#The End!

[eldrith]

ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴅᴇɴ ; ᴘᴀʀᴛ ғɪᴠᴇ.

ɪ sʟɪᴛʜᴇʀᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴅᴇɴ ; ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴅᴇ ᴏᴜᴛsɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏᴏʀ

jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader words: 7.0k synopsis: jacaerys fell for something in aegon's garden. chapter warnings: graphic depictions of blood. death, light gore, creepiness, angst, this isn't a very happy story -- angst no comfort. smut (PiV), choking, v brief breeding kink. death. alteration of canon timeline. notes: thank you endlessly to @dipperscavern & @useralba - my muses, my lil ghosties... ily. you've made this whole series happen. & thank u to everyone who stuck around for this series, ive thoroughly enjoyed it n i hope you've enjoyed it too !

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ACROSS THE ISLAND, BURIED DEEP BENEATH THE MOON'S SIGHT, VERMAX ROARS WITHIN HIS NEST.

A shutter of pain, deep and rolling through the volcanic cave; a groan of agony which tapers in a whine of some odd mixture of hungering. Shifting upon felled scales of which more and more rot away each passing eve, Vermax whines, inconsolable and inexplicably agitated. 

Dragonkeepers know not how to properly treat such a malady; for the one recorded instance of such an ailment was written in a journal lost to the sands of time and the clutches of madness from a maester long past.

Much too weak to take to the skies, the beast rips into the offered parts of sheep tossed to his depths; and with a stirring hunger deep within, the dragon breathes low and awaits the true feast. 

A sweeter feast. 

Plumes of boiling breath whisper through the Dragonmont cavern, a heeded admonition to the screeching ravens which flee to the east, towards Aegon’s Garden. They mar the sky in droves; more than two dozen, screaming louder than the rolling sea and darker than the sky itself. 

THE SOIL BREATHES BELOW HIM.

It is, at first, merely a deep tremor slipping into Jacaerys’s mind; some forgotten memory in the deafened silence of night, a fuzzy breath of something elsewhere when he sits so very present with you in his lap, the flesh of fruit upon his tongue. A roar so distinct echoes within the thin air high above his mind; up near the Mont - a conspiracy of ravens scream in the night sky above, though it matters not. 

For there is a taste so divine Jacaerys has lost all sense; he tremors under your keening sigh, as his tongue presses into the bleeding fruit of the fig, biting down on the salacious flesh and tamping the jolt of his hips as you swirl atop him. 

That hunger, what a delicious thing; and you’re all his, he recalls – all his, forever. 

You’ve slowed your press of hips against his; indeed, you’ve stilled completely just as his teeth punctured the flesh – and you watch now with a halted, voracious lilt of hunger, cheeks flushed as his own, eyes glinting like opened pits of chasmous desire. 

Sweet, cloying – and he feels, as he chews the fruit, your eyes so very piercing upon his lips, watching with some ancient anticipation, some dripping hunger of need.

 Slow, a bead of juice drips down his chin; and as your hand falls away, taking the fruit with it, Jacaerys is consumed by a raw hunger to consume. 

Heat seeps through him, some spinning, angry beat, but as his hand catches your wrist in an ironed, chilling grip to return the fruit to him in a bout of starved possession, you’ve already leaned forward, catching the juice that slides down the tip of his jaw with your tongue. 

You trail the dops as they spill from his lips, coaxing a groan of pleasure from his lips. Shivers slither down his spine at the sensation, a deep hunger unfurling within his gut; and in that moment, your mouth begins to move lower, piercingly cold and yet spurring a ravenous heat that sends his fingers to knot within the fabric of your dress, within the loose strands of your tresses.  

Your own palm slides over his chest, raking nails over the exposed skin as the laces untie beneath your wanting grasp. 

And soon, your grasp slides up, up – finding a slow, taunting purchase over the bob of his throat, your hips moving slowly as you hum into his flesh and squeeze just lightly in wait. 

It is with a flare of arousal he registers your patience; you wait for him to swallow, to feel the fruit as he does so beneath your icy, wanton grip.

And so he does. 

Your hand tightens just so a flare of desire sparks with his hunger, his admiration for your soft, supple flesh – such a kind girl, a cursed girl; and he takes what you give him with hungry hands and willing eyes. 

His head falls back; the trail of divinity which leaks from the fruit’s taste spreads from his lips, his tongue, to his mind – and soon his chest buzzes, heart galloping as you stir above him, watching with kiss-bitten lips and a dark gaze in the moonlight. 

“Gods,” He groans, tongue peeking to swipe over his plush lip, gathering the juices which remain in their glistening sweetness. “Do you- you must feel that?” His sentence is poorly strung and strangled in his crazed ecstasy, brows furrowing as your fingers splay from his throat up to cradle his jaw; and his eyes open once more to find yours lidded and close, peering directly into his soul, breath fanning over his cheek. 

“Only you,” You whisper – and by the Gods it is the only thing Jacaerys might hear for the rest of his life; “I only feel you, Jacaerys. I only see you.” You press the words unto his lips and he drinks them up a parched man; his palms tremble upon your hips as he pulls you closer to his warmth – as if he might drown you in such heat, consume you, take you. 

It is as if you’ve seen into his mind – Jacaerys feels the wicked grin of yours against his lips, feels the giggle that dies in your throat before it even passes your lips.

A tremble of desire and peril, a whisper between two worlds; and with a tug upon his throat guiding him towards your waiting visage, your lips are slotted once more against his own, the swirling pleasure of the fig’s juice and your own saliva sending jolts of pleasure through him. 

His fingers trace the ridges upon your serpented spine ��� keening hungrily, you let your other hand slide over his tensed abdomen, whimpering into his touch when his teeth graze your lip. 

Divine, he thinks. Divine. 

The roots below him stir with some life; pulsing, churning over fresh soil and pumping life into the veins of figs plump and ripe above his head; and you, your heart beating with that same rhythm, his own slowly matching it as the pleasure of the fruit within his gut begins to spread. Divine. 

It is rather clumsily, frantically that he guides you to tug up your torn dress skirts; your skin glints in a sparkling beauty under the faint light of the moon, and Jacaerys vaguely wishes he were bedding you properly – under a mound of furs, within your marital chambers – dragons dancing within the fabric of your skirts, cheeks flushed with hope to carry his own seed within your belly. 

Perhaps a crown upon his head, his hair light and silver as the moon–

It is a jolting thought; one which coaxes, even as your sharp bites mar his skin with presses of cool kisses, a low whisper of memory to his mind. Each drop of spilled blood from the wombs of dragonlords bear the mark of fate. 

A glance to his palms, which move to press a thumb at the junction of your exposed thigh and to cup the supple turn of your breast with the other; A curse. 

Your lips are sweet upon his skin and he yearns in a way he has never dreamt of – a curse. 

His head hits the bark of the fig tree; gazing upon the dappled fractures of moon through the long twisting limbs and swaying leaves, he recalls the story of the moon blossoming, budding the very dragons which slumber across the island in their Mont. What is a curse but the gods’ way of shaping fate into flesh?  

Your skin is cooling to his heated cheeks as he presses his hands tighter into you, feeling you; real, alive, willing. Loving, in your lonely, sweet way. 

“Jace,” you whisper, pressing your lips to the sharp line of his jaw, trailing down the column of his throat; and he gasps, angling his head sharply to catch your lips in a brutally hungry kiss, one which sends a breath fracturing through your own chest as you press into him, bare and willing and needy against him. “Please, let me have you.” 

His jaw clenches in restraint as he restricts a whimper from falling from his wanton lips – though the evening is dark and you are here, tasting of figs and life and love. “Gods,” He moans, pulling you to him impossibly close, without a single care that he’s perhaps been driven mad. “Yes.” 

Fingers grasp him frigid and suddenly.

Jacaerys gasps in ecstasy as you move gently, mewling gently against his lips as you guide him further, pulling him under; until every barrier between you and Jacaerys is broken; until you align yourself with him and then sink unto him slowly and with a slight tremored gasp. In fear of movement Jacaerys stills, thumbs tracing your spine and pushing your tresses from your furrowed countenance; a kiss upon your nose, then your cheeks – and you kiss him back then as you begin to rock in a sinful, sacred rhythm that coaxes joint moans from both pairs of lips. 

Heat licks over his abdomen in flashes of sharp pleasure; you moaning his name into the quiet of the garden, your name tripping from his lips at each jolt of his impatient, eager hips. Chasing some deep-buried desire and ecstasy, his fingers tremble as they once more find your lips. 

Your tongue is icy and gentle, though your teeth nip just so at his skin and he groans into the empty garden, a melodious echo with the sound of your harmony. There is a chilling breeze which spreads through the clearing; in the throes of pleasure, Jacaerys catches a glimpse beyond the soft curve of shoulder, to the faint figures which linger in the outskirts of the shadows. 

The statues almost watch; he finds a shiver rolling down his spine, swallowed only by the blossoming pleasure which stirs at your sudden warmth, the presence of you squeezing him, lapping at his tongue, pressing your nails into his ridged, exposed flesh and grinning darkly into the shadows behind him. 

His fingers tangle helplessly into the fabric of you, tugging, settling upon your hips and guiding you atop him in desperate need; and you, a picture of blossomed beauty, of devotion, of divinity, of everything above him. 

His lips trail over every breath of exposed skin he can find, trembling with desire as the pleasure doubles, tremoring in his heart, spilling words of love from his lips and petals raining from blossomed figs to cover his eyes. A hiss from high above in the limbs of the tree, though you groan loudly; his eyes fall pack onto your figure, shrouded in the moonlight as you glare up at the tree, moving with pleasure and taking it solely from Jacaerys. 

That deep possession that’d gripped him since he first met you returns; and with his hands grasping your neck and wrapping around your back he sits up slightly, pulling you with him until you’re seated deep.

With a joint moan of ecstasy, your grip upon his throat slithers; for only a moment, his mind conjures thoughts of a vine coiling around a beating heart, of the turn of rot melting into renewed soil deep below. 

A delicious alarm kicks his heart into a frantic leap; and his hips buck up into you in a desperate, languid pace – sending you in a keening moan, coaxing his release closer and closer, the licking heat of pleasure clouding Jacaerys’s mind. 

It is with a wild heart and clouded mind he mutters, holding you upon him, moving his hips into your own. “Stay with me,” his voice seeps with desperation; a small leap from the remnants of his despair as he holds you close, that chasmous hunger crawling closer and closer, eyes sealed shut, heat pounding– 

And with a soft moan spilling from your lips, your voice hits his ears in a harrowingly calm whisper. “There is no world but this, Jacaerys. I will always be with you.”

It is with a fevered crescendo that Jacaerys finds his peak; hips bucking into you, gasping as your name spills rotten from his bright lips. You follow in suit with a stilled shudder, hand tightening just so upon his throat, thumb searching fervently along his pulsepoint; and a blossoming smile glinting in the moonlight, that dreadful peace he’s made for himself with you. 

The night stills only moments later and Jacaerys is left awestruck; a glimpse of something dark and sacred within your lidded, pleased gaze. There is a syrupy glint of saliva and juice upon your lower lip which Jace catches upon his thumb; and with a swift movement, he catches it upon his own lips, humming in the dizzying ecstasy that pulses from the flesh of the fruits looming overhead. 

Your hands run through his curls; his trace your spine. You keep him within you, the two of you locked in a tight embrace, until your legs grow tired – you slip off him, his body slowly returning some of the heat lost in your stark presence. 

And with gentle presses of your lips upon his, he finds the syrupy coaxing of heavy lids and slow breaths. 

IT IS A SHORT WINK UNTIL THE SUN RISES BLOODY OVER THE GARDEN. 

It covers him; bleeding streaks of light over his partially unbuttoned tunic as he stirs, lashes fluttering against the oppressive lumination. He uncurls slowly, limbs stretching from reposing once again in the soil; a fragile peace trickles through the garden in such early hours. 

Vines hang drooped with the weight of morning dew; petals glisten in their blooms, seeping colour and a syrupy scent through the air as birds chirps far away. A slow breath, one which reminds Jace of the taste of the fruit which lies half-eaten and discarded only a short reach away. 

And upon his other side, you – curled against him, lashes fanned over your cheeks, a serenity so unfamiliar and familiar alike in your countenance as your chest rises and falls with the hums of the garden. 

Here, it is sacred, your voice reminds him in memory. Names matter not. A soft touch with the back of his hand along your arm, lingering for a moment as his heart clenches; It is only peace, and sweet blooms of eternal summer. 

His mind is heavy, weighted as it oft is after a night of too much wine in his cup. Here, the earth feeds itself. 

The circle turns.

There is a fullness which feels nearly false; and when he pulls himself free and stands, there is but a mere rustling shift below him. 

You are bleary and watchful from below. “You leave so soon?” You wonder – but there is some lilt of amusement, a flicker in that familiar way of a twisting sinister knowing of which he is unaware. 

His throat is tight when he nods to you. “I must,” his own voice is far off, cast away in another world. “I’ll return to you.” He promises, though the words crumble to ash and fear within his mouth. 

Your eyes flicker and drop when the thought crosses his mind; and with a tight hum, you cast your glance to the statue across the way. “You will.” You agree. 

There is a pang sharp and echoing from his mind through his gut; and he forces himself away, unable to withstand the sharp gaze that always seems to see beyond him. 

Jacaerys does not recall much of the fickle path which leads through the garden this morning; passing by statues of mourning mothers, of fire-breathing beasts, of an ancient Valyrian High Priestess – his fingers trail gently over the vines which slither across the Maiden statue’s leg, his chest emptier than it has been in a long time. 

Fog trickles and swirls around his ankles, seeping through the hedges as vines crawl after him – an eerie calm over his plumed breath as blossoms keen when he passes. 

