrea. She was so awful to me when we were in high school. I wouldn’t want to be anything like her. And the fact that she was insulting me in public. That never happens. I work really hard to keep up the perfect family facade and that’s all ruined now. Plus I was already feeling bad about you so-” She stopped short when she realized what she’d said. She’d been on a roll with her ranting, the last part had popped out before she could stop it. 

She hoped that he hadn’t been paying attention, something that she’d noticed was all too frequent with most guys. Unfortunately, he was looking at her with enough concern to let her know that he’d heard. “Why would you be feeling bad about me?” He asked. 

“No reason.” She said firmly. She hadn’t been raised to talk about her feelings. Her parents didn’t do that. The words ‘I love you’ were infrequent between them. Eve hadn’t cried in front of her parents since getting cut from the sixth grade cheer team, which had been followed by a long lecture from her mother about not crying in front of people and private lessons from an instructor hired by her father to ensure that she would make the team next year. This was foreign to her. “Thanks for listening, but I know you have to get back to work.” She pulled her hand away from Harry’s and stood up.

He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her down again. “Eve, I know we didn’t exactly start off on the right foot but I thought we were good now. Did I do something wrong?” 

Her nights with Harry had been really the only positive to her summer. Their games were the most fun she’d had since coming home and he was really the only person who could make her laugh these days. She couldn’t let him think there was something wrong with him. “It’s just....I don’t have a lot of experience with guys so I could be wrong but that first night at the pool you were complimenting me and I kind of thought you were flirting. But then that stopped so I started thinking there was something wrong with me to me you not want to flirt anymore.” 

Harry stared at her blankly. “You really think that?” He took her hand again. “Eve, I thought you didn’t like me like that. Then I started thinking about it and I realized I’m not the kind of guy your parents would want for you. So it made sense that you would be blowing me off. I didn’t want to do anything you didn’t want so I just stopped.” He hesitated. “You liked it.” 

“I liked it. I liked you since that first night out at the pool. No one’s ever looked after me like that. All the nights we’ve spent together have just been me falling for you more.” 

“I liked you when I first saw you. I thought you were pretty, as you know,” Eve smiled at the reference to their awkward first meeting. “And I was annoyed you were trying to tell me how to do my job, yes. But you walked out to yell at me and I thought ‘Here’s a strong, confident girl who isn’t afraid to stand up for herself’. Then during the dinner I realized I’d been wrong, but it didn’t change how I felt. I wanted to help you, to bring the girl from that morning back.” As he spoke he’d been moving closer to her. He slid his arms around her and pulled her into his lap, keeping eye contact and watching for any sign of discomfort. “Good?” He asked. Eve nodded. One of his hands cupped her cheek. “Can I kiss you?” They’d been talking long enough that she seemed calm, she’d been sobbing less than an hour ago and he didn’t want to take advantage of that. He waited until she nodded again to kiss her. 

Eve had been kissed before. She’d had her first kiss at her first boy-girl party back in the sixth grade. She’d had a few boyfriends back in high school, and she’d been kissed good night by almost every boy who had taken her to a dance or party. But it had never been like this. This was the electricity, the butterflies, everything a kiss was supposed to be. It was also harder and faster than she’d ever been kissed before. Every boy she’d ever dated had been raised like her, to believe the public displays of affection were tacky and that even being overly affectionate in private was frowned upon. Harry was holding her tight, pulling her body close to his as the kiss deepened. As amazing as it was, Eve’s mind started to wander, wondering what would happen if her parents knew she was playing tonsil hockey with the gardener. 

As if reading her thoughts, Harry pulled away. “Eve, your parents-” He started. 

She cut him off. “Do you really think I care what my parents think?” As she said it, she realized it was true. She wanted to be with Harry. Her parents be damned. He smiled, pulling her in for another kiss. 