It is not until his palms, fingertips tinged red in the frigid morning frost, push through the iron gates that it strikes him; the weight of memory, of his mother’s words the eve before, of the impending dream that calls to him, whispering of rot, of battles of crumbling statues fought and lost, of gardens burnt to ash and blood. 

A rather strange queasiness contracts within his stomach when his feet supplant the frost curling over the wildgrass; his hand rises to his throat, breath shallow – a sharp sensation which stuns him as the air brings shards into his chest. 

Dragonstone Castle looms in its gloomy prison of clouds this morning; though the morning light has been tamped, it seems, by some rolling clouds which smother any warmth and leave Jacaerys shivering to his very marrow. 

The Maester’s journal lies in the near distance untouched – it is with a bitter resent he retrieves it, knowing no soul besides himself finds themselves the will to venture into this part of the castle. 

Fingers tracing the frosted dew along its spine, a strange fear coils around him, settling in his gut and sending his pulse to throb erroneously. He tucks it beneath his arm nevertheless. 

A raven screeches overhead, its dark form cutting through the silvered sky as it disappears toward the horizon; just as it sinks, gulls cry – and a dread seeps into his bones. 

In a final moment of regret, Jacaerys glances back towards the gates to Aegon’s Garden,  half-expecting to see you watching him with that odd lilted bow and the cowering, secretive stare; but there is only silence and the faint rustling of leaves as a low wind stirs and kicks up ash in his imagination. 

THE SEAT AT THE HEAD OF THE PAINTED TABLE IS EMPTY. 

Jacaerys’s gaze bores holes into it, his head throbbing with the pain of anger, of betrayal, of something rotten, decaying within the back of his mind. There is a sterile sense of emptiness that has begun to penetrate him in this morrow, festering into tight resentment as he glares at the seat. 

A twist within his gut; the plunge of a sharpened blade further between his splintered ribs towards his very heart from his mother’s absence. Gone, to Harrenhal, with Addam of Hull – and Jacaerys, left within the cursed skeleton of the island, untrusted, unrecognized. 

The base of his skull thrums in pounding agony – the council drones on in voices rising and falling, spiraling towards the stone drum and lilting high into the rafters; and yet Jace waits, gaze sliding with a dreadful ache between the empty chair before him and the windows to the eastern bailey. 

There must be some odd draught lingering through the cracks of the old castle; Jacaerys’s skin prickles with cold this morning, an unnatural chill that bites deeper than the breath of cold daylight beyond the walls. 

An uneasy shift in his chair, swallowing the dryness within his throat as he actively expels visions of stone and climbing rotted vines spilling in bursts of rotted earth. 

The council debates, argues – Jacaerys blinks to focus. Queasiness leaks through him, seeping into his veins and trembling his fingers as he splays them upon the mapped rough of the table before him, focusing on one swimming spot somewhere near White Harbor. 

“Jacaerys,” Baela’s voice cuts through the haze; and with a shaky glance to her, he registers the spin of his vision. 

A wretched thing – some spiny barbed tail of regret winds its way to puncture his stomach, a vision of the Thorned Dragon curling in on itself as she reaches out, tugging something loose from his curls.

Her brows are furrowed; the room has gone rather quiet, he thinks – pinched between her fingers is one decaying fig leaf, its once glossy skin flaky and peeling away. He watches it pulse slowly, slithering underneath her grasp. 

“Did you–” Her eyes glance around before her voice comes in a shorter whisper, one Jacaerys tries to hear amidst the spinning whispers of young laughter and hissing serpents. “Were you outside this morning? You look–” She stops short; a chilling breath in the air as if she’s seeing something unnatural, otherworldly; as if there is more than just that faint sheen of sweat he feels budding upon his pallor, the glassiness of his gaze. 

“Jace, you’re–” 

But before he can gather his wits to scrape forth some answer, a dull, metallic taste rises; with a sputtering cough, the sound seizes the quiet anticipation of the chamber. 

A torture it is as each pinprick of eyes stares at him, his hacking bout of deepening coughs, as the world spins and yet stops at once, as a chilling rain of cold licks down his spine: As a thin trail of crimson splatters onto the edge of his palm, catching in the light, gleaming. 

A rich, viscous shine in the morning light peeking through the casements; hunger, some odd and horrifying thing, churns within him at the sight. Blood, glinting as sweet as fig juice in the daylight. His hunger churns in a sickening bout. 

“Are you alright, my Prince?” Maester Gerards takes a few wary paces towards Jacarys; it is then that he allows his sight to blearily course over each concerned visage littering the room, searching in some urgent need for comfort: Just to fall onto his mother’s unoccupied chair, his lashline brimming in pain. 

He wishes to respond to Maester Gerardys; to explain the strange, chilling cold that winds through his veins – the feeling as though his very blood is thinning, flesh fading beneath the weight of some unseen shroud as tendrils of viney talons grasp onto him and drag him under. 

His mouth opens and instead of a meager no, some horrifying gurgle comes instead – and somewhere in the echoes of shadows, someone gasps; it is then he feels it, as his fingers claw at White Harbor’s carved edges – a slow, dark rivulet flowing in a brutal a line down over his lips. 

It blossoms quick with crimson blood, but like many things, it rots even sooner. 

Jacaerys’s vision is narrowed – with an ache unfurling into a feverish burn that grasps in some ghost of a trail down his throat and into his stomach, a gnawing whisper in his mind tortures his breath: The Garden. 

A horrifying burst of energy, a sick waltz that sends his twitching joints jumping; he lurches from his chair as the trickle opens to a river of crimson spilling from his nose – the garden, some pull within his veins scream. 

He stumbles, staggering though his legs give way beneath him as he strains to see it; and a chorus of alarmed shouts, the scraping of chairs on stone blurring into a muted roar.

Breathless, a string of metallic viscous saliva spilling from his lips, Jacaerys lies upon the stone cold floor; arm outstretched pathetically towards the window before him, gaze absently fixed upon the only chair at the painted table not overturned in alarm. 

Empty as her choice had been. 

A rivulet spills into a river over his cheek as his eyes give in to the overwhelming shock of dark; dripping down his face onto the cold stone as your sharp whisper whips through his mind. Dragonlords.

Rotting this world from the inside out.

JACAERYS SURFACES FROM A DREAM THICK WITH DECAY. 

He surges in a great, gurgled gasp which startles the man beside him – Maester Gerardys works on a poultice and muddles herbs for tincture at his side. The blurry resurfacing is marred with complete disorientation; the prince feels as though he floats above his mattress, that perhaps his mind floats even higher above that.

“My Prince,” The man sounds relieved; though Jacaerys blinks twisted branches of dead olive trees from his vision, a searing scent of rot clinging to him as his blurred, heavy vision sloshes as ale does in a barrel. 

It is his own chamber in which he lies; a scent of incense his mother has favored since she was a child – and he rests resting upon his own mattress, heart beating in a syrupy, frail march; yet nonetheless beating still, as his eyes lull to the open window. 

Drawn by some pull, perhaps – there is a flicker of movement down in the greened depths below, some wisp of white fluttering in the breeze, and Jacaerys focuses on it, the thought of you burning upon the fringes of his mind. Gods, he needs you; to see you, to hear your voice, that welcoming cold embrace.

The fig tree looms; an odd observation, as its vision within the garden has long since been marred with fog and distance against straining eyes – yet in his weak glance, Jacaerys sees it clear as crystal. “It’s always in bloom,” 

A syrupy remnant upon his tongue – not that divine grace of fig, no – but poppy. Milk of Poppy; with a slow blink, Jacaerys rubs at his tangled lashes, fighting the hazy float of his mind. Maester Gerardys pauses as he muddles some sludged herb – the smell of which is putrid and nearly causes him to wretch. Maester Gerardys follows his gaze with a puzzled stare. “What is, my Prince?” 

Jacaerys’s throat tightens in a coiling, sickening dread; though he does not answer, his stare fixed on the tree, its swirling branches waving in the distance. His mother’s hardening glance hits him in a wave of memory – she’s chosen her war, left him to find her awry husband in the Riverlands. Jacaerys swallows down the acidic bile of resentment that crawls up his throat. 

"Will my mother return?" He asks weakly, a princeling in need of his nursemaid; but Mester Gerardys presses his lips together in hesitation.

After a moment, he nods. "We've not heard word, My Prince."

He nods, pursing his lips so not as to let them tremble; and a desolate wish, some yearning to instead be not with the old Maester but in your presence. A chill ripples through him after a breath of silence; a rustling sound to his left and Jace turns, breath catching. 

Sleek as a shadow – a black cat creeps its way into the chambers, its eyes glinting in a strange intelligence; and an unblinking stare, an eerie stillness – something deep and primal within Jacaerys recoils. The hair upon his neck rises and he tries with much effort to drag himself into a sitting position upon the downed pillows.

It slinks around the curled basin of his tub and Jacaerys is plagued by a deep-rooted shame; of dappled sunlight through olive branches above, of the plush and rich soil that putrifies with acid when rain falls; of a shadow small and youthful, a warbled yelp and a flinch at the sound of thunder clapping above the canopy of the fig’s shade. 

It is an invitation, he knows; a sick one, cruel and unusually displayed - though from you or the garden itself, he cannot tell.

A servant enters; her eyes are wide and for a moment Jacaerys wonders if she’s been crying; she sets down a tray of food, grasping the seven-pointed star hanging round her neck. A murmured whisper as their eyes meet; she bows weakly, and Jacaerys watches her disappear into the shadows. 

The cat is gone when he looks back. 

MAESTER GERARDYS DOES NOT LEAVE JACAERYS’ SIDE FOR QUITE SOME TIME.

He grows exasperated in his muddled state – there is no beauty within such a statement.

It is plain and raw, ugly as exposed roots oozing with blood: Jacaerys is sick. 

There has been found no distinct cause as of yet from the maester; it has been whispered of some souring of the blood, an old malady, one which was thought to have been erased from the index of time. Yet still, his soul lingers; throbbing in some rotten movement, Jacaerys waits for Maester Gerardys to excuse himself to retrieve some of his poultice for the head-aches which have plagued Jace even during the best of days – and in this breath of time, there is some horrifying call, some yearning which comes from the very core of him, crawling its way into his mind and infesting his heart. 

An instruction to eat lingers in his mind from Maester Gerardys – and there lies the very food brought in by the troubled servant girl, lying in its stale waste; the mere scent of the scones before him, of the stew half-cold, sends his stomach into a lurch. 

Agony pulses through him like a poison as he pulls himself from his bed; perhaps his very blood has soured - a shaking hand lifts the spoon to his lips, though his gut churns with a sweeter hunger.

The food is wretched from his mouth before he can merely chew– with horror, he watches the scone crumble into ash, the stew melting into some decayed, rotted sludge which pulses. 

The crawling throb of need sears his mind; and a lurch of illness spills a spat wad of bloodied saliva unto the stone floor as he leaves his chambers.

Half-stumbling, half-dragging himself, Jacaerys slinks down the shadowed hall, shallowly sucking air into his chest and concealing his wet, crimson coughs into his trembling arm. There is a pulsing that will not cease; has not ceased since he left the garden this morning; and though there is a whisper in the back of his mind, one which scratches upon the base of his skull, he denies it.

He needs to see you – needs to reach the garden, to feel the pricks of throns upon his pristine skin, to touch something that feels alive.

And it is a sickening thing, some ancient pull, some childhood song sung off-kilter and with a lilt of malicious amusement; a trickle of fear which stirs his hunger further. 

Leaves swirl in his vision as he waves the guards off; Ser Marbrand attempts to fetch for Maester Gerardys but with a half-wheeze, Jacaerys insists the Lord will sooner hang from the gargoyles upon the stone drum than he will stop Jacaerys from finding fresh air. 

And so he leaves the men behind, cupping his palm to keep the bile at bay; and the hunger consumes him, limping and rotting, vision blotted in the corners; a hunger to find you waiting, blooming amid the fig tree’s weeping branches – to eat, and, perhaps, be eaten. 

DAWN FALLS AS JACAERYS DOES. 

It might have been a horrible thing, Jacaerys decides as he crawls forwards, halfway past the garden’s first bout of sickly hedges – it might have been a horrible thing, to wish such maladies upon those of his own kin.

And perhaps that is simply what this is: Some sickening punishment, a repentance for the sins committed against those who share his blood – a son for a son, a life for a life. The fruit is rot from the tree of kings; and perhaps that rot will always win out. 

His legs gave out just as he'd crossed the first courtyard of the garden; his limbs shake now as he pulls himself with eyes trained unto the earth below; a pounding in his heart that bleeds pain through his veins.

You have not come to his cries of your name; and so that terrifying part of him, that sickness that has laid dormant since the very first time he allowed that juice to press upon his lips; it commands him, it drags him miserably upon his hands and knees towards the tree. 

The statues watch with lingering stares. 

He can feel their cold shadows dark as omens across his vision; a withered thing looming across the air as lifeless faces watch him with leering grins. 

And that air, so thick with the smell of decay and so often masked by the sickly sweetness of blossoms; it leaks into his chest, sending him retching once more into the soil. And yet that desire still churns; What a cruel thing fate is, perhaps, to let his stomach turn in hunger and drown his senses. 

Whatever has seeped into the hedges, whatever lurks in the turn of shadows and lingers in the depths of soil in Aegon’s Garden... he knows. It consumes him.

With a last glance back towards the fading vision of the Thorned Dragon’s horns piercing the night sky, he stumbles to his legs and lurches; a wet gasp of pain which yields a sharp bout of coughs; blood paints his hands the dark crimson of his mother’s crown and he allows himself a short sob. 

“Hello?” He calls weakly, some half-hoped effort of comfort as he staggers, the earth spinning; vines snag upon his visage, slicing his forehead and yielding another gash of blood to weep from his rotting veins. 

Nobody responds. 

The Garden shows him mercy just as he collapses; in a shivering effort of hunger and disorientation, he lets his legs give out once more – and Jacaerys collapses onto the earth, tumbling weakly. 

His hand lands on a patch of soft, freshly turned soil; and in the dips and sways of his vision, in the sickening scent of festering decomposition, he sees it: A fig leaf. 

Clutched and crushed in his spasming fist, he lets out a wet laugh that morphs into a bout of hack – viscous blood comes from him, though as it falls to the earth below, he registers the surroundings. 

He lies now upon the other side of the fig tree; it is flatter here, thickly overgrown with rotten, bruised vines and decaying fruits – and beneath him, an overturned earth the very shape and length of himself, some fresh and half-consumed spot from which the tree sprouts. 

The truth dawns on him slowly, chillingly — a burial mound, nestled beneath the roots of the tree; damp earth packed with some twisted gentleness, as if it has waited patiently for someone to…fill it. 

The acknowledgement is a clawing, grim portent; no graves have been dug on Dragonstone in centuries - indeed it was a ritual seen only before the conqueror found this continent.

Long has passed since the times of burials found the land –  yet here it is, waiting, silent, hungry. Lonely. 

And perhaps his weak mind plays tricks �� or perhaps the garden does – but you suddenly peek from around the tree then, hair hanging low in tresses and your brows furrowed. 

Relief bursts in his chest.

You step from beneath the shadows and his heart sings; a fearful lick up his spine at your eyes, flickering knowingly to the plot which he grasps weakly beneath his fingers.

“Jacaerys, my love?” You call as you move toward his curled frame. 

Relief flares in him even as the cold attempts to swallow it; there is a fear within his longing, as he reaches for you – though the words in his throat fall dead as something moves in the corner of his eye. 

Terror, that old friend, wraps in a coil around his throat; a serpent coils down from the low-weeping branches above, its dark scales of polished onyx in the pale dawn – a patchwork of horror and disgust, Jacaerys takes in the larger scales which fit poorly as though shoved through flesh – a veridian reflection, large as his palm.

Rotted and felled; in the distance, a distinct dragon roars in pain. 

Jacaerys is paralyzed, his soul used and weary; he points with a shaky finger though you seem rather undisturbed as you give him that meticulously rehearsed tilt of your head. 

The serpent slithers its way up your thigh; some horrifyingly undisturbed look upon your face, even as your dress skirt ruches with it, revealing your marred skin underneath.

A primal fear grips his throat – you stand before him with that glazed over look; a dreamy grin crawling over your face as the serpent hisses in that familiar trickle he recalls from the limbs in the tree. 

And it is you:

You, an image of the maiden statue; the serpent coiling tighter until your leg has grown grotesque and purple, yet still you grin so hungrily, so sinister as Jacaerys pushes away with his shaking hands. 

“He fears the serpent, too,” you finally murmur into the stagnant air, as if sharing a secret with the earth itself – and your hand, moving along to stroke the head of the serpent which watches hungrily upon Jacaerys’s weak body. “But I’ve told him, the serpent should be the least of your worries, my Prince.”

There is dread which lodges into Jacaerys’s mind alongside an inkling of foreboding knowledge. “Who… who fears it?”

And with a tilt of your head, with a knowing gleam in your eyes, you gesture behind him; Jacaerys twists painfully, wiping blood from his lips.

His heart seizes. 

Luke stands just beyond reach, hovering in the hedges – a face pale, eyes wide and tearful, locked upon the serpent with a stare of pure, unfiltered terror.  

“Luke-” Jacaerys gasps, hand flying to his stomach, feeling as though his body is emptying, seeping into the soil below. Panic flares in him – and his brother snaps towards his gaze at his voice, their eyes locking. 

Tears prick along Jacaerys’s lashline as Lucerys steps back, face crumpling, his voice choked. “Don’t… don’t, Jace,” Luke pleads, trembling as he takes another step away. “Please. Don’t.”

Jacaerys’s heart shatters, his last spark of strength spent in reaching for his brother; voice a thin, desperate rasp so unlike his own. “Luke! Wait–”

But Luke dissolves into the shadows and Jacaerys is crushed wholly by the weight of abandonment. His vision swims, hair tangled with the grasping vines, weak as the ground thrums with a pulse he feels within his heavy heart. And you are gone, in that hazy place of yours – though he calls to you nonetheless. 

You look at him, face shrouded with an eerie glint of amusement. He wheezes out a sickly cough, unbothered to wipe the blood which spills — and your gaze traces the drop hungrily.

“I think I’m dying.” He admits weeakly, wishing for nothing else than to come back to you, the true you; the girl with the shy grins, the cold lips, the butterfly lashes and hide-and-seek tendencies. 

When you look down at him, the snake sliding to linger over your shoulder; an eternal companion – something lingers. Some hunger, deeper than any he has known. “Life and death,” you muse in a sickening encore of your words spoken not two days past, “are sometimes one and the same, Prince Jacaerys.” 

A hot tear slips down his cheek; the final vestige of strength as he chokes on the scent of death which drains him from the earth below. “I love you, I–” He whispers, heart aching and hungry, “...you’re cruel.”

There is much to say; though Jacaerys can feel the blood which has begun to weep from his nostrils, from his mouth; the end is near, and it smells of rotten fruit and damp earth. 

But you shake your head slowly, a strange sadness ghosting over your lips; the serpent is discarded as you kneel to the soil beside him, shaking your head – the stains return on your dress in the fading light, and Jacaerys sees them – two long gashes, bleeding heavily upon your stomach and breast; a decay, an eternal decay. “No, my prince,” you whisper, a soft caress over his cheeks as your fingers smooth his tears, mixing them with the trail of his seeping blood. “I am not cruel. I love you. There is no world but this.”

As you speak, the garden seems to hold its breath; And then, with a terrible clarity, the realization settles over him—a revelation that seeps through his bones colder than death itself.

The plot he lies upon is not meant for him — it is already yours.

His gaze locks onto the soil, and he feels the rot beneath it reach out, creeping up his spine with its tendrils of vines and cloying morning glories – Jacaerys reels with a sickening gasp, eyes straining in fear between your calm, serene face and the fig tree, eternal in its bloom. 

The roots sprout from it, decaying anywhere it can; roots sprouting from the remains of what once was… you. 

His heart pounds, but he cannot look away, his breath quickening as fragments of Layne’s mad warnings echo in his mind. He’s sick; though with a tremble, he blinks at you. And what greater curse is there than to eternally live and yet still to die? 

Jacaerys sputters as blood fills his mouth; in a panic, he wishes – he wishes for you. 

It is once again as if you’ve read his mind; your lips press into his, and for the first time, you are warm. 

Your lips are warm and thrumming with life against his own, blossoming in the slick of spit and tears, of blood and rot, of love and death.

This garden watches; it sows, reaps, sows. Jacaerys clutches you closer until you’re pressed against him, lying within the plot, breaths mingling and shallow, shuttering and warm.

And it is only then he feels as though he can see clearly – each moment, each drop of juice from the fig’s flesh unto his own flashes in his mind in a horror of understanding.

A slow rot, perhaps – from the first time his lips pressed yours to last night, the fig within his mouth. A slow decay, the voice whispers as you pull away from his lips, your own eyes shining with tears – for him, perhaps. Their fate, I fear, is that of slow decay. “We will be together,” You’ve whispered to him – but there is a harsh thrumming, a trembling that has begun in his chest and legs and it has begun to crawl its way to his heart; he cannot speak, he cannot move. Tears are hot as they fall from his unblinking eyes, and you wipe them away with your lips. 

Targaryens, Jacaerys thinks as the setting sun kisses the hedges and sends sprawling light over the edge, What a cursed line. Gods among men – but gods do not bleed. 

Gods do not rot.

He watches the curve of your smile in his narrowing vision, his lips parting into a sick, gasping circle as he tries to speak. A torture, searching for air he cannot find, for words which will not come.

Again, and again. The circle turns – and then his hands fall limp.  

Above, the fig tree looms, its branches heavy with fruit, ripe and bursting; a feast – leaves fall gently and the garden hums with an eerie stillness; a marriage of decay and beauty, of life entangled eternally with the winking, serpentine eyes of death. 

Jacaerys watches you – and you watch back as the light leaves his eyes, a wicked smile curving on your lips; your love now bound in the soil, claimed by the roots of the tree.

IN THE HOURS FOLLOWING THE DEATH OF PRINCE JACAERYS, THE SUN DISAPPEARED. 

It is said that, having returned to the Prince’s chambers to find the bed empty and a cat curled upon the mattress in search of his body’s warmth, Maester Gerardys alerted the Queensguard to search the castle – though he knew indeed where the young Prince had gone. 

It was only moments before the Maester took to entering the gates himself that a deafening roar bellowed from the skies high above Dragonstone Castle, and he hesitated in fear for his life; for the screeching echo of pain and grief grew closer, until it was directly before him.

Vermax, the Prince Jacaerys’s mount quite stricken with scale rot and madness, had taken to the sky with his last bout of will.

The sickened creature, spurred perhaps by his rider's death or by some deep, unknowable grief, circled the tower of his rider’s chambers before dropping to fly low over the cursed Aegon’s Garden. 

With no hesitation, the dragon unleashed flames upon the entire stretch of garden; the inferno raged for hours, the charred soil and twisted roots bearing scars that would last for generations still to come, leaving only smoldering ash and a battlefield of crumbled statues in its wake.

When at last the flames subsided, only one relic stood unscathed amidst the ruin:

A statue of a young Maiden, a serpent carved upon her leg; her marbled form defiant and serene against the embers – her face fixed in a knowing, wicked smile.

It was said that the loss of her eldest son drove the Queen near mad, for her grief was doubled; once more, she had a son to mourn and yet no body to lay upon a pyre. No silent sisters could prepare him; no flame to carry her son home, and the sept upon Dragonstone stood empty that day. The Dragonkeepers did not sing.

And thus, it was only Maester Gerardys and a solitary servant who swept the last remnants of Aegon’s Garden into history.

Ash and char scattered to the sea breeze, the gardens of old burned and blackened as they worked silently.

Gerardys, peering over the twisted, rotted remnants of fruit among the vines, sighed deeply and muttered to the servant as they collected what little was left – a journal scarred and burnt, a torn blue crook of a cloak with seahorse embellishments; all atop the one section of soil that remained plush, despite its smoldering vicinity. 

Aegon’s Garden was no more. 

Rotten fruit, the Maester said to the servant, whose nose was tinged red in her mourning; rotten, from the tree of kings. 

The circle turns, after all. 

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[madokaholic]

PMMM - The Illustrated Book (43 - 48)

[rakiah]

Queentober - Day 31: Wedding

[totaltraumacomic]

Epilogue IV

[blushweddinggowns]

But then she woke up the next day and nothing was better. She had slept till noon and by the time she came downstairs her mom let her know that she had two messages from Steve already. 

Those were definitely getting ignored. At least for today. 

She didn’t even know what to say to him. If her feelings for him weren't obvious to him before then they probably were now. Or he thought that she was a total homophobe which made her want to cry for a whole new reason. 

You’re the first person I’ve ever actually told this too, because it just feels like I can trust you. 

Nancy groaned at the memory. God, she had blocked that part out. He probably thought she hated him by now, but she didn’t. She couldn’t even be mad at him, not really.  He didn’t do anything wrong. She was the one who didn’t want to see what was right in front of her. She didn’t know what to do. And when she didn’t know what to do she called Barb, but that wasn’t an option for this.

…was it?

No. It wasn’t. She shouldn’t tell her. She wouldn’t tell her. But then again…if she guessed on her own what had happened that didn’t really count right? And if there was anyone Nancy could trust it was her. She’d never say anything. She just wasn’t the type of person who would endanger someone’s life for petty gossip.

Plus Nancy needed to apologize anyway and it was time she took the verbal tongue whipping that she deserved for leaving her there last night. She called her, sighing when it went to voicemail. She knew she was awake by now and she was definitely home. God, she was even more pissed at her then she thought. 

She spent the weekend sulking, while successfully avoiding Steve and leaving multiple I’m Sorry messages on Barb’s machine. But she wouldn’t be able to avoid her on Monday, she’d find her then.

But then her mom called her, crying. Barb had been missing since Friday. Which didn’t make any sense. Nancy was at their door within the hour, but they had nothing to tell her except that her car was gone and the police had been called. She even went back to Steve’s to look for her, her intense embarrassment suddenly felt like nothing in comparison to not knowing where he best fucking friend was. 

But lucky enough for her he wasn’t there. And Barb’s car wasn’t there either. And Nancy could have sworn it had been when she started walking home. Hadn’t it? What had happened to her after she left? 

Nancy was aware that breaking into Steve’s house to investigate was probably a bad idea. But it was his own fault for showing her where the hide-a-key was. It’s not that she thought that Eddie or Steve would do anything to Barb, but if she was crashing at his house she needed to know about it. But she didn’t find anything. She checked every room, she checked out back, but nothing. There weren’t even signs of a struggle. No blood, nothing that could indicate anything happened here.

But still…if Steve and Eddie were the last people to see her, she couldn’t just pretend that it didn’t matter. Against her better judgment she kept digging around, looking for anything that could help her figure out where she was. She was a little frazzled to say the least. Her best friend was missing and she was trespassing in her ex-crush’s house looking for. 

She was lucky she even heard the front door open while she was rifling through Steve’s desk, immediately followed by his and Eddie’s voices. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

She could hear them coming up the stairs. Of course they were coming up the stairs, his room was upstairs and Nancy….really didn’t want to get caught doing whatever the fuck this was. Could she be blamed for hiding in the closet? God, what kind of hellish weekend was this?

Nancy held her breath as the two of them walked in. She couldn’t see much through the slants in the closet, but she could hear everything. 

“Are you sure you left it here?” Eddie asked, “It might just still be at school.”