[thepapergirlandthespiegelman]

On Christmas cards 🎄💌

❄ I use the term “Christmas cards” because “holiday cards” doesn’t have the same association of a card sent to a list of friends/loved ones annually in December, but the cards need not be Christmas-themed, include the words “Merry Christmas,” or be at all Christian or religious in nature. I usually wish my recipients either “Happy holidays!” or “Season’s greetings!” and/or whatever holiday I know the specific individual to celebrate. (As a side note, if anyone knows of a general/non-denominational term for this tradition, or has an idea for a term that we could try to popularize, please let me know!)

I celebrate neopagan Yule, secular Christmas, and new year’s eve/new year’s day. I try not to assume that others share my holiday traditions or force those traditions on to them, but on the flipside, I’m totally okay with sharing my traditions with those who are eager to participate, i.e. you don’t have to be raised in a culture that celebrates Christmas (or be Christian, considering that I’m not) to celebrate Christmas with me. I just want to have fun and share things that I like with the people who I love.

❄ There are so many cute card designs, from vintage/antique/Victorian to beautiful winter nature scenes to pop culture characters, and different color schemes, from traditional red, green, and gold to icy blue, white, and silver. Sometime I hope to get some Sailor Moon Christmas cards 🌙

❄ Show friends that you’re thinking about them/that you love them!

❄ Let friends know what you’ve been up to all year and your plans for the next year, including new year’s wishes or resolutions.

❄ I prefer to write each card individually rather than send a generic round-robin letter, but I understand why people do it, since writing so many unique letters takes a looooong time, and of course there will be some overlap in the news that you’re sharing among different friends if you want to keep everyone updated.

❄ I only send cards to my closest friends, so it doesn’t take as long as it otherwise might. I know other people send cards to, for example, nearly everyone in their extended family, but I prefer a more personal and intimate tradition.

❄ Can include a cute photo of yourself 📷 (with your SO/family if you want) in festive attire 🎀/next to your Christmas tree 🎄

❄ If you’re feeling extra fancy you could even use scented paper or include a little dry potpourri to give a festive scent like cinnamon or cloves

❄ Sealing the envelope with cute stickers or stamping with red or green sealing wax. I like to use a stamp that has my initial on it

❄ An opportunity to make sure that you have up-to-date addresses for all of your friends

❄ Cute Christmas stamps 🖃 this year I used ones with winter berries on them

❄ Anticipation of mail delivery 📬 it’s not 100% when things will arrive through post so it’s something to look forward to

❄ Opening a card/letter feels like a mini-present (much more fun than opening an email)

❄ Your friend gets a physical object with your handwriting and photo

❄ Your friend can display the card on the mantel/around the house to be festive

❄ There’s no reason why you can’t send both a paper and digital greeting (text, email, e-card, or video). why not both!! 🖥️🎄

[readbythestarlight]

c2e71

.....the table is all mixed up and it’s weird

The only presidential debate I will gladly watch

Ronin!! HI BABY BOY!

Matt is so ready for this to be over lol

Taliesin looks significantly less sick which is nice

[[MORE]]

Ohhh boy here we go with Dairon

J: "Let’s go to the hottub!"

B: "...is this conversation appropriate to have in a hot tub?"

"Cuuuure wooouuunds"

Dairon has so many valid questions but the one about the tree is the most valid

D: "I’m not upset I’m just confused, I know for me the two look very similar."

The fact that Dairon isn’t angry is great and listen I love the fact that they keep thinking they’re gonna be in so much trouble but then they’re not. It’s nice and probably good for them because they all need a self-confidence boost and confirmation that they’re not total fuck ups.

Jester encouraging them to talk is so cute xD

No no

Bad idea

Don’t give her a sigle

Nononono

Don’t do it

Dairon stop asking

I like Dairon and I want them to be able to trust her because she’s so important to Beau and I desperately want Beau to be able to trust and have one good authority figure in her life

Also please don’t die Dairon this doesn’t have to be a suicide mission

"Jester, Fjord, Nott, Caleb, Yasha, ...Mollymauk" owwwwww

Caduceus has just been making them live off a vegetarian diet and that’s cute

B: "Did you bone someone last night?"

Cad: "Did you kidnap somebody?"

Poor Beau is so nervous about this lol

Everyone: "how did she find us?"

B: "uhhhhhh well I called her..."