“I’m sure,” Steve answered while he shuffled around the room, “I had just finished it and put it back in the book before you came. Give me five minutes and I’ll find it. Just need to retrace my steps. Okay, Friday, I was studying before they came over. And then you happened and…”

She could hear him shuffle around the room before exclaiming, “Ha! Told you it was in here!”

“Why is it under the bed?”

Steve snorted, “Babe, ask yourself that question.”

“Okay whatever. You got me there. Nancy would be proud to know you were this dedicated to turning in homework.”

Steve sighed, “Please don’t say her name right now. I’m sad enough as it is. God, what if she already told Barb and they both hate us? I didn’t even get to say goodbye before they both left.”

“Oh Stevie…” Nancy could hear Eddie move to him, and then an unmistakable, wet kissing sound before he said, “I know this sucks, but it will be okay. You said it yourself right? Nancy’s not that kind of person to hate you over this. And if she is then we do what we always do, lie and move on.”

Steve sighed, “You make it sound so easy.”

“Because it is that easy. Besides, you still got me don’t you?”

Another wet sound before Steve giggled, “Yeah. I do. Now let’s go home, this room is making me depressed.”

Nancy could almost cry from how relieved she was when she heard the door close, even if all of that was hard to hear. Though having to hear them kiss wasn’t exactly pleasant. And she…she didn’t want Steve to think she hated him. But she also couldn’t focus on that for right now. Because now she had proof that whatever happened to Barb had nothing to do with Steve and Eddie, thank god. She would still have to ask them about her, get all her bases covered, but she felt pretty damn confident that they had nothing to do with her going missing. Which meant if she told anyone about this stupid party the cops would waste all of their time questioning them while Barb was still gone. Hawkins police had been functionally useless for finding Will Beyers, what were they going to do with Barb? Less than nothing?

Well Nancy wasn’t going to let that stand. She was going to find her herself. 

She just didn’t think she’d end up doing it with Johnathan Beyers of all people. Or that monsters turned out to be fucking real. Or that her little brother was involved. Or any of the insane shit that happened to her in the span of one week. 

Honestly, in comparison to all of that Steve coming out to her really wasn’t that big a deal. 

But him and Eddie showing up to the Beyer’s place to deliver condolence cookies sure fucking was. Though she had to admit, watching Eddie stab the monster in the back with the knife he kept in his shoe kinda made her more understanding on why Steve was so into him. 

She hadn’t even thanked him, either of them for their help. She was too busy rushing to the hospital with Johnathan. Because if they found Will, then that meant that they found Barb, right?

And they had. Just not all of her. Joyce was the one who ended up telling her. And the one who held her while she sobbed. 

Suffice to say, it was a pretty bad fucking week. It had been a few days since then and Nancy had spent most of it crying about Barb. She couldn’t even tell her parents because of the stupid NDA. Mike and Johnathan were too busy celebrating the fact that Will was alive to deal with her.  She had never felt more alone in her life. She couldn’t tell anyone. She couldn’t talk to anyone- 

Well…actually…she couldn’t talk to anyone who hadn’t been there. And even though they didn’t really know what was going on, Eddie and Steve had been there. If they haven't been forced to sign a shady NDA yet then they would be, and it had said nothing about discussing it with the people who already knew. 

But Jesus, now she had to think about Steve. Steve, who didn’t care that she had been ignoring him. Steve and Eddie who still jumped into help save their asses, despite being completely in the dark. How was she even going to face them? 

After everything that had happened, the whole gay thing felt so small. She could get over it, couldn’t she? And maybe her feelings for Steve hadn’t died completely yet, but they would if she tried right? Plus…as sad as it was, Steve was probably the closest living person to her at this point, even if they had only started getting close the past few months. She…missed him. Hell, she even missed Eddie.  

She hadn’t talked to either of them since that day. But she wanted to. She just wasn’t sure if they would want to talk to her. It’s not like she had anything to give them to make up for getting them almost killed. Or for running away. And she did want to make it up to them. She just didn’t know how. 

Unless…maybe there was something she could do after all. 

I’m not some kind of casanova. I haven’t even had sex with a girl before. All of those dates never got past first, if that. But we needed a way to not be obvious so that’s how that happened.

Steve’s words rang in her head. Maybe it wasn’t a good call to offer up being a fake girlfriend to the guy she still technically liked, but it was something. And it would benefit Eddie too. Plus, she could probably save a few girls from some heartbreak while she was at it. 

Okay, that was something. A plan was forming and plans always helped Nancy to feel like she was back in control. Now she just needed to go over there and apologize, explain everything that happened without crying, and offer up being a fake girlfriend as penance. That wasn’t so hard right? Plus it had the added benefit of getting her to move for the first time in two days. 

She rode her bike over to the Harrington’s place, completely unsurprised when there were no cars. Steve had said it himself, this wasn’t where home was. Luckily she knew where the trailer park was. She didn’t know which one was Eddie’s but she did recognize Steve’s car parked out in front of it. 

It took more than a few knocks for someone to answer the door, but she didn’t bike all around town for nothing. Though…it became pretty obvious pretty quickly that she had um, interrupted something when she came over. If the insane amount of hickies on both of their necks was anything to go by. But the conversation went well enough, of course it did. Both of them were understanding, maybe even understanding to a fault. And they had managed to make her laugh for the first time since she’d known Barb was missing. And both of them jumped right onto the fake dating idea. Eddie seemed especially relieved, he even promised to make her muffins for every other fake date they went on.

And just like that she had them back in her life. Thank fucking god. Nancy wasn’t the type of person who always needed to be surrounded by others to be okay. She liked being alone, honestly preferred it more than half the time, but she couldn't get through all of the shit they’d been through alone. She just couldn’t. And she didn’t have to, because Eddie and Steve were there for her every step of the way. Especially Steve. 

It’s not that he took Barb’s place, no one could. But he quickly became the person she’d go to for…well. Everything. Talking about Barb, on the days she could without crying about it, complaining about her Dad and brother, or even dumb things like who she went to first when she heard a song she really liked. She didn’t think that everything would feel so easy with him after what had happened. But it did.

And while she was a lot closer to Steve, having Eddie around wasn’t too bad of a feeling either. He had a gift for lighting up any room he was in. Steve and Nancy actually shared a lot of the same interests and didn’t have many differing opinions, which just made it so much more fun when Eddie went against almost everything they said. He always kept things interesting, that was for sure. 

But Steve just…understood her in a different way. A way that she needed. And if she could just forget about the whole My best friend fucking died for no reason thing for a second then she’d be doing pretty good right now. And also the small issue of I might still be in love with Steve thing.

That one was harder to ignore when she saw him nearly every day. And it made her feel sick. She didn’t want to feel like this. She didn’t want her heart to speed up every time he hugged her. She didn’t want to imagine a world where him holding her hand actually meant something. She didn’t want any of it, and she didn’t know what to do about it. There was nothing she could do. It was a lose-lose scenario. 

For one thing, it was never going to happen. That became painfully clear after Eddie and Steve got the go-ahead that she was a safe person to be themselves around. They were…ugh. Disgustingly in love. And the more she learned about the truth in their relationship the more nails  were hammered into the closed door of Steve and Nancy ever being together. Plus, she didn’t even want to be with him. Even if Steve magically fell in love with her tomorrow it would ruin Eddie. She couldn’t even fantasize about it because it just made her too damn sad. She wasn’t even sure Steve could be Steve without Eddie at his side. 

Besides, if anything she likes seeing them in love, as weird as that was. But the two of them beat her parents out of the park as an example for what love could be. And she wanted that with someone who wanted her. And Steve was never going to be that person. So why hadn’t the feelings gone away?

They were worse when she was having a bad day. And today was an especially bad day. It had been a few months since Barb died.  It was a Friday night and Nancy’s parents were gone for the weekend, Mike was at Will’s, and Steve and Eddie always did their own thing on Fridays. 

No one had remembered what day it was. Or if they did, they didn’t care. March 26th. Barb’s birthday. Nancy didn’t tell anyone and she didn’t do anything besides sending flowers to her parents..  No one else in school knew. She didn’t even go, she allowed herself the small liencay of skipping, even if she was regretting it now. 

Because she had had a strategy for dealing with Barb being gone. And that was keeping herself busy to the maximum extent possible. If she wasn’t studying her ass off she was doing an extracurricular, and if she wasn’t doing that then she was hanging out with Steve. And if she wasn’t doing that then she was busy trying to read everything Tolstov ever wrote. The busier she was, the less time she had to think. And the less time she had to think meant that her mind wouldn’t wonder to Barb, or how she died, or how alone she probably felt or how scared-

And her strategy was not working. At least not for today. Now she was back to where she was last year, crying alone in her room. Steve had called after school to check up on her and he seemed to believe the lie she put out about her period being particularly bad. It was good for no follow up questions at least. She would have the next 60 or so hours to be alone and miserable.

So why was there someone pounding on her door? Nancy groaned as she forced herself out of bed, yelling down the stairs, “Jesus, I’m coming!”

It had to be Dustin looking for Mike. It’s not like anyone wanted to see her. She didn’t even bother opening the door, she just yelled through it, “Mike is at Will’s house!”

Steve laughed nervously on the other side, “Well that’s good, because I’m pretty sure that kid hates my guts.” 

Nancy’s eyes widened at the sound of his voice. She opened the door and there he was, sheepishly waving at her on her front stoop, "Hi? Can I um, come in?"

Nancy stepped aside to let him, quickly wiping at her face to hide any stray tears. She was pretty sure she looked like shit, but too little too late for that one. 

She shut the door and turned to face him, suddenly feeling very awkward, “I thought tonight was date night?”

Steve shrugged, “Every night is date night if you try hard enough. Do you want to sit down or…?”

Nancy shook her head. What she wanted to do was get back to sulking, but she needed to figure out why he was even here before she could do that, “Steve, what are you doing here?”

Steve fidgeted in place and Nancy hated how adorable she thought it was, “Well you sounded weird over the phone and I was just worried I guess. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Or at least she would be fine after she was left alone to rot, like she deserved, “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, “Nancy look, I know you can take care of yourself. But I just thought since it’s…well y’know.”

How would he…he couldn’t know. Could he? Nancy narrowed her eyes at him, “What are you talking about?”

Steve frowned, suddenly looking a bit more unsure of  himself, “It’s Barb’s Birthday today right?”

Nancy stared at him, eyes wide, “H-How do you know that?”

Steve shrugged, “We um, talked about it once.”

“And you remembered?”

Steve cocked his head at her, “Of course I remember. We were having this whole debate about cars and then I asked what she’d want when she turned sixteen and she mention- Nancy? Are you okay?”

Nancy was not okay. She could feel the tears already welling up in her eyes. She thought…she didn’t think anyone remembered. Or cared but…Steve did. He hadn’t even known her that well. Which was fucking horrible because Barb would have loved him. She did love him, begrudgingly back when they barely knew each other. And Steve would have loved her. Because Barb was smart and funny and sweet like Steve and…and Nancy was crying. Like crying, crying. She was sobbing so hard it felt like an out of body experience. 

She could feel herself sinking to the floor, hands covering her face as she wept. She hated crying in front of other people. She hated looking so weak and pathetic. She hated feeling like this. She was supposed to be better than this. Why did she even have to cry about? She wasn’t the one who was dead. 

God, was this what a mental breakdown felt like?

She could barely hear the sound of Steve kneeling next to her over her own sobs, but she did feel it when he wrapped his arms around her, “Hey, hey, you’re okay. Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not alone.”

That just made her cry harder. Because she should have been alone. She deserved to be alone. 

“No, you don’t Nancy. Don’t say shit like that.”

She hadn’t even realized she’d been talking out loud. Yep, this was definitely what a mental breakdown felt like. But Steve holding her was helping. He was even rocking her a little, murmuring reassurances in her ear the whole time. 

It took awhile for her to calm down. She couldn’t even tell you how long it had been. But somehow Steve had gotten them off the floor and to the couch, an arm still around her shoulders as she sniffled.

She wiped at her face, a sea of emotions flowing through her. Grief, shame, longing, and all of it was fucking awful. 

She couldn’t even look at Steve, “I’m sorry. I…I don’t know what came over me.”

“Nance, don’t apologize. You think I’ve never had a good cry session on the floor before? It’s normal.”

But it wasn’t normal for her, “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“Why not? Nancy, your best friend died. What else are you going to cry over if not this?”

Even months later, hearing someone else say she died felt like a knife to her heart. Her eyes were already welling up again. Fuck it, she had already embarrassed herself to hell and back in front of him, why not a little more?

“I miss her. So much. Every day. And I can’t stop thinking, why her? What did she ever do to deserve this? And I can’t stop thinking if I hadn’t taken her to your house that night, would she still be alive? Is it my fault she’s dead? O-or am I just making her dying about me? And it makes me feel like I’m going crazy,”  She was babbling, and she’d be shocked if Steve could even understand half of what she was saying through her shaking voice. 

But Steve was listening to every word, patiently waiting as she got everything out before speaking, “Nancy, it’s not your fault she’s gone. And you’re not bad for thinking about what happened. I…I know there’s nothing I can say to fix this. But you're not a bad person because of what happened to her. And there was no reason. It was just fucked up and wrong and no one’s fault but the people in that lab.”

Nancy knew that he was right, even if it didn’t feel right. It still felt like her fault. And even if it wasn’t it didn’t take away the fact that she was gone. But…at least she wasn’t alone. She hadn’t even told him to come, but here he was anyway, all because he remembered her best friend’s birthday.

Because that was the kind of person Steve was. And she loved him for it. And he was handsome and kind and Nancy’s sense of self-preservation was at an all time low. 

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, “I think I’m in love with you.”

She regretted saying it the second it was out there. She could feel Steve freeze up next to her. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Why had she said that? This. This right here was why she didn’t do vulnerable, because you say the dumbest shit imaginable. Shit that ruined friendships. What was Eddie going to think of her when he found out? He’d probably never talk to her again and now she put Steve in this horrible position and…God, why did she suck so much?

She looked up at him, near cringing at the shocked expression on his face, “Im so sorry Steve, that’s a terrible thing to say. Please don’t tell Eddie. I don't even know where that came from-”

Steve shook his head, shaking himself out of his surprised stupor. He smiled at her, aiming to comfort, “Hey, hey calm down, I’m not mad.”

But he should have been. Or at least Nancy thought he should, “Steve, I would never try to get in between you guys. You know that right? I’m just all fucked up and-”

“Stop apologizing. It’s okay. I get it Nancy. I do. But uh, I’m not sure you do.”

Nancy stopped, her third apology dying on the tip of her tongue, “What?” 

Steve sighed, “Nance, I love you but I think you’re looking at me through some rose-colored glasses here, alright? We work because you have the friend version of me. I think a week with romantic Steve would have you running up a wall.”

That’s what he was focusing on?

“Huh?”

Steve bit his lip, struggling for the words before saying, “It’s just-and stop me if I’m totally wrong here, but I think that it’s not everyday a boy and a girl get as close as we did without the romance part. So it’s easy to get confused. I know you love me. But…I don’t think you’re in love with me. I think you think it would be easier if you were, but Nancy, I swear to you it wouldn’t be.”

This conversation had taken a weird turn. And it didn’t make any sense to her, “What are you talking about? Anyone would be happy to be with you Steve. Look at you!”

“Exactly!” Steve groaned, circling a hand around his face, “Look at me! Do you know the shit I put Eddie through on a daily basis?”

“What do you mean?” Nancy asked.

“I mean I’m a nightmare! First of all, he’s not even allowed to sleep at night without me. And I’ll like, koala cling to him. All night long. And it doesn’t stop in bed. If we’re alone, his lap is my home away from home.”

Nancy stared at him, gnawing on her lower lip as he talked, "You're exaggerating."

Steve shrugged, "You're right. Half the time he’s on mine. But it gets worse. Do you remember when I was gone for that tournament a few weeks back? It was maybe two days?”

She nodded.

“I called him eight times. And he picked up every single one of them. Because if he hadn’t, I would have obsessively called him until he had.”

Jesus Christ, that could not be healthy, “Are…are you serious?”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, equal parts embarrassed and determined, “Dead. And that’s not even top five in the clingy shit I do. Did you know there was a weekend I literally didn’t let him out of bed for like twelve hours? Or the fact that I’m responsible for like every class we’ve ever skipped because I drag him into some dark room to makeout?”

Steve may have been right about the rose-colored glasses. If he ever tried any of that with her she’d strangle him, “You guys do that?”

“We do worse. But I’m not trying to add to your trauma here. But think about it. You’re…you. You’re independent, you love having alone time, you like the quiet, you want people to ask before they hug you. And I love all of that, I do! I love that you’re so straight-foward. I love that you're all no nonsense, but…well…I’m all nonsense. God I don’t know what other way to say this but I’m a brat and believe me, you’d dump me in a few months, a year tops.”

She hated how true that was. But Steve was right, she knew he was right. She would never be able to handle someone being that clingy. She stopped sleeping with her stuffed animals when she was ten because they made her too hot, but a whole person, attached to her side every night and day? She’d die. And maybe…maybe that explanation cleared up all the confusion. Because she still didn’t actually want him before she knew all of that, out of guilt. But now…it was a little more than just that. 

“But…” Steve trailed off for a second, before giving Nancy’s hand a light squeeze, “If I was straight, I’d love nothing more than to get my heart broken by you.”

Now Nancy was tearing up for a whole other reason. Maybe in love had been the wrong phrasing, but she really did love this guy. This strange, sweet, freak of a man. 

She squeezed his hand back, “Promise me this won’t change anything?”

Steve shrugged, “I can’t promise that. I think it will change things, but for the better alright? No more secrets between us, yeah?”

Nancy nodded, with one small caveat, “But you still won’t tell Eddie right?”

Steve grinned before pulling her into another hug, “That you thought you were in love with me for five seconds? Never.”

Nancy pulled away first, wiping at her eyes again. They were actually sore from all the crying she’d done in the last couple of hours, “I feel like I should send him flowers for dealing with you now or something.”

“Well…if you wanted you could tell him that yourself. How about you come back to the trailer with me? You can be alone with us.”

Nancy laughed at that, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

"It kind of does though."

It really didn’t but Nancy didn’t care. She smiled at him, relaxed in a way she hadn’t felt in months,“Yeah, that sounds good.”

While she was happy she’d get to spend more time with Steve, she was more than a little nervous to see Eddie, especially since she was interrupting their night. Even though Steve insisted over and over again that it was more than fine. Best case he’d be begrudgingly accepting, and worst he’d be obviously annoyed. Nancy wasn’t sure which she preferred. 

What she hadn’t expected was for Eddie to hug her right after she got in the door. Or better yet, ask before he did it. 

“You get full movie picking privileges,” he announced right after. He looked her up and down, frowning to himself a little, “"Have you had dinner yet?"

"Um no but I’m okay-"

“But nothing. I could throw you like a football. You’re eating something.”

Steve snorted behind her, “Did you just get possessed by an Italian grandmother? He makes spaghetti one time-”

“And you loved it!”

Nancy smiled to herself as she watched them bicker. But there was no longing to go with it this time, she just felt…happy to be around them. And she did eat, just to shut Eddie up, the nag. 

But she got him back. She was never going to let him live down the fact that he cried during Harold and Maude. She had them sit through all of her favorite movies, and by the third act of Valley Girl, they were both fast asleep. 

Steve was leaning against her shoulder while Eddie was half draped over the armrest, snoring in what looked like one of the most uncomfortable positions possible. She leaned back into the couch with a sigh as the movie played, her eyes slipping closed on their own. And for the first time in a long time, Nancy knew that she was going to be okay. 

~

Part 1 Part 1.5 Part 2

The end! At least for the Nancy POV. Everything from this little series was from this fic, and I might post more snippets if it can be relatively short for tumblr styling. This honestly isn't that short but I didn't want to split it in two so here we are!

@northa @dustcommander @attic-cat-blog @dinosareawesome2137 @obsessivlyme @fuckign-uh-hi

@a-little-unsteddie @ghost--enthusiast @jestyzesty @missarte-beltane

[randomquadballpun]

DAY 61 (attempt no 10) - fin

On Saturday, John woke to an empty bed and a silent flat. Well, nothing new there. He kept still for a couple of moments, listening in on the flat around him. But there was no cursing, no plastic plates being flung into the waste bin aggressively, no slammed doors or unhappy showering sounds. Just silence.

He swung out of bed, tiptoed to the door, and into the corridor beyond. Here, he could hear the faintest sound of voices from the living room. Walking a little bit further he could see that someone had drawn all the curtains shut and the whole room was filled with blue light.

Curious.

He inched over until he could actually look into the room, where he found Sherlock and Rosie side by side. Rosie was sitting on the armrest of the couch, holding one of the agar plates up into the air and shining at it with a small blue light, while Sherlock sat hunched over next to her, fingers carding restlessly through unkempt curls.

"Everything alright?", he asked carefully, causing both of his mad scientist to look up at him.

"It worked, they are glowing green! You have to see this, Dad!" Rosie gestured excitedly with the plate until he had taken a seat next to her.

And yep, there certainly were a bunch of small dots all over the surface of the growth medium and when illuminated with the strange lamp they definitely glowed bright green. It was quite impressive to see really, especially knowing how much effort had gone into this moment.

"Sherlock said that we can go to Barts and try to look at some green bacteria with one of the really good microscopes there!" Rosie - bouncing up and down like a caffeinated rubber ball - pressed both lamp and plate into Johns hands, before springing to her feet and making for the stairs. "I have to show Mrs Hudson as well!" And off she went.

"So ... it worked?", John asked the crouching figure next to him.

"Obviously."

"So what was the key? What did you change this time around?"

Sherlock unfurled, his fingers releasing his dishevelled curls and staring at John with a sour expression. If looks could kill, John would be deceased right now ... as would the innocent green E.coli that Sherlock had put so much work into growing - which would be quite ironic, all things considered.

"Nothing, I did everything the same. I performed this experiment with these exact parameters at least 5 times before without any success."

"Well, something must have changed, right? Maybe The new holes in the wall did something after all?" It was a weak joke to begin with, but confronted with Sherlocks most deadpan expression it fizzled out even more spectacularly.

"All the good bacteria grow into little dots because they grow so fast. They are green when you just look at them without the light. But with the lamp, they really glow!"

Rosie was back, Mrs Hudson in tow. She ran over, took the plate and lamp out of Johns unresisting hand and demonstrated the glowing dots once again, to suitable 'oooooing' and 'awwwing' from their landlady. "I have to take pictures so that I can show them to Molly and Rebecca and Uncle Greg and Uncle Mycroft", she continued, breathlessly. "They are so cool, I knew Papa could do it! And I need to show Mrs Bromley for science class, she did not believe me when I told her about our experiment. And ..."

John tuned out the continued narration, turning to Sherlock just in time to catch the moment when the words sunk in ... It had been such an off-hand remark, but of course, Sherlock Holmes would not miss it. As far as John knew, this was the first time that she had ever called him that. And Io and behold, Sherlock could do the wobbly look with his eyebrows as well. Must run in the family then.

John allowed himself a fond little grin, pulling one arm around his lanky git and squeezing gently. A warm feeling filled his chest and the animated chatter of Rosie and Mrs Hudson filled the air.

It all came together quite harmoniously after all. That was: harmonious measured by the Watson-Holmes household standards. And John would not have it any other way.

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

Troubleshooting, part 29/?

-> That's it! (I could have gone on for much longer, but I think this is a good place to stop). Pure fluff because we can never have enough of that and the characters deserve it! I will need to think of a new short-form writing project now, because I really enjoyed having something that could be written in an hour or two.

-> You can read this entire series starting from DAY 0 on Tumblr or Ao3 or read the previous snippet here.

-> Thanks for coming along!

[breannasfluff]

Pup?

Cub?

Link vibrates in place, still crouched, and yips at the two wolves. Alpha? Packmate? Pack home?

It’s Dusk who moves first, bounding over to bowl Link over. Pup! Pup! He licks Link’s face, tail wagging a league a minute. Pup okay!

Cub safe! Dawn joins them, winding around Link’s back and pushing his great head under his arm. Safe, okay! No-hurt. 

Miss you! Link’s responses border on a wail. Miss you-miss you! Pack gone, pack left! Alone!

Dusk whines and crams himself closer, trying to fit in Link’s lap when he’s too big. No, love packmate! Never leave! Miss you!

Want cub! Dawn adds.

Link’s whining dissolves into tears and he flattens himself to the ground. Sorry, don’t leave!

Never, always stay! 

Love you, love you.

The two wolves clamber half on top of him, pressing him to the grass with their weight. It’s familiar; they used to do this to calm him down. It’s been a long, long time since he’s been in the position. Fur slides against bare skin and he gives a purring trill.

Happiness is too much to hold in his chest, spilling out and running rampant. Dawn and Dusk, Dawn and Dusk! After so long!

Pack! Family! Home! He wiggles beneath them, unable to stay still.

“So, anyone know what’s going on?” Wind’s voice has Link looking up, remembering their audience.

The Chain is clumped together, staring. To be fair, not only did the resident coyote turn into a hylian, but two of the members of the group are now wolves acting like pups.

Warriors nudges Wind. “I was hoping you had answers. You’ve been with them the longest.”

“I met a hylian and a—a dog! Not whatever is going on here!”

Read the rest here

[jerzwriter]

Mostly Pleasant Surprises 4 / 4 And that's what happened...

This is the final installment of "how they finally got together." 😊 🎊🎈🍾🎊🎈🥳🥳🍾🎊🎈🍾🎊 You have no idea how happy I am that this is finally on 'paper'!

Book: Open Heart (Book 2 Timeline) Pairing: Tobias Carrick & Casey MacTavish (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 5,000

Series Summary: It's been months since the chemical attack, and "kind of" exes-turned-friends Tobias & Casey have been stubbornly denying their growing feelings for each other. But when a series of events threatens to come between them, will they find their way back together?

Part 4 Summary: Their friends have given up. Misunderstandings, misassumptions, and good old-fashioned fear lead to turbulence and turmoil for Tobias and Casey, but after a week of no contact, only one of them seems to be hurting, at least on the surface. Tobias is determined to move on, but will his haste put a nail in their coffin or help bring them back together?

A/N: It's finally done!!!!! Did I mention how excited I am? 🥳🥳🥳 I don't care if no one else cares, I CARE, and it's done! My babies deserve this! :) Participating in @choicesmaychallenge24 We've got wine, passion and "Good night, my love."

Series Masterlist || Tobias x Casey Masterlist Full Masterlist

Showing up early to work wasn’t out of character for Dr. Carrick, but showing up at 7:00 AM when his shift began at noon could only mean one thing...  he couldn’t sleep. When his good friend, Sasha, realized he was already there at this early hour, she headed to Caffe Bene and purchased two cups of matcha latte. It was her hope that frothy green beverages would be part of a celebration and not something to lift his spirits, but to play it safe, she added his favorite honey bread to her order, just in case comfort food was required. She smiled when she stepped into his office, assuming her worry was for naught when she found him in such good spirits.

“Hey,” she smiled. “I got our favorite!”

“Awesome!” Tobias grinned. “That’s a big improvement over the Lipton tea bag I was about to brew.”

“You’re in a good mood so early in the day,” Sasha noted. “Is there a reason?”

“Sure is! I’ve got a big date on Saturday.”