N, supportive mom: "that’s fine she’s your friend!"

Everyone’s being supportive of Beau including Dairon and that’s so great!

Cad shouting for her to come down lol

B: "oh thank god my friends like each other oh thank fuck"

Caduceus being so delighted by Dairon’s "positive attitude" lol

God I really don’t want them to split up

Fjord stay away from the water

Caleb is so worried Nott’s gonna leave

Also Yeza and Luc should go live on the ship

I love hot boi Essek as much as anyone but I’m not sure they should trust him with so much. I want to trust him but I’m scared to.

And now we’re off to Nicodranus and I’m nervous

Maybe Yussah won’t be home that would be great

No no don’t retrieve Yussah just leave

Don’t tell him anything

Caduceus

Darlin’

Honey bunches of oats

I get what you’re aiming for but please don’t start mentioning things that happened to y’all in the Dynasty

Now you stepped in it

Oh thank god Beau is a good liar

Oh frick it’s happening in the Empire too?

Okay that went so much better than I expected

I keep expecting horrible things to happen and then they don’t and I’m both glad and anxious because the other show is gonna drop one of these days

lol still in Xhorhas clothes they did not plan this at all

Which means holy shit did Yussah notice??

I can’t believe we’re gonna have a nice family beach day before they have to go back to Xhorhas

They deserve it

Marion gonna make me cryyyyy WE MISSED YOU MOM

I’m gonna cry Luc reuniting with his parents yep here we go I’m weeping

Luc nerding out about Dutchess Anastasia

Yeza: "I think you should know your mother here is quite the adventurer. I’ve been watching her fighting monsters..." I’m cryyyyying

Veth being a mom like "no it’s DANGEROUS you can’t—you can’t touch it"

28 and she obliterates the orange

I’m so happy

So many reunions I’m so happy I’m gonna cry

Nuggets like "MOM!!!" and honestly same

Jester’s like "you can BORROW my dog"

Please wear one of Jester’s dresses Beau I’m begging

IM GONNA NEED ART OF BEAU IN THE RED DRESS Y’ALL

"I’ll wear it for Jester" that’s love

Oh god and a hat

Art of Beau and Jester in their cute dresses please please

Wow just

Just gonna come out of left field and slap me with these Nott and Caleb feels huh

"I love you" and "I don’t want to leave you/be anywhere without you" whatever the exact words were because I just was having feelings

"You would be strong enough to kill me with fire and change my body like they did" FUCK THAT’S. OUCH.

That whole conversation hurt but I’m glad they had it

Meanwhile at the beach, Cad is just watching Fjord waiting for something weird to happen

B: "This conch shell is weird, it just keeps saying ‘Fjord’!"

N: "Mine says ‘consume’!"

Aw Jester :(

Oh yeah!

Oh darn

I want the package

Did an actual package get sent??

That’s so cute!

Wow y’all just really slapping me in the face with the Molly feels tonight huh?

That’s so cute that he actually sent actual things tho

Aw guys I want Caliana to come back

"You kept saying how you and the M9 were assholes, not good people. I don’t know much, Mr. Caleb, but I know that’s not true at all." I’M CRYING WHY Y’ALL COMING AT ME WITH ALL THESE SOFT FEELINGS RIGHT NOW

"Be kind to yourself, Mr. Caleb, I don’t want your pockets to get too heavy." ;_;

Omg potpourri to help with his allergies so he can cuddle Frumpkin

Yeza loves his wife so much

She’s giving him the mask she used to wear I’m crying

Is Caleb doing some sort of magic to connect/protect them???

Is he?? Making?? A teleportation circle??

What is he doing??

Oh okay it’s just the thing for them to leave okay

There we go there’s U’kotoa

Heyyyy hot boi!

Essek is so endlessly amused by them

Oh no what did that 32 roll do

Ouch

Taliesin looks delighted

Oh my god Matt why do that to yourself

The ultimate DM, prepping tons of different locations just in case

I’m glad Taliesin feels better

Love you too Matt!!

Gosh this episode was good. Soft and feelsy but not TOTALLY heartbreaking at least