“Really!” She squealed. “YES! You and Casey finally got your shit together! Now, give me the details! Where are you taking her? It better be someplace nice!”

Tobias took a long sip of his tea and slouched back in his Italian leather chair.

“Who said anything about Casey?”

“You said date... so I assumed... if not Casey... who?”  

“Sophia,” he smiled to his friend’s consternation.

“Sophia? Who the fuck is Sophia?”

“I guess I hadn’t mentioned her. I treated her sister in the ER a couple months back...remember the gymnast from BU?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Her sister broke her leg during practice, and Sophia made it abundantly clear that she wanted to show her appreciation. I never called her because... well... I just didn’t. But last night, I figured, what the hell. Now... Saturday night, it is.”

“Jesus,” Sasha groaned, grabbing a slice of honey bread for herself. “You’ve spent the past eight months talking my ear off about Casey. Why the change up?”

“Because eight months is a long time, and Casey’s made it clear that she doesn’t want me that way. So, I’m done acting like some pathetic, lovesick schoolgirl. I don’t know what came over me to begin with.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Sasha insisted. “Love, you idiot. Love came over you.”  

“Exactly!” He snapped his fingers. “Something I’ve always done my best to avoid, and it’s time I get back to that.”  

“Tobias...” Sasha groaned.

“Tobias, nothing. This isn’t fun, Sash. All this time hoping for something that will never be, just to get my heart ripped out? Nuh-uh. I want to have fun again, and Sophia... she’s a sight to see. She’s up for partner at WilmerHale, and she’s sexy as hell. Old Tobias would have jumped on that months ago, and new Tobias is lucky dragging his ass didn’t ruin his chances.”

“So you’d rather be with Sophia than Casey?”

“Look... I don’t love Sophia, and I don’t want to. I want to kick back and have fun. Eight months pining over Casey – longest goddamn dry spell of my adult life – nope. I’m done.”

“T,”  Sasha cringed. “I don’t need to know every detail of your life.”

“Trust me, I wish I didn’t know that little stat either! It’s time to get back in the game.”

“Did you even give Casey a chance to explain what you saw?”

“I know what I saw.”

“But it doesn’t sound like Casey at all. And... even if she was on a date... you two weren’t a couple. Tell her how you feel, and I guarantee she’ll forget about this other dude in a nanosecond.”  

He pushed back from his desk, the bravado he was trying so hard to portray beginning to crack.

“Sorry, but after all the time we spent together, all the kisses and her ‘I’m just not ready yet’ professions....”

“Wait! The what?”

“Irrelevant!” He snapped. “If she’d rather be with some mid-white-bread radiologist from Edenbrook, she can have him.”

“Tobias, would you listen to yourself!”

A knock on the door distracted them, and Aurora entered the room, to Sasha’s delight. Feeling the tension, Aurora looked nervously between the two friends and colleagues.

“What’s going on here?”

“Nothing work-related,” Tobias grumbled. “Sasha was just leaving.”

“Tobias, you’re such an idiot!” Sasha turned to Aurora. “Perhaps you can reinforce that after I leave?”

“Uh...he is my boss.”

“And I’m in hospital administration. I can have you transferred to another attending tomorrow.”  

“Really?” Aurora grinned. “We may have to talk.”

“Hey!” Tobias yelled. “She’s my best resident! Emery, sit down! You’re not going anywhere. Goodbye, Sasha.”

After reviewing their morning cases, Aurora silently looked over her notes as Tobias grew increasingly restless. He tapped his pen against his desk incessantly before blurting, “What?”

Aurora looked around in confusion. “What, what?”

“Why don’t you just say what you’re thinking and get it over with.”

“Because I have nothing to say. But if you plan on asking me about Casey, don’t. I’m jumping off the Tobias & Casey train.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not discussing her with you, nor talking about you with her. You two could drive the sanest person crazy, and I’m done.”

“Fine!”

“Fine.”

But Tobias was anything but fine. No matter how hard he tried to focus he turned to Aurora again after a few minutes of typing jibberish.

“Was Casey all right last night?” he asked out of nowhere. Aurora didn’t even look up from her laptop.

“If you’re so curious, I suggest you call her and ask.”

“I don’t want to talk to her. I just want to know if she’s OK.”

“Then it seems you have a problem. Because, as I said, I got off that train. Especially since you’ve got a date with someone else this Saturday.”

Tobias looked up, stunned. “How... how did you know....”

“Your voice carries Dr. Carrick,” Aurora said, shutting her laptop with a thud. “I could hear you and Sasha talking halfway down the hall.”

“All right, so I have a date. I’m single; what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Aurora agreed.

“Then, why the attitude?”  

“Because I don’t get you. You’re one of the most intelligent people I know, a brilliant doctor, but when it comes to Casey, you act like a twelve-year-old. I understand this is probably predicated on fear and past issues, but if you don’t talk soon, you’ll both live to regret it.”

“There’s nothing to say; we’re just friends.”

“Fine,” Aurora rose to her feet. “Then don’t ask me about her. I like and respect you, Tobias, but mention Casey again and I’ll be talking to Sasha about that transfer.”

“You wouldn’t,” he challenged as Aurora reached the door.

“Oh no? Try me!”

~~~~~

Saturday night at eight o’clock, Casey was home from work and was eager for her own big plans: sweatpants, the couch, a pint of Haagen Dazs ice cream, and a spoon. Her friends would be there, too, she reminded herself, so it wasn’t that pathetic.

How the past week had dragged at a snail's pace yet also went by in a flash remained a mystery to her. But not communicating with Tobias since Sunday likely inspired the former. This was the longest they had gone without contact since the attack, and while she put on a brave face, it was eating her alive. Seeing his jovial posts on Instagram didn’t help. She took them as reinforcement of what she believed to be true. He didn’t want her. At least not the way she wanted him, and he probably never did. If heartbreak wasn't enough to cope with, feeling like a fool just added insult to injury.

“I really think he’s merely protecting himself,” Sienna stated as the friends tried to agree on a movie. “He’s probably as scared as you are. We all know he cared about you.”

“Cared,” Casey repeated, bringing another spoon of ice cream to her mouth. “Past tense.”

“But that’s not true,” Bryce jumped in. “I ran into him just before he went to Donahue’s. He was heading there to tell you how he felt. I didn’t say anything sooner because you were so upset, but you should know.”

“Really? Then why the 180? He wanted to tell me how much he cared but saw me sitting across the table from Jake and did an about-face? Then he didn’t care as much as he believed.”

“In fairness, you were holding the guy’s hand,” Sienna noted.

“Barely!” Casey snapped. “Besides! He should have known better.”

“Oh, for fucks sake!” Aurora groaned as all turned her way. “Casey, stop it. I swore I wouldn’t reenter the Tobias/Casey drama, but I can’t take this anymore. You’re not exactly innocent either.”

“Excuse me?”

“Maybe Tobias jumped to conclusions because you had been giving him the cold shoulder for a week before he saw you with Jake. He probably surmised that was the reason why!”

“But she only did that because of Audrey’s post,” Sienna defended.

“Yes!” Aurora acknowledged. “Because Casey thought he was on a date with Audrey, but guess what? He wasn’t. But you were quick to believe the worst and wouldn’t give him a chance to explain. Does that sound familiar?”

“I was going to ask him about Audrey's post when we had lunch the next day... but he canceled.”

“You were going to ask him a week later? Casey, I know you’re both scared, but you’re so afraid of getting hurt that you are hurt when you don’t have to be!”

“But he didn’t even let me finish a sentence. Every time I tried to explain, he shut me down!”

“And how many of his texts did you ignore after Audrey’s post?” Bryce asked. “You need to talk to him, Case, before you guys blow this for good.”

“Exactly!” Aurora agreed. “All these games, and now he’s on a real date, and who knows...” she froze mid-sentence, her eyes wide when she realized what she just said.

“A what?” Casey stammered. “A real date? With... with who?”

“OK,” Aurora lamented, rubbing her temples. “I don’t know with whom, but if you refuse to talk to him, you have no reason to be upset if he moves on. If you don’t want him to... talk to him!”  

The pain in Casey’s eyes was visible as she jumped from the couch and retreated to her room... insisting no one follow her. She wasn’t sure why she ran there, though collapsing into bed for a good cry sounded appropriate. She got into position to do just that, but the tears never came. Her emotions were a roller coaster ride she hadn’t been prepared to take. Regret, sadness, anger, and despair shifted inside her by the second, leaving her lost and out of control. The only certainty was another sleepless night ahead, and she couldn’t afford that. Reaching for a Tylenol PM on her nightstand, anger took control once again. She looked at the clock, 11:00. It was early enough. She jumped out of bed and threw on the first clothes she could find, rushing out the door to stealthily evade her friends. Tobias Carrick might be on a date, but when he came home? He was going to have to answer to her.

~~~~~

Tobias looked himself over in his bedroom mirror before heading out for the night. He had to admit... in his black silk long-sleeved Brunello Cucinelli t-shirt and matching chalk stripe trousers, he looked damn good. He slipped on his Burberry overcoat and sprayed one more pump of Oud Wood cologne for good measure, a grin spreading across his face. He still had it, and as he headed out the door for his first date in longer than he cared to admit, that old Carrick confidence was falling into place again.

Sophia insisted on meeting him at Contessa, strongly suggesting that their separate arrivals didn’t dictate how they’d depart if dinner went well. When she arrived, Tobias was already seated at their table, and he had to give her credit; the woman knew how to make an entrance. Her smile lit up the room as she sauntered his way in a spaghetti-strapped burgundy cowl-necked dress that hugged every curve and directed the eye to her most impressive assets. Her dark brown curls framed her face and spilled down over her bare shoulders, and as she got closer, Tobias felt his apprehensions melting away. Perhaps this night wouldn't be so hard after all.

“Tobias,” Sophia smiled as he rose to greet her. Taking his hands in hers, she leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek. “You look wonderful tonight.”

“Me,” he simpered. “I lost any chance of being the hottest person in this room the second you walked in.”

“That’s OK. I’m fine being on a date with a man who comes in a very close second in that category,” she winked. “Can you handle that, Dr. Carrick?”

“Oh,” he grinned, motioning for the waiter to begin pouring the Volpaia Chianti Classico. “I can handle that and a lot more.”

“Good,” she smirked. “Then let the evening commence.”

Sophia was beautiful and captivating in every way. Her enthusiasm when discussing her quest to make partner at her firm or her little sister’s gymnastic career was endearing. And when Tobias spoke, she listened so intently he felt like the only person in the world. Things were going great... so why couldn’t he shake the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach? At any other time, he would have thought this date was off to a perfect start, but there was one big difference between this date and all the others in his storied career: this one took place after he had met Casey MacTavish.

Sophia looked over her shoulder when Tobias’s eyes lit up, and he waved at someone seated at the bar.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized. “That’s a board member from Kenmore. He and I have been playing phone tag for over a week, and I need to touch base with him regarding a grant we’ve been working on. Would you mind if I stepped over to speak with him? I promise I won’t be more than a couple of minutes.”

“Of course not!” Sophia replied. “Trust me, if I see one of the partners that will decide if I’m joining their ranks soon, I’ll ask you to return the favor.”

“Thank you,” he smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

Sophia took a sip of wine and decided to check emails on her phone while she waited. When she reached for her phone, a text came in on Tobias’s, which he left face up on the table. While she wasn’t proud, Sophia did manage to sneak a peek. A local politician’s robotext asking for campaign donations. Benign enough! But her thoughts on the date took a turn when something else she saw piqued her interest.

Tobias returned quickly as promised, apologizing profusely for the interruption. But, ever the attorney, Sophia wasn’t wasting time getting to the point.

“Tobias, I have to ask... are you married?”

“What?” He choked, placing his wine glass back on the table with a shudder. “God, no!”

“Then do you have a girlfriend? Because if you do, I don’t play those games.”

“Sophia, I’m single as can be...trust me. Where is this coming from?”

Knowing honesty was her only option, she tapped a well-manicured nail on his phone.

“A text came in when you were gone, and I saw the beautiful blonde on your screensaver. Who is she? And please, don’t tell me she’s your sister. I won’t believe you, and that would be creepy as hell.”

A line appeared between his brows as he clicked on his phone, and there it was.  

It had been his screensaver for some time, and he never thought to change it. But staring at it now, he was transported to another time as he recalled that day.

It wasn’t long after the chemical attack, and Casey had been having an especially tough day. Even a ride with a promise of ice cream from Honeycomb Creamery in Cambridge couldn't pull her from the darkness she found herself buried in. As they sat in his front seat licking their cones, he told her she could select his new screensaver. Her face lit up in an instant as she grabbed the phone from his hands, playfully sticking her tongue out as she posed. She was delighted with the blurry, off-centered, silly-faced photo and immediately set it as his screensaver.

Tobias loved that picture. Not only did he think she was stunning, but she was happy. For a moment in time, when gloom surrounded her, she found a moment of joy. She was happy... and that’s all he ever wanted for her. In the months that followed, Casey often told him he could change the screensaver, but he had no intention of doing so. Unbeknownst to her, he had made himself a promise. That screensaver would stay in place until it could be replaced by a picture of the two of them... once she was finally his. He didn’t care if it took a year or a decade; he would see it through.

“I guess I should have changed this,” he muttered. “I’m really sorry... I honestly forgot it was still there.”

But it was Sophia’s job to pay attention, and there was no way she could misinterpret his reaction.

“Is she your girlfriend? Or... an ex?”  

“No,” he said sadly. “But I wanted her to be with all my heart.”

He looked up at Sophia, sincerity in his eyes. “We were just friends, close friends... I guess I always hoped we’d become more, but it wasn’t to be.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Even so... I just realized I'm not even close to being over her. I’m really sorry I dragged you into this, but... I need to get over Casey before I can move on with anyone else. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“At least you’re honest,” Sophia shrugged. “It’s not like you screwed me and ghosted me when regret set in the next morning. So, I have to give you some credit.”  

“I’d never do that,” he said emphatically. But Sophia responded with a smirk.

“Seriously?”

“All right, I would never have wanted to do that,” he grinned. “Well, now that I’ve ruined our date, do you want to call it a night? I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“Oh, hell no! You’re still treating me to dinner, Carrick! That’s the very least you can do!”

Tobias handed her a menu with a smile. “That’s more than fair, and please, feel free to order the most expensive items on the menu.”

“I assumed that was a given!” she smiled, reaching over the table to take his hand. “Why don’t we go the friend's route, Tobias. But... if time goes on, and this woman is too foolish to come to her senses and seal the deal with you, let me know when you’re ready. If I’m still on the market, I may give you a second chance.”

“Being friends sounds good,” he replied. “Though you’re quite a catch, I’m sure someone will snap you up before I come around.”

“Well, it will still be nice to have another friend,” she said with a squeeze of his hand.

Tobias looked at their entwined fingers just as they parted. The vision of Casey holding Jake’s hand popped into his mind... and he realized he had been a total fool.

~~~~~

Tobias had walked Sophia home hours before, but the thought of returning to his empty townhome wasn’t remotely appealing. He decided a long walk was in order; it might help with all the thinking he had to do. His mind was in a fog as he meandered down Boston’s gaslit streets, too overwhelmed to notice the dropping temperatures.

Every so often, something pulled him out of his fugue: a honking horn, music from a passing car, or a police siren whooshing by. Those he could handle, but it was the laughter of a couple passing by that sent him reeling. Their arms were wrapped around each other as they whispered sweet nothings into each other’s ears, leaving Tobias frozen in place.

How did things go so wrong? The past few months with Casey had him believing he had grown up, but when it came to matters of the heart, he still had plenty to learn. He didn’t know what the future held for him and Casey, but he knew the time of hiding had come to end. He needed to talk to her, to tell her the truth. No more treading water... it was time to move on, one way or another. He took his phone out of his pocket; it was already 11:30. Too late to start that conversation tonight, but he vowed to call her as soon as he woke up tomorrow. It was time.

He pulled his coat closer as he turned onto his street, his clarity of thought finally making him aware of the cold; he was grateful he only had a half block to go. But as he neared his home, he squinted, trying to make out the blurry figure on his steps. His heart skipped a beat when she came into focus... wearing no more than a sweater and a pair of tights, Casey sat shivering on his front steps. Head buried in her hands, she didn’t see him approach, and she was startled at his words.

“Casey?” He blurted. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” she said, jumping to her feet in a visibly emotional state. “I was about to ask you the same thing!”

“Uh... I live here,” he said with confusion.

“I know that!” she snapped. “But you’re not supposed to be here! Or at least, you’re not supposed to be here alone!”

“Casey,” he huffed. “What are you talking about?”

She marched up to him, pounding her hand against his chest. “You had a date!” she fumed. “A freaking date!” Tears welled in her eyes as she continued. “How the hell could you have been on a real date tonight?”

“How did you even know... Aurora...” he grumbled.

“How I know is unimportant! What’s important is that you were on a date!” She struggled to hold back a sob as she continued. “So, how was it? I’m your good friend Casey, right? So you can tell me! Was it fun? Where’d you go? Did you take her anyplace we’ve ever gone together?”

“Casey, stop!” he exclaimed, reaching for her arm. But Casey jolted away as if his touch would sear her.

“No!” She hollered. “Answer me! Who was she? Is she pretty? Did you sleep with her?” She turned on her heel and began to pace, her hands flailing about. “Well, that’s a stupid question!” She spat. “Of course you slept with her! You’re Tobias Carrick!”

“What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he chided, with a flash of anger in his eyes.

“You have a reputation, T! Everyone knows you’ve banged anyone you’ve ever dated – and god knows how many you didn’t even bother to date! Oh, everyone except for me, that is! I guess that makes me special, huh? You hear that, Boston?” She declared. “It’s me! I’m the one person Tobias Carrick dated and didn’t fuck! I’m more rare than a goddamn unicorn!”

“Casey, stop it!” He exclaimed. “Yes, I had a date tonight. But it ended before it began and, no... I didn’t sleep with her!”

“You... you didn’t,” she whimpered.

“No! I didn’t!” He said, frustration mounting. But frustration or not, all he wanted to do was scoop Casey up in his arms and never let her go, and it took everything in him not to see that through. He may have been able to ignore his desires, but he couldn’t ignore how her body trembled in the cold. He began to remove his coat, “Casey, you’re shivering; please take....”

“I don’t want your coat!”  

“Then... then come inside and warm up a bit. It’s freezing out here.”

“No! I don’t want to!”

Exasperated, he threw his head back with a groan. “Then what do you want? Why did you come here? To scream at me? Insult me? Because if that’s all you want, I’ll call an Uber to get you home."

“I came here tonight because you were on a date!” She cried. “I was sure you’d bring her home, and I needed to see it with my own eyes.”

“What? Why? Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I love you!” She yelled, the shocked look on her face making it clear she was as surprised by her words as he was.

“You... you... what?”

She wanted to run, but there was no place to go now that the cat was out of the bag. She wiped her nose with her sleeve and summoned the courage to continue.

“I love you, Tobias. I love you.” She said through tears. “And if you don’t love me, then I need to know so I can move on. Because... I love you. I’m sorry I told you like this,” she rambled. “I never wanted to tell you like this, and maybe I shouldn’t have told you at all, but it’s too late now. I... I love you. I’ve loved you for....”

Maybe it was the shock, or perhaps because he moved with the speed of a gazelle, but Casey never saw him coming. Before she knew it, his arms encircled her, their lips came crashing together, and they gave in to the burning passion that had been ignited in them for so long. Neither wanted to let. Letting go might prove that this was just another dream. But this time, the bright smiles on their faces confirmed... they were very much awake. Tobias let out a grunt as their lips came together again, lifting Casey off her feet, she giggled t as he spun her around, placing her back down again against his gate.

“You... you love me?” he gushed, joy radiating from his face.

“I do!” Casey beamed. “I love you so very much.”

“Thank God,” he gasped, pressing his forehead against hers. “Because I love you Casey... I love you so much I swear, it hurts!”

She reached up and caressed his cheek, then his jawbone, gazing into his crystal blue eyes as if she were seeing them for the very first time.

“Love’s not supposed to hurt,” she smiled.

“Then let’s make a deal, from this moment on, you and me... we’re all about love without the hurt. Can we do that?”

“I’m in... I’m in if you are,” she grinned.

“I am SO in! Casey, my date earlier today ended practically before it began because the truth is, I want you and only you.  Today, tomorrow, for the rest of my days.  I want you, Casey Mactavish. I love you... and you have no idea how great it feels to finally say those words out loud.”

“I love you, too,” she cried, pulling him into a fiery kiss that melted the winter’s cold.

Tobias began to chuckle as his hands dropped to Casey's waist. Mid-kiss, Casey pulled back with a smirk.

“Why are you laughing about?”

“If I tell you... you have to promise to not get mad.”

Casey raised a brow and gave him a teasing look. “Oh, you’ve got my attention... you have to tell me now.”

“Having you in my arms... it feels like a dream... but....”

“But?”

“Can I grab your ass, Casey? Because God knows, I’ve been dying to grab your ass. I’ve dreamt about it, and if you’re OK with it....”

“Fine! Fine, fine, fine,” she laughed. “You can grab my ass, Tobias!.”

Without hesitation, he lowered a hand to her left butt cheek and gave a generous squeeze. Casey couldn't help but giggle as a grin spread across his face.

“There! Was that everything you imagined it would be?"

“Everything and more,” he growled.

“So,” she said, after another kiss. “Is that all you/ve been imagining doing with me... or is there more?”

“Oh, hell no,” he laughed. “I have a very active imagination, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Well, then,” she cooed, running her fingers down his lapel. “If the offer still stands... can we go inside? Maybe you could show me some of those... other things?”

Casey was right earlier that night—sleep was not to be had—but this time, neither she nor Tobias minded one bit.

Just before the crack of dawn, they lay together in his bed, Casey blissfully sleeping under his protective arm. Careful not to disturb her, Tobias reached for his phone to check the time, and there it was staring back at him... Casey’s goofy screensaver.

He held his sleeping girlfriend closer. No, they hadn’t had that conversation yet, but it was the first thing he planned to do when they woke. But he was confident—Casey was his girlfriend. He pulled her closer and snapped a quick selfie of them, immediately making it his new screensaver—a promise had been kept.

Placing the phone at his side, he rolled over and spooned behind his love, kissing the top of her head, he whispered.

“Good night, my love."

His love. At long last, Casey was his. He was hers. And he fell asleep soundly at her side, knowing that their new life had just begun.

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

[askwilliamwisp]

Wha… How am I back here..?

Last I remember, I was back at the base.. I took this rat that was attacking Dakota while Tide, Mark and Ashe were on the couch, for some reason, and I set it up with a ghost rat cage and ghost rat supplies in my room while helping Dakota bandage his wounds from the fight..

and now I’m here.

And a bit ago, this splitting noise started ringing from somewhere, but I can’t find the source. It seems to be coming from somewhere above? But it’s so loud that it seems to be coming from everywhere.

I just keep wandering these creepy fucking trees and the barely carved out footpaths hoping to find anything to help me leave, but there’s nothing. My hands are freezing… I’m really glad Tide got me those hand warmers.

I’ve been burning through them to try and keep myself warm. But I guess I’ve lost more feeling in my hands than I thought, because the skin has started to blister in some places from the heat.

I don’t want to think about that right now. I just want to go home.

(William does not wake up to Tide’s alarm. William does not wake up. William passed out in the bathroom mid sentence once he finished bandaging Dakota, and has been dead asleep since.

If one were to check, he wouldn’t have a pulse at the moment.)

also ooc other rp blogs ‘can’t see’ the posts w capital letters aka the posts from the wispering woods. these are meant to represent wiwis internal dialogue and document his encounters w the wisps. jsyk ^^

[ladybugsimblr]

sunset orange 🌆 sage

-

Beach Babes 2023 by @samssims

[harushinkai-daily]

See you, space cowboy.

[calissarowan]

Duman: Well, everybody, we had quite the ride, didn’t we?

Ogron: Who are you talking to? You’re not even looking at anything.

Duman: But there’s an important lesson you should take from this.

Ogron: You’re just staring at the wall!

Duman: Remember, kids. No matter how good an idea it might seem to mix twenty different flavours of Fanta and try and set them on fire, it just makes a sticky mess.

Ogron: …What? How is that related to you being president?!

Duman: It’s not. It’s been over a month, Ogron. I did do other stuff, y’know.

Ogron: Okay, but who are you-

Duman: And remember, everyone: even if it doesn’t look like I’m in the reboot, I’m a shapeshifter. Of course I’m there. I’m the coolest-looking new character. And if I’m not, I’m at Rainbow’s headquarters, loudly complaining about everything with Stella.

Ogron: What reboot? What’s Rainbow? Who the bloody hell are you talking to?!

Stella: And remember to vote for us in the next election!

Duman: Stell, they can’t vote, they’re not in our dimension.

Stella: …

Stella: Technicality!

Narrator: And so, the Winx end another adventure, in…a slightly different way to what we planned, honestly. Duman’s the president and not dead…Ogron’s not frozen…Stella…well, Stella was gonna be pretty much alive, but she wasn’t the president. And also, Nabu’s fine. Living his best life, actually. So’s Aisha. They got married, by the way. So nice. And y’know, they managed to get back to Andros early, and they had a good talk with Tritannus and talked him out of whatever he was going through, so that’s nice. Oh, and also-!

Duman: The narrator’s gone totally off-script.

Stella: Oh, let em speak. We’re the only ones that can hear them, after all, and they deserve a little time to ramble.

Ogron: Anagan! Duman and Stella are pretending to hear things I can’t again!

Narrator: And so, Ogron went running to Anagan like a petulant child, while Stella and Duman laughed at the narrator’s astute observations, before returning to their work as presidents, a job that, oddly, would never bore the two most easily-distracted people in the history of- nope, nevermind, they got sidetracked by a pen with ink that changes colours.

[trentonsimblr]

previous-beginning

@ardeney-sims

AN: this is the last post ya’ll 😭

[cosmichate]

<- PREVIOUS

*

FOLDER: “MY BEAUTIFUL GIRL”

[waytooinvested]

Small Problem… Chapter 5 (FINAL CHAPTER)

You can find the full story on AO3

…………………………………………..

‘I really am so sorry about this, it seemed such a nice idea when Trxy suggested it, I never even considered something like this could happen…’

Kelly nodded dazedly, still holding the slice of bread she had been spreading when Lena and the imp woman had found her to deliver their hurried explanation, but no longer attempting to turn it into a sandwich. She blinked between them for a moment, then apparently made a decision and turned a sympathetic smile on the harried looking blonde in front of her.

‘We understand, it must be a huge adjustment when you first come to Earth. But for future reference, non-magical gifts are generally safer for little children. Maybe consider a doll, or a packet of coloured markers next time?’

‘Absolutely, no more wishing presents, I promise. I do hope this won’t impact Esme’s friendship with Trxy though? She’d be devastated if they weren’t allowed to play together anymore.’

‘Of course we wouldn’t stop the girls being friends! Trxy will need to learn power control on Earth, but Esme’s in the same boat. Accidents happen.’

‘Thank you for being so understanding Mrs Olsen-Danvers.’

‘Please, call me Kelly.’

‘Pffskdrdlyn.’

The two women shook hands warmly while Lena leaned against the kitchen counter and tried not to glare. It wasn’t Pffskdrdlyn’s fault. Not really. Cultural misunderstandings, learning curve, adjustment to Earth, it was all perfectly reasonable. But Kara had been tiny for a week now, and she kind of wanted to glare at someone about it. It sure as hell wasn’t going to be Esme or the sweet little gappy-toothed blonde girl she was playing with, so this woman would have to do.

‘Can you turn her back?’

Lena managed to keep her question from sounding overtly hostile, but she knew it lacked the warmth Kelly had brought to the conversation so far. Thankfully however, Pffskdrdlyn either didn’t pick up on her coolness, or else was simply unoffended by it.

‘Oh yes of course, nothing easier! I can do it right-’

The woman raised her fingers as if about to snap, and much as she was loath to stop her, Lena threw her hands up.

‘Wait!’

‘Why?’

‘When she shrank there was a blast that threw all of us across the room, and Kara ended up naked and trapped in her boot... I just think in the middle of a group of little children might not be the best place for something like that to happen? Especially if she’s sitting on someone’s shoulder at the time.’

Pffskdrdlyn lowered her hand again, frowning slightly.

‘Trxy must have been sloppy, there shouldn’t have been a bang unless she made a mistake. I’ll have to have a word with her about that.’

‘We should probably talk to Esme first anyway. I still don’t understand why she would wish for this’ Kelly chipped in, and Lena had to admit she had been wondering the same thing.

Suprisingly, the answer turned out to be because Alex told her to.

Well, sort of.

Once Alex, Esme, and Kara had been extricated from their various party activities into the relative quiet of the kitchen the story had come out piece by piece, until finally they had it all. It seemed that Esme had been bemoaning the fact that her friends all had proper action figures while she just had a Barbie with a red and blue plasticine supersuit, and Alex had told her that maybe if she wished really hard, she would get to have her own little Supergirl in time for her birthday party. Of course, she had been hinting at the doll that was already wrapped and hidden in the bottom of their closet, having no idea that Esme had a real wish in her pocket at the time, but Esme had taken her at her word. Alex looked increasingly dismayed as the truth unfolded, running her fingers through her hair and glancing guiltily over at where Lena and Kara were hovering as unobtrusively as they could off to one side (metaphorically in Lena’s case, literally in Kara’s).

‘But why didn’t you tell anyone? At least after a couple of days when you saw we were all trying to turn her back.’

‘Auntie Kara likes being little! She likes playing with me and eating big snacks and being the lead singer in the supergirl band, she said.’

Esme looked to Kara for confirmation, forehead puckering as she started to realise that she might have made a big mistake. Her lip wobbled, and Kelly drew her in closer.

‘It’s okay baby. Now we know what happened, your friend Trxy’s mom can turn her back to normal, then we can have a proper talk about what to do next time there’s a power accident like this, okay?’

‘But- but we can’t turn her back now. It’s my party. Auntie Kara was going to be in all the games, they won’t work anymore if she’s big. We didn’t even do the concert yet.’

Alex sucked in an audible breath of the kind that usually preceded her temper, but her voice remained impressively gentle with Esme.

‘Es, you can’t make auntie Kara stay small just because you want a doll with real powers to play with. Think about what she wants!’

‘But we made an extra jello mold so she could have a boounce hoouse.’

Esme’s objection trailed off into a wail as big tears started rolling down her cheeks, and Kara flew over to dab at them with the hem of her cape before turning to meet Alex’s gaze, one hand stroking comfortingly at the tip of her niece’s nose.

‘Well hang on Alex, maybe we could wait, just until after the party. It’s only a couple more hours.’

‘Kara, we can’t reward bad behaviour. Esme knew better than to not tell any of us what happened, even if it was an accident. It’s been a week!’

‘I know, but it’s her birthday.’

Esme and Kara both look imploringly up at Alex, matching puppy dog expressions on their faces.

‘Pleeease?’

Alex folded her arms, frowning between her daughter and her sister.

‘You just want that jello, don’t you?’

Kara hesitated, looking somewhere between affronted at the suggestion and sheepish that it maybe wasn’t entirely wrong.

‘...Not JUST.’

Lena snorted, then quickly turned it into a little covering cough while Alex and Kelly shared a few moments of serious, silent mom-speak. Eventually Alex sighed, and nodded resignedly.

‘Fine, since you’re okay with it we’ll wait until after the party. But we’re going to have to have a proper talk about this at some point.’

‘Absolutely. Big, serious talk with our serious faces on. Tomorrow. But right now, Es, I believe our guests are waiting for us. Shall we?’

‘YAY!’

The tears were instantly forgotten as Esme and Kara dashed off to rejoin the party, already planning out the finer points of their big concert as they went. Once they were gone Alex met Lena’s eyes, and winced.

‘Sorry.’

Lena shrugged, caught somewhere between elation that they finally knew what had happened and that she absolutely, definitely hadn’t hurt Kara with her powers, amusement at the unlikely ridiculousness of it all, and disappointment that she had to wait a while longer to have Kara back to full size so she could finally, finally kiss her (not that her goddaughter’s birthday party was the ideal place to do that, but she would have taken what she could get, even if it was a just a stolen moment in the coat closet like teenagers playing seven minutes in heaven).

‘Oh well. It’s Kara’s choice, and it’s not for much longer.’

‘Yeah, but-’

They were interrupted by the sound of something shattering from the next room, and as one they sprang into action, everything else set aside as they rushed off to find the source of the noise and make sure no one cut themselves on shards of whatever had just met its demise.

From there the rest of the party passed in a chaotic, joyful blur of hero-themed games, including pin the cape on the Super; a dodge ball inspired heroes vs villains stand off with foam balls standing in as powers and a few willing parent volunteers as the villains; an epic battle with a monster pinata (in which after gamely battering away for a few minutes the children had called Kara down to finish it off, and she had put on an extremely satisfying show-fight, got ‘swallowed’, then blasted dramatically out from inside in a shower of miniature candy bars); and of course the eagerly anticipated Supergirl band concert.

Much as Lena was chomping at the bit to get Kara back to normal, she had to admit that she was glad not to have missed out on seeing this. The four little girls (five, counting Kara) were clearly taking it extremely seriously, and when everything was ready the rest of the guests and parents were ushered in to sit in cramped rows in the living room, curtains drawn so that the only light came from the handful of glow sticks each girl had wrapped herself in before artfully arranging themselves around their makeshift stage.

They waited in the dark for a few seconds, then from the back of the group Sammy switched on a Spongebob Squarepants flash light, spotlighting Kara’s dramatic pose in the centre of her doll-posse. As soon as the light came on, all four girls started waving their glow-stick adorned arms, and Kara launched into their opening number (as Lena had suspected it was the ‘Hero in my Hand’ jingle, and she felt Alex wince beside her even as she gamely kept the excited grin on her face for Esme’s benefit). The whole thing was surprisingly effective, and between the lighting efforts, Esme’s enthusiastic (if not entirely tuneful) kazoo accompaniment, and Trxy’s focused animation of the supergirl dolls to turn them into jerky backing dancers, the audience started getting into the performance in earnest. By the time the band had moved on to their main number (an unexpectedly heartfelt rendition of ‘I need a hero’), Lena couldn’t resist recording it on her phone for posterity, the same warm glow of fondness she always felt watching Kara do karaoke flooding through her.

After that they looped back to ‘Hero in my Hand’, getting the audience to join in at increasing speed with each repetition, until finally Alex couldn’t take it anymore and called out that it was time for the birthday feast to begin. Esme looked disappointed for half a second, then apparently decided the lure of party food was worth missing out on a fifth round of her new favourite song for and scurried after her friends.

They were about half way through the meal and had so far managed to avoid any major spills or sugar-overload sickness incidents, when Nia leaned over to murmur to Lena on her way past with a stack of extra napkins.

‘You know, if you two ever get married your wedding day is going to have to compete with this-’ she gestured to Kara, who had apparently finished jumping on her jello bounce house and was now making a snowman out of the stingingly artificial blue bubblegum flavour ice cream that Alex and Kelly hated feeding their daughter, but that Esme for some reason adored with such fervent passion that they had given in just this once ‘-for the happiest day of her life.’

‘Please, I’m a genius with connections and money, Kara can have a wedding cake so big she can be her own cake topper if that’s what she wants.’

‘Damn, okay. I guess you two really are made for each other huh?’

Lena shrugged, suddenly bashful as she realised exactly what she had just said, and the idea of some day marrying Kara settled into her chest as more than just a jokey aside about giant food.

‘I hope so.’

Nia patted her shoulder and flashed her one last grin before swooping in to catch a dangerously precarious cup of lemonade just in time to stop it from tipping all over a nearby plate of sandwiches, and Lena followed suit, getting stuck in to help. From that moment she was kept too busy to glance over at Kara again, until at last the cake had been sung over, cut, and wrapped in yet more paper napkins for the guests to take home, and there was nothing left on the table but the woefully untouched plates of carrot sticks, cucumber wedges and cherry tomatoes; a scattering of sandwich crusts; and the remains of Kara’s jello mold.

Even with her own lack of experience when it came to children’s birthday parties, Lena could tell that the distribution of the cake signalled home time, and her semi-repressed anticipation immediately ratcheted back up to 11 as she searched the room eagerly for Pffskdrdlyn.

… And didn’t find her.

Or her daughter either, for that matter.

Nonononono, where were they?

‘Esme? Where’s your friend Trxy?’

Esme smiled stickily up at her from behind a smeary layer of crumbs and melted ice cream, and pointed out to the hallway.

‘Her mom said they need to get home to take her brother to soccer practise.’

Lena dropped the stack of paper plates she had been clearing, ignoring Alex’s indignant protest as soggy corn chips and half chewed chipolata sausages scattered across the floor, and ran for the door. She should have insisted on turning Kara back right away, she should have known something like this would happen if they put it off. They were probably already gone by now, and she’d have to wait even longer to-

Pffskdrdlyn was kneeling by the front door, attempting to wrestle her daughters wriggling feet into her outdoor shoes while Trxy bounced up and down and chattered on about the party without apparent pause for breath. At the sight of them Lena was hit by a wave of relief so powerful that it made her knees shake, and her next words come out unexpectedly tentative, as if the two imps might vanish if she allowed herself to sound too eager.

‘Um, before you go-’

Pffskdrdlyn glanced up at her distractedly, two thirds of her attention still on her battle with Trxy’s shoelaces rather than Lena, then apparently gave up and gestured at them vaguely, nodding with satisfaction as they jumped to attention and tied themselves into neat bows.

‘I’m trying to get into the habit of doing things the human way, but it’s just so much easier to use magic, I don’t know how anyone ever gets anything done without it.’

‘Right, yes, speaking of magic though-’

‘Hmm? Did you need something dear?’

‘Yes. Kara. I need Kara- I mean, you were going to unshrink her? Please?’

‘Oh of course! Sorry, it slipped my mind for a minute there. I really need to get going now, but look, take this-’

Pffskdrdlyn held out her hand, a small, slim object not dissimilar from the glow sticks the children had been playing with earlier appearing in it as she did so.

‘Once the party’s over and Kara’s ready to resize, just snap that in half and the rest will take care of itself. No need to wish this time, the intention is already set – we don’t want any more accidents do we?’

Lena ignored the mildly patronising tone of the comment and took the wish-stick carefully, cupping it to her chest with a reverence she probably would have been embarrassed about if she could bring herself to care about anything except the promise it represented.

‘Thank you.’

...

It was just the two of them in the end.

The rest of the party guests were gone, everyone else was outside clearing up the unholy mess that could be created by fifteen excited children over the course of a few hours, and Lena and Kara were alone in Esme’s bedroom, Kara divested of her miniature Supersuit and swamped in the folds of a blanket to avoid a reverse incident of what had happened during her shrinking, Lena kneeling beside her with the wish between her fingers.

‘Are you ready?’

‘So ready. Please.’

Snap.

The stick broke with the small, dry sound of a cracking twig, and as promised this time there was no explosion. There was nothing dramatic at all, in fact.

There was just Kara.

One moment she had been almost buried under the heap of cloth, and the next she was standing over Lena, blanket draped around her shoulders, looking down with an expression of pure, wondering joy on her face. She reached down to help her to her feet, and all of a sudden they were standing in each other’s space, so close that Lena could have counted the freckles on Kara’s nose, had she not been too distracted by the gentle play of breath against her lips to do more than stare into her eyes and lean…

‘Did it work?’

Out of the corner of her eye Lena saw Alex’s head appear around the door, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from Kara long enough to acknowledge her. The answer was clear enough anyway. Alex waited a beat, but apparently Kara was as unable to say anything as Lena was, and they simply stood there, drinking each other in and trying to believe that this was really happening.

‘Okaaaay. Kara, good to see you back to full size, I’m gonna find you some of my clothes to wear until you get home. You two… keep doing that I guess.’

The door closed, the sharp click breaking the spell just enough for Lena to remember where they were and regain a marginal amount of control over her motor functions. She made to step back, but before she could Kara tugged gently on the hand still holding hers, and then she was kissing her, soft and sweet and so meltingly perfect that a tiny whimper escaped from the back of her throat. Everything else faded away, and Lena reached out to pull Kara closer, hands fisting in the blanket as her tongue brushed lightly against Kara’s bottom lip and was welcomed eagerly in…

‘JEEZ this is my kid’s room, and you’re not wearing clothes Kara! Could you maybe save the rest of your make-out session until you get home?’

This time Kara let Lena put some space between them as Alex came properly into the room with a stack of clothes in her arms, but she was grinning far too broadly to look actually remorseful.

‘Sorry Alex, but I’ve been waiting way too long to do that. Do you uh… mind if we maybe skip out on helping with the clean up? I haven’t been able to go outside much for a week and I’d really like to… go flying. With Lena.’

Alex pulled a face halfway between a smirk and a grimace.

‘Is that what they’re calling it these days? Yes, please get out of here so I don’t have to watch any more of… that.’

They didn’t need to be told twice